The Heavenly Fugitive

by Gilbert, Morris

  He laughed a little and shook his head. He turned and faced Phil. For a moment he stood still, and then he came over and put out his meaty hand. Surprised, Phil took it. The big man searched for words but could only say, “Sorry . . . like . . .” He dropped Phil’s hand, then whirled and left the room.

  ****

  Amelia Winslow had always had difficulty controlling her temper, whereas Phil had always been mild mannered and easygoing. It was not uncommon for Amelia to flare out and let people know exactly how she felt. It had been several weeks since she had found Phil in an almost helpless condition, and every day she’d had to struggle with the anger that rose in her at the sight of his battered features. She had a strong maternal instinct where her brother was concerned. She had been back every day to help him, except when her work schedule did not allow it. Phil had returned to his classes now, limping and still somewhat bruised.

  Amelia had been secretly pleased that Rosa had come back twice, bringing generous quantities of food that needed no cooking. The girl was spoiled rotten, but at least she had a healthy conscience, and it pleased Amelia that she was showing it in this way. Dom was the girl’s ever-present shadow, but the big man had shown Amelia no animosity. In fact, she got the strong impression that he rather liked her. The first time he saw her again, he winked and said, “Still packin’ that gun?”

  “Still packin’ it, Dom. Still got yours?” He had laughed at this, and she had been able to forgive him, more or less. Realizing that he was not unlike a trained attack dog that responded to stimuli, she’d decided he wasn’t entirely to blame for what had happened. He had attacked Phil simply because he thought he was harming his charge.

  On Thursdays Amelia worked the late shift at the restaurant, so she would spend the morning cleaning her own apartment before going to Phil’s place to clean and cook for him. This particular Thursday they’d had an early supper so she could get to work by six. As they were eating their steaks, baked potatoes, and salad, Phil described his college classes with great gusto.

  “Are they hard for you, Phil?” Amelia asked.

  “No. They’re a lot easier than I thought they would be.”

  “You were always able to make the top grades.”

  “I’m going to be able to double up on courses. I think I can finish in two years if I do that,” Phil said.

  Amelia made no comment, feeling almost jealous that his studies came so easily to him. But then she told herself she had other plans anyway. College was certainly not her ambition in life.

  After washing the dishes, Amelia left Phil’s apartment and went at once to Paladino’s Restaurant. She tried to enter inconspicuously and get to work without Charlie Paladino noticing her. She avoided him as much as possible. He never missed a chance to put his hands on her—usually just a light touch on the arm, but lately he had been getting more and more familiar. Amelia had tried to freeze him out, but he was a thickheaded, insufferable man. It was common knowledge among the workers at the restaurant that he’d had affairs with several waitresses, even getting two of them pregnant and having to pay them off to keep quiet about it. Amelia felt sorry for his wife, a plain woman worn down by long hours in the restaurant and the trials of raising five children. She deserved better than the likes of Charlie Paladino.

  “Hey, you don’t say hello?” Charlie complained as Amelia hurried toward the kitchen. He cut her off and reached out to squeeze her arm. “You sure look pretty today.”

  “I’d better get started, Charlie,” Amelia said coldly. “I’m a little bit late.”

  “That’s all right. When the boss says it’s okay, it’s okay.”

  Amelia wrenched her arm free from his grasp and ran into the kitchen without another word. She smiled at Joe Francis, the day cook. “Hi, Joe,” she greeted him as she put her purse and hat away and hung up her coat. Tying on her apron, she listened as he rattled off the things that needed to be done and the orders that were already in. “I’ll handle it, Joe. Have a good night.”

  “See you tomorrow, Amelia.”

  It turned out to be a busy night, so the hours passed quickly. She hated the slow nights when there was little to do, for it gave Charlie far too much opportunity to harass her. She handled the orders efficiently, shoving them through the window into the dining room for the waitresses to pick up. Charlie came back unnecessarily several times during the evening to speak to her. She always turned to face him, but when he drew close, she’d put out her hand and say, “Stay away, Charlie. Don’t touch.”

  He always laughed at her and backed away, but the gleam in his eyes told her that sooner or later he would step over the line. She was not about to let this self-proclaimed ladies’ man have his way with her. Amelia’s mind whirled with thoughts of how she was going to escape from this dead-end job and make her big break into show business. She needed to save more money before she made her move, but she wasn’t sure she could stand another day of fighting off Charlie.

  By nine o’clock the rush was over, and it was only an hour until closing. As she went about cleaning up her work area, she more carefully considered her problem. If I just had a little more money, I could survive long enough to make the rounds at the producers’ offices. Make myself visible. She thought of her grandmother, Lola. Even though she couldn’t stand living at her house under her rules, she did love her grandmother dearly and had visited her twice since moving out to her own apartment. She knew her grandmother was lonely since losing her husband, Mark, a year ago. Amelia had always intended to spend more time with her grandmother, but the time was never there now that she had to work so much to pay for rent and food, as well as trying to save.

  Grandmother would give me the money to make my try if I asked for it, Amelia thought. Reaching up, she took an order from the clip where the waitresses fastened them and read it. It included two eggs over easy. Still thinking of going to her grandmother to ask for help, she reached over and picked out two eggs from the wire basket hanging above the counter. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts she had not heard footsteps, and she gasped as two arms came around her and two hands ran across her figure. Anger flooded through her, and twisting around, she glared into Charlie’s greedy eyes. Without hesitation, she lifted both hands and brought the eggs down on his balding head. She laughed as the yolks ran down over his pudgy face. “Have some eggs, Charlie.” Then planting her hands on his chest, she shoved him backward into a cabinet full of heavy pots and pans.

  In the midst of the clattering cookware, he spluttered and cursed, kicking several pans across the room. She stared in disgust at the overweight little man, who was, in her opinion, as pathetic as he was ugly.

  Her mind was made up. Stripping off her apron, she plunged her hands under the faucet to wash off the dripping egg yolk, paying no attention to the stream of lurid language still spewing from his mouth. Plucking her coat off the hook and slamming her hat onto her head, she grabbed her purse and said, “Pay me off, Charlie.”

  “I’ll pay you nothing, you vixen!”

  “Then I’ll go tell your customers exactly what kind of a man you really are!”

  Paladino blinked and cursed again. “All right. I’ll pay you off. You’re a rotten cook anyhow.”

  Five minutes later Amelia was outside. The air was cold, though winter had not yet fully come. Christmas lights twinkled in the streets and windows. Taking deep gulps of the crisp air, she headed slowly toward the river and, as she often did after work, stood at the waterfront looking out over the water. The river moved like a living thing, and overhead the stars glittered cold and distant.

  Amelia was not a fearful person. Indeed, her parents thought she was too aggressive and would tackle anything, even a leopard. But here she was a stranger in a strange land with no help. Looking up, she saw Orion overhead, and the impulse came to her to salute the constellation. She laughed aloud. Her breath made a frosty incense that rose upward as she declared, “I’m not helpless. I’ve got a little money saved. I can make it last for t
hree months if I don’t eat much. I’ll give it all I’ve got!”

  The stars did not answer, but she stared at them defiantly and turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing clearly in the darkness.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A Gift From Africa

  The excitement of the approaching Christmas holiday had meant nothing to Amelia as she spent most of her time visiting the offices of producers, nightclubs, and theaters—anywhere that she might get a start in show business. Now as she walked down Broadway, snow began to fall in large flakes, and Amelia shivered as the cold bit through her thin clothing. She had invested an inordinate amount of her small savings in one outfit she hoped would impress producers and directors. It consisted of a navy blue tailored suit with a lightweight wool jacket and a checkered skirt, a bow tie, and a cloche hat. A red fox fur, complete with head and tail, gave her outfit a smart touch. Her skirt only went down to her knees—a new fashion that many found shocking. She had seen several newspaper articles quoting clergymen around the world who declared the short styles the work of the devil. The archbishop of Naples had even claimed that Italy’s last major earthquake was due to God’s anger at such indecent exposure. Amelia sniffed at such attitudes. She just enjoyed being stylish.

  She weaved her way through the crowds of last-minute holiday shoppers, aware that men and women alike were casting glances at her legs. The cost of her silk stockings had made her gasp, but she’d simply had to have them. Delicate decorations meandered playfully down either side, and it pleased Amelia to see women looking her over with jealousy and men with a smile of approval.

  The snow began falling harder, and she leaned into the face-numbing wind. She could not afford a cab, but her new apartment was only a few blocks away. The neighborhood was composed of three-story brownstones, once expensive mansions of the rich but now converted into apartments and boardinghouses. She entered her building and walked down the hall, grateful to get out of the wind. Her fingers were stiff as she fumbled in her purse for her key, then clumsily fit it into the lock. As she stepped inside, the warm air from the radiators felt delightful. The apartment was never warm enough at night, but after coming in out of the cold, it provided a comfortable contrast.

  “Is that you, Amelia?”

  “Yes, it’s me.” Amelia took off her hat and tossed it to one side, adding the fox fur with it. She stepped into the bedroom she shared with Blanche Meredith. Amelia considered herself fortunate that Blanche had lost her roommate, opening up the opportunity for Amelia to share the small but clean apartment close to Manhattan’s theater district. Sharing rent helped her conserve her small savings, and the location was convenient to the nightclubs and theaters where she hoped to land a job.

  Blanche Meredith was a tall woman with bleached blond hair and dark blue eyes. Her face still had a prettiness about it, but the years of struggling to make it big in show business had taken their toll. Fine lines around her eyes were visible when she did not have time to skillfully eliminate them with cosmetics. Amelia thought she must have been beautiful at eighteen, but Blanche was one of those types who did not age well, and she was probably pushing thirty now, Amelia surmised.

  Amelia blinked with surprise when she went into the bedroom and saw Blanche filling a suitcase with the rumpled clothing that was scattered on the bed. As Amelia stared, Blanche tossed some underwear in on top.

  “Are you going somewhere for the holidays, Blanche?”

  “No, I’m going somewhere for good.” Blanche fidgeted and lit a cigarette. Her smoking was one habit that irritated Amelia, for the apartment always smelled of tobacco smoke. “I’m giving it up, Amelia.”

  “Giving up what?”

  “The whole thing. I’ve tried it for eight years now, and I haven’t gotten anywhere. I just don’t have what it takes for show business.”

  Amelia was not altogether surprised. Several times during her stay, Blanche had indicated that the strain was too much, but now that she was quitting, Amelia could only say, “Don’t give up. It may get better after the first of the year.”

  “It’ll get worse,” Blanche said flatly. “Look, I know you’ve still got stars in your eyes, Amelia, but this is not a good life. A few people make it to the top, and they’ve got everything. But for every Fanny Brice making it big, there are hundreds like me and you. It’s just not worth it. I gave it my best shot, but—” Here Blanche shook her head, grabbed the last of her undergarments from the bureau drawer, threw them into the suitcase, then slammed the bureau drawer shut. “I’d tell you to do the same while you’re still young, but you’re like I was. You think someday your name’s going to be up in lights.”

  Amelia could not answer. She was already trying to figure out how she could pay the full rent on the apartment. She knew she would have to get another roommate, and the thought of trying to find someone compatible troubled her.

  “But what will you do, Blanche? Where will you go?”

  “Where I’ve always known I’d go. Back home to Concord. It’s where I grew up. My parents are there, and I’ve got two brothers and a sister. They never left the place. I’ll get some kind of a job,” she said bitterly. “At a flower shop or as a waitress maybe. Then I’ll marry a mechanic or a store clerk, have half a dozen kids, and that’ll be it.”

  Amelia moved at once to put her arm around Blanche. “I wish you wouldn’t go. It may get better.”

  “You’re a sweet kid, Amelia, but I’m facing up to it. I’m thirty-one now. That’s old for this business. If you don’t make it quick, you don’t make it at all. You’d better think about it.” Then she laughed suddenly. “But you won’t, and I wish you luck.”

  Amelia hardly knew what to say. “When will you go?”

  “The train leaves at six o’clock. I’ll be up all night in that club car.”

  “Will you write to me?”

  “There won’t be anything to write, Amelia. It’ll be dull, dull, dull. But here’s my address. Write to me and tell me when you’re a star.”

  Since Blanche had a little time before she had to leave, the two women had coffee and sandwiches, but Blanche only nibbled at hers. Amelia desperately wanted to say something that would bring comfort, but what was there to say? This woman had spent a third of her life trying to break into the glittering world of the theater—and had failed. Amelia had seen such women before in producers’ offices as they applied for jobs, the pitiful hope on their faces turning to despair as they heard yet again the hated words We’ll call you. She had seen them on the streets, those who had risked everything and lost it all in this one bid for fame and immortality on the stage. It was almost a disease, Amelia thought, and she herself was infected with it. It made no sense, for she knew well that the odds for success were terrible.

  Finally Blanche rose, and the two women embraced. “I wish I could convince you that this is no life, Amelia, but you’re as stubborn as I was at your age. I hope you make it.” She turned, picked up her suitcase, and left without looking back. Amelia watched her go, and the apartment suddenly seemed very empty. She gazed out through the window at the vast, teeming city and felt like a tiny ship caught in a great maelstrom, slowly being sucked down into black nothingness. She was not a woman given to fits of depression, yet the defeat of her friend and the utter lack of joy and happiness in her eyes had indeed given her an uneasy feeling. She rubbed her hands together and shook her shoulders, muttering grimly, “I’ll make it. I’ll stay no matter what!”

  ****

  Unable to stand the silence of the apartment, Amelia changed into a warmer outfit and went out again. When she had first arrived in New York, she had been eager to see all the sights and had exhausted herself doing so. Now, however, there was no eagerness to see anything new. She was simply fleeing from the leaden silence of her apartment. As she moved woodenly along the street, she noted once again that men were watching her. She was accustomed to this, and a part of her still felt pride in her ability to attract their attention. During her stay in the city
, however, that pride had gradually changed to wariness. She still carried a gun in her purse, although she had only used it the one time she had threatened Dom. That memory came back to her now, and she thought about the big man and about the girl Rosa. A touch of envy rose in her—envy for the girl’s beauty, and also for her family’s apparently unlimited money. Rosa could go anywhere she pleased, do what she liked. What that was Amelia had no idea. She had asked Phil once about the girl, and he had shrugged, saying he hadn’t seen her again. He had added that he felt sorry for her, and when Amelia had asked why, he’d remarked, “She’s got everything . . . and she’s got nothing. That’s a bad combination, sis.”

  With Christmas only two days away, the shoppers were out in force. The city exuded a warm holiday spirit that amazed her. She had thought of New York as a soulless place, but now she sensed a happiness in the crowds and a welcome of the season. She passed people of all ages laughing and smiling, listened to the din of cars blowing their horns, and watched trucks muscling their way through the traffic in the street, their engines rumbling. The scene was noisy as always but had a sense of life and gaiety about it. New York might be as hard as a diamond, but at this time of the year the hardness was not so apparent, only the glittering richness.

  She passed a well-dressed couple and their two children, a boy and a girl, all of them holding hands and laughing as they swung their arms. Amelia was struck with the thought that perhaps there was such a thing as beautiful simplicity for some people. She, on the other hand, was torn between what her parents had taught her and the contrasting complications of the city and of her own heart. She longed for simplicity but could not fathom how to find it in her present life. A fire burned in her to express herself, to find happiness through her work. Phil had found such contentment in college, happily throwing himself into his studies. But for Amelia nothing was that crystal clear or simple.

  As she finally reached Central Park the sun appeared as a white hole in the sky, filtering down antiseptic light. The reds and golds of the trees were long gone, brought down by wind, bruised and discolored by the hammering rains of autumn. Now she stopped by the lake and enjoyed watching the snow fall in long, slanting lines. It covered the ground in strips until all was sheer white, a beauty to behold. There had been nothing like this in Africa, and the splendor of it held her transfixed. The noisy city gradually grew quieter as the carpet of snow muted the cacophony of squealing wheels, blaring horns, and roaring engines.