Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

“He doesn’t really mean it,” Anita told the young man as he held her close to him. “He’s just afraid I might marry some actor and go away. He knows how I love the movies and the vaudeville shows.”

  Marty said, “You want to go on the stage? Marry me and I’ll take you into my act!”

  “I’d never be able to,” she protested. “I wouldn’t be any good. I don’t know how to sing or dance well enough!”

  “I can show you,” Marty said, and kissed her again. “In fact, I can show you a lot of things!”

  She was trembling now, afraid of her own emotions. She truly cared for the red-haired young man and being in his arms had stirred up feelings which she wished she could ignore. Nervously, she asked, “Shouldn’t we go back and join the others?”

  Marty’s smile was mocking. “They’ve never even noticed we’re not there. Listen to Dad murdering ‘I’m Just Wild About Harry!’ They’ll be singing that for the next ten minutes or so. When they get a favorite number they keep going over it!”

  “Please, Marty, someone might come here and find us like this!”

  “Is it a crime to hug and kiss? If so, I ought to be put in jail, kiddo!” And he laughed.

  “Let me know where I can write you,” she said.

  “Come with me and you won’t have to write,” he told her.

  “I couldn’t! They’d never forgive me!”

  “Listen, forget about them. Think about us! I love you, Nita. You’re the only girl I’d ever ask to marry me. I get the others without any strings.”

  She was trembling and in a troubled voice, she asked, “But Marty, are you sure you truly love me?”

  Marty’s blue eyes were fixed on her in a most peculiar way. His voice suddenly became low and taut and he said, “I’ll prove it to you!” And he took her by the hand and started to lead her up the dark back stairway.

  She pulled back. “We can’t go up there!”

  “Don’t be a ninny!” he said, almost harshly as he literally dragged her up the steep back stairs to the upper floor of the house where the bedrooms were. He halted before a door, opened it and then manipulated her inside. “This is Jenny’s room,” he said. “She won’t be up here and she wouldn’t snitch on us anyway!”

  Anita stared at him in the near darkness, bewildered. “Marty, what is it? Why did you bring me up here?”

  He took her firmly by the arms and pushed her back onto the bed and whispered, “You asked me to prove that I love you! I’m going to do it!”

  And to her added shock he lifted up her skirt and pulled at her scanty underthings. He unbuttoned his trousers and within a matter of a few seconds she felt the pain of his hard sexual organ penetrating her. She gave a tiny whimper of pain and would have cried out had not he placed a hand over her mouth and told her to be silent. Anita had barely gotten over the first discomfort when Marty’s probing came to a throbbing end.

  Now the enormity of what had passed betwen them in that tiny cubicle of a dark room struck her. She began to sob and said, “I’ve always been decent!”

  Marty was buttoning himself up. “You’re decent now!” he told her.

  “No!” she wailed. “I’ve disgraced myself and I’ve disgraced my family!”

  “Holy Mother!” Marty cried, placing his hand over her mouth again. “Not so loud! Next thing you’ll be asking me to bring Father Pat up here for a special confession!”

  “I couldn’t tell Father Pat,” she wailed. “I can’t tell anyone!”

  “Listen,” he said earnestly, bending over her, “You’ve not a thing to cry about! I told you we’d be married, didn’t I? All you’ve got to do is come away with me tonight.”

  She considered it and knew that now she had no alternative. If she refused to marry him she might find herself alone with a baby in Lynn in nine months! And she knew what her father would have to say about that! Her mother as well!

  In a panic, she said, “Where will I meet you?”

  “I’ll wait for you out back of your place. I’ll go to the station first and get our tickets and check my baggage. Then I’ll come back for you and your bag. Don’t bring more than one!”

  “I only have one,” she said sorrowfully. “And I haven’t enough good clothes to fill that. Can I bring my doll with me?”

  “Your doll?” Marty said incredulously. “What kind of a bride am I getting?”

  “It’s my good luck charm,” she told him. “My grandfather gave it to me. It always brings me luck!”

  “Okay!” Marty said with disdain. “So bring it along! And do you have any money?”

  She nodded. “Almost forty dollars. I’ve been keeping it under my mattress. To take me to Hollywood one day.”

  “Bring the money with you,” he said, rising. “We may need it — it costs money to be married. And I’ll take you to Hollywood!”

  “All right, Marty,” she said, halting her tears and beginning to shamefacedly arrange her clothes. As she covered her nudity it occurred to her she was probably the only girl who had ever lost her virtue to the rousing melody of “Barney Google,” which Dan Nolan was roaring out in the room below them.

  “We’d better get back to the party,” Marty said smoothing back his hair. “I’ve got some drinking to finish.” His urge to return to the party was in direct contrast to his lack of interest in it before.

  “I hope I look all right,” she worried as she stood up fumbling with her skirt.

  “No one will know,” he promised her. “There’s no special look on you after a little tumble in the hay. The girls in the shows often do a trick and then go straight onstage singing and dancing and no one ever guesses.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said. “My face feels red still!”

  “It wasn’t your face that was involved,” Marty jeered at her. “Let’s get going.”

  “When do we meet?” she wanted to know.

  “One-thirty,” he told her. “The train leaves at two. And be sure you get out of the house without anyone hearing you.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she promised. “I can’t believe we’re going to run off together and get married!”

  “That’s life, kid,” Marty told her somewhat impatiently. “You just happen to be a lucky girl.”

  They went back down to the riotous party and it was true that no one seemed to have noticed they’d been away. But when Marty’s sister, Jenny, smiled at her, Anita turned beet red at the thought of the way they’d rumpled her bed.

  The singing went on and by enthusiastic request Marty did another tap dance. After that he amazed her by the amount of gin he downed within a short time. She hoped that he wouldn’t get so drunk that he’d forget all about meeting her. The singing went on with Dan Nolan and Molly doing a duet of “Mr. Gallagher and Mr. Shean,” which was very well received.

  “Where were you and Marty?” It was the Italian youth, Louis back again, smiling at her in a wise fashion.

  “Nowhere!” she stammered.

  “I’ll bet you had lots of fun there,” Louis teased her. “Your dress is all wrinkled in the back.

  “Don’t talk that way to me!” she protested indignantly, looking for Marty to come to her aid. But Marty was having another gin.

  “You needn’t worry about me, kid, I can keep a secret,” Louis said with another of his teasing smiles and then went on to join the group where Marty was holding forth.

  Anita decided the party was over as far as she was concerned. She edged her way to the front door and then let herself out into the cool night. She hurried across to her house, a shabby frame structure like the Nolans’. All the rest of the family were at the party so she was able to go straight up to her room, turn on the solitary light and by its soft glow drag her battered cardboard suitcase out and place it on her bed. She quickly transferred all her scant supply of clothing to the suitcase and then put in her make-up, and lastly her beloved doll with real brown hair and eyes which opened and closed, depending on how it was tilted. At least she wasn’t venturing out into th
e world without an old friend. She arranged the doll amid her clothes and tilted its legs so that it fitted into the suitcase neatly. Then she snapped the suitcase closed, sat it on the floor and began the vigil until one-thirty.

  A little after midnight she heard the rest of the family come home. The younger members went dutifully to their rooms and then her father and mother came upstairs, laughing and talking as they often did when they were more than a little drunk. They went into their room and closed their door with a slam. She felt a great moment of relief. They had not noticed she was missing.

  She placed her forty dollars in her pocketbook and then warily made her way downstairs with her suitcase in hand. She let herself out the back door, which her father had carefully locked on the inside. Then she stood shivering in the shadows waiting for her love.

  Marty was late in coming and she was beginning to have moments of real despair when she heard an uneven footstep and saw him approaching. He bowed to her drunkenly and, swaying, took her bag in hand and motioned for her to follow him.

  She did so and as soon as they were a distance from her house, she asked him anxiously, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m drunk,” he said sagely as he stumbled along. “But I’m all right. In fact, I feel fine!”

  She stared at him as she walked along at his side. “I never saw you like this!”

  “Get used to it, kiddo,” the young man told her. “I have a big thirst and lots of capacity.”

  Anita was glad the railroad platform was deserted but for the half-dozen members of the vaudeville troup. They were all standing huddled together and looking weary, and none of them even glanced at her. For this she was grateful.

  Mr. Mooney, the station master, wasn’t around and as soon as the train pulled in, Marty shoved her onto it. “Second class,” he told her. “We always travel second class. Saves money.”

  Since she had never travelled on a train before, the big car with its battered wooden seats and smell of tobacco smoke seemed quite comfortable, warm and inviting.

  The rest of the company came aboard, grumbling. She watched as they stowed their bags on the iron shelves above them and complained about the hard seats and the filthy condition of the train.

  A big woman who sang ballads in a husky contralto voice sat across from them. She wore a wide-brimmed hat and a black old-fashioned dress and her stout figure, crowned by her painted and mascaraed face, looked much older and less friendly than when she was on stage.

  She told Marty, “This is a rotten little railway line! Can’t compare with the Lake Erie and Pennsylvania!”

  “You should know,” Marty said, removing his hat and bowing. “You’re the queen of the second class!”

  The fat woman shot him a dark look. “And I see you’ve fetched along a princess for yourself! I’ll bet her folks will be just delighted! And wait until Sherman Kress sees her!”

  “Mind your stinking business!” Marty said in a drunken, slurred voice. He sank down onto the seat next to Anita and promptly gave her a sloppy kiss.

  From across the carriage, the fat woman said, “If you’re smart, kid, you’ll get off this train quick and run home! Don’t say that Madame Irma didn’t warn you!”

  “That for you!” Marty told Madame Irma, fingering his nose at her. The big woman snorted indignantly and turned her back on him.

  The train started with a jolt and a sleepy-eyed conductor accompanied by a shrivelled little assistant came by, punched their tickets and sent disapproving glances their way.

  “What now?” Anita asked when the two railway men moved on.

  “Sleep,” Marty mumbled, annoyed at her making him open his eyes. “Unless you want to go to the bathroom. It’s down at the end of the car.”

  Anita felt she’d be more comfortable for making the trip, so she made her way down the railway car, holding onto the tops of the seats as it clattered unevenly along. She passed a pretty-faced young girl with her eyes closed. Seated next to her was an older man in a bowler hat and shabby black suit. He had a lined, jowled face, and his neck seemed to have shrunk inside his hard collar. He had the look of a man who might once have been fat and who was now thinner and doleful as well.

  Further along sat a very suave (by Anita’s standards) young man with a black mustache and long sideburns, wearing a brown homburg and an expensive-looking brown suit. He was Romero, the magician — Anita recognized him at once. Next to him sat a crabby-looking little man who had been the master of ceremonies for the troupe and who had held the stage for a few minutes on his own, telling some pretty stale jokes. Even Anita had heard them all before. As she passed, the little man glared at her.

  When she returned from the washroom at the end of the car, the crabby-looking little man was standing with his hand on the back of a seat, facing Marty and glaring at him. To her surprise Marty seemed to be afraid of the sour man, and cringed before his stern gaze.

  The little man introduced himself. “I’m Kress! Who are you?”

  Stunned by the way he’d rasped the question at her, Anita took a few seconds before she could reply in a stricken voice, “I’m going to marry Marty!”

  “So he claims!” Sherman Kress scowled. “But he’s told me a few stories before! Did you run away from home or are you with us by your parents’ permission?”

  She gasped, “My parents want me to marry him!”

  “They must be soft in the head,” Sherman Kress snarled with a disgusted look at Marty again. “I don’t want this company in any trouble with the law!”

  “Don’t worry!” she pleaded.

  “I’ll worry,” the little man declared. “But I don’t suppose it will do any good as long as you two stick to your story. But I warn you, as long as this tour goes on I’m handing out no extra money for lodgings or expenses. Just you and your Marty-boy be certain of that!”

  Marty found his voice to say sullenly, “We got money to pay our way! We don’t need anything from you!”

  “That’s great!” Sherman Kress said sarcastically. “Too bad I ain’t got a rich uncle like you! Well, you mind how you behave, and remember what I said!” And he went back to sit with the magician again.

  Anita was near tears as she sat next to Marty and saw that Madame Irma had been thoroughly enjoying the scene. Now the fat woman turned to the window and ignored them. She said unhappily, “Everyone seems so hateful and angry. I though show people were kind to each other!”

  “Are you nuts?” Marty stared at her sleepily.

  “It’s nothing like I expected,” she continued tearfully.

  He reluctantly put an arm around her. “You’ll get used to it. Try and get some sleep.”

  “Are we going to be on this train all night?” she wanted to know.

  “Yep. And most of tomorrow. We switch at the New York State border but we don’t have to leave the train. Just change engines and baggage cars.”

  “What about food?”

  “A porter will come through selling sandwiches and drinks,” he said. “You bring that money with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Better give it to me,” he said. “Someone might slip it out of your pocketbook while you’re sleeping.”

  Anita gave him the forty dollars and he put it in his wallet, stowed the wallet away and immediately went into a drunken sleep, snoring in her ear so that she couldn’t even think of sleeping. She was afraid to move, feeling sure he’d be angry if she waked him. So she hunched there against him for hours, unhappy and uncomfortable. At last she fell into a cramped troubled sleep.

  The jolting of the train moving backwards in an eerie fashion wakened her and she sat up with a start. Marty was still sound asleep.

  Madame Irma glanced across at her with a sympathetic look on her broad, overly made-up face, and said, “We’re just switching and hitching onto the other train, dearie. It’s all right.”

  “Thank you,” Anita said gratefully. She felt awful and there was a terrible crick in her neck.

  “I saw yo
u give him that money,” the older woman said. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “I wanted him to have it,” she said, caressing her neck and hoping it would feel better shortly.

  “He’s no good, you know that!”

  She looked at the older woman with troubled eyes. “Do you think you should say such things to me?”

  “Not to hurt you, dearie,” the big woman said. “Madame Irma never deliberately hurt anyone. I’m trying to put a flea in your ear, that’s all!”

  “A flea in my ear?”

  “I’m telling you what I know about him,” the big woman said. “He drinks too much, he runs after every skirt he sees, and worst of all, he has a rotten singing voice and he can’t even dance all that well.”

  Anita gasped at the enormity of what she was hearing. She said, “Surely there must be something good you can say about him?” There was a brief pause as Madame Irma considered.

  “He’s never murdered anyone as far as I know,” the fat woman said dourly.

  “I’m going to marry him!”

  “I’ve had three husbands,” Madame Irma told her. “None of them were worth sharing a double bed with. The single life, that’s the best! Take it from me! I’ve lived and I’ve suffered!”

  “You have a lovely singing voice,” Anita told her.

  “Thank you, dearie, I was big time once.”

  “Big time?” Anita repeated, in puzzlement.

  Madame Irma shook her head. “You don’t know a anything, dearie. I swear I never met anyone so dumb! ‘The big time’ means the big houses where they pay you real money. Not a two-bit show like this where you hardly make enough to live like a galley slave!”

  “Then why are you with this kind of show?”

  “Misfortune, dearie,” the big woman said. “As you can see, I’m not all that young anymore. And I’ve put on a little too much weight. I relaxed the last time I married. He promised he’d take care of me for the rest of his life. The trouble was, he didn’t live long! A mean Dago caught him in his wife’s bed and put a knife in him! End of my third and final marriage!”

  “I’m sorry,” Anita sympathized.

  “So am I,” Madame Irma said emphatically. “Now I’m reduced to working in a show like this, because I’m broke and I’ve passed my prime. But that little twerp you’re thinking of marrying is never going to make it. He doesn’t have much ability and he won’t work hard with what he has.”