“In New York, you think? Know where she’s staying? Somebody better look her up, I say,” Warnie chimed in.
“I’ll go,” said Faye, handing her unhappy aunt to Helene’s care. “Warnie can take me. BeBe’s staying with Myrtle, and sometimes she—in the past BeBe’s trusted me. Maybe I can talk to her.” Gaining energy as she saw her uncle possibly softening, she pressed on. “I can drop in on my family and stay with them while I’m in the city. Or I can rent an apartment briefly if they don’t have enough room. Just long enough to talk to BeBe.”
Everyone hung on her uncle’s words. He looked withdrawn, resentful, and disappointed. But slowly he nodded his head. “So be it.”
Quickly, Faye rushed to her room to begin packing. Ed went downstairs to announce Aunt Betty had become ill and the party was over. Helene helped people locate their things and leave in an orderly fashion. Warnie went outside to start up his car. In about ten minutes, Faye was rushing through the now suddenly empty, dark house towards the driveway. Ed and Helene were somewhere back in the depths of the house and she didn’t feel she had time to say goodbye to them, so she softly closed the front door. Behind her in the office Uncle Warren remained standing with Aunt Betty’s arms clasped around him and her head buried in his chest. Faye felt as if her whole life had been shaken in an earthquake. She couldn’t be at fault for not telling them about BeBe. Their behavior only proved how dangerous a secret it was. But it was astonishing that in the blink of an eye she’d found herself heading toward the big city itself on such a vital mission.
Warnie’s hands rolled over the wheel as he backed out of the driveway. “It’s not gonna be easy living back in the Bronx with the litter, you know. Sue’s already told me she wants out. Pop’s having some childish fits now he’s getting on, and threatens to hit Ma. I’ve got to go back to the California, so I can’t help you.”
Yes, Faye knew about that. Sue had written her a couple of weeks ago, worrying about the cramped, unsanitary little home in the Bronx. It was unsafe, filled with noise and quarreling, disordered small children, a laundry girl who stole food and money, and Mr. Powell threatening to hit her and her mother, which he had never done in the past. He’d always been rather proud of being above that before, as his one shred of respectability. Faye had worried about Sue ever since receiving that letter, but had lodged the situation in the back of her mind during the gala preparations. This was one reason she’d jumped at the chance to go to New York and pay them a visit.
“Sue and I could take a place together. Didn’t she get a job somewhere? With me there too, it’d be safe enough to take a place. Just for a little while, to get her moved out of there. The others are all boys, except for Betty Boop.”
Warnie chewed his tongue. “You’re not used to the city. How much money you got? Any cheap place won’t be worth the dime you’ll pay.”
He suggested calling up some nurses he knew to see if any of them would be interested in boarding with his sisters. Safety was greater in numbers, not to mention the street experience the nurses could provide. Faye buzzed with plans all the way to New York, and by the time she stepped off into Grand Central Station it seemed as if a year had passed. The journey was a blur. It was as though she’d stepped out of a sleepy country estate into the hectic business district of New York in one swift motion.
Chapter 17
The Powells’ new home was in a run-down, dirty apartment building, almost as shabby as a tenement, with iron bars on the windows and cigar-smoking drifters and tattered passersby on every street corner. Warnie and Faye navigated their way up the cramped, grimy central staircase. Warnie had to shoulder a couple of roughs out of the way, but Faye took pretty good care of herself on her own. It was insanely noisy. Frowzy women with black curls and foreign accents swatted dusty rugs in her face, and gangs of teenage boys trooped up and down making a deal of racket. The smell of cigarettes and unwashed clothing was overpowering.
Inside her parents’ apartment the noise and smoke only increased even though the crowded hall was now shut out. Faye leaned against the door for a minute to verify that her hat was still on her head. People constantly came to and fro between the apartment and the hall, the door slamming every five minutes. Complete strangers could easily walk into this far too public home without the slightest impediment from anyone. (At least, she was pretty sure the Italian boy and girl going through the pantry in the corner weren’t related to her.) She glimpsed her parents through the smoky haze. Both had gained a lot of weight since she’d seen them last. Her father loudly rose to his feet to greet Warnie, while her mother followed suit. Neither of them seemed to see that Faye was there. Well, no surprise, since you think two of your kids are from across the hall!
“Faye!” a voice exclaimed behind her.
Faye turned and gave her sister a hearty embrace. Sue was shorter than Faye and a bit stocky, with sandy hair like Warnie’s and her mother’s hazel eyes. Her expression was alert and eager, and she was, as a result of living constantly in such disordered conditions, prone to nervous mannerisms and anxious laughter. Faye had always been the pretty sister. People had been unanimous about that. Sue was as aware of it as everyone else, and though Faye deprecated, she had even introduced the topic herself, admiring Faye’s clear complexion and her golden-brown eyes that contrasted in such a pleasing way with her blonde hair. In spite of this endless comparison, not a shadow of jealousy had ever darkened Sue’s behavior towards Faye. Today she was the same as ever—cheerful, marvelously hard-working, and possessing sweet inner qualities that more than compensated for her lack of endowments. Faye was surprised Sue hadn’t had much in the way of boyfriends. Surely some good, hard-working man would show some interest. Sue was such a very nice person after all. Maybe once she gets moved out I could look around for someone for her. I’ll be here a little while, probably. BeBe will be hard to get ahold of.
Sue was soon made aware of the plan to move her out and quickly hustled Faye through the dim, peeling living room. They entered Sue’s tiny, private room. It was really nothing more than a closet built around the water heater, but at least Sue had it to herself.
“Tom and Jerry’s got jobs sellin’ papers and deliverin’ groceries for rich old ladies. Honest, it isn’t too bad for em. One woman gives two dollars a job!”
Faye discreetly indicated the front room, out of which her father’s shouting voice was heard talking to her brother. “Is the painted-up twerp I saw in there . . .”
Sue shrugged ruefully. “Yeah, that’s Betty Boop. Named after our rich Aunt Betty, all right.” She bent her head and toyed with the worn handle of her suitcase. “I’m getting worried about her. She steals. Not just from me anymore. From stores. I’ve seen her carrying things out, but I gave up trying to tell Ma. It’s not worth the uproar and being called nasty names like liar. She is so spoiled . . .” she broke off to keep herself from saying worse words.
Undoubtedly. Betty had been five when Faye last saw her and was now much taller, a slovenly little vixen who wore lipstick though she couldn’t be more than thirteen and constantly screeched. She was propped as “sensitive and shy” by her mother, but the older siblings hadn’t bought it for a minute. Years ago they had christened her Betty Boop after the cartoon character. Little Miss had been crimson with anger, and the name had stuck.
Faye ran a finger over the shabby pictures neatly arranged behind the water heater. You’ve really done pretty well with what you’ve got here, Sue. I’m impressed. “It will be good to have your own place. I’m glad I came when I did.”
Sue shuffled back and forth, continually stepping over Faye’s feet as she packed her belongings into a shabby collection of boxes. After some reorganization, Faye was able to remove enough from one of her suitcases to give it to Sue. Only then did the packing proceed smoothly. Faye let Sue do all the work of it herself, since her ignorance of where Sue kept her items would undoubtedly just make her a nuisance. She sat with her feet curled up and head on one side, watching Sue with h
alf-shut, benevolent eyes.
Sue paused and wiped her tangled bob out of her face. She looked closely at Faye for a minute, as if really taking her in. Then she broke into a smile. “It’s still the same Faye! I always—I don’t know why I do—I always think you’re going to change. That somehow you must change, after living so far away. But every time, you’re still just the same. Just a special person.”
Faye blushed a little and toyed with her hands. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I live in a very quiet way really.”
Sue thumped her small pile of tattered books and other valuables on the bed loudly. “No, no, I’m sure.”
Faye submitted to the truth of Sue’s statements. She loved Sue very much, the most for her quick perceptions and fearless judgments. Too often Faye felt insecurity clouded her behavior and made her liable to a charge of dishonesty. Sue was never afraid to speak her mind.
“Gosh, but I will be glad to get out of here,” Sue concluded, putting hands on hips after zipping up the suitcase. “Dad’s getting worse. Age comin’ on, most likely.”
Faye leaned forward, whispering so low it was hard to hear over the din beyond the door. “I was going to ask you. Does he . . . you know?”
Sue nodded gravely. “Once or twice. He actually hit Ma. The kids were shrieking and Ma was clinging to Betty Boop because they’re close as twins even though Betty’s a kid. I didn’t know what to do. I picked up a hot iron because I’d been ironing some of the clothes, and I waved it at him. He quieted down after that. Dad’s never been like that before.” She got up and shrugged. “But back home, nobody did that. Here in the city things are different, and Dad’s always liable to do what’s around.”
Warnie’s voice was calling them. Following Sue, Faye made her way back through the room—her parents still didn’t seem to realize she was around, but with their general laxness that was not very surprising—and back down the cramped stairway. Many boys and swarthy, curly-headed young men stared after her as she passed. Sue seemed to be unnoticed by them, and Faye ducked her head and shielded her face with her hat to make sure the same thing happened to her.
Over the next week, Faye tried to get in touch with BeBe. Although she felt timid at first, the activity of New York life suited her, and her mind blossomed with desire to participate in the active world that now surrounded her. Illinois was almost a thousand miles away, but it felt much farther. Here, among the bustling immigrants from around the world—the hot-headed, dashing Irish and dark, enthusiastic Italians; the exotic Jamaicans and mysterious, intellectual Jews; the charming Eastern Europeans with their unusual accents and the blacks from all over the Western Hemisphere adding their signature music to the mix—everything took on a more exciting tint. New York had an energy no other place she’d ever known possessed. The new apartment she now shared with Sue and two nurses was near Brooklyn, and Faye saw many distinctive, beautiful Jewish head coverings and ceremonial decorations in the windows of the small shops around. The men were invariably kind and mannerly to her, bowing their heads gravely as she passed. She never felt unsafe around them. Sometimes a beautiful and haunting melody came out of brick buildings where their talented children learned instrument performance to a high artistic degree. Faye thought they were like no other people in the world.
But the Jews weren’t the only people in New York to play fiddles—or to sing and dance. Children and grandchildren of the innumerable immigrants from the land of Erin still filled the neighborhoods of the great city, and sometimes Italian food went along with Irish street clogging in a marvelous way. Young men with red hair loafed around the street curbs while trolleys roared over their heads as they played cards with the African-American men who crowded Harlem. The scent of every kind of food, from luscious pasta to Maine-style clams, from finger-lickin’ fried chicken served by hearty black women with secret recipes, to spicy bean dishes from the tropics. Why, a person could spend a year in New York doing nothing but eat and still not discover the half of what they serve here!
Businesses rose in towering new buildings called skyscrapers, and how well-named they were. Faye would lean her head back until her hat fell off and still never seem to see the top of them. At night brilliant lights in tubes filled with neon lit up the sky until it looked like a jeweled candy world. And in the midst of it all was the music—oh, the music! At every corner there was a jazz saxophonist utilizing richly improvised melodies or a boy playing the harmonica while young people broke into a spontaneous dance. Of course Faye loved the fiddles the best. Their incredible range of expression was unparalleled, and in the hands of every nation they seemed to take on a new timbre and a new soul.
Meanwhile, the search for a chance to talk with BeBe had slightly stalled. BeBe seemed to be avoiding her, not surprisingly. Faye had telephoned Mr. Rivers’ suite and had gotten Myrtle on the line. Myrtle promised to tell BeBe to call back, but of course she hadn’t. Faye had called again. This time she had spoken with BeBe herself, who was very terse, very cryptic, and in a very bad mood. She angrily accused Faye of betraying her confidence and yelled at her for almost an hour before Faye could explain Uncle Warren had learned the truth from someone else entirely. After that, BeBe abruptly ended the call. Faye planned to visit Mr. Rivers’ apartment that evening. If they happened to be out at a movie or something, she would wait until they returned. That was her business in New York after all. She had to get it accomplished.
She put on a nicer dress and a small fur wrap around the shoulders (she’d seen many women wear these in the chilly evenings) and went out the door. Warnie would be furious if he knew she was going alone across town, but then . . . he didn’t have to know, now did he? No harm would come to her from the good people of New York. As she approached the trolley station, vibrant fiddle music poured out of the nearby seafood restaurant. She sighed, tapping her purse. Oh, how I long to be in there! That scent of clams is making me dizzy. She’d far rather be kicking up her heels among these jolly people than go on some boring errand, visiting touchy BeBe for Uncle Warren. But she’d promised and she knew she shouldn’t let the restaurant tempt her. Setting her teeth, she wrapped the furs tighter around her and turned her back to the dancing.
“Faye? Heck, I never thought I’d see you down here. By yourself too,” Ed exclaimed behind her.
Ed! Gollee, what a stroke of luck. Or else. It depends on what sort of an Ed day I’m having. “Ed!” she said, turning around.
Sure enough, Ed stood against the light flooding from the open door. As always, unpredictable in his movements—and, as always, gut-wrenchingly handsome. The way he was standing now, smile a bit on one side and one hand cocked out to her, was enough to turn her legs into putty. She remembered reading a silly book in which a girl sprayed a witch with water and the witch melted. That was just exactly how Faye’s legs felt now—and she had no mind to let Ed’s magic heartthrob act keep her from making her way to Mr. Rivers’ apartment.
Ed walked up, his simple open collar setting off his generally careless style. He seemed to know it set him off. She turned her back and folded her arms. Ed was impossible. Impossible! He couldn’t go on being irresponsibly attractive like this. It was all very well now, but when he was with Helene in the future it . . . well, it wouldn’t be right.
“What are you doing here? Fancy running into you,” she managed to say, squeezing out a nervous smile.
He put his hands in his pockets. Goodness, that nonchalance is just so adorable. “I went up to Wall Street to check on Grover. You know we haven’t been seeing much of him, and I’ve noticed everyone I speak to in New York who ought to know him hasn’t seen him recently.”
That was true. Faye had largely forgotten about Grover—all right, entirely forgotten about him—in the midst of so many more interesting things to consider. “And?”
Ed gave her a rather odd look. “He wasn’t there.”
His tone indicated he thought this was significant. Faye obediently tried to pull her attention off his stunning eyes towards the mor
e prosaic topic of Grover. It made sense after all. Grover was his brother, his only full sibling. Ed probably did worry about him more than other people did.
“Um . . . you don’t think anyone . . .”—she fumbled for ideas—“hit him off or anything? Over gambling or something like that, about money?”
Ed gave her a long, deeply skeptical look. “It’s Grover.”
Right. I’ll give you that one. I doubt anyone thinks about him except us. “I’m going off to Myrtle’s. BeBe keeps avoiding me, but I’ll try to bring her back to Parkdale if I can,” she explained aloud, tossing her head. She knew she was being boring, but she had to be. If Ed couldn’t control his effect on people—and being a little devil, he undoubtedly wouldn’t try to control it—she would be in a pickle. “Did you take Helene out dancing? That’s nice.”
Ed smiled wisely and fluffed his open collar. “Nope, here by myself. Just a few friends I met in town—no ladies. At least not yet. Ladies always welcome, though.”
Faye staggered and turned almost purple as he held out his hand. No . . . no . . . yes, yes, yes . . . no, no, no. Oh, it was the usual Ed gambit. The usual circle in which he was always urging her to aim a dart at him and she was always denying him. The usual wonderful moments spent with him . . . yes, she couldn’t deny they were wonderful.
“Come on, just ten minutes. You’re all trussed up, you know,” he said, giving her a wink. “They’re having dinner guests at Myrtle’s, so you might not want to crash there just yet.”
I’m falling for him, I’m falling for him! Faye gulped hysterically, pressing a hand to her throbbing neck glands. Help me, God, help me. But she knew God wouldn’t help her. If he’d wanted to help her, he wouldn’t have created such a dashingly self-centered and winning man to begin with. Well, that was logic good enough for Faye.
Bellevere House (Vintage Jane Austen) Page 15