The Ladies of Garrison Gardens

by Louise Shaffer

  The checks were one of the many taboo subjects Mama refused to talk about. Iva Claire knew the envelopes always bore the same return address in Georgia but she didn't know who sent the allowance or how much it was. What she did know was, the money was the only safety net they had, and even Mama, who spent their pay as soon as she got it, was careful with the check money. Until now.

  A floorboard behind her creaked, and she turned fast. Her mother was staring at her. “What are you doing in my room?” she demanded.

  “Mama, I didn't hear you.” Her mother's eyes were wild and black. Something was wrong, something more serious than finding Iva Claire in her bedroom. “Who called you?” Iva Claire asked. “Is everything all right?”

  “You were spying on me.”

  “Big Hannah said we haven't paid the rent. . . .”

  Mama moved to the dresser so fast Iva Claire didn't know it had happened. “You want to know how much I spent?” she screamed. She yanked open the top drawer. Her clothes spilled out as she grabbed the box and threw it against the wall. Bills and coins scattered on the floor. “Are you happy now? There's your precious money! That's all we have left! Get down on your knees and pick it up, since you love it so much.”

  “Mama, don't—”

  “I wanted this to be a good time for us, but you take the joy out of everything!”

  “Mama, please don't cry—”

  But Mama had already started. “You've ruined my life from the day you were born! I had a career. I was on my way. But I couldn't work with a baby. For five long years I couldn't work because of you. Do you know what that does to an actress?”

  Iva Claire knew. She'd heard it before. She wished it didn't still hurt.

  “I could have given you up. That's what I was told to do. But I kept you!”

  “Mama, I didn't mean to upset you. . . .”

  Mama was sobbing now. The tears were pouring down her face. Soon she'd start having trouble breathing. “I was young and pretty, and there were plenty of men too. But no man wants a girl with a baby. Do you know how boring it is to be locked up with a three-year-old child night after night? Do you know how it feels to watch everyone get ahead of you? Girls who don't have half your talent are working, and you're trapped?”

  “Mama, please. . . .”

  “And now you're blaming me? After you took everything?”

  “I never said—”

  “Well, damn you, I won't let you break me. Do you hear me? You will not do it!” She ran through the apartment to the front door; then she turned. “I could have gotten rid of you, you know,” she gasped. “There are ways to do it.”

  That was something she'd never said before. Mama left, slamming the door behind her.

  Over the years, Iva Claire had learned that there was no point in crying. But there were times when it was hard to keep from doing it. The best way was to stay very still with your eyes closed tight so no tears got out. And it was important to make your mind a blank. So she stood in the middle of the room without moving, squeezed her eyes shut, made her hands into fists, and tried to make her mind behave.

  Don't think about it, she told herself.

  I could have gotten rid of you, Mama's voice said in her brain.

  Don't think.

  There are ways, said the voice.

  Don't think, don't think, don't think!

  Chapter Twenty-one

  IVA CLAIRE WAITED until she was sure she wasn't going to cry. Then she opened her eyes, went into Mama's bedroom, and started putting the clothes back in the drawer. She was folding a blouse when she heard a knock on the door. Mama hadn't taken her key when she ran out.

  She thought about not opening it, but sometimes after her mother had been really mad, she got dizzy and had to lie down. Iva Claire walked slowly to the door.

  Mama wasn't there. No one was. Thinking she'd been imagining things, Iva Claire was about to close the door when a little growl at her feet made her look down. A small white dog stood on her hind legs in the doorway. She was dressed in a red velvet hat and a matching red jacket, both trimmed with gold braid, like a bellhop in a fancy hotel. In her mouth she was holding, by a string, a box from Pozo's bakery down on Ninth Avenue. After a second, she dropped to all fours and let the box go. Then she sat back up, showing off the most dazzling part of her costume, the collar around her neck. It was a band, about two inches wide, that Iva Claire happened to know was made of eighteen-carat gold and had come from Tiffany's jewelry store. It was because of her collar that the dog had been billed as FRITZIE, THE THOUSAND-DOLLAR DOG during her performing days.

  “Hey, doll, Fritzie and me just got some fresh cannolis and we thought you'd like one.” A little man appeared from behind the door where he'd been hiding so Fritzie's entrance would have its full effect. Pete Massoni lived in a single room next door to Mama and Iva Claire. For years he'd had an animal act with his wife, Sally, but after she died, he and their last dog, Fritzie, had retired. Now he was another of Big Hannah's tenants, an old man living off his small savings supplemented by her low rents and kindness.

  Iva Claire knew Pete had heard Mama yelling—the wall between Mama's bedroom and Pete's single was thin—and he'd dressed his little dog in her costume and put on her special show collar just to cheer up Iva Claire. Pete believed nothing in the world was so bad that watching Fritzie wouldn't help. But he was wrong this time. Iva Claire was trying to think of a nice way to get rid of him when he got down on his knees next to the dog.

  “She wants to do her whammo finish for you,” he said. He held the little dog's face close to his. The two of them were looking at Iva Claire, Pete with his anxious smile and Fritzie with her sweet tired old eyes. Iva Claire gave up and got down on the floor next to them.

  “Let me see you do the finish, Fritzie,” she said.

  Frtizie was fourteen, and Pete had to stay close to her when she did her tricks these days to make sure she didn't fall. But she was still a trouper. She got up on her hind legs, put her two front paws out in front of her in a way that was part begging and part saying I love you to an imaginary crowd, and turned slowly to the left and then to the right. Then she turned around once, sat back on her haunches, lowered her head as far as it could go, and bowed. Iva Claire clapped loudly.

  “You shoulda seen her do that on the stage,” Pete said, as he scooped up the little dog and gave her a kiss. “Every night she found the light so it bounced off her collar.” He got to his feet, picked up the cannoli box, and held it out to Iva Claire. “My wife Sally always used to say she liked something sweet when she was feeling blue,” he said.

  She couldn't take the box because she'd start crying. But she couldn't say no to Pete either. She stood there staring at him.

  “Your ma didn't mean it, doll,” he said gently. “She just wants”—he searched for the right words—“someone to see her. That's all.”

  “I see her,” Iva Claire said. “I see Mama all the time.”

  “She needs an audience. I ain't saying it's right, it's just what we all want,” Pete looked down at Fritzie in his arms. “Maybe it's because we don't want to be who we are. Look at me, doll. Not smart, nothing to look at, no matter what my Sally used to say. But when I was on that stage, I was Rudolph Valentino! If it hadn't been for show business, I'da been just another schlub, working at the clock factory like my old man and my brothers.”

  “You're not a schlub—” Iva Claire started to say, but Pete cut her off.

  “All I'm saying, you don't know what your ma doesn't want to be.”

  “Big Hannah's happy being who she is.”

  Pete nodded. “But not everyone is a tough cookie like Big Hannah. Or you, you're one of the strong ones too, kiddo. Just remember that. Now, how about that cannoli?”

  She took the box. “Thank you,” she said.

  He nodded happily and went back inside his room.

  Iva Claire dropped the cannolis on the sofa and returned to the hallway. She hurried down the narrow passage to the black metal
door at the end. In spite of a sign that said DO NOT ENTER, she opened the door and began climbing a steep staircase to a second metal door, which she also opened and stepped out onto the roof of the boardinghouse. Behind her, the door slammed shut with a clang.

  The roof was flat with a rim around it that was about a foot high, like a low wall. Mama was nestled against the rim with her face buried in her hands. She must have heard the door slam shut but she didn't look up. Iva Claire moved to her.

  “It's getting dark, Mama. You need to come inside.”

  In the beginning darkness, Iva Claire could see she was still crying. Iva Claire sat down next to her and put her arms around her mother's little body, knowing it was the only way to stop the shaking that would come next.

  “It's all right, Mama,” she crooned. “It's all right.”

  “You're all I have, Claire de Lune. There's no one without you.”

  “I know.” Iva Claire stroked the curly black hair. And then, even though it wasn't fair, she said, “I'm sorry I made you mad, Mama.” After all, she was the strong one. “Now, get up,” she added cheerfully. “We have to go downstairs and finish rehearsing. We open in a week!”

  Mama cried harder.

  “Mama, you're going to make yourself sick. I'm sorry I looked in the money box.” She meant it now; she really was sorry. “Mama, you're scaring me.”

  Mama gulped back sobs until she was finally quiet. Then she stood up so she was facing her daughter.

  “You should be scared,” she said. “Things are worse than you thought.”

  They'd been canceled. That was what the phone call had been about. They were going to lose the fifty bucks they would have been paid, and they weren't going to be seen by any booking agents. Whatever small chance they'd had of getting a longer run in Manhattan was gone. Mama's gamble hadn't paid off and the dream act was finished.

  What had done them in was the Gerry Society. That was what show-biz people called the New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, after its founder, Elbridge Gerry. In New York, children could appear onstage as long as they were out of the theater by 9:05 P.M., but they couldn't sing or dance unless they had a special permit from the Gerry Society. When Lenny realized that the younger of the two Sunshine Sisters was only twelve, it didn't matter what kind of promises he'd made to Mama, he wouldn't let them go on. He'd had run-ins with the Gerry Society before.

  “And the worst part is, there's an inspector at the Gerry Society who will look the other way for fifteen dollars a day,” Mama said.

  Thirty bucks—that meant they'd have twenty left over. It wasn't much, but if they put it together with what they had, and if Big Hannah would carry them awhile longer, they might be able to hang on until they could scrape something else together. There was always the chance that their lousy act would get a booking.

  “Tell the inspector we'll give him the money as soon as we get paid,” Iva Claire said.

  “He wants it before we go on.”

  “I'll lie about my age. I get away with it in the act—”

  “Lenny already knows you're too young, and he won't take the chance unless we bribe the inspector.” Mama took in a deep shuddery breath. “I'm sorry, Iva Claire.”

  It was the scariest thing she could have done. Mama never apologized. “I spent every dime we have.” Mama's mouth made a funny, twisted little smile. “My father always said I couldn't do anything right.” This was even worse than apologizing. Mama never mentioned her family. It was like she'd suddenly become someone Iva Claire didn't know. “Daddy used to say I was stupid,” Mama went on. “Looks like he was right. He always was.”

  Iva Claire couldn't stand it anymore. “We're going to do the act,” she said. “We will, Mama.” Anything to get rid of this calm sad stranger who sounded so beaten and bring back her mother.

  “You don't even like the act.”

  “Yes, I do! It's beautiful. There's nothing else like it. We'll knock 'em dead.”

  Mama shook her head, but she was starting to smile. Iva Claire rushed on, grabbing at words, not knowing where they came from.

  “We can't quit show business, Mama. What would we do? We're not civilians.”

  And if there was a small voice inside her saying this was her chance for a real home and a real life, a much bigger voice commanded, Don't think about it.

  “I want to do the act.” She was lying as hard as she could.

  And finally, Mama showed signs of life. “You do?” she said eagerly. “Really, Claire de Lune?”

  “More than anything.”

  Mama started pacing. “We need money.” she said. “We have to find some money.”

  That was when they heard Fritzie barking in Pete's room below them.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  THE WORLD IS FULL of ifs and maybes. If Fritzie hadn't barked at that very moment, maybe Mama never would have thought of her terrible plan. And if Charles Lindbergh hadn't flown across the Atlantic Ocean and had a ticker-tape parade, maybe Mama wouldn't have come up with a way to make her plan work. But Fritzie had barked, Lucky Lindy had landed safely in Paris, his parade was scheduled for the following Monday, and Mama had her plan. When Iva Claire heard it, her heart sank.

  “You want to steal Fritzie's collar and pawn it?”

  “I won't steal it, Claire de Lune, I'll borrow it. We'll give it back.”

  They were back downstairs in their sitting room now. Mama had closed the window in case their voices carried out to the street, and they were whispering so no one could hear them through the walls. The whole idea was so unreal, it was funny, but Mama wasn't laughing.

  “We'll pawn the collar and get enough money to pay the inspector. Then when we're paid, we'll redeem the collar and put it back where we found it.”

  “Mama, you can't.”

  “The old man will never know it's gone. He doesn't put it on the dog every day.”

  “But what if Pete looks for it?”

  “It'll be gone for three days, that's all. Your precious Pete will never know.”

  “Maybe we could borrow the money, Mama.” But the only people they knew well enough to ask were Pete and Big Hannah. Pete didn't have it to spare, and they already owed Big Hannah for the rent. Then she thought of something. “Mama, what about the checks? Maybe whoever sends them could give us some more—”

  “No.” Her mother's voice cracked like a whip.

  Years later, when she looked back on the moment, Iva Claire thought maybe if she'd been a little older she would have resisted Mama. Or if she'd had a life of her own with school and friends her own age maybe she could have put up more of a fight. But she was only twelve. And trying to make Mama happy was what her life was about.

  “All right, Mama, we'll do it,” she said softly.

  Mama's eyes filled with tears, and she hugged Iva Claire hard.

  “It'll be easy, Claire de Lune, you'll see. Everyone in the boardinghouse is going to Lindbergh's parade. I'll take the collar then.”

  Iva Claire looked at her mother and thought about how quickly Mama got angry and how easily she cried. She thought about how Mama got carried away and spent all their money even when she didn't mean to. And she made a decision.

  “Let me do it, Mama,” she said.

  And for a long time after that, she would remember that her mother only hesitated for a second before she said yes.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  THE MORNING OF THE PARADE, it seemed like the whole city of New York was having a holiday that was as good as Christmas, your birthday, and the Fourth of July all rolled into one. As she walked to Fifth Avenue surrounded by laughing, excited people who were going out to celebrate, Iva Claire wished with everything she had that she could be one of them.

  Don't think about it, she told herself.

  She'd been telling herself that all morning. It had kept her from crying when she looked at Pete across the breakfast table, and when Big Hannah handed her a box camera, and said, “Here, child, this is fo
r you. You'll show your grandchildren the snapshots you took today.”

  Don't think about it.

  The parade was starting at the Battery and coming up Fifth Avenue. The group from the boardinghouse was going to watch from the front of the New York City Public Library. They left right after breakfast, but by the time they reached the library steps a big crowd had already formed. This was what Iva Claire and Mama had been counting on. Iva Claire asked Mama if she could go off on her own and try to get closer to Fifth Avenue. Mama said yes, but if Iva Claire got lost, they would all meet after the parade near one of the lions in front of the library. Then Mama told her to have fun, gave her a quick kiss, and sent her off.

  Iva Claire was careful to turn back a couple of times and wave at her mother as if she was trying to keep her in sight. Then she ducked in and around the clumps of people as fast as she could until she was out of the crowd. At the outer fringe she stopped, took a deep breath, and started walking fast back to Hell's Kitchen.

  As she was taking out her key to unlock the boardinghouse front door, it occurred to her that someone might see her there on the stoop. She and Mama had assumed everyone would go to the parade, but what if one of the neighbors hadn't? What if one of them was home right now looking out the front window?

  Don't think about it.

  She went in.

  The parlor was dark, but she knew what she was looking for. There was a rolltop desk where Big Hannah kept a spare key for every room in the house. It took less than a minute to find the one with Pete's name on it, and a couple of minutes more to climb the stairs and unlock his door. She stopped on the threshold with her heart beating hard. Pete had never asked her to come into his room.

  The box camera was in the way—she hadn't known what to do with it—so she put it on the floor outside the door and went in. Pete's single room was the same size as the one Mama used as a bedroom, but Mama's room always looked like she was about to move out of it. Pete's was crammed full of things. There were shelves full of scrapbooks and the kind of knickknacks people pick up in hotels and train stations. Framed publicity stills of a young Pete with Sally and their dogs were on the walls. This was Pete's home.