by Vickie Hall
A girl Bonnie had seen in the classroom meandered toward her. “You’re the new girl, aren’t you?”
Bonnie simply nodded and kept swinging.
“Where are you from?”
Bonnie scowled for a minute and debated how to answer. “Around.”
The girl cocked her head. “Around? What’s that mean?”
“Well—” Her thoughts spiraled around what to answer. She couldn’t bear to tell her the truth, that this was the first real home she’d ever had. She reached up and tugged on her earlobe, stalling for time as she decided wha t to say. “We came from up north, around Sacramento.”
“Oh, I’ve never been there,” the girl said, taking the swing next to Bonnie. “My name is Susan. What’s yours?”
“Bonnie.”
Susan began to swing in unison with her. “Do you like it here?”
Bonnie nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Why did you move?”
“My dad got a better job.”
“Doing what?”
Bonnie screwed up her face. “You sure ask a lot of questions.”
Susan looked indignant for a moment, but then pursued her questioning. “Do you have any brothers and sisters?”
“No, it’s just me.”
“Gee, you’re lucky. I have two brothers and two sisters,”Susan said. “They’re all older than me. They call me the baby of the family. I hate that. You’re lucky you’re the only kid.”
Bonnie pondered that a moment. She’d never considered it lucky to be an only child. “What’s it like having brothers and sisters?”
Susan shrugged. “Sometimes it’s good, like when they give me candy so I won’t tell on them.”
“Tell on them about what?”
Susan narrowed her eyes and peered up at the sky as if calculating her answer. “Like, if they sneak out of the house at night without my parents knowing and I hear them. Or, when my mom sends them to the grocer for something and they buy a candy bar with some of the money. You know, they’re afraid I’ll tattle.”
Bonnie leaned forward in the swing. “So if you tattled and they got in trouble, your dad would beat them, right?”
Susan’s eyes widened, and she gasped in surprise. “Oh, gosh, no! My dad never hits us. We just get sent to our room without supper or might not be able to go to the movie for a week.”
From the sound of shock in Susan’s voice, Bonnie came to understand that not all fathersbeat their children. “Oh,” she said.
“Why? Does your dad hit you?”
The question came like a bolt of lightning, charging through Bonnie’s body with a visceral shock. Bonnie couldn’t answer, couldn’t tell the truth. She suddenly felt ashamed and embarrassed. She rubbed the earlobe between her thumb and forefinger. “Oh, no. My dad’s as gentle as a lamb.”
The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them. It was as if she had no choice in the matter. The lie felt good on her tongue, melting the bitter truth with its silky taste.
“We do lots of things together,” Bonnie continued. “He takes me to the movies and buys me pop corn. And for Christmas last year, he bought me a new bicycle.”
“Hey, maybe we could go riding together,” Susan suggested with eager anticipation.
“Oh, well, beforewe moved here, it was stolen.” Bonnie gaveSusan a look of disappointment, and her lower li p jutted forward in a pout. “But maybe I’ll get a new one for my birthday, and then we can go riding.”
Susan bounced out of the swing, as if her allotted time with the new girl had ended. “Okay, gotta go. See you later.”
Bonnie let her swing come slowly to a stop as the soles of her shoes scuffed against the gravel. She paused a bit longer in the world she’d created, the one whereher father took her to the movies and bought her popcorn and a bicycle, and never hit her.
///////
When she arrived home from work, Bonnie took down the red leather box from the top of the closet and placed it on her bed. She opened the bureau drawer and shuffled through her stockings until she found the tiny silk purse embroidered with a Chinese dragon motif. She pinched open the little clasp and withdrew the key that would open the box.
She put the key into the lock and turned it. Her fingers slid along the lid, feeling the grainy texture of the leather. She hesitated, lifting the lid only an inch, then closed it again. The myst erious magnetic draw of the things inside possessed a power over her, things from which she couldn’t seem to separate herself. She knew it was dangerous to keep these things, secrets from her past, strident in proclaiming her guilt. But she was helpless against them, unable to be rid of the very evidence that could condemn her.
Her hand came to rest on the top of the box. She locked it again and slipped the key back into its silken purse. Her hands trembled slightly as she returned the box to its resting place and pushed her memories to the far recesses of her mind.
Bonnie poured herself a cup of coffee and stood at the living room window. Pulling back the ruffled edge of the white Priscilla curtain, she sipped the hot liquid and stared out into the courtyard. The sun drenched the dewy lawn in early morning light, beating back the cool shadows of dawn. She let out a discontented sigh and glanced at her watch. She wished she didn’t have to go to work, didn’t need the money. That part had been easier in San Diego, the money—until there was too much money. It had been so nice to be able to go where she wanted, when she wanted, and have plenty of money to spend. She couldn’t count the number of hours she’d spent inside a movie theater, sitting in the dark, absorbed in a make-believe world where she didn’t have to think. How she loved the lives other people lived in the movies, wished that she could live those lives. Sometimes, after watching the same movie again and again, she’d close her eyes and become Ingrid Bergman to Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, or Claudette Colbert to Clark Gable in Boom Town. She would mirror the dialogue, vicariously become the woman on the screen. She loved it, loved being someone else.
Bonnie checked her watch again and took another sip of coffee. She needed to leave for work, but a nagging reluctance kept her from moving. Her resistance was only a momentary rebellion, and she finally peeled away from the window and headed out the door.
///////
Bonnie placed her handbag and hat in her locker, took a cursory look in the mirror, and started for her station. She was beginning to feel like a caged rat, living alone in an apartment, working in the tight quarters of the switchboards, trapped within the confines of an uneventful life. That unquenchable urge to break free of her dull routine began to resurface, her limbs itching for movement, her soul hungry for some sort of action.
She pulled out her chair and then spun around with a bright smile. “Hey girls,” she called to the others, beckoning their attention with her hands. “What do you say we all go dancing tonight?”
“On a Thursday?” Janet asked as she fitted her headset to her ear.
“Sure. Why not?” Bonnie looked hopeful. “Why wait until the usual Friday or Saturday night? Don’t people dance on Thursdays, too?”
“Count me out,” said one of the others. “My sister’s bringing her kids over for me to tend.”
“Can’t she find someone else?” Bonnie prodded.
“Nah, I promised her.”
Bonnie turned toward the three women who sat across from her. “What about it, girls?” Each one had some excuse as to why they couldn’t accept Bonnie’s last-minute invitation.
Bonnie looked at her last hope, Janet. The woman’s face seemed to register Bonnie’s disappointment. “Okay, I’ll go with you,” she said.
The corners of Bonnie’s mouth turned upward and she clapped her hands together. “That a girl, Janet! We’ll paint the town red.”
Janet flicked her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know about painting the town red, but I do love to dance.”
“Yeah, until some guy uses your bosom for a headrest,” one of the girls cracked.
Bonnie laughed, cocked her h
ip, and rested her hand on her waist. “Oh, you just have to know how to handle that kind.”
Janet swiveled in her chair. “There are some nice soldiers who come to dance most every night at the Chez Paree. They pretty much mind their manners.”
“It’s not too late to change your minds,” Bonnie sang out to the other women. “You know, do your duty for the troops?”
Mrs. Kemp stepped into the center of the room and pointed at the clock. “Take your seats, ladies. It’s time to start work.”
The door to the exchange opened a few inches and Christine poked her head inside. She waited for Bonnie to look at her. “Lunch?”
“Sure,” Bonnie said, reaching for the back of her chair.
“Come on up when you’re ready.”
Bonnie nodded and waved as she took her seat, Mrs. Kemp’s eyes boring hot holes into her back. She cast a sideways glance at Mrs. Kemp, then turned her attention to the glowing lamp on her switchboard.
///////
Bonnie watched as Christine finished typing her document, scrolled it free of the platen, then fished out the carbon paper. “I should only be a second longer,” Christine said.
Bonnie smiled. “It’s all right. Finish up.”
A man exited from his office and looked at Christine. He was tall, well dressed, with a swath of sandy hair. He seemed too distracted to notice Bonnie.
“Miss Burgess,” he called. His voice had a hint of frustration in it.
Christine pivoted and smiled. “Yes, Mr. Warsoff?”
“Have you seen the Hadderton file? I could have sworn it was on my desk.”
Christine chuckled quietly at the man’s exasperated look. “I believe Mr. Sutter took it for review,” she said.
Paul winced and smacked a balled fist into his open palm. “That’s right.”
“Would you like me to see if he’s finished with it?”
Paul tucked his shirt into his waistband, the pale blue Oxford having come loose. “Yes, that would be great. I need it right away.”
Christine’s brows drew together and she gave Bonnie a quick glance. “I was about to go to lunch—”
Paul sighed. “Oh, all right. I guess it can wait until you return.”
Bonnie stepped forward, her handbag snugged beneath her arm. Paul Warsoff’s head swiveled instantly and scanned the length of Bonnie’s torso. He smiled and approached her. “Introduce me to your friend,” he said to Christine without taking his eyes off Bonnie.
Christine’s hazel eyes shifted between the two of them. “Oh, of course. Mr. Warsoff, this is my friend Bonnie Cooper.”
Paul extended his hand and bowed slightly at the waist. “Call me Paul.”
Bonnie’s lips drew into a soft smile. Her eyes locked onto his as she took his hand. “I’m happy to meet you,” she said.
Their hands remained clasped and Christine looked away as if she’d stumbled upon a clandestine meeting. Christine cleared her throat and Paul withdrew his hand. “Bonnie recently moved here from New York,” she said.
Paul brows arched in pleasant surprise. “I attended school in New York, graduated from Fordham School of Law.”
Bonnie offered a slight nod of acknowledgement and turned to Christine. “Ready?”
Christine retrieved her purse from her desk drawer and met Bonnie at the door. “I’ll be back in an hour, Mr. Warsoff.”
Paul stuffed his hands into his pockets and smiled. “Nice to have met you, Miss Cooper.”
Bonnie glanced over her shoulder at him, but said nothing.
Outside the elevator, Christine stared up at the numbers as each floor lit. “He hasn’t noticed me for weeks,” she said. “You walk in and he’s practically groveling at your feet.”
Bonnie slid her eyes toward Christine. “You sound a little jealous.”
Christine sighed and placed a hand on Bonnie’s forearm. “No. Well, maybe a little.” Then she laughed. “But I’m waiting for Joe, although Mr. Warsoff is a good catch, that’s for sure.”
The elevator doors parted and Bonnie stepped inside. “Good catch or not, I’m not interested.”
Christine arched a penciled brow. “He makes a lot of money, I know that.”
Bonnie glanced at her, the elevator doors closing. “How do you know?”
Christine cocked a hip and crooked her hand to her waist. “Because Ifile his expense account reports. I’m in charge of his billing hours. I know what he makes, and believe me, it’s plenty.”
Bonnie thought about that, about dating someone with money. It would be nice to eat in expensive restaurants again, enjoy the things money could buy. If she were careful, she could handle it, couldn’t she? She visibly shook her head as if to dismiss the crazy notion. “It doesn’t really matter. He’s not going to ask me out.”
Christine angled her head. “Oh, he’s going to.”
Bonnie started laughing. “What makes you think that?”
Christine smirked. “I can tell. He’ll ask you out all right.” Her eyes widened and she clutched her hands together expectantly. “What if he does? What about Dave?”
Bonnie glanced at her and frowned. “Dave?”
“You know. Dave from Union Pacific? I mean, if you and Mr. Warsoff—”
The elevator doors opened and they walked across the foyer. Bonnie tugged a glove over her left hand as they stepped outside. “Would you stop it?”
“Well?” Christine persisted. “What would you do?”
Bonnie laughed and shook her head. “Just forget it, will you? I’m not dating Paul Warsoff.”
“If he asked you out, would you go?”
Bonnie sighed and stopped on the sidewalk. “All right .If Mr. Warsoff asks me out, then, yes, I’d go out with him.”
Christine’s face spread with a self-satisfied grin. “I knew it.”
///////
In between calls, Bonnie thought about Paul Warsoff. Again, the warning went off in her head like a police siren. She tried to ignore it, but the possibility of dating a man with money had her stifling the cautionary voice. Despite Christine’s certainty, she wasn’t sure at all he’d ask her out. She hadn’t been very cordial to him.
It was nearly five o’clock when a woman opened the door and looked at the operators with a gloomy expression. “Did you hear?” she half-whispered into the room.
Bonnie swiveled toward the door in her chair. “Hear what?”
“President Roosevelt is dead.”
Janet gasped. “What?”
Now everyone’s attention was riveted. “He’s dead,” the woman said, and fresh tears filled her eyes. “Someone just heard it on the radio and told me. He was at Warm Springs when it happened.”
The news came like an unexpected blow, sending their senses reeling. Sniffles and sobs began to fill the room as the sadness of the announcement settled into their minds.
Bonnie’s eyes were dry as she looked at the clock and saw that it was time to leave. She took off her headset, excited to be leaving for Chez Paree. “Come on, Janet. Let’s go.”
Janet held a tissue to her face and blotted tears from her cheeks. “Go? Go where?”
Bonnie served her an incredulous look. “Dancing. Remember?”
“Oh, Bonnie, I can’t go now. I’m too upset,” she said. “Aren’t you? He was so wonderful. I don’t know how the country will survive without him.”
Bonnie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why all the tears over the death of a stupid president? She was never one who cared much about the goings-on in the world. Such things were boring to her, and she had no patience for them .“You can’t be serious, Janet,” Bonnie challenged.
Janet’s tears flooded her eyes even more. “I can’t go…I just can’t. I loved him like a grandfather.”
Bonnie rolled her eyes and spun on her heel. She got her hat and purse and raced past the sobbing women, anxious to escape their emotional over-reaction. As she entered the building’s foyer, Paul Warsoff stepped off the elevator. He pushed his way toward her and
tipped his hat. “Miss Cooper?”
Bonnie came up short as he spoke her name. She blinked several times and then smiled. “Mr. Warsoff—”
He raised his finger. “Uh, Paul,” he reminded her.
“Oh, yes. Have a good evening, Paul.” Bonnie made a motion to leave.
Paul swerved in front of her. “Could I buy you a drink?”
Bonnie’s mind shifted into gear. She wanted to go with him more than anything. He had money, lots of it. But money had gotten her into trouble before, or at least how she’d acquired it. Hadn’t she learned her lesson? She could avoid so much trouble if she’d just stay away from men. And there was the fact that he had gone to school in New York. She was afraid he might trip her up on details. Her knowledge of New York came from movies and magazines. He was more sophisticated than Christine or Dave. It was too important that she appear to know what she was talking about.
She opened her purse and took out a handkerchief, raising it to her eyes. “Oh, Paul, haven’t you heard? President Roosevelt is dead. I’m just too upset to think, or do anything…”
Paul’s expression fell. “I hadn’t heard. What happened?”
Bonnie sniffed into the white linen. “All I know is that he died at Warm Springs today. I was just going to hurry home to the radio.”
Paul seemed genuinely affected by the news. “Sure, that’s what you need to do…what we all need to do. I guess Truman is in charge now.”
Bonnie blotted her eyes and sniffed. “Thank you for understanding, Paul.”
Paul nodded and returned his hat to his head. “Another time?”
Bonnie smiled. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”
Paul stepped aside and Bonnie left the building. All the way home she debated whether she was insane or just stupid.
///////
Bonnie stared at the ceiling, her sleep restless and intermittent. She’d thought that leaving California, putting distance between her and her past, would be easy, as if a broad sweep of miles would erase everything. But that was proving to be more difficult than she’s expected. She might have put distance between her and the law, but not her memories.
Bonnie found it increasingly difficult to suppress her thoughts of California, what she’d done there the past four years, how many lives she’d hurt or destroyed. Keeping her mind busy with other things—that was her saving grace. It was as if she was a hummingbird in need of constant nourishment or else she would perish. She pressed her needle-like beak into cafes, clubs, movie theaters, work, anything that kept her occupied, kept her memories at bay. But at night, it was a blank screen where her deeds played over and over in her mind, her dreams robbing her of sleep, held hostage by her ugly acts.