Ten Cents a Dance

by Christine Fletcher

  Sometimes I felt guilty, for Tom's sake. I'd promised him I'd stay white. And when he talked about it, or Nora or the other girls did, it seemed pure and noble, and sometimes I thought I ought to. But I couldn't give up Lily's, not in a million years. And I had so much fun with Manny, and he brought: me gifts, too. An adorable Scottie dog brooch, in black Bakelite with a sparkly glass eye. A silver charm bracelet with a tiny cross. Best of all, a new wool coat, hunter green with a plaid lining, warmer than any coat I'd ever had. I gave it to Ma, along with a pair of thick wool gloves. When she saw it, she put her hands to her face and cried. I had an elaborate story all ready to trot out, to explain where the money had come from. But Ma only asked, "You didn't get another advance, did you?" I told her no, and after that she didn't ask any more questions.

  I'd grown up listening to our Polish neighbors make nasty remarks about the Lithuanians, the Croats, the Irish . . . shanty Irish, they called them, turkey birds. No offense to your mother, they always added hastily. But in a black and tan, nobody cared my mother was Irish. Nobody cared I was from the Yards. What difference did it make to them? I was a white girl, that was all. I could be anybody, and the black and tans let anybody in. No one seemed to care who danced with who or sat with who or talked with who—so long as you weren't dumb enough to poach another girl's fellow, but that was true anywhere.

  At the Starlight, though, it was different. We had to be careful. Most of the white customers didn't mind a girl dancing with Orientals once in a while; we told them it was our job, Del made us, what could we do? If a girl took too many tickets from Orientals, though, then the whites figured she must like it. They called her cheap or worse, and they kept their distance. As if she might make them dirty, somehow.

  And then, of course, when Tom was at the Starlight I didn't dare look at a Pinoy at all. Thank God Manny was savvy about it; if I snubbed him, he knew why. Still, I was afraid some night Tom would come in while I was dancing with him or one of the other Pinoy boys I'd met. Not that it mattered, I told myself. After all, it's not as if he owns you. Still, on the nights Tom was most likely to show up—mainly Fridays—I was extra careful.

  I always knew when he was there. I'd get a tickle up the back of my neck, like a tiny spider climbing into my hair. I'd turn around, and there he'd be. After three or four dances he'd go sit in the stag line, with the men who only watched. Tom would watch only me. Sometimes, if he thought I was dancing too much with a particular fellow, he'd come to the sidelines and stare. If I sat down to coffee with someone, Tom would hover at the next table or over by the wall. His long face getting longer, as if everything below his eyes was rubber and someone was doing pull-ups from his chin. The bouncer, O'Malley, caught him at it once and told him to knock it off or get out. That made things better for a night. Then he was back at it.

  "He gives me the creeps," Peggy said. "Now that you've paid him back, why don't you tell him to shove off?"

  "I feel bad for him," I said. Which was mostly true. When we went out, he'd go on and on about how hard it was to meet nice girls. How they only went out with him because he made a good wage, how none of them seemed to really care for him.

  "But you care, don't you, Ruby?" he'd ask.

  "Sure I do," I told him. I didn't, but what could I say? I didn't want to be rude. Besides, he was still giving me money. I always said no, but he always insisted.

  "Put it on your tab," he said. "Buy yourself something nice. I like for you to look pretty."

  I knew I shouldn't take it. But the problem was, as much as I danced, I never made the fifty a week Paulie had promised. Thirty was more like it. Which a month ago would have been a fortune, but now, somehow, it never seemed to be enough.

  Every night, when I got home, I stashed my earnings in an old pillowcase I kept hidden in the far corner of the closet, behind shoes we'd outgrown. Ma couldn't bend that low anymore, and Betty would never look there; she'd been terrified of dark narrow places like that ever since a spider had crawled on her under the porch of our old house. The first few times I lifted the pillowcase out, I froze at every clink and rattle. But Betty's snoring never hitched. She could sleep through Mr. Schenker; compared to that, a few coins must be nothing.

  On Saturdays, I squirreled the pillowcase under my housecoat and carried it to the hall toilet. There I counted out a week's wages, eighteen dollars. If I'd been out after hours, I put in extra for "overtime." Tucked the cash into an envelope and left it on the kitchen table. Ma complained that the telephone company was working me to death, that I wasn't getting enough rest. But every Sunday morning, when I got up, the envelope was gone and she was sitting with pencil and paper, figuring how much back rent we still owed and how soon it could be paid.

  We ate meat every day now. Pork chops and sausage and meatloaf and even a roast. Not a bean in sight. We made cakes. We got the coal bin filled, a full ton, to last the entire winter.

  And then there were all the things I needed for work. Nylon stockings, a dozen pairs, and a cunning quilted box with a dozen compartments to keep them in. Two new bras. A new girdle. Haifa dozen satin step-ins. Hair ornaments to match my gowns, and earrings to match the hair ornaments. I bought two more gowns from Reinhard's, which meant two more pairs of shoes. I would've bought more after-hours outfits, too, except I would have to wear them home, and I couldn't explain to Ma where I'd gotten the money for them. The wool coat from Manny had been dicey enough. Everything else, I kept in my locker at the Starlight. I never wore the lime green dress anymore, and I kicked my old, creased saddle shoes under the bed.

  Thanksgiving came. For the first time in years, we could afford a turkey to roast. Ma made stuffing with walnuts and celery; Betty made an apple pie. At work, that night, I could barely zip myself into my gown. But I really regretted how much I'd eaten when Del insisted that the band play "The Turkey Trot" three times every hour.

  "Give us a break, Del, wouldja?" Nora begged him. She'd had three kinds of pie at her brother and sister-in-law's house, and by ten o'clock she was panting, her broad face tomato red. "If I have to jump up and down and flap my arms one more time to that old-timey crap, I'm gonna puke."

  "Thanksgiving, customers expect the Turkey Trot," Del said. "Next year don't eat before you come to work."

  I caught Ozzie's eye. He cocked his finger and thumb like a gun, held it to his temple, and fired. I laughed out loud. But there was no getting out of the Turkey Trot, not for Ozzie or for us. Like Del always said: in this business, if you don't have illusion, you don't have anything. Tonight, the illusion was of a happy holiday.

  "Well, I think he's right," Alice said in the Ladies'. The rest of us groaned, and someone threw a roll of toilet tissue at her. "No, really!" she insisted, untangling the tissue from her curls. "Look at them out there. Most of them tonight are old. They don't have anyone to spend Thanksgiving with except us."

  She was right, and for a while I was sorry. I'd do better, I'd be sweet to the customers. Then the band swung into the Trot for the umpteenth time, and I wished they would all go home.

  The weather got colder. We got a dusting of snow. In the Yards, it lasted just long enough to turn into blackish-gray lumps before it melted. We never had white snow for long, not with the soot from the trains and packinghouse incinerators. Betty took to rolling herself inside one of the blankets, like a cocoon, so that when I got into bed my chilly skin wouldn't touch hers.

  The night after Thanksgiving, Tom came to the Starlight. He didn't dance with me at all. Just sat, smoking one cigarette after another. Which was strange all by itself; I'd never seen him smoke more than one cigarette, and usually not even that.

  After hours, he was outside waiting for me just as usual. He seemed different, though. I could feel it, like static on a phone line. A hum of tension. At the steakhouse he hardly touched his food. And then there was the way he looked at me. I didn't mind him staring, at least not much. He always stared. But tonight, he stared everywhere but at me. His gaze darting at me from time to time, l
ike a snake's tongue flicking. Every time I looked away, I felt it.

  Well, whatever mood he was in, I hoped it wouldn't stop him from loaning me a little more money. I had a dry cleaning bill to pay. I should've had enough, but somehow it had all gotten spent. I decided to wait to ask until we were in the cab, going back to the Starlight. Tom got sentimental then. He'd talk about how much it hurt him, seeing a kid like me trying to make it all alone in the world. How he hated to leave me at the end of the night. He'd beg me to let him see me home. I always refused. Peggy had taught me that. Don't ever let a fish know where you live, she said. You never know when one will take it into his head to pay you a visit. I guessed that if a fish paid your rent—like Yvonne's did—it might be a different story. Peggy had laughed. "That," she'd said, "is a whole different book."

  I still had half a steak on my plate when Tom reached over and took my hand.

  "Let's get out of here," he said.

  His fingers were rough and tight on mine. I smiled at him and tried to loose my arm. He wouldn't let go. "I need to go powder my nose," I said.

  "You're fine. Come on." He got up, still holding my hand.

  In the cab, Tom gave the driver an address I didn't recognize. "Where's that?" I asked.

  "No place," Tom said. "A club."

  I frowned. The cabbies knew every night spot in Chicago, so unless a club was new, like Lily's, a man just told the cabbie its name. Tom slipped his arm around me. "Don't worry," he said. "You'll like it."

  Outside, the tires whooshed over the wet streets. Here, inside, it was warm and dark. Tom bent his head and kissed me.

  He didn't kiss as well as Manny, not a tenth as well as Paulie. But I never kissed anyone I didn't like, and I supposed I liked Tom well enough. He was even handsome, in a deep-eyed, long-jawed sort of way.

  The kiss ended. I sighed and laid my head on his shoulder.

  "How's your mother?" he asked.

  Surprised, I twisted my neck to look at him. He'd never asked about Ma before. But this would make it even easier than usual. "She's okay, I guess," I said. "Really, it's nothing." That slick weasel Artie had taught me, and I never forgot. Nobody likes a sob story. I'd never told Tom anything more than the fact that I had to work to support my family. He didn't even know what Ma was sick with.

  "Ruby," he said. "Tell the truth now."

  I sighed again. "It's the landlord," I said. I kept my tone low and flat, as if I was sick of having to think about such a horrible person. "He's raised the rent." I'd thought of it during dinner. December first was Monday, the timing was perfect. Plus I might be able to play this out. Rent day came every month, after all.

  Tom's mouth pushed out as if he was thinking. "How much?" he said.

  "Five dollars," I said.

  "All right," Tom said. But he didn't reach for his wallet.

  "Tom, really, I couldn't . . ."

  "You can." Now his voice was the flat one. The cab pulled over; Tom got out, paid the cabbie, and came around to my door. "Come on," he said. I took his hand and stepped out onto the curb. Ahead of us, on the corner, was a rundown brick building. I looked up; a neon sign running down its side said, in vertical letters, HOTEL. No name. Just HOTEL.

  "The club's in there?" I asked. Some hotels had them, sure. But the only ones I'd ever heard of were the ritzy places, where the swells went. Not a broken-down flytrap like this. And where were the people? At the clubs I'd been to, folks were constantly coming and going, the streets outside bustling with cabs. Here, just a few people drifted up the sidewalk. All men, every one by himself.

  "Come on," Tom said again. He took my arm and steered me into the hotel lobby. It was tiny and smelled sour, like laundry that hadn't been washed. On one side was a booth, almost exactly like the ticket booth at the dance hall. Directly ahead was a flight of stairs. Tom tapped the bell sitting on the booth's counter. A sallow, tired-looking boy about my age appeared.

  "For how long?" the boy asked in a bored tone.

  Behind us, the door opened, and another couple crowded inside. I pressed against the wall to make room. As they pushed past, the woman bumped into me. " 'Scuse me," she said. For an instant, our eyes met. The light was bad, but I could still see the heavy rouge on her cheeks. Like a painted doll's. The man shoved ahead of Tom and slapped a dollar bill onto the counter. The boy scooped it up. "Half an hour," the man told him. The woman nudged her fellow and jerked her head at me. I edged closer behind Tom.

  "Someone's cherry's gonna get popped," the woman said. The two of them whooped with laughter and staggered up the stairs, the man goosing her from behind.

  "Wait outside a second, Ruby, will you?" Tom said.

  I was already going. If he'd hoped to keep me from figuring out what kind of place this was, he was thirty seconds too late. I was already halfway across the street when I heard him panting behind me. "Ruby! Ruby, wait!" he called. I started to run, but he caught up to me and clapped one of his big mitts on my shoulder, spinning me half around. I slipped on the slick pavement and grabbed his coat sleeve to keep from falling.

  "What the hell's the matter with you? Where are you going?" he said.

  "Where do you think?" I tried to shove him, but he wrapped an arm around me, squeezing me close to his side. I squirmed, and he squeezed tighter.

  "Listen to me," he said. "Listen! It's nicer upstairs. I promise."

  Nicer upstairs? Did he think it was the goddamned drapes I was mad about? I kicked at him and missed. Tom started back toward the hotel, dragging me with him.

  "Can the act, Ruby," he said. "Time to pay the piper. Now come on."

  "What act? What piper? What the hell are you talking about?" HOTEL flickered in front of me, in bright red neon. Had he gone crazy? Was this how crazy people behaved? Frantic, I swiveled my head, searching up and down the street. No cops. The few men in sight had turned to stare, but none of them came our way.

  Tom hauled me up the sidewalk and pushed me back against the building. The roughness of the brick scraped my coat like sandpaper. I could feel his breath riffling my hair.

  "Fool me once, shame on you," he said. "You ever hear that saying, Ruby?"

  At the coldness in his voice, my anger leaked away. Leaving me hollow and shaking. I didn't know what he meant, except that he meant to make me go upstairs with him. But why? He'd always called me a sweet kid. Sweet Ruby. Not like those other girls. "I don't understand," I said. Sobs crowded my chest like bubbles, aching tight. I fought them down. Don't you dare cry, don't you dare let him see you're scared . . .

  "Fool me twice, shame on me." He leaned his arm against the wall, bending down so that his face was only an inch from mine. So close, my skin felt the warmth of his. "Your rent got raised. You needed another dress. How much, Ruby?"

  The money. He wasn't crazy, he was upset about the money. I almost gasped with relief. He'll make sure you pay, one way or another. Peggy, in the shadows of a cab, weeks ago. But I'd tried! I fumbled for my pocketbook, crumpled under my arm. "Here, Tom, look . . . I have six dollars from tonight, take it. I'll get the rest as soon as you say, I'll—"

  "I work hard. Twelve hours a day. Five days a week. My wife and my kids, they deserve that money."

  I blinked. The back of my throat ached from cold, and I realized my mouth had fallen open. Wife and kids? Tom was married?

  "I met you," Tom was saying, "and I thought, Here's a poor dumb kid who needs some help. So I helped you. Didn't I? And all this time, I didn't ask nothing from you."

  All these weeks, boo-hooing how he couldn't get a girl to care for him. Making me feel sorry for him, while all the time he had a wife . . .

  "Tell the truth, Ruby." Leaning closer. His lips brushing my cheek. "How much of my money—my family's money, my children's money—did you spend on your nigger boyfriends?"

  The cold went all through me then. All the way down in my belly, a block of ice. I started to babble. "We have to, Del makes us, we'll lose our jobs—"

  Tom grabbed my shoulder. He jerke
d me forward, then shoved me against: the brick, banging my head hard. I gasped. Tears stung my eyes.

  "Liar," Tom said. "I saw you. Two days ago. I saw you leave with those two flips, you and that brunette friend of yours." His eyes, just a few inches from mine, as narrow and cold as his voice. "Jack warned me. He told me you were nothing but a little tease. But I said, No, not Ruby. Ruby's just a kid." He laughed, short and bitter. "You sure pulled the wool over my eyes."

  "You don't understand. Those men, they're not . . . We dance, that's all. I've never . . ."

  He yanked me away from the wall. "Can it, Ruby. You've played that hand out. I'm not asking for nothing you haven't already done. Nothing I haven't paid for already, a dozen times over. I'm through talking. Let's go."

  The woman in the hotel. The blonde on the sidewalk in front of Lily's. Tom thought I was like them. He'd make me go upstairs with him, and after that—I would be like them. Ma . . .

  "No, I won'tl" I shouted. I twisted away, but he grabbed both my hands. I spit in his face. I'd never spit at anything before, and a lot ended up on my chin, but I must have got him because he jerked back with a disgusted <(Aargh!" I wrenched my arms loose and ran.

  "Ruby!" he yelled. "Ruby, come back here!"

  Fat chance. I glanced behind and saw him stumbling after me, scrubbing at one eye with his sleeve. Good. I hoped I'd blinded him. As I turned back around, I ran into one of the men drifting on the street. He grinned at me, slimy as the man in the hotel, and grabbed at my arm. I yelped and dodged away. Behind me, Tom hollered, "Hey! Leave her alone!"

  I skittered out into the street. A cab was coming, its light off. I waved anyway, both arms over my head. It stopped and I scrambled inside, slamming the door just as Tom caught up. He pounded on the window.