Rose had held it together until Maxine’s first chord. Then her sore, aching heart had broken apart. Who knew that the babies in their dark, quiet crib room would be better off than the people in the wards across the hall from them, with the sun streaming in and a spring breeze wafting over them?
Today was a Monday and nothing more, and London was thrilled by it.
She finished feeding all twenty-six babies in the crib room, and then went to read to Rose.
They were in the final chapters of the book once again. London had lost count of how many times she’d read it. Rose didn’t mind the end, where the two young lovers are reunited, but she didn’t like all the revenge that took place before it.
“Why do the mother and son both drink the poison?”
“They just do,” London said, going back to reading.
“I wouldn’t drink the poison.”
“Of course you wouldn’t, Rose. You’re not a murderer like Madame de Villafort.”
“Can you read it where the boy doesn’t drink it?”
London read on, leaving Edward de Villafort out of the death. Why not? she thought. It gave her a thrill to keep him alive. Also, it made Rose happy.
Although, a few chapters later, Rose insisted that Danglars, the most evil man in the book, be given a chicken to eat while he was in prison.
“No, Rose. Danglars is a prick. I’m not giving him a chicken.”
“He’s starving, London.”
“It’s a story, Rose.”
“But he’s starving in the story.”
“Sorry, Rose. Even for you, I refuse to give that bastard a chicken.”
Rose scowled, but she let London read on, at least for a little while before stopping her again, this time to have her skip where Maximilian drinks the poison.
“Come on, Rose. You know Maximilian doesn’t even die, and that the count is going to give him everything he ever wanted.”
“Don’t you think it’s wrong that the count makes him think he’s dying?”
“It didn’t bother you last time I read it.”
“It did bother me. I just didn’t say anything.”
“Do you want me to stop reading?”
The woman in the bed next to Rose’s spoke up. “You girls do know there are other books, right? Other stories you could read?”
Rose and London looked at each other, and London—her back to the woman—rolled her eyes. Rose grinned. It was the first time that Rose had smiled since Easter morning.
“Thanks, Mildred,” Rose said. “But this is the book we read.”
They heard the woman sigh, and London shrugged her off and got back to the story. This time Rose let her read straight to the end, where the people that the count didn’t kill or make kill themselves all find love and money and happiness together.
“Darling,” London read, “has not the count just told us that all human wisdom is summed up in two words? ‘Wait’ and ‘hope.’”
London closed the book with a smack. “It’s a shit ending,” she said.
“Maybe he shouldn’t have killed everyone,” Rose said, as she always did. “Then the ending could be different. The count is like a rotten egg, I think.”
“Remember he was locked up for a long time, Rose. And no one gave a crumb about him.”
“Mercedes cared. Her heart was broken.”
“Not so broken that she couldn’t pick up in a week and move on,” London snapped. “People are crap, Rose.”
“Just like the old lady says,” Rose whispered.
London shut up then. She’d never told Rose that the old lady had left her. And that London lived here now. Just like Rose did.
“Do you think she still says that kind of stuff, London?”
London should have known that Rose knew, but what came as a real surprise to her was that London was happy Rose knew… happy to share things that had once felt necessary to keep tucked into the dark, cramped places of herself.
“Yes,” London said. “I’m sure that old woman is somewhere hanging out a window and yelling horrible shit at people.”
“Probably in Chicopee,” Rose said.
“What?” asked London.
“Probably she’s in Chicopee,” Rose repeated. “That place she likes.”
London stood up. Rose was right. London could hear that shrill raspy voice as plain as day. “Chicopee! Did you hear me! Chicopee, goddamn it!” That’s where she was! The old lady hadn’t walked out on her. Hadn’t left her. Thelma Dumas was out there waiting for her in the only place in the world where bad shit didn’t happen. Chicopee, Massachusetts.
Why hadn’t London seen it before? And the money. They had the money. Maybe, just maybe, Maxine’s plan could work. And Rose could get better. Why couldn’t she? She absolutely could.
“You’re smiling,” Rose said.
“Am I?” London asked, touching her face.
“You almost never smile.”
“Don’t I?”
“No, you don’t.”
Maxine could smell the spring air even though she and Frances were locked in the windowless clothing room. It was the first of May, or May Day, and a big dance was planned for the women of the institution. On the list of those invited were all the girls on the cusp of fifteen. It would be their first chance to mingle with the girls from the women’s dormitory, since they’d be heading there come fall. Or rather, some of them would be heading there. Others would not.
They were eloping. The four of them. Soon. Maxine was sure her plan would be a success now that London was in on it. Folding dress after dress, she dreamed of the house by the sea… even if London had told her Chicopee was inland. There’d be a river for sure, or a lake or pond. She didn’t need the smell of salt—the ripples on the water would be enough. Moving water, Alice’s hand in hers, and Rose.
Rose.
The only wrinkle Maxine could see in the plan was Rose getting better in time. And of course, she would. They had four months before September. Four months of warm weather in which to find the exact right moment to run. London had explained that it would take them approximately two weeks to walk west to Chicopee, between Alice’s foot and Rose’s weak heart. London had already figured out the route with the help of the woman she worked with in the Sick Ward. London said the woman would never give them away, and Maxine believed her. She believed everything London told her. London was in charge… but it had been Maxine who had stolen the money.
Well, she and Frances. Although, Frances only wanted the five dollars she’d promised Bessie, so that Bessie and Ellen would leave her alone. The rest she let Maxine have. For Bit-O-Honeys. For Rose.
Maxine didn’t even feel guilty for lying to Frances. This was how she knew she was ready to leave and why she knew the plan would work. She was willing to steal, to lie. London said that lying and stealing were sometimes necessary. She said the school was lying to them, and that none of them deserved to be locked away. London didn’t know about the alley, though. Always that alley. But if London said they didn’t deserve to be locked away, they didn’t.
They would leave Fernald, all together, and live forever with London’s mean old lady. Maxine couldn’t wait. And as if all this weren’t enough, tonight they would dance. She smiled at the dress she was folding. Now that they were leaving, the bad things at Fernald didn’t seem so bad and the good things seemed even better.
There was a shuffling outside the clothing room door, and Maxine quickly woke Frances. The key turned in the lock, and Miss Sweeney stood in the doorway.
A dance and Miss Sweeney on duty. Maxine’s smile grew even larger.
“Well, aren’t you the chirpy one,” Miss Sweeney said.
They walked the circles in the misty rain, ate dinner, and instead of an hour in the day room before periodic excusing, the girls who would be attending the dance were marched upstairs to tidy up some, which meant standing in the bathroom and washing their hands and faces, and maybe brushing their hair. There were six of them old enough to
attend the dance—Edwina, Alice, London, Bessie, Ellen, and herself.
Maxine’s smile never dimmed—not in the rain, not when dinner turned out to be burned pea soup left over from lunch, and not when the six girls were locked in the bathroom for more than an hour. At least not at first. But then the hour lingered, and Maxine looked around the room and remembered Christmas Eve, standing at this very sink, Ellen sitting on her toilet just as she was now, the horrible scene that had come next.
Then… as if life really were a lovely dream, the key clicked in the lock. Maxine had never heard a more beautiful sound. And they were on their way to an actual dance.
* * *
The group was led out the front doors and across the institution’s grounds toward the gymnasium, where the dance would be held. Maxine had never had this view before. Walking across the institution’s lawn under the setting sun. The rain had stopped. The trees were greener than she’d ever remembered them. Even the air smelled exciting, like it had been cracked wide open and she could spread her arms out as far as they could reach and never touch the edges of it.
London smacked her from behind, and Maxine dropped her arms.
When they finally entered the gymnasium, Maxine stumbled as she took in its transformation. The walls were covered in paper flowers. Streamers hung from window to window in great sloping curves. Tables, piled high with tiny cakes, lined the entire right side of the room. And Miss Pet, her hair done up in a high bun, sat, poised and ready at the far end of the gymnasium behind a phonograph. Maxine clasped her hands together to contain her joy and looked over at Alice, who returned her excited gaze. The dance was already more than Maxine had ever imagined it could be, and the music hadn’t even started.
They were made to stay in their line until name badges could be affixed to their dresses. As the girls waited for Miss Sweeney to tag them, more and more women poured into the gymnasium, until Maxine could no longer see the windows or the door.
A scratchy sound collected the crowd together in a single gasp, and then the first song rang out—followed by a burst of applause. Maxine had never heard music like this, in a room full of chatting, laughing people, and if any of the others had, obviously not often enough that the occasion didn’t warrant the extra cheer.
Miss Sweeney, who was now pinning on Maxine’s name tag, had to ask Maxine to stop jumping or else she’d be poked straight through with the long pin. Maxine tried, but it was nearly impossible, and she did get a poke or two before her name could be secured to her dress. But she barely felt it. She couldn’t feel anything. This is happiness, she thought, where you can be poked with a pin and not feel a thing.
The dancing started, and Maxine stood transfixed, watching the darting arms and legs, the bobbing heads, the bodies twisting and spinning. Touching was allowed today, as everyone dancing had to touch, and again Maxine looked for Alice. She discovered Alice standing across the room, eyes focused on the dance floor just as Maxine’s had been, her mouth open in wonder. Maxine stared at Alice, a new sensation making her heart beat more strongly—or maybe it was Alice’s mouth.
Maxine backed herself away from the dance floor in order to keep watching Alice, the room growing darker as the sun sank beneath the treetops. All of a sudden lights popped on all around them, hundreds and hundreds of tiny lights strung like it was Christmas.
This was the best night of Maxine’s life.
The scratch of the phonograph caught her attention, and she ran to Miss Petruskavich, and because touching was allowed tonight, she threw her arms around her teacher.
“Maxine!” the woman cried. “How delightful.”
“It is delightful!”
“Have you danced yet?”
Maxine became shy. She hadn’t. Although, she wanted to. So very much.
Miss Pet read her fear. “There’s no wrong way to dance,” she told the girl. “Think how you sway sometimes when you’re playing the piano, when the music climbs inside and you can feel the notes moving you. That’s dancing. Go out there and listen to the music. And then do whatever motion the notes tell you to do.”
Maxine still wouldn’t leave her teacher’s side, so Miss Pet tried another way.
“I’ll play a special song for you. It’s called ‘Ain’t She Sweet.’ Now go out there and dance.”
Maxine obeyed. The way she’d been trained, when she was told to do something, she did it.
Standing on the dance floor, she did what Miss Pet had said and closed her eyes and listened. It worked just the way she’d said it would. First a tickle in her stomach. Then a wobble in her shoulders. Another moment had her hips swaying and her chin bobbing. It was her feet that took the longest to come around, being the most timid of her body parts and not able to find a natural way of moving. She finally opened her eyes and watched the women dancing around her, and picking up on their stepping motions, she gave it a try.
Dancing full on now, she looked up for her teacher, who gave an approving nod.
Maxine danced every song… though she was sweating quite a lot and her throat was dry and she’d do anything for a quick drink of water. Anything but leave the dance floor. Once, in a truly twisty song, she swung around and saw London sitting in a chair eating cake. Maxine called out to her, “Come dance!”
London glared back, stuffing cake into her mouth, white icing squeezing out the sides of her lips. Maxine laughed. She couldn’t even imagine London dancing. Or Alice.
Alice. In all of Maxine’s dancing, she had lost track of Alice. She now searched the room and found her doing exactly what London had been doing, stuffing her mouth full of cake. For the first time since Miss Pet had sent her out onto the floor, Maxine stepped outside the beat of the music. Maybe she should be eating cake too? She lamented that these events had been scheduled simultaneously.
Alice’s eyes met hers. Maxine grinned and waved. “Come dance,” she yelled. To her great surprise, Alice put down her cake and stood up.
Maxine’s stomach fluttered as Alice made her way past the elbows and knees of jigging women, until she stood in front of Maxine.
“Hi,” Maxine said, in a high-pitched voice she never used. Alice blinked at her, and Maxine was sure that Alice noticed her strangeness.
“I’ve never done this,” Alice admitted.
Alice’s confession soothed Maxine. “I never had either. But you just wiggle,” she said. “Like this.” She laughed at herself as she shook her butt and swung her arms up in the air. To her absolute joy, Alice imitated her.
Grinning, Maxine shimmied. Alice shimmied. Maxine swung her arms right. Alice swung hers right. But then Alice did a twirl, all the way around in a circle on her good foot so that she ended up looking right back into Maxine’s eyes. Maxine responded with her own twirl. And the dancing continued. First Alice leading, and then Maxine. If Alice’s foot hurt or got in her way, she sure wasn’t showing it. Song after song, the girls danced. Sweating and breathing heavily and staring into each other’s eyes. But then Alice reached out… took hold of Maxine’s hand.
Touching was allowed. But was what Maxine felt allowed? She stopped looking into Alice’s eyes then, and it seemed like her own sight turned inward and all she could see was spinning color.
Alice twisted Maxine under her arm, and flung her out across the dance floor until their arms, outstretched, pulled taut. Maxine looked at her then. Alice. Attached to her, happy. Alice was happy.
“Look!” Alice cried, gesturing to the stepping and turning the other women were doing around them. Not letting go of Maxine, Alice began to imitate the others, stepping forward, side, together, and then forward, side, together. Maxine studied them quickly and joined in.
Now they were connected by both their hands, dancing with each other across the wooden gymnasium floor, taking cues from the other dancers, twisting each other in and out and under. Always with their feet, forward-side-together, back-side-together. In this way, they taught themselves to fox-trot, though they didn’t know its name, and then to tango, a f
unny dance where they held tightly to each other and did strange kicks while swinging one another about in jerky motions. Miss Pet kept the music going, and Maxine’s stomach hurt with the happy combination of dancing and breathing.
At one point Alice screamed over the music, “I’m so thirsty.”
“Me too!” Maxine said, and laughed. Neither had any intention of leaving the dance floor. Leaving each other. Touching was allowed. And Maxine clung tightly to Alice’s sweaty hands, slammed awkwardly into her soft body, sucked in her hot breath, reveled in the movement of Alice’s neck, her chest, her legs. As if Miss Pet could feel Maxine’s heart about to explode, she slid the last song off, and Maxine found herself panting, looking into Alice’s eyes.
“We’re going to slow things down for a song or two before the May Day speeches begin,” Miss Pet called out across the gymnasium.
All around them they heard groaning. Every institutional event required listening to long-winded speeches, mandating a massive amount of clapping. But Alice and Maxine didn’t groan. They didn’t move. They stood there, on the dance floor, holding hands.
There came a crackly moment of silence before the needle met the vinyl. A moment that Maxine was so sure how to fill that the words she spoke weren’t words at all, but just the next thing meant to happen in the world.
“I love you.”
She did. Love Alice. Never more than in this moment, with Alice’s beautiful eyes so close and her sweet breath flowing toward Maxine’s mouth, and Alice’s chest rising and falling and rising and falling. Except, it had stopped. Alice’s chest.
Maxine dropped her eyes to the gymnasium floor. The music began, slow and whiny, but Maxine’s shoulders didn’t move. Or her feet. She felt as though the sweat was running off her like that river she so hoped ran through Chicopee, and she wished she could close her eyes and make this moment disappear, but if her eyes closed, she didn’t trust herself not to spin to the ground.
Then she felt Alice’s hand. On her back, pulling her close. And fingers, sliding in between her fingers, with Alice’s chest, rising and falling again, against her chest, and her own lips, brushing up against Alice’s braid. The music softly wailed around them as the girls swayed, their breathing slowly coming together, so that when Alice breathed in, Maxine breathed out, and when Maxine breathed in, Alice, out, bringing their bodies closely together.
The Degenerates Page 16