The two men watched as Shirley dipped her head to her keys, looked up to the ceiling, then glanced over at a man wearing a black Stetson with a peacock feather sitting up front at a small round table.
“What’s the story there?” Henry asked, nodding toward the man at the table.
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Come on! For old times’ sake.”
“Husband,” Teddy replied. “He sits and watches her every show. Or maybe…a lover?”
“No,” Henry said. “Ex-husband. Watching her perform is as close as she lets him get.”
“That’s good, real good.”
“Any chance of reconciliation?”
“No.”
The two friends sat for a few minutes.
“You sure you’re all right, Ted?”
Teddy finished his drink in two gulps.
“How’s Irina?”
“She’s fine.”
“Cold feet’s normal. Hell, I have cold feet now, and I’m not even dating anyone.”
“It’s not that. She just…she gets so quiet.”
“We all have our quiet moments.”
“Nah, this is different. And when I ask why she’s quiet, she gets mad.” Teddy looked around. “Where’s the goddamn waitress?”
“So…to change the subject—”
“Thank you.”
“Wanna hear a rumor?” Henry asked.
Kathy and Norma leaned back to hear better.
“Would I be in this business if I didn’t?”
“You hear about the redhead?”
“Sally Forrester?”
Norma and Kathy shot each other a look.
“Bingo,” said Henry.
“And?”
“About to be tossed. Damn shame too. I loved seeing her coming, but not as much as I liked seeing her go.”
“Why?”
“I’ve always preferred a nice ass.”
Norma rolled her eyes.
“No, why’s she going to be canned?”
“That’s the best part. You’ll never guess.”
“Just tell me.”
Henry leaned back in the booth. “Ho-mo-sexual.”
“What?” Norma let out, unable to contain herself. The men didn’t notice, but Norma and Kathy sank down in the booth a few more inches.
“What?” Teddy asked.
“Well, Ted, it means she prefers the company of other women.”
“I mean, when did this happen? I thought you two had a thing or something?”
Henry sipped his drink. “Maybe some guy dumped her and she never looked back.”
“Jesus Christ.” Teddy lowered his voice. “I mean, how did you find out?”
“You know better than to ask for my sources.”
“She’s Irina’s best friend,” Teddy said. “I mean, they haven’t been spending as much time together, but—”
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe Irina found out Sally’s little secret too.”
“She never mentioned anything to me.”
“All relationships are built on small omissions.”
Shirley ended “If I Shall Lose You” and addressed the crowd. “Y’all stay put now. Order another drink to warm your soul, and I’ll be back in a hot minute.” She rose from the piano and sat down next to the man wearing the black Stetson. He kissed her and she pushed him away but held on to his wrist, turning it over to kiss its underside.
“Definitely a lover,” Teddy said.
* * *
In late August there was a massive thunderstorm and half the District went dark. The morning commute was a mess, and the buses and streetcars ran late or not at all. Irina usually took the bus to work, but on that day, Teddy must’ve picked her up, because when we were getting our morning coffee in the break room, we noticed them still sitting in his blue and white Dodge Lancer. We tried not to watch, but that proved difficult, as the break room window overlooked the east parking lot.
It was already nine thirty, but the couple was showing no signs of hustling in. Instead, they sat, and we pressed our faces against the window until the glass fogged. By nine forty-five, we cracked the window, hoping we could hear something, but had to close it again when a gust of rain blew into our faces.
We could see Teddy slumped over the steering wheel as if he’d been shot, and Irina looking out the passenger window. Around ten, Irina got out and rushed into the office, her heels skidding on the slick sidewalk.
A few minutes later, Teddy drove off, fishtailing onto E Street, and we went back to our desks.
Irina came in, took off her raincoat, and took her seat. She rubbed her pink eyes and complained about the storm.
“You okay?” Kathy asked.
“Of course,” Irina said.
“You look a little upset,” Gail said.
Irina licked her fingertip and started flipping through her notes from the previous day. “I’m just a little frazzled this morning. The weather and all.”
“Don’t worry,” Gail said. “We told Anderson you were in the ladies’.”
“Anderson was looking for me? Did he say what he wanted?”
“No.”
“Good.” She opened her purse and took out the small metal cigarette case with her initials engraved on it that Sally had given her for her birthday. She brought a cigarette to her lips and lit it, her hands still red and shaky. We’d never seen Irina smoke, but that wasn’t what we noticed first; what we noticed first was that her engagement ring was gone. “Well, I mean, I hate to be late,” Irina continued. “Thanks for covering for me.”
We wanted to ask about Teddy and the car. We wanted to ask about the missing ring. We wanted to ask if she’d heard the rumor going around about Sally. But we didn’t. We figured we’d give her some time and ask for details the next day.
But the next morning, Irina was called into Anderson’s office.
We knew that Irina was called into his office. We knew that when she came out she rushed into the ladies’ and stayed a good long while. And we knew that after she left the restroom, she went home early, complaining of a stomachache.
Helen O’Brien, Anderson’s secretary, filled us in on the rest.
“He told her the Agency needs to maintain the highest reputation, and she replied Yes, of course. Something about decorum in the office and at home. And she was like, Yes, I agree. He went on to say there’d been rumors of personal misconduct. And then there was a long pause. She asked if it was about her and said as far as she knew, she carried herself according to the highest Agency standards. And he was like, Look—people are saying you might be a little funny, you know, in that way. And if it’s true, that’s a liability for us. She denied it up and down. And I think she may have started crying, but I couldn’t be sure through the door. He told her he was glad to hear it, and that he hopes the rumor doesn’t come back to his desk like it did with another woman he had to fire the other day. She asked who it was, and he waited a few seconds. Then he said it: Sally.”
Irina didn’t come in to the office for the rest of the week, and we never got a chance to ask her what was happening. That Saturday, she boarded a plane bound for Brussels and the World’s Fair.
The following Monday, Teddy didn’t come into the office either. Nor did he come in the rest of that week.
We met up for happy hour at Martin’s to discuss.
“Maybe he went to Brussels to win Irina back?” Kathy suggested.
Norma held up an oyster twice as big as the others. She inspected it a second and tipped it back. “You old romantic,” she said. “I heard he’s locked himself in his apartment and refuses to get dressed or answer the door.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Judy asked.
“Reliable source.”
“I’m pretty sure he
’s just on assignment,” Linda said, stabbing at an olive in her martini glass with an oyster fork.
“You’re no fun,” Norma said. She waved the waitress over and asked for another martini. “She needs another too,” she said, pointing at Linda.
Linda didn’t protest. “Or maybe he defected. Maybe it wasn’t just his heart Irina broke.”
“Now that’s the spirit!” Norma said.
“Or maybe he’s with Sally,” Linda went on.
“But what about her being,” Kathy lowered her voice, “you know?”
“But the timing makes sense. First Sally leaving, then Irina leaving.” The waitress came and placed our martinis in front of us. “Maybe instead of Sally and Henry, Sally and Teddy were having an affair this whole time, and when Irina found out…”
Norma pulled Linda’s drink away from her. “Now I think you’ve had too many.”
* * *
—
We never did find out what Teddy was doing the week he didn’t come in to work, but we do know that the day he did come in, he approached Henry Rennet from behind as Henry stood in the lunch line waiting for chicken-fried steaks and instant mashed potatoes. Teddy tapped him on the shoulder and he turned. Without a word, Teddy punched his friend in the face. Henry tottered for a second, then fell. His green plastic tray hit the floor first, scattering the scoop of yellow corn he’d been served. His body followed, making contact face-first with the fallen corn and the black-and-white-tiled floor.
Teddy stepped over Henry, kicked his tray across the cafeteria floor, walked to the ice dispenser, got a fistful of ice, and left.
Judy was exiting the line with a cup of chicken soup when she heard Henry’s face hit the floor, like the thump of raw meat on a marble countertop. It took her a moment to realize that the two white Chiclets that had scattered across the floor and come to a stop just inches from her patent-leather kitten heels were actually Henry’s front teeth. The woman next to her screamed, but Judy just sensibly bent down and collected the teeth, putting them in her cardigan pocket. “Just in case they could put ’em back in,” she told us when recounting the story.
Those who hadn’t seen or heard Teddy’s fist connect with Henry’s mouth thought Henry had fainted. “Get a doctor!” someone yelled. Henry sat up, dazed, as Doc Turner—not a real doctor, but an elderly cafeteria chef with a perpetually half-smoked cigarette hanging out of his mouth—emerged from the kitchen holding a frozen steak. “Here you go, buddy,” he said, handing it to Henry.
Henry’s mouth dripped red down the front of his white shirt. He put the steak to one eye, then the other, then his nose. It wasn’t until he tasted something metallic that he realized his two front teeth were gone. His tongue explored the new hole.
Doc Turner helped Henry to his feet. “Must’ve did someone wrong, huh?”
“Who was it?” Henry asked. He looked at the semicircle of people gathered around.
“I just saw the aftermath,” Doc said.
“Teddy Helms,” Judy said. “It was Teddy.”
Henry wiped a glob of bloody corn from his mouth, cut through the crowd, and walked off.
Norma said she saw Henry leaving Headquarters as she was coming in from a doctor’s appointment. “You could see the imprint of Teddy’s Georgetown class ring right under Henry’s eye,” she snickered. “Couldn’t have done it better myself.”
* * *
—
The next day, we got to work a few minutes early to see what the consequences of the lunchtime brawl would be. “Think he’ll be fired?” Kathy asked.
“Nah, that’s how the boys settle things around here. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dulles encouraged it, even. They’ll be back to normal in no time,” Linda said.
We went to work trying to figure out what had provoked Teddy to send his best friend to the dentist. “Let’s work backwards,” Norma suggested one morning at Ralph’s. “Teddy punched Henry, Irina left Teddy, Sally was fired.”
“What’s the connection?” Linda asked.
“Beats me,” Norma said.
And while Teddy appeared in the office the next day, two Band-Aids wrapped around his knuckles, Henry never returned. Norma did come across a bit of intel about his whereabouts, though. How, we knew better than to ask. But she told more than one of us his location, thinking it might be useful at some point.
Two weeks later, Judy surprised herself when she put her hand into her sweater pocket and found Henry’s teeth instead of the tissue she was expecting.
Three weeks later, we returned the wedding gifts we’d bought for Teddy and Irina, happy we’d saved the receipts.
A month later, Anderson brought in a new typist, and we realized Irina was not coming back.
CHAPTER 21
The Applicant
The Carrier
THE NUN
Under a curtain of wet hair, I watched the black water swirl down the drain. The chemicals made me dizzy, and when I lifted my dripping head, the woman who came to make me into a new woman opened a window.
After wrapping my head in a white towel, she instructed me to sit on the old trunk that doubled as the flat’s coffee table. She popped open her shrimp-pink makeup case to reveal a pair of shears peeking out from a purple velvet case, a variety of dyes, two tape measures, foam padding, makeup brushes, black and white fabric samples, and yellow rubber gloves.
She picked through the knots in my hair, combing it out until smooth, then pulled it back. After sawing through it with the scissors, she handed me a guillotined ponytail. I held on to it as she shook up the bottle of black dye she’d used on my head and delicately applied it to my eyebrows with a small brush. It burned more than the slight tingle she’d promised.
After wiping it off, she told me to stand and strip. I hesitated. “Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “I’ve seen it all.” I’d managed to gain back some of the weight I’d lost after Sally ended things, but not much. She held the foam padding to my chest, then my behind. “We’re gonna have to give you a little something extra.”
As she took my measurements, she talked. She told me how she used to work in the Warner Bros. costume department, applying false eyelashes to a temperamental Joan Crawford, inserting shoe inserts to hike up Humphrey Bogart, and scouring every Hollywood beauty parlor to find the right shade of blond for Doris Day. She rambled on about the time she’d walked into a dressing room to see Frank Sinatra’s head between the legs—hat still on!—of an actress she wouldn’t name. “He didn’t even look up,” she said. “Just mumbled into her hoo-hah for me to come back in twenty minutes. I never pegged Ol’ Blue Eyes as the generous type.”
I said nothing as the woman told her stories. Normally, I would’ve found her highly entertaining, but I wasn’t in the mood, and she was the kind of woman who could talk for forty-five minutes without realizing her audience had fallen asleep.
I’d arrived on a plane eight hours earlier and was exhausted. It was the first plane I’d ever been on, and when I stepped out onto the tarmac, even before my makeover, I became more than a Carrier—I became a new person.
I’d asked for it; now here it was. I had more than an assignment and a one-way ticket: I had a chance to become someone else, a clean slate. So I took it. Heartbreak can be freeing—the weight lifted, no one left to hurt or be hurt by. At least that’s what I told myself.
The woman packed away her scissors and dyes and gloves. She swept my hair off the floor and put it into a small plastic bag, packing it away in her case. Before leaving, she told me a florist would deliver the nun’s habit to me in a box meant for long-stemmed roses. She opened the door and turned back toward me. “Lovely meeting you, dear.”
“You too,” I said, even though we’d never even given our names.
I locked the door behind her and walked over to the cracked mirror hanging above the bathroom sink to see the strang
er in its reflection. I ran my fingers through my few remaining inches of hair. Licking the tip of my finger, I rubbed a spot of black dye off my temple and told myself I could be anyone now.
As I dressed, the thrill dulled. What would Sally think of my transformation? What would Mama have thought? I cupped my hand against the back of my neck. Mama would definitely have hated it. Sally would say it was a statement. Teddy would’ve said he loved it, even if he didn’t.
* * *
—
After Mama’s funeral, I didn’t want to be alone, so Teddy stayed at my apartment, on the couch. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, Teddy would read to me—essays in The New Yorker by E. B. White and Joseph Mitchell, short stories by men whose names I’ve forgotten. Once, on the night when I told him I couldn’t marry him, he read to me from a stack of papers in his briefcase. He hadn’t told me he was the one who’d written what he was reading until he finished, revealing that it was the first chapter of a novel he’d been working on for years. I told him I loved it, that he must finish it. “You really think so?” he asked. When I said I wouldn’t lie to him, he asked if that was true.
I had trouble meeting his gaze, but forced myself to. “I can’t marry you.”
“We can wait. For as long as you need. You’re still grieving.”
“No. It’s not that.”
“What is it, then?”
“I don’t know.”
I could feel him holding his tongue, not saying the words hanging between us. “I think you do.”
“I don’t.”
“Is it Sally?”
“What? No…I have trouble making friends. Real friends, anyway. She’s been a good friend to me.”
“Nothing has to change. I know—”
“I don’t think you know me like you think you do.”
“That’s the thing. I do.”
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“I’m saying I just want to be with you—whatever that means for you.”
But I couldn’t understand. I didn’t want to understand. “What does it mean to you? What do you want?”
The Secrets We Kept Page 24