She doesn’t need any of them. I couldn’t find my voice today and the Kaiser let me go, saying of course it put me off my stride to be so rudely dealt with by an accompanist who’d been lucky to have the job. I wanted to go see Rose but I know she hates me and it’s my fault she quit. It’s my fault the Kaiser thinks those awful things about her, so who do I think I am to say she doesn’t need anything? She needed this job.
4 am — Just got home. Rode Giles’s bicycle all the way uptown. Sat in a doorway across from Rose’s building. What did I think she would do? Look out the window and invite me up for cinnamon toast?
There was phonograph music coming from the front room, scratchy ragtime, hot red and yellow lamps. The curtains were open. The windowpane was cloudy but I could see shadows of a man and woman dancing. They embraced. I heard laughter. Then they disappeared. Does Rose have a boyfriend? A husband?
wed — Aug 7 — I told the Kaiser I was quitting today. I thought he’d get mad at me but he didn’t. He was silent a moment, then asked me why. I told him I couldn’t continue without Rose. He asked me to sit down, he’s never done that before. I was beginning to think his furniture was all just stage props. I sat on a loveseat with pink and grey stripes and he told me quite calmly that I couldn’t fixate on an accompanist, that I would have to learn that people come and go, it’s part of the life I’ve chosen to lead. I have to realize that being a prima donna means being alone most of the time despite crowds of admirers. He makes it sound so horrible and romantic at the same time. Why should it mean being alone? He just said, “Do you want to sing?” I said it’s the only thing I want to do. And he said, “Then don’t ask any more of life, because you can either sing, or you can live.”
He’s trying to scare me but it won’t work. I will sing. And I will live too. I’ve already had a whole life without a friend, with nothing but my music, it’s not as though that’s a big diva mystery waiting to unfold for me — the sacrament of loneliness. So I told him what I thought he needed to hear: “I’m prepared to make those sacrifices, sir. But I am also prepared to demand the best. That is why I am studying with you. And that is why I will not continue my studies without Miss Lacroix.” I thought it all up at that moment and I said it just like that. He thought for a moment. And in that moment I wondered, just how far can I push him? I studied his black and navy cravat. He’s really quite a natty individual, I don’t know why I was so frightened of him. He said, “I’ll see what I can do.” And I wonder how much he can do, she’s that stubborn.
Thursday — She’s back. He must have bribed her good. But now I don’t know why I bothered. She won’t talk to me. Or look at me.
Sun. — I wrote Daddy and the girls a long letter. I told them all the good stuff. And there is mostly only good stuff. I don’t care about that piano-plunking lump. I told Daddy how excited I am about my audition in November. It’s coming up fast. It’s my chance to show what I can do and when I think of that, it wipes away all thoughts of ingrate exfriends.
Monday — I’ve been working harder than ever and I’ve never been happier. I feel like a new sheet of steel fresh from the coke oven in the Pier. The sun goes blind when it looks at me.
Tues. — The revenge of quanto affetto. Welcome back, Gilda. Kaiser is pleased, I can tell. The corner of his mouth gets a small spasm like he’s having a little seizure. And he adopts a manner that on most people would indicate anger, but with him it means he’s happy. The more he barks, the more jerky his movements, the more he says, “Nein, nein, nein, nein,” as though I were sticking pins in him, the happier I know he is. He doesn’t look like an albino lizard to me any more, he looks like an Afghan dog.
Thurs. — Kaiser asked me today what I would sing if Mr G-C asks me for another piece. He said it could be a piece of my choosing and he would help me prepare it. So I said I would prepare Cherubino’s love poem from Le Nozze. I looked at Rose but she pretended I hadn’t said anything. Kaiser nodded and said I had made a good choice, “Entirely appropriate.”
Today she was still at the streetcar stop when I passed by so I said, “Aren’t you going to tell me I’m making a mistake?” She looked at me from a great height and said, “How should I know?” “Well you know so much about music, you’re the authority on future stars or so I’m told.” “Well that wouldn’t apply to you, now would it?” That stung all right. But I couldn’t care less what she thinks about me, and anyhow I know she’s lying, it got to her that I didn’t choose Carmen, that’s all.
I knew I was digging my own grave, but I couldn’t help it, I can’t leave anything lie. “Why do you hate me?” I said. And she answered, cool as anything, “Girl, you ain’t worth hatin’.” “How come you have an accent all of a sudden, whatever happened to ‘I’d be delighted to come foh dinnah, Miss Pipah’?” And she said this: “Fuck you.”
I couldn’t say anything back because no one’s ever talked to me like that before, nor will they ever again, especially not some uppity dark brown girl in a borrowed dress.
Fri. — I could get her fired if I wanted to. I told her that today and she said, “I don’t give a shit.” And I said, “That’s your problem, you don’t give a shit about anything.” “You don’t know shit,” she said. And I thought, here I am having a conversation in which every sentence contains the word “shit,” if Holy Angels could hear me now! I can give as good as I get, she better look out, “I do so know shit,” I said, which was a stupid thing to say and… she laughed.
Not snorted, laughed. Then caught herself. So I said, “And I want my fucking hanky back.” At which she laughed some more. Fine, I’m hilarious, it’s better than being utterly dismissed by the likes of her. I said, “Did you hear me? I want it back.” And just as the streetcar pulled up she whispered to me, “I’ll give it back to you. Just as soon as I’ve wiped my black ass with it.” Then she was gone, puffed sleeves, ribbons, school-bag and all. Maybe she’s possessed by the Devil.
Saturday, August 17 — This morning my hanky was neatly pressed and folded with the monogram facing up, all prim and proper on the piano when I arrived. Rose was warming up and the Kaiser was already there. I picked up the hanky and when I knew Rose was looking at me out the corner of her eye, I raised it to my nose and sniffed it. It was incredibly rude of me and so juvenile. Rose couldn’t believe it. She forgot her policy of ignoring me, her chin dropped and she gawked straight at me and I grinned. She grinned back. And the Kaiser turned to us and said, “Miss Piper, shall we begin with a few deep breaths?” I got the giggles and Rose clapped her face into her hands. The Kaiser asked me what was wrong and that did it, I burst out laughing, which made Rose laugh which made me collapse onto his Persian rug. I could see the Kaiser’s shiny black shoes a few inches away and that made it worse because who’d’ve thought my nose would ever be that close to his dainty feet? I sobbed into the carpet, Rose was howling, I thought we were going to die, I couldn’t even remember what we were laughing at. The Kaiser gave up and I saw his fussy pant-legs swish out the door and that made me scream.
Finally, when I could take a breath, I rolled over and looked up at the sober ceiling. And Rose dried her eyes and began to play — a piece that started slow, sad and four-square like an Italian funeral, then became a big thumping tune like I’d heard coming out her church window, heavy on the left hand. She just went wild, bar after bar of variations, crazier and crazier till the only thing I could think of doing was dancing, because how could I possibly sing to that? Look out Isadora, we were groovin. I whirled like a dervish around the whole room, following the music, just doing what it made me do, I jerked like a catfish, my shoulders had two different lives of their own, my feet went crazy, zigzaggy, I waggled my pointing fingers like I’ve seen the hep cats do, I brought Mecca into the classroom! We went faster, faster, faster, till I was just jumping, not even doing steps any more — then the Kaiser came back in.
He said in a quiet voice, “The temperature outside is ninety-seven degrees. It is somewhat warmer indoors. Miss Piper,
would you prefer to adjourn for the day?” I apologized and agreed that the heat had indeed overcome me. Rose didn’t give any excuse, just stared at the keys, but I saw a drop of water splash onto F sharp. I thanked him and agreed that it would be better to resume tomorrow. I was streaming sweat.
We went outside together and I started running ahead, not looking back, just knowing she would follow me, willing her to. Into the park all the way to the pond and I didn’t hesitate, I ran straight in. My dress puffed up like a big balloon with me floating in the centre of it like a ballerina in a music box. It was so refreshing. I looked back at the bank and Rose was leaning forward with her hands on her knees, “You’re crazy!”
She stood there laughing at me, so I walked onto the bank streaming wet and I put my arms around her and soaked her. She tried to push me away but I thought of a vise and didn’t budge. She even walked a few steps but she took me with her like a boa constrictor. She tried tickling me but I know how to make myself dead. Finally she gave up and just stood there while I hugged her. My face was against her neck. She smells like a spice in Mumma’s rack at home but I can’t remember which one because I never did any cooking. She smells like she looks. A tall timber ship full of precious spices and silks from somewhere beautiful, bound for somewhere drab.
Finally she put her arms around me. I stopped squeezing the life out of her and we hugged each other for a long time. She was so warm. I said, “I love you.” But not out loud. I felt her breath rise against my chest, and feeling her heart beat made her so human that I didn’t know how I could ever have thought she couldn’t be hurt by me or anyone else. Dear heart. I felt her cheek against mine. I’ve never felt anything so soft. I kissed her lips. In my mind. It felt so natural, but I knew it couldn’t be right. Even a kiss on the cheek — and anyone’s allowed to kiss someone on the cheek — but even that wouldn’t be right because it would be an impostor for the kind of kiss I want to give her. For that matter, it wasn’t right to stand hugging each other for so long like that with other people around in broad daylight. She is so beautiful. My Rose. Finer than sculpture, softer than sand. Rose, I’m kissing you now. Oh God, I have to kiss her. I will die if I don’t kiss her, I know that now. It is a fact. I will die. It will kill me.
When the hug ended I told her I was sorry about everything and she said she had been worse than I had and I said no she hadn’t and let’s not fight about that too. She smiled — her smile is … genius.
We walked back to the gate arm in arm just like any other girlfriends would, except I was drenched and she was damp. I was afraid of electrocuting myself because of the shocks that leapfrogged up and down me every time I glanced at her. Could she see my skin jumping? What would she think if she knew what I was thinking? I remember Sister Saint Monica warning us against “overly strong attachments”. That doesn’t apply to Rose. Not to adore her is the sin.
And, because this is my Diary and I tell you everything: I felt like I did sometimes when I was with David. Wet. Not just from the pond. That’s how I know how bad I really am. Why can’t I just love her with a pure love?! Not drag in things that don’t belong? I am going to be normal with her from now on.
Because if I can never kiss her, that would be bad enough. But if I lost my first friend because of that, it would be even worse. If I don’t know how to have a friend, maybe I can find out how by pretending I do. And one other thing: no more mooning about her in this Diary.
12:17 am — I can’t sleep. I’m going over there.
1:03 am — Giles’s bike bloody flat. The cab driver didn’t want to let me off here. He’s Italian and kept rattling on about his horrible daughters back home in their beds and what kind of a girl was I anyway? Why, simply because I am awake while others are asleep, because I am white when the neighbourhood is black, need it follow that I am either in trouble or looking for it? If I were a boy, he wouldn’t look twice.
It’s finally cool. I’m sitting on the steps in the doorway across from her building and there’s no one here to shoo me away. Everything’s very quiet. There are no clubs around here, “this is a decent neighbourhood”. The street has been washed today, it’s glittering back at the moon like black diamonds, and windowboxes are giving off scent and scarlet. Harlem is cosy and dramatic at the same time. Rose’s building is of burnt grey stone with an ornate entrance arch that bears a Latin inscription: “Ora Pro Nobis.” Pray for whom? I wonder what the place was originally. Maybe a hospital of some kind. In the window of Dash Daniels Harlem Gentlemen’s Emporium there’s an empty suit and hat arranged like a jaunty scarecrow waving, a pipe stuck in his empty face. The butcher-shop window is full of upside-down carcasses, stripped of their skin and heads. In the dark it could be people hanging there. Pray for us. I just got a shiver. That’s silly. This window would be a good place to hide a body in a penny thriller — right out in the open along with all the other meat. Ghoulish. Ha ha. But I’m not scared. The sky is almost purple. The moon is wearing a yellow veil. There is a cart full of watermelons parked nearby, cool green I can feel against my face. No one’s afraid of it being stolen.
Someone just came out! I’ve tucked myself as far back into my doorway as possible. It was a man. I couldn’t see his face under his hat. He walked away briskly. Bouncily, you could say. Her boyfriend? I can’t imagine her with a boyfriend. I can’t imagine her with anyone. But me. I’m going round the back of the building. That’s where her bedroom must be.
4:53 am: — Giles is asleep, thank God. I’m not the slightest bit tired. I have a friend.
Glorious Sunday — I think the most beautiful sculpture in the world consists of fire escapes long-legging down buildings with their fancy fretwork, skinny black dancers creeping out their windows to the street below. By lamplight under a smoky moon. I’m on my favourite bench in Central Park. It’s raining but there’s a big chestnut tree over me, I have my umbrella perched on my shoulder and I’ve got my gumboots on. It’s a perfect place to talk to dear old Diary. Utterly private and the world smells wonderful.
LAST NIGHT!
I walked down a pitch-black alley to a little courtyard behind her building with clotheslines criss-crossing overhead. The windows were all dark. I looked up to wonder which was her room and there was a man sitting on the fire escape outside the open window! He was wearing a fedora and nothing else but his long striped night-shirt. I froze because he looked right at me and said, “What the hell are you doing here?” My eyes jolted in my head as Rose’s face took the place of the strange man under the hat, and I answered I couldn’t sleep and she said neither could she. And we just stood there for a moment looking at each other, not knowing if she would come down or I should go up or go home or what.
She stood up, walked down in her bare feet and swung the bottom steps to the ground for me so I climbed up. She was smiling. We didn’t hug or anything. We sat outside the church window. I peeked in. It has Bible sayings painted on the walls but otherwise it’s just chairs, a piano and, instead of an altar, a little stage with a pulpit in the centre. It’s her father’s hat. She wears it when she needs to think. I asked, “Think about what?” And she said, “It’s more like…. It keeps the world out so I can be in my own thoughts.” It’s a charcoal-coloured hat. Her father died before she was born. The hat suits her down to the ground. It brings out her cheekbones and her jaw-line. A hat can do that for you. She is not only beautiful, she’s handsome too, but I’m not going to gush any more, I have a friend and all wrong feelings are banished, they are not needed!
We talked for three hours, which sped by till I had to run halfway back downtown before I could find a cab. I don’t care. The more I run the less tired I get, the less I sleep the more awake I feel. Rose was classically trained on the piano by tutors from the New York Conservatory. I was right. Child prodigy. She started playing when she was three years old. Her father was a musician. That’s all she knows. And that he died of TB. Her mother has a friend who I guess is a quite prominent conductor who’s been paying for Rose
’s lessons and connecting her to the right people since she was a kid. Rose is supposed to be the first coloured woman to play with the New York Symphony at Carnegie Hall. She wouldn’t tell me the man’s name, though, and she wouldn’t tell me why she wouldn’t tell, either, she’d just say “a friend of my mother’s”. That girl keeps her secrets, but one by one they will be mine. I had such a great time.
If she were a boy we would be in love, but it’s better this way. We can tell each other everything. She wanted to know all about home but I made her guess. She guessed that I came from parents I call “Mother and Dad,” that I had “equestrian” lessons, that “Mumsy” is a “frosty blonde” with arch blue eyes and impeccable taste in porcelain and that “Fathah” is a judge from “old money”. I played her own game right back at her and didn’t tell her if she was right or wrong. I’ll let her think she’s smart for now. Then I’ll show her my family photo. AND she thinks I have an accent! She said, “Where you from, girl?” And I said, “There you go again, sometimes you have an accent and sometimes you don’t, how come?” And she said, “I asked you first.” I said, “Cape Breton Island.” And she said, “‘C’Bre’n Ireland’?” I said, “I don’t talk like that.” She said, “That’s exactly how you talk.”
“Cape Breton is in Canada, not Ireland, what do they teach you in school here?”
She said, “Useful stuff like how anyone can grow up to be president.”
I said, “Don’t you know anything about Canada?”
“Freeze your ass off, right?”
I never know when she’s fooling but I do know now that she likes to get me riled. What a pair! I told her I’d been to Club Mecca and she was speechless. I love it when I can hit her with a zinger and she stops looking like there’s nothing new under the sun. I asked her to come with me next time because I can’t go alone. She said she couldn’t do that to her mother. I asked her how her mother was ever going to find out if neither of us told her. She answered after a moment, “My mother knows a lot of people.”