Strings Attached

  Delia whirled and slapped me across the face. I was nearly sent to the ground, not so much by the ferocity of it but the surprise. Delia had never struck any of us. This wasn’t a slap on the rear to give us a little propulsion to set the table. This was a slap, a grown-up slap of anger and frustration. Tears sprang to my eyes. My cheek felt as though it had burst into flame.

  Delia’s eyes glittered with what looked like fever.

  “Stop your noise,” she said. “I’ve had enough, do you understand? I’ve had enough.”

  We were peppered with questions from a sleepy Jamie and Muddie when we got home. Da was asleep, deep into the cushions of the couch. I could hardly talk. Delia went into her room and closed the door.

  Late that night I woke and went to the bathroom. The door was shut but not locked. I pushed it open.

  Delia sat in the tub, the water up to her waist. Da had left his shaving things on the tub as usual — he liked to shave in the tub. I saw the sharp glitter of the razor. There was a towel on the floor, which surprised me, because Delia was fussy about things like towels.

  Steam rose from the water and I saw the pale perfection of her skin flushed from the heat. Her breasts were full and rosy. Her hair was loose and streamed into the water.

  That’s when I noticed she was crying. She turned her head and looked at me and I saw it was hard for her to focus. She’d been lost in a dream, or a memory, and we stared at each other through the steam.

  The water stirred as she lifted a hand, and I thought she would cover herself, but for once she had no shame. She lifted that hand as if to entreat me, or apologize, I still don’t know.

  I backed up and shut the door.

  Ten

  New York City

  November 1950

  Ten o’clock in the morning and the knock was at the door to the street, not the door off the kitchen that led to the lobby. I was barely awake, and I yawned my way to the door. I peeked through and saw Nate looking over his shoulder. He was carrying a load of shopping bags.

  I opened the door and he stepped in right away.

  “I took the liberty,” he said.

  “What’s this?”

  He went into the living room and put down the shopping bags. He began to take out boxes and dump them on the couch and the floor, flipping the lids off and taking some of the items out of the tissue paper quickly as he talked.

  “I have a client, someone I’ve known for years. Last year he sent his daughter off to college with a trunkful of clothes. Only she lived in jeans and sweatshirts and ran off with some poet. Dropped out of Smith.” The beautiful clothes were tossed against the cushions and the carpets now, and I could hardly speak, they were so perfect. Skirts and dresses, several pairs of high-heeled pumps, a green cocktail dress, a beautiful camel coat with pearl buttons. “So they go into her room, and they see that she didn’t wear one single thing they’d bought for her. You should have seen the parents — they came into my office, practically crying. Begged me to take the clothes — find someone who could use them. If I didn’t take them, they were going to throw them away. I was coming down to New York — so I thought of you.”

  He held out the camel coat. “Try it. I don’t know anything about sizes, but it looked like it would fit. I hope it’s not out of date.”

  “They could take the clothes back to the stores.”

  “They’re a year old! They can’t take them back. That’s the point. Come on — I saw how cold you were in that jacket you have.”

  The shapeless navy jacket I’d worn for two years already, a schoolgirl’s jacket. I gingerly slipped my arms into the thick sleeves of the coat, lined in satin. I’d never felt something so luxurious.

  “Nothing but the best for a Smith girl. There you go.” He wasn’t even looking at me, he was checking his watch, like he’d done his good deed for the day and he was congratulating himself on how he’d managed to fit it in.

  The green silk cocktail dress was just my color. I checked the size on the black suede pumps. Perfect. And the tailored sleeveless black wool dress — it was just like the ones I saw on the other girls, a sophisticated dress, a New York dress. There was even a pair of fawn-colored slacks and a matching cardigan. New York style, all spread out on my couch. As I stared at a white tailored blouse I realized I didn’t just want these clothes, I hungered for them. It was like eating honey from a spoon.

  “Have you heard from Billy?”

  “He called. He might get leave around Thanksgiving.”

  His gaze became sharp, focused. “When did he call?”

  “The other morning. I didn’t tell you because he didn’t know when he could get here.” I wanted to bite my tongue. I hated the way I sounded, rushing to explain things. Was I supposed to report everything right away?

  He nodded and pulled on his gloves. He pointed to another box. “In there are… some other things.”

  I peeked inside the box. I saw bras and panties and girdles and slips, lace-edged, satin, white and black and cream. I blushed and quickly looked away.

  Nate was heading toward the foyer. I didn’t think he’d seen me looking.

  “I have an appointment. You let me know when you hear when Billy’s coming. Right?”

  “I told you I would.”

  “One other thing.” I noticed now that there was a small suitcase by the door. “I want to leave this here for today. Someone will pick it up at six o’clock, before you leave for the club.”

  “But —” I stopped and looked at the suitcase. I wanted to refuse, but I wasn’t sure why. And how could I, standing here in my new coat? “All right.”

  “Enjoy the clothes.”

  I couldn’t wait until he was out the door. Having him here spoiled the pretty apartment, the beautiful clothes.

  He paused and looked back at me, his hand on the knob. There was something in his eyes. I was suddenly embarrassed, caught doing something wrong, like a cat lapping milk out of the creamer instead of its own bowl.

  “It looks like it’s made for you,” he said.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but he put on his hat and went out.

  I hurried to the suitcase and hefted it. I flicked the latch. It was locked.

  Was it the clothes? In the next week, New York became everything I wanted, as I lost my fear and learned how to navigate the city streets outside my own neighborhood. I figured out the subway. I heard about the best dance classes and signed up, and I learned the twisting narrow streets of the Village and that if I sat in a café and asked for coffee it would be the most delicious I’d ever tasted and no one would bother me.

  In the dance classes I was up against girls who were just as pretty, just as talented, some taller, some curvier, some more supple, and all of them more stylish. There was a look I didn’t have, but the clothes were helping. The girls helped, too; in class we were all just working hard to be better, and after class I swapped stories and tips on how to pad dance shoes and the cheapest places to buy them.

  I had to work twice as hard as the others. I had to not rush in but hang back and pick up whatever I could. It was a crash course in how to be a New York girl — how to eat lunch at the Automat, how to avoid snagging your stockings on the subway, how to ignore wolf whistles and catcalls, how to keep yourself close and not give out your smiles to passersby, how to carve out your privacy and never, ever feel lonely.

  I wasn’t going to feel lonely. I was clear on that. If on a wet afternoon I started to think of Muddie and Da and Jamie and get teary, I put on my coat and went out. If I thought of Billy, I told myself I would see him and then I’d know if we could be together again. Until then, I wouldn’t let missing him stop me from taking what the city held out. I was in the middle of living my dream, and what kind of a fool would I be if I didn’t roll around in it like a puppy in fresh grass?

  I told myself all these things as I buttoned my camel coat and adjusted my hat in the mirror. I didn’t look at my eyes. It would be too hard to keep my cheerfulness go
ing. The truth was, I was used to having a companion. I was a triplet. There was always somebody in line for the bathroom, sure, but there was always somebody to go to the movies with. “Better quarreling than lonesome,” Delia used to tell us, and now I knew what she meant.

  Jamie had been by my side since I was born. Nobody had replaced him, not the gigglers at school, not the other dancers at Madame Flo’s. We could, just with a look, know exactly what the other was thinking. He could lift one eyebrow at a situation and send me into howls of laughter. We’d gone through every first together, from first teeth to first dance, when he’d been my escort.

  I missed him. I knew how much he would love this city. I wanted him here with me to get lost in the crazy streets of the Village, where West Fourth Street could cross West Tenth and no New Yorker even blinked. I’d never gone on a journey before without him. Even falling in love — I’d had Jamie by my side the whole way. He had been Billy’s best friend, and mine, too.

  If somebody had told me six months ago that I wouldn’t be in contact with my brother, I would have laughed at such a notion. But what would Da have done, years ago, if someone had told him that his sister would break his heart and then just disappear?

  And so there were the nights, falling into bed exhausted but awake, still with the noise and heat of the club in my head, when I looked at my slippers lined up ready for my feet, my robe at the end of the bed, and it was like I saw my future as an old maid. I told myself I was ridiculous, but I couldn’t shake it. I would end up like Aunt Delia.

  I don’t remember exactly when I noticed him first, because he looked like every other man in a dark overcoat and a hat. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes he was with one other man. They walked down the other side of the street, and sometimes they’d stop in front of the building across the street, underneath the awning.

  I was peeking out at them from the lobby door when Hank walked up behind me.

  “It’s the Feds,” he said. “They’re there for my parents.” He shrugged. “We’re used to it — they photograph the teachers’ rallies, too.”

  “So why do you keep going to them?”

  “Because my dad has lots of friends in the union,” Hank said. “They tried to help him when he got fired. He wouldn’t abandon them just because he’s scared.”

  “Your dad is scared?”

  “Sure. He just doesn’t talk about it.” He looked at his feet, then up at me. “You know, I get up really early to help my dad do the deliveries. I could meet you and walk you home sometimes and still be back in time.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine. And what would your parents say?”

  Suddenly, he looked older, not the schoolboy I thought he was. “I don’t care what they say. I’m coming.”

  After the show Ted came in to give us pointers. I’d been a Lido Doll for over two weeks now, and I still wasn’t used to being in my bra and tights when he came in. I quickly dived behind the wardrobe rack. A couple of the girls — Darla and Mickey, I think — snickered at me. I guess I was more modest than they were. They walked around practically naked without a second thought.

  Ted popped out again and Mickey said, “Honey, he’s a fairy. He couldn’t care less. He’s in love with Arthur Frye.”

  “The actor?” I squeaked. “In all those Westerns?”

  She laughed again and patted my shoulder. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.”

  “What are you telling the kid, Mickey?” Darla asked as she handed her costume to Sonia. “Who’s Horatio? Did Ted break up with Artie? What’s the news?”

  Mickey rolled her eyes. “Just because I’m a chorus girl, I can’t know Shakespeare? I’m an actress.”

  “Who’s talking Shakespeare?”

  “I am. That’s the point. It’s Hamlet. Oh, never mind. I was telling the kid from Rhode Island that she now lives in Manhattan, U.S.A., and to keep her eyes open. There’s lots of ways to live, and she’s going to see them all.”

  “Well, sure.” Edna stepped into her pumps. “You see all types. Just the other day on the subway…”

  Edna went on with her story, and with a raise of arched eyebrows from Mickey, I realized I didn’t have to listen.

  I slipped into the robe I kept at the club just before Ted popped his head back in. When he headed for me, I retied it nervously, afraid I’d done something wrong.

  “Mr. D wants to see you up in the lounge,” he murmured.

  I looked at him in the mirror and saw my own apprehension. The lounge was upstairs, the private part of the club, where celebrities and the best customers went if they wanted a quiet table away from the crowd, or to keep the party going after hours.

  I got my first smile from Ted. “Don’t worry, beautiful, you did fine. All you have to do is have a drink — a soft drink. Then you can go home.”

  Ted moved away, dispensing compliments as he went.

  “It’s all right, sweetie,” Barb said. “Mr. D likes to meet the new girls.”

  Darla frowned. “Did you wear a good dress to work? If you go up to the lounge, you should look like a glamour-puss.”

  I shook my head.

  “Don’t worry, we’ve got a few numbers stashed here for cases like this.”

  Within a few minutes, I’d squeezed into a flame-colored brocade cocktail dress.

  “Sonia, don’t we have matching shoes for these somewhere?” Pat called, searching on the shelves. “Kit, what size are you?”

  “Seven,” Sonia answered, giving me a pair of matching shoes. “Mr. Benedict asked your size just the other day.”

  “I hope he went to I. Miller,” Darla said. She handed me the shoes.

  Why had Nate asked my shoe size? And why did he feel so free to talk to Sonia? Was he that much of an insider at the club? I thought uneasily of the clothes and shoes Nate had brought. Had he told me the truth about them?

  “Don’t look so nervous.” Polly grinned at me. Without her makeup on, she looked freckled and young, her hair swept back and tucked behind her ears. “Mr. D’s not a wolf, he’s a family man, so you don’t have to worry about that. Just have a club soda. It’ll take ten minutes, tops. He’ll slip you a ten spot for the cab home, too.”

  Darla and Mickey and Polly patted and primped me and sent me up the back stairs with a gentle push. They watched like a trio of aunts as I hesitated on the landing, then made shooing motions with their hands until I kept going, up the last flight, down the threadbare green carpet, straight to the lounge.

  Cigarette smoke swirled in the dim light. A trio softly played “What Did I Do.”

  Mr. D was across the room at a small table, bald spot shining, one hand waving a cigar held down low in the V of his thick short fingers. There was a dapper man sitting with him, his hair combed straight back, smoking a cigarette. I saw the singer Johnnie Ray sitting with the comedian Jerry Temple. Other famous faces were sprinkled around, people I knew from reading the gossip columns — debutantes and society folks. It was Manhattan Merry-Go-Round come to life, and I had a fierce wish that Muddie were here with me. I felt unsteady in the unfamiliar heels and my own nervousness.

  A hand grazed my arm, then pressed it. I turned and saw Nate.

  “I saw the show tonight,” he told me. “You were good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now there are just a few things I need you to do.”

  Not again. I had handed off the suitcase a week ago, and Nate had dropped off a package last week that I had to give to a large man with a nose like a sweet potato. I didn’t know what had happened to his promise to leave me alone.

  “I’m supposed to sit with Mr. D —”

  “Don’t worry about Mr. D.”

  Nate said it with such authority that it took me aback for a moment, and I realized that I didn’t know who was really in charge here.

  He gestured to my right, at a table well away from the band. I instantly recognized the man sitting there — Dex Hamilton, the columnist. There was a microphone on a sta
nd on his table, and he was talking to the singer Dinah Shore. He ran a radio show right from this room, three nights a week, called Nightlife After Dark. Dinah Shore moved away, Mr. D nodded at him, and Dex beckoned me.

  I pointed to my chest, as if to say, Who, me? Yes, me.

  He beckoned more frantically while he spoke into the microphone, and I quickly moved through the tables. I’d been on the radio plenty of times in Providence, but this was New York, and it was Dex Hamilton, who was almost as big as Walter Winchell when it came to selling papers.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, here’s the newest Lido Doll, Miss Kit Corrigan. Miss Corrigan is five feet five inches of sheer redheaded pulchritude. She just walked in the room and three guests here at the Lido Lounge had to check their blood pressure. Heh. Heh. How are you tonight, Miss Corrigan?”

  He had a certain way of talking, somewhere between New Yorkese and trying to sound like a swell. How’re yautawnight, Miss Carrigawn?

  I leaned over the mike. I knew exactly what to say, which was a whole lot of nothing. “I’m just fine, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “And how are you enjoying the Lido?”

  “I’m having such a good time. All the girls are so sweet, and I love the routines.”

  “Keeping the wolves at bay?”

  “Oh, that’s easy enough,” I said. “Most of them don’t have teeth.”

  “Well, hehhehheh. Watch out, gentlemen of New York, Miss Kit Corrigan’s got moxie. Ladies and gentlemen, that was the newest Lido Doll, Miss Kit Corrigan, and I see Jerry Temple heading over….”

  He winked at me, and I gave him a big smile. He’d mentioned my name five times in less than thirty seconds. That was a true professional.

  Nate led me away with a hand at my elbow. The man sitting at Mr. D’s table rose and moved away. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

  “Who is that?” I asked Nate as we moved through the crowd.

  “Frank Costello,” he said.