American Dreams (23 page)

Later, seated on the upstairs level of Charles Rector's swanky restaurant, they ordered platters of fried oysters, a house speciality. Fritzi said,

'What will you do? Try the West End again?'

He fixed a melancholy eye on the ceiling. 'No, I think not. Too many there know me. My professional failures, my -- personal life. Furthermore, I admire this country of yours. I'd jolly well like to remain here. I know I can mount another production in a year or two. Then I'll be right back on top.'

She recognized the unreality of his optimism. Actors were universally guilty of deluding themselves. It was how they survived in a frequently hopeless profession. She was no exception.

'I've made a few inquiries already,' he said. 'William Gillette's taking his Sherlock Holmes on another extended tour, a year or more. I might do Moriarty. It's that or an outing with James O'Neill's chestnut, The Count of Monte Cristo. Whatever happens, I want us to remain friends, and keep in touch.'

'We shall do both, Hobart. That's a promise.'

Eustacia Van Sant's suite on Athena was a luxurious accommodation of rosewood and red plush. She introduced Fritzi to a small, grinning Greek gentleman in a white jacket with shoulder boards. 'Mr. Ragoustis is chief purser. The dear man moved me up from a cabin no bigger than a coffin to this suite. We're going to be great friends.' She bent to kiss his forehead, giving him a peek into her cleavage. He left wearing an expression of bleary bliss.

Paul and Harry

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'Here's my address in Sloane Square,' Eustacia said. 'Do not forget me.'

(

'That's impossible, Eustacia.1

Eustacia moved in and out of a maze of trunks and grips, counting silently. 'What are your plans?'

Fritzi sighed as she sat on a green velvet ottoman. 'I honestly don't know.'

'Don't give up. You have an excellent talent.'

'It's hard to keep believing that.'

The ship's horn sounded. They hugged, kissed, and Fritzi ran down the gangplank to the pier. Eustacia appeared at the rail of the promenade deck.

a

She waved, Fritzi waved, a band played. Passengers threw confetti and M

colorful paper streamers as Athena backed into the Hudson, swung about,

» a*

and steamed toward the Atlantic. Fritzi discovered she was crying again.

i

2.7 Paul and Harry

In the last bright days of autumn, just before the national election, Paul returned to New York. He'd finished his trip in California, photographing spectacular scenery on the wild coast around Monterey, and then the remarkable rebuilding in San Francisco.

He checked into the small but smart Hotel Algonquin on Forty-forth and telephoned his cousin. A woman with an accent said, 'Just a minute, I go get her'

Aunt lisa told me about the play when I came through Chicago,' he said%when Fritzi came on the line, i'm really sorry. Are you in anything now?'

'My waitress oxfords,' she replied with a laugh. 'I'm back in another hash house. When can I see you?'

'I'm afraid tonight's out. My American publisher and his wife are taking me to dinner at Rector's. What about tomorrow?'

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'Sunday's grand, I'm off.'

He suggested a picnic in Central Park. He'd make the arrangements.

'With your permission I'll invite an old friend. I met him on Rhineland when I came over in '92.

Herschel Wolinski was his name then. Now he's

Harry Poland. He writes music'

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Striving

'Oh yes, 1 know his songs. I'd love to meet him.'

They set the hour, half past twelve. 'I'll hire a cab and pick you up.'

'No, no, I'm too far downtown, I'll meet you.' A sudden suspicion told him she didn't want him to see where she lived.

He waited for her by the great equestrian statue of Sherman on Fifth Avenue. A big wicker hamper packed by the hotel kitchen rested on the pavement beside a lacquered case holding his stereoscopic camera. He had to have photos of the reunion. Even when he was Pauli Kroner, the boy who turned into Paul Crown, people had teased him about being a pack rat. He'd already collected mementoes of this trip -- souvenir menus saved from Lusitania, picture postcards from cities he'd visited, a small metal Statue of Liberty for Shad, a doll for Betsy. He still needed a present for Julie. He missed her keenly. Today promised a small respite from his homesickness.

He checked his pocket watch. Twelve-fifteen. Just then he heard, 'Pauli!

Here I am!'

Waving, she bounced on her toes on the opposite side of Fifty-ninth. She darted across in front of a steam car and threw herself into his arms.

'They whirled around, hugging, while Sunday strollers stared. Fritzi wore a dark blue gored skirt and a long-sleeved shirtwaist, blue and white check with white piping. A navy blue admiral's cap perched on her blond hair.

She kissed his cheek. 'Don't you look wonderful.'

'You too.' Actually, he thought she looked pale and starved.

'Where's your friend?'

'He'll be here presently. He knows where to meet us.'

'Tell me about him. How old is he?'

'Younger than I am. Twenty-seven, twenty-eight.'

'Married? '

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i'm afraid so.'

'Oh, too bad. Lives in Manhattan, I suppose?'

'He has an office in the Tin Pan Alley district on Twenty-ninth Street, but he lives in Port Chester. He's taking a noon train.'

'Is he bringing his wife?'

'No, she's in a wheelchair.' They walked along a winding footpath. It had turned into a glorious day, clear and bracing. The trees showed vivid fall color; the light through the leaves had a theatrical quality. Leaf smoke Paul and Harry

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from bonfires mixed with the pungent odor of horse droppings on the nearby bridle path.

'Harry's wife suffered a stroke some years ago,' Paul continued. 'She was a very successful singer, Flavia Farrel, twenty years older than Harry.

He was her accompanist and musical conductor.' Her lover too. He didn't mention that.

'Flavia helped Harry break in, gave him his first musical job. When the stroke ended her career, he married her. He's cared for her ever since.'

Harry was that kind - sentimental and loyal. Paul stopped on the path, studying a rise to their left. 'There's the place Harry described. Come on.'

He carried the hamper, she took the stereo camera, and they climbed to the sunlit summit of the knoll. The next half hour passed in a rush of questions about his trip, his lectures, Julie and Shad and Betsy. There were moments of sadness when they discussed her estrangement from her father.

Paul took off his cap and coat, loosened his cravat, rolled up his sleeves.

Fritzi unbuttoned her cuffs and laid her hat aside. He handed her something wrapped in brown paper, which she undid.

'Oh, Paul.' She held up the book. 'I'm dying to read it.'

'It's the London edition. Whatever success I have with it, I owe to you.

Dick Davis wrote me to say he liked it tremendously -- oh, there's Harry.'

On the footpath, a tall, slender man with broad shoulders waved to them as he ran uphill with a canvas satchel. He wore a fine black suit, worsted with a faint gray check. His shoes had fancy kidskin tops and patent leather needle toes shiny as black mirrors. His white linen shirt sported thin vertical red stripes and a detachable white collar. A windsor
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tie matched the wine-colored band on his derby.

Fritzi stood smiling while, the two men danced around one another, hugging and slapping backs. They'd reached Ellis Island together, but immigration doctors had denied entry to young Herschel Wolinski and his family because the mother had trachoma. Herschel passionately wanted a new life in America, but he wouldn't abandon her and his two sisters. He returned to Poland with them while Paul went on to Chicago.

Determination brought him back to Ellis Island a second time. In 1901

he and Paul met by chance at Woolworth's on Sixth Avenue. Another song plugger was playing a hit of the day, a slow, faintly melancholy piano novelty called 'Ragtime Rose' by Harry Poland. The composer was standing there listening when Paul recognized him.

'So this is Fritzi the actress. Charmed.' Harry swept off his derby, kissed 142

Striving

her hand. Curly black hair gleamed in the sunshine. His blue eyes were infectiously merry. Tve heard so much about you.'

"I can say the same, Mr. Poland.'

'Please, it's Harry.'

'You write very catchy songs.'

'And his own words,' Paul said. 'Good ones too. Pretty remarkable for someone who spoke only Polish ten years ago.'

'That's very kind of both of you. I love American music. I write it for ordinary people who like tunes they can remember and hum. Do you mind if I remove my coat?' His suspenders were bright red, with brass buckles. Paul felt like a hobo in comparison.

'How's Flavia?' he asked.

'Alas, no change.' He explained to Fritzi. 'My wife is paralyzed below the waist. For a year she couldn't speak. Her singing career ended abruptly.'

'I'm sorry, that's sad.'

'We're doing fine now. We have an excellent nurse-housekeeper who lives in, and I look after Flavia when I'm home. I can't do any less. She did so much for me when I was a greenhorn who didn't know a soul in the music business.'

Paul opened the picnic hamper, spread a white cloth. 'Started your own
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publishing company yet?'

Harry was busy with the clasps of his satchel. 'I'm still working freelance for other firms. Thinking a lot about it, though.'

'Your automobile song's all over England and the Continent.'

Harry smiled. 'Seven hundred forty thousand copies worldwide - so far.

I'm happy for the income, but I don't want to write topical novelties forever'

He turned to Fritzi. 'My dream is to write for the stage. I'm working like the dev-- working hard to get a song or two interpolated in a show.'

'I'm sure you will.'

Harry's eyes sparkled. 'As a matter of fact, so am I. There are no limits in this country. Everything's possible, including Harry Poland on Broadway. And I will start my own company one day. Meanwhile--'

He pulled gaudy sheet music from the satchel. 'Let me present you with two of my latest.' Paul read the titles. 'Statue of Liberty Rag.' 'Sadie Loves to Fox Trot.'

Paul exchanged another book for the sheet music, then handed the music to Fritzi. 'Oh, no, take it to Julie,' she said, and he acquiesced.

Harry brought out a worn concertina. 'I thought we should have music while we dine.'

Paul and Harry

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The hotel had packed cold chicken, liver pate, crackers and crudites, potato salad and rye bread and a bottle of claret. At the foot of the knoll a little girl rolled a hoop with a stick. A small boy jumped out of some shrubbery and yanked her braid. She screamed and ran. Seeing them, Paul longed for Julie and his children, and a day like this in Green Park. ;

Harry began to play 'On a Sunday Afternoon.' He followed it with

'Take Me Out to the Ballgame.7 He's giving a concert for her, Paul thought with amusement. Fritzi was enchanted.

"The Road to Mandalay' came next, and 'Aloha Oe.' At Paul's insistence Harry played 'That Automobiling Feeling.' The music attracted a strolling policeman on the path. He stood listening and tapping his billy against his leg. He saluted Harry before he moved on.

Harry played the first notes of 'Meet Me in St. Louis' before he said, 'I wish I'd written this, it's truly American.'

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Fritzi clasped her hands, swaying. Harry laughed and bobbed his head.

'Yes, it fairly begs you to dance, doesn't it? Do so!'

Fritzi jumped up, lifted her skirts to show the ankles of her long legs.

She began to turn, surrendering to the music. Harry quickened the tempo.

She whirled faster, the afternoon sun lighting her blond hair from behind.

Nimbly, she danced in the grass while Harry played, never looking at his fingering, only at her.

When the song ended, she sprawled out and leaned on her elbows, laughing and breathing hard. Paul said it was time for photographs. He took Fritzi with Harry, Fritzi alone, and then, using a clever built-in shutter timer, the three of them together.

Paul rolled his coat up for a pillow and smoked a cigar. Harry asked Fritzi about her career. She. described the failed Scottish play, able to laugh about some of the worst mishaps. She did an imitation of a Mr.

Scarboro, and although Paul had never met the man, he knew him, and his nasty arrogance, instantly. Harry's applause egged Fritzi on to give them Teddy Roosevelt's grin and high-pitched voice, then the waddling gait of the enormously fat Bill Tail.

Soon it was four o'clock, and Harry announced that he had to catch a train. Clouds blackened the west; a storm was building. Harry took Fritzi's hand in a courtly way.

it's been a wonderful afternoon. What a pleasure to meet you.' He bent slowly and kissed her hand once more.

Fritzi murmured something appropriate and appreciative. Harry picked 144

Striving

up his satchel and quickly disappeared in the Fifth Avenue crowds.

Thunder boomed over the Hudson.

'I think he's keen for you, Fritz,' Paul joked.

'He's charming, but he's married. I don't expect I'll see him again. Too bad. I liked him.'

Paul studied his cousin. She meant it.

28 Boom Times

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For Christmas Carl spent much more than he could afford -- $9 -- for Tess's present. He couldn't resist the gold bracelet in the jewelry case at Hudson's. It was a twist design, one of the golden strands smooth, the other embossed with tiny flowers. A $5 gents' vest chain he had his eye on for his father was bypassed in favor of a silk chain costing $1.90. Flis brother got a large two-blade pocketknife with a staghorn handle. To his mother and sister he sent souvenir plates hand-painted with a picture of the city's Soldiers' and Sailors' Monument. The art of buying appropriate gifts for lisa and Fritzi eluded him.