Last Night at the Blue Angel (37 page)

The buzzer sounds.

Oh
,
what now
, says Rita.

She pushes the intercom button and says,
Yes?

It's me
,
darling
, says Mother's muffled voice.

She's come for me, I think, running to the door.

Rita pushes the small black button on the brass plate.

When Mother walks in I feel my body lean toward her like she's a giant magnet and I'm a shard of steel. She rushes me with her arms open wide.
God, I miss you
. She takes my head in her hands, kisses my face, and smells my hair. I know by her voice that she's not here to take me home.

Are you taking me home?

Soon
,
sweetie
, says Mother.
Real soon
.

I brought you something
, she says, her voice a little hesitant. She reaches into a yellow envelope and pulls out a magazine and hands it to me. I take it. It is
Look
magazine. Jim's
Look
magazine, and there, on the cover, is the picture of Mother in the blue night-sky dress, her hair big and stiff, all her makeup on, crouched down holding me by the hips, looking up at me like she loves me. “Chicago's Beating Heart,” it says above our heads.

It came in the mail today with a note from the editor
.
He said the story was just going to be a little article in the back
,
nothing much
,
but when he heard what happened to Jim
. . . She stops and can't continue, holds a small, embroidered handkerchief close to her face.

Sister and Rita stand behind us and look over our shoulders. We all stare at the cover in silence.

There's more inside
, says Mother.

No
, I say, standing up.
I don't want to see it yet
. I can't start to look now, look again, at us, at what used to be our life.

You don't have to
, says Mother.
This is yours
. She sets the magazine on the table.
Someday
.

Sister brings her coffee.

Rita says,
We're talking about coming to see you this Saturday. It is your last show
,
this Saturday?

It is
.

Well
,
we'll be there
,
then
.

We wouldn't miss it
, says Sister.

You
,
too?
Mother asks me.

I don't know
.

I would love it if you came. I need you in my wings. I really don't do so hot without you
.

Okay
, I say, wanting to be there for her.

Rita says,
Darling
,
why don't you show Mama your office?

I walk to the closet, Mother following.

I open the door and Mother steps in and squats on her haunches.
Oh
,
look. Is this the kit Jim gave you?
She reaches for the Heathkit plate, which is lying on a sheet of newspaper.

Don't touch that
.

Sorry
, she says.
It makes me so happy you're working on it
,
it really does. We've got to keep him alive however we can. He made me a better person
. . . Her voice trails off.

I can't stop crying
, I say.

Me neither
. She looks up and the fixture lights her face. It seems wherever she is, a spotlight appears.

I wish you would take me home
.

She thinks.
I've got to get through this weekend. Then I have to find a new gig
,
really pound the pavement
,
you know? I just want to be a little more settled
.

You won't even know I'm there
,
I—

Sophia
,
no. I said no. Not now. I just can't
.

I wait a little while for her to change her mind, then I sit down on the floor and look at the diagram.

Oh, I almost forgot
. She pulls a brown paper sack out of her bag and hands it to me.
Some batteries. For your little radio? And some candy. Atomic Fireballs and Mary Janes
.

Thanks
.

Don't be sore at me
,
kitten
, she says.
We'll be together again soon. Real soon
.

CHAPTER 55

A
FTER SHE LEAVES
I get the
Look
magazine and the soldering iron and take them into the closet, closing the door behind me.

Rita says,
You're being careful with that
,
right?

No
, I say.
I'm melting all of the shoes
.

I lean the magazine against the wall, the cover facing it. There is an ad for a Plymouth Barracuda on the back, a happy couple standing by it.

While I wait for the iron to heat up, I pick up the magazine and flip through until I find the article. At the beginning is a little blurry black-and-white photo of Jim. I look at it a long time and it makes me smile. I pretend to fight with him, whispering,
Be quiet. No
,
YOU be quiet
;
no
,
YOU be quiet
.

I fold the magazine on itself and lean it against the wall so Jim is watching me
.

I can do it myself
, I tell him.

The iron heats slowly. I hold my hand above it until I think it's hot enough. Then I press some of the wires between my forefinger and thumb to flatten them and push them through the holes; they come out the other side of the plate. I touch the iron to a piece of solder until it softens into a small glistening bead, which I drop between the wire and the plate, holding still until they harden. With Jim watching over me, I work a long time.

Finally, Rita taps on the door.
I'm unplugging you
, she says.

I set the soldering iron on a small ceramic stand Rita gave me. She said it was for resting chopsticks but
when do I ever get to use chopsticks?

I wait for it to cool. I never leave the closet until the iron is cool. I imagine these rules for myself and imagine Jim telling me the rules with a cigarette in his lips.

I pick up the magazine again and turn the page and there we are, all of us, Elizabeth and I, Rita standing with my birthday cake, and Sister and Mr. LaFontaine looking seriously at each other, Mother in the middle of everything, her mouth open in laughter or singing, shining like a sun at the center of us all. Everyone but Jim is in the picture and it takes up two whole pages.

I put it down, make myself into a ball, and hold my face in a coat that's on the floor and scream into it as loud as I can, stopping only to breathe. I scream as loud and long as I can, kicking the wall of the closet as I do. I scream and cry. Sister rushes in and tries to get close to me, saying,
Baby
,
baby
, but I keep kicking, so she can't get anywhere near me. Then Rita is there telling her to leave me alone.
Let her do this
, Rita says, and I do it until I feel like I can't move anymore. They wait for me outside the closet, and when it's over, they put me to bed and Rita holds me tight until I'm asleep.

T
he next day after school, I go back to the closet to look at the rest of the article. There are pictures of the Armory, the church on Belden, all the old places now gone. There are more pictures of Mother—onstage, in the dressing room, at our home—smiling, singing, worrying. There's one of me sitting on a cooler at the grocery store, handwritten signs hanging above my head:
GRAPES 14¢/LB. GREEN PEPPERS 5¢ EACH.
And a broken egg on the dirty floor. There is a photograph of Mother backstage, her hands on her hips and her head down. Underneath it the sentence reads,
The struggling artist takes a breather backstage
. In the bottom corner of the photo, I can see one of my feet.

On the last page of the article is a small picture of the Chicago Stock Exchange before it fell. A sentence on the page reads, in bold letters, “As One Star Rises, Another One Falls.” The last few paragraphs are all about Jim and include an interview. He talks about the failure of urban renewal, whatever that is. Someone asks him, “It appears as though your chief areas of interest are Chicago architecture and this unknown singer. Why this odd combination?” And Jim says, “Not so odd, really. I'm interested in vulnerability, especially in the people and things that appear to be tough, who appear to be here for good.” The interviewer responds, “How poetic.” The writer goes on to say that in the end, the truly vulnerable one was James Piccolo himself. I can't read any more after that and close the magazine.

CHAPTER 56

T
HE DAY
LOOK
magazine hits the stands, the whole city discovers Mother.
Like she wasn't right under their noses for ten whole years
, says Rita. Mother's last night at the Blue Angel threatens to be the biggest show she's ever had.

On the phone she tells me,
I'm holding seats for Sister and Rita but I need you backstage with me. Can you do that for me? Will you help me out tonight?

I guess I can
, I say.

In the audience are the LaFontaines, their friends, and Elizabeth. I wave at her from the wing and she waves back. Even though her mother keeps tugging at her dress, she can't sit down. She just pops back up and watching her makes me laugh for the first time in weeks. I've never seen so many people at the Blue Angel, the crowd is so loud.

I realize I'm waiting for Jim to show up and make me do something or scold me. This happens over and over. I'm sure he's just going to walk around a corner or duck out from behind a curtain with his camera. Then I remember. I walk quickly to the backstage corner, where it's darkest, and lean my head against the ropes.

Mother appears backstage in the new dress. It is the color of her skin and covered with rhinestones. The front drops low and the back drops low enough to show her whole spine. It's straight and long and in it she moves like she's floating. The guys backstage go quiet when they see her.

She stands in the wings, absolutely still, and waits. I stand behind her. She whispers to herself,
How do I do this without you? Help me
. I touch her naked back and she jumps a little.

You're going to be great
, I say.

She straightens and takes a deep breath.
Of course I am
,
darling
.

M
other's voice is clearer and stronger than I've ever heard it, it seems like she's controlling every note. She used to sing like she had no idea what her voice was going to do, but that has changed. She seems to know now.

I watch her and listen and the wonder settles over me. I feel lost in her voice, more than I ever have. On the heels of that, a small, slow-moving panic rises in me. I think, If I'm feeling this, everyone is feeling this, and it makes me happy and it makes me afraid because once they see her like I do, love her like I do, they will take her away. I just know it. I sit down on my
X
for the very last time.

During the intermission, Mother hums and rolls her shoulders in her room.

Pretty good so far
, I tell her.

It better be
, she says, staring at herself in the vanity.

There's a knock on the door. Mother doesn't even blink.
Tell them no
.

I open the door and when Mother sees who it is she changes her mind. It's a man from some record company. He sweats when he talks to her.

Eventually, Steve pages Mother to stage right. She smiles and says good-bye to the man, waving his business card as she does.

Let's go
, she says.

On the way down the hall, Mother stops and leans against the wall for a moment. I stop, too.

She lowers her head so her chin is touching her chest. The top knobs of her spine poke up on the back of her neck.

Mom?

I miss him terribly
, she says.
I just miss him so terribly much I sometimes think I can't breathe
.

Miss Hill, stage left
, Steve says over the page.

And here I am with an offer from Canary Records. I'm taking off
,
kitten. And all I want is to tell Jim. We did it
,
Jimmy. Finally
,
huh?

T
he second half of the show is even better than the first. It's like she's shoving every feeling she ever had into the notes, making them so full they burst.
Oh
,
man
, I say to the air,
I wish you could see this
.

After two encores, the backstage floods with people. I watch a man walk up to her and introduce himself. He is handsome. Mother smiles and touches her hair while she talks to him. I get closer. Not because I want to, but I feel I should be prepared. He is talking about radio, television, magazines,
The Ed Sullivan Show
. More people come backstage and surround them until I can't hear anymore, and as she is whisked away, I wave at her and she blows me a kiss.

CHAPTER 57

S
ISTER, RITA, AND
I go straight home afterward. I call Elizabeth, who talks so fast it makes me smile; I can hear her parents laughing with their friends in the background. I hope that tonight will buy me more time with her.

When I hang up the phone, Rita and Sister are drinking wine on the couch. I plug in my iron.
May I?
I ask.

Of course
,
darling
, says Rita.
It's a Saturday. You can fiddle all night
.

It's not fiddling
.

You know what I mean
,
kitten
.

I know
, I say, and kiss them both on the cheeks before heading into the closet. I solder until the apartment is absolutely still and my eyes sting.

A
few days later Mother stops by to fill us in on all the good news. Recording, radio spots, job offers, etc. The craziness of it all, the last show,
Look
magazine.