No More Lonely Nights (20 page)

Ron crossed his hands over his chest and glared at Dominique. “Look, I don’t want any trouble here. I know your sister wants to help you…” He looked at Danielle and, for a second, his eyes softened. Then he turned back to Dominique and his expression grew set. “But I’m not about to get in the middle of a fight between you and your husband. I don’t know what your deal was with him and I don’t want to know.” He dropped his voice. “You’re going to have to leave.”

Danielle stood up. “This is my house, too!” she cried. “Dominique doesn’t have to leave just because you say so.”

“I don’t want any trouble!” Ron boomed. He ran his hand over his face. Dominique could hear the scratch of his whiskers against his palm. “We have enough trouble as it is.” He finished, in a voice that was quieter but still vehement.

Even in the midst of her own worries, Dominique couldn’t help thinking of the strain he was under. Not only did he have to worry about supporting himself, but also his wife and two children. She was offended by his tone, but sympathetic to his position. In some ways, she was better off than he.

Danielle opened her mouth, an argumentative look on her face.

“Danielle!” Dominique said, her voice commanding. She took a step forward so that she was in the middle of their line of sight. She met Ron’s eyes with a dignified expression. “I’ll go tomorrow,” she said.

DOMINIQUE tiptoed up the stairs to her rented room, wincing in anticipation of a telltale creak from a floorboard. She was three days past due on the rent and she didn’t have the money to pay the landlady, Mrs. Parsons.

She eased open the door to her room, then closed it silently behind her. She leaned with her back against it, her arms at her sides, palms flat on the surface, in a posture of utter fatigue. Her eyelids dropped and she let her head fall forward. But her feet were throbbing too much for her to remain standing. Taking off her raincoat, Dominique went to the little pine table and chair in the center of the room. She slung the raincoat over the chair’s back and, without stopping, walked to a musty green sofa bed that dominated the cramped room. With a long sigh, she sank into it.

Dominique knew she would be more comfortable if she took off her shoes, but she was afraid to look at the sore on her heel that had been festering for two weeks. It felt damp, so she knew it was oozing. And there was a scratchy, swollen sensation as though her shoe had worn a hole in her nylon and was in direct contact with the wound. She grimaced as she thought of it, but she knew she had to tend to it. It hurt too much to be left alone. Dominique leaned forward and ever so tentatively removed her shoe. For a moment, it stuck to the wound, then suddenly came loose. Dominique yelped as the pain shot up her leg. When it had subsided, she braced herself and looked down at her heel. The sight of it made her gag. It was much worse! The protective bandage had been shoved upward by her shoe so that the wound was completely exposed. Pieces of skin mixed with coagulating blood to form a sticky, infected mess.

Dominique unfastened her garter and slipped the stocking down her leg. As she reached the wound, she cringed and bit her lip. Then, in one motion, she pulled the stocking off, almost crying out with agony. After a few minutes, she removed her other shoe and hobbled over to the only sink in the apartment—the one in the bathroom.

Underneath the sink was a basin in which Dominique soaked her feet each night. Now she filled it with warm water and placed it on the floor. Using the closed toilet seat as a chair, she plunged her feet into the water.

The warmth was soothing, for it was cold in her room. The air outside already had a distinct chill, although it was only October. Dominique knew that her raincoat wouldn’t be warm enough in winter, but she couldn’t afford a wool coat.

After the water in the basin cooled, Dominique hoisted herself up and padded into the other room. It was an all-purpose space, serving as living room, dining room, bedroom, and kitchen. From the closet, she withdrew her hot plate and plugged it in. It was against house rules to have a hot plate, but Dominique had no other option. She couldn’t afford to eat out—could barely afford to eat at all. When she opened her cupboard, the sight of her meager rations depressed her: two cans of beans, a package of dried spaghetti, a can of tomato sauce, and a jar of instant coffee. On the window ledge, Dominique knew, there remained two eggs and a half-pint of milk. She thought she could make the food stretch a week, but after that… what? She had already borrowed far too much from Danielle. Whatever Danielle saved, she gave to her sister, but that didn’t amount to more than a dollar or two each week, even though Ron had finally found a job.

Dominique suppressed tears as she surveyed the near-empty cabinet.
It doesn’t do any good to cry.
Her stomach rumbled with hunger and she reached for a can of beans.

As she waited for it to heat, she couldn’t stop herself from dwelling on meals she’d had in the past. She had taken so much for granted! Had been so unaware of her good fortune! Her mouth watered as she recalled the teas she and Danielle had enjoyed at the Negresco Hotel in Nice. She closed her eyes and envisioned the terrace overlooking the sparkling aqua Mediterranean Sea. The platters of tiny sandwiches—cucumber, watercress, or smoked salmon. Warm, rich scones with clotted cream and preserves bursting with fruit; miniature éclairs filled with custard, and luscious strawberry tarts.

Dominique was startled from her reminiscence by the sound of the beans boiling. She rushed to turn off the hot plate, then poured half the contents of the can into a dish. Once settled at the table, she ate very slowly—it made the food last longer. When she finished, she was still starving. The rest of the beans were meant for the next day, but Dominique was tempted to wolf them down. If she did, though, nothing would remain by the end of the week. Then what would she do?

If only she could find a job! But people thought that her accent meant she couldn’t read, write, or speak English properly. It wasn’t enough that she excelled at typing and spelling tests—she had to compete with applicants who had no accent. Even her fluency in French and Italian were of no use. There were many bilingual Americans in New York and they had the added advantage of an American accent. It seemed no one wanted someone with a strong foreign accent answering their phone.

It had been so easy to find a job in San Francisco. She didn’t understand why it was so difficult in New York. Not a day passed that she didn’t look. On Sundays, she buried herself in the
New York Times
employment section. Weekdays, and even Saturdays, she marched from business to business.

In September, she had taken a temporary position in the office of a dress manufacturer, and that had provided some income. But the regular clerk had returned from her honeymoon, and that had been the end for Dominique.

There had also been instances in which she had almost been offered a position, but was asked to supply references. What references? She had walked out on her job in San Francisco. So she put down on applications that she had worked for the Royal Air Force in Egypt, but verifying that was too much trouble for prospective employers.

After dinner, Dominique washed and dried her dishes, then put them away in the cupboard. She went to the green couch at the opposite end of the room and picked up a novel someone had left on the subway. Curling her legs under her, she settled into the corner and tried to read, but the steady roar of traffic from Lexington Avenue distracted her. She closed her eyes and sighed. Her foot was beginning to throb again. Dominique knew it was infected, but she couldn’t afford to go to a doctor. She lay down, shivering, and clamped her eyes shut, a pillow clutched to her chest.

“This can’t go on,” Dominique whispered. Again and again she repeated the phrase, like a chant. Abruptly, she stopped. “I must be going crazy,” she said aloud. That struck her as funny and she started to laugh. The sound was loud in the silence of the desolate little room. She laughed and laughed. She laughed hysterically. Her sides began to hurt, but still she couldn’t stop. Tears streamed down her face, but she kept laughing. And laughing, her mouth in a deformed rictus. Her laughter rose in pitch and volume. It didn’t sound anything like her, and she knew it. She tried to stop, but couldn’t. The sound poured out of her, uncontrollable. She snorted as her inhalations grew deeper. She was having trouble catching her breath. A sliver of fear, like a knife glittering in the dark, stabbed at her. She was beyond reason. She knew it, but she couldn’t help it.

And then, mercifully, a loud banging at the door brought her back to reality. The sounds coming out of Dominique abruptly stopped.

“Hey, what’s going on in there?” Dominique recognized the shrill voice of Mrs. Parsons.

Dominique held her aching sides as she got up from the couch. “Nothing, Mrs. Parsons, I was just listening to a show on the radio.”

“Open up. I need to talk to you,” came the gruff answer.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dominique said. She smoothed her hair and opened the door.

“Rent’s late,” said Mrs. Parsons without preamble. The woman had stringy gray hair, harlequin glasses, and a set of false teeth stained by nicotine.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Parsons. I have a little money I can give you right now, but I can give you all of it on Friday.”

Mrs. Parsons’ eyes narrowed. She placed her hands on her hips. “Look, sister, I rented you this place ’cause you promised to pay your rent on time.”

Dominique was going to point out that she had paid a month’s rent in advance. She opened her mouth to argue, but then thought better of it. Arguing was her natural reaction, but arguing would only antagonize Mrs. Parsons. It was better to be conciliatory. “Yes, I know,” Dominique finally said, “and I’m so grateful to you for that. I haven’t found a job yet, but I’ll be seeing my sister on Friday, and I’m sure she can lend me the rent money.”

Mrs. Parsons gave Dominique a skeptical look. “How much you got now?”

Dominique sighed with relief. The question meant that she had at least a few days’ reprieve. “I can give you half.” That would leave Dominique just enough for the subway to Danielle’s on Friday, plus a little extra lunch money. She had to stop at midday for at least a bowl of soup, or she felt light-headed.

“Well…” said Mrs. Parsons, scanning Dominique from head to toe, “I can tell you got class. You’re just on hard times. I’ll let you stay till Friday, but you got to give me some security.” She looked pointedly at Dominique’s gold watch.

Dominique followed her gaze and winced. She couldn’t possibly give up her watch! She needed it for appointments, to know the time when she woke up in the mornings. Besides, it was surely worth hundreds of dollars. She couldn’t give it to Mrs. Parsons as security. She didn’t trust the old woman.

“Mrs. Parsons,” Dominique pleaded. “I need this watch while I’m looking for a job. But…” She looked down at it again. Something caught her eye. Her wedding band. Dominique grasped the ring and wiggled it off her finger. She held it out to Mrs. Parsons. “I can give you this. It’s platinum,” she said quietly.

Mrs. Parsons took the ring and studied it, a gleam of acquisitiveness in her eye. “Okay…” she said grudgingly, “that’ll have to do. But you’d better have that rent on Friday. You get me?”

Dominique awakened with a leaden, unrelenting feeling of dread. Tomorrow was Friday. She had no money left, no job prospects, and almost no food.

The only thing to look forward to was her weekly visit to Danielle’s. Thankfully, the visits were less strained now that Ronald had found a job. It seemed to lift the tension that had been hanging over the household. At the same time, he made it clear he had not changed his views on Dominique’s desertion of Anton. She wondered if Ronald was subconsciously afraid that Danielle would one day do the same.

Nevertheless, the visits were a welcome respite. Dominique could enjoy the warmth of her sister’s support for a few hours—and have a decent meal.

She put on her robe and headed to the bathroom to wash her face. A knock on the door interrupted her in mid-stride. Mrs. Parsons about the rent again, Dominique thought with a sinking feeling. But it was only the man next door. “Phone call for ya,” he shouted through the closed door.

Dominique stood up, hope lighting her features. Could it be about one of the jobs she’d applied for? She hurried into the hall and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” she breathed into the receiver.

“Dominique, have you seen the newspaper?” Danielle sounded upset.

“No, I—”

Danielle cut her off. “Israel’s invaded Egypt! There’s talk of England and France getting involved. They want the Suez Canal back under their jurisdiction. Dominique”—Danielle’s voice rose frantically—“what’s going to happen to Mother?”

Dominique had the dizzying feeling of catapulting through space. Her only clear thought: something terrible was going to happen to Solange.

“Dominique!” Danielle cried. “Are you there?”

“Yes. I… I don’t know what…” Her mind raced in circles. She felt infuriatingly powerless.

“What can we do?” Danielle moaned. “I’ve sent a wire, but it will take at least until tomorrow to get an answer. And that’s assuming that everything works like it’s supposed to. Which it never does!”

Adrenaline surged through Dominique, every muscle tensed for action. They had to do something more! “Can’t you get through on the phone?” If only Dominique could afford a long distance call….

“I tried! Nothing. You know how the phones are there. They never work even in normal times.” Danielle was close to tears with frustration.

Dominique wracked her brain. There
had
to be a way to get news. Suddenly, an idea. “Maybe the French embassy could tell us something!”

Danielle pounced on the suggestion. “I hadn’t thought of that! I’ll call them right away. I’ll ring you back when I learn something.”

“If that doesn’t work,” Dominique said, her brain shifting into gear now, “try the British embassy. They can at least give you some information.” The words spilled out of her with urgency.