She's Gone: A Novel (12 page)

“I said end of story. Don’t ever mention them again.”

Jolie shrank away from his brusque words and lay with her eyes open in the dark.

17

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

Monday morning, Jolie stood by the dinged-up dresser where she had unpacked their clothes. A queasy feeling swirled in her stomach. What would she wear to look for a job in this sophisticated city? She picked out a pair of navy-blue wool bell bottoms and a vintage cashmere sweater. It was too cold for a skirt.

Jolie showered and dressed. Her pants fell loose around her waist. She found a safety pin and cinched two inches from the waist band. Around her neck and under her sweater was the moonstone in the soft leather pouch, her amulet of protection. She’d need it today. She sat at the table and made a list of all of the Cambridge restaurants hiring and their addresses. All were located on three streets. Her right leg jiggled rapidly. What if they saw through her lie and knew she wasn’t eighteen? She needed to meditate to calm and center herself while Will showered.

Sitting cross-legged on her small rug, she closed her eyes and grounded herself into the earth. She channeled her breath into her core, trying to find peace within. Worrisome thoughts intruded no matter how hard she concentrated on clearing her mind. What if she couldn’t find a job? If a job called her back at the hotel, would they hire her if they knew she was staying there? What if she got hired and couldn’t keep up with the work? She had to be strong and not held back by fear. She’d gotten along so far. Her mind reeled with the sounds of the city outside the window. She silently chanted om.

They took the Red Line Transit, the T, to Harvard Square and emerged from the underground subway onto JFK Avenue. The Square teamed with pedestrians. People swarmed around Out Of Town, the newsstand in the heart of the Square. The sidewalks were brick, the buildings were brick, and the avenue was lined with bookstores and restaurants. In front of the Harvard Co-op bookstore, they stopped by an ornate iron clock set on a tall iron post.

“This will always be our spot to meet,” Will said.

A jazz musician on the corner coaxed notes from a trumpet. The ethereal sound of Miles Davis’s “Sketches in Spain” wafted down the street. At a coffee shop, they sat by the window and watched the throng of people stream by. They drank tea and shared an English muffin smothered in blackberry jam.

Jolie looked at the bookstore across the street. That’s where she’d rather work instead of a restaurant. Her mom had wanted her to become a librarian because she spent so much time reading at the library. A librarian? Just because she loved to read about travel and adventure didn’t mean she wanted to be in charge of the Dewey decimal system. Thinking about her mom made her homesick.

“What if I got a job in one of the bookstores?” she asked.

“It’s minimum wage with no tips or food. We need your tips.”

He was right. She could buy books with tip money. She took out her list of waitress jobs and oriented herself to the streets.

Will stood. “I’m off to check out the scene.” He left some money on top of the check. “I’ll meet you at the clock post at noon.” He leaned down and kissed her. “Good luck.”

Sipping her tea she watched him walk down the street and disappear into the crowd. She ordered more hot water and lingered, trying to work up the nerve to go out. Finally, exhausting her tea bag, she left the warmth of the cafe.

Jolie walked by the restaurants on her list and read the menus. There was a crepe café, a German joint, a restaurant with an ice cream counter, and an Italian place.

She circled back through the streets, gathered her courage, and paused before Brigham’s. The sign in the window read, “I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Ice Cream.” She walked in, passed the ice cream counter in front of the restaurant, and stood before a busy breakfast counter where a middle-aged waitress talked with her customers.

“May I please see the manager?” Jolie asked.

“Frank,” the waitress called in a harsh accent.

Jolie stepped back and waited. There was no way she would be waiting tables when she was that old. A man in a starched white shirt and black pants walked over to the waitress. She nodded her head in Jolie’s direction. He looked at her expectantly.

She swallowed. “I’m here to apply for the job.”

“Come on back.”

She followed him to the far counter.

“Fill out this application,” the manager said. “I’ll be back in a few.”

She completed the paperwork and waited for him to return, nervously pulling up her waistband and smoothing her sweater down. The restaurant was packed. The waitresses hustled as the cook in a white uniform and chef’s hat flung orders onto a counter and yelled out names. The manager returned, picked up her application, and scrutinized it.

He reached out his hand. “Jolie, I’m Frank.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jolie said. She shook his hand and winced from his powerful grip.

“You can start tomorrow at the ice cream counter. Your shift is from eleven to seven. If that works out, we’ll use you waitressing.”

“Really?” Jolie said.

“Really.” He smiled. “At least one of my problems is solved. Be here at eleven a.m. sharp. We’ll have a uniform and apron for you.”

“Thank you,” Jolie said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She floated outside into the hum of buses, cars, and throngs of pedestrians. Wow, within fifteen minutes she had a job.

A panhandler stood in front of the restaurant. “Spare change?”

She shook her head. She had nothing to spare now, but she would soon. She glanced down the street at the tall iron clock. There was another two hours to go before she met Will. Wandering up Massachusetts Avenue past boutiques, restaurants, and more bookstores, she found herself on the edge of Cambridge Common. She drifted along the center path, reading the historic plaques and monuments. The Common had been a staging ground for American Revolutionaries. In 1775, right where she stood, George Washington had taken command of the untrained, starving American army. She wanted to know more.

A constant stream of students passed through the Common. Small groups of young people sat in circles and talked or played Frisbee. Refrains from a steel drum band drifted from the far corner of the Common. Drawn to the Jamaican beat she sat down on a nearby bench. The band moved with the music; their long, braided hair streamed out of brightly colored knit hats.

Sitting back, she relaxed for the first time in a while. She had a new job twenty-four hours after arriving in Boston. A week ago she had been in Eugene and now she was sitting on a park bench in Cambridge, three thousand miles away. Once they got settled she would somehow get a message to her parents, letting them know she was okay. She closed her eyes. They had been so close to finding her.

When the song ended, she opened her eyes. A young man with brown hair falling past his ears shared the bench with her. His backpack was so stuffed with books the zipper didn’t close. They eyed each other. On his head was a beanie with a red symbol of a lion and the word
Veritas
.

“Do you go to Radcliffe?” he asked.

Radcliffe? She wished, maybe one day. “No, I just got here yesterday.”

“I’m Nick, I’m a student at Harvard.” He offered his hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Jolie. You really go to Harvard?”

“I’m a first year law student.”

“Why law?”

“There are so many inequities in the world. I want to help the underprivileged.”

She nodded. They sat there for a minute not saying anything. The reggae beat started up again.

“Hey, since you just got here, can I show you around Harvard? I’ve got about an hour before my next class.”

She looked across the avenue at Harvard. It lay before them in its stoic and intimidating beauty. Turning back to Nick, their eyes locked. Neither looked away. “Okay, that sounds good.”

Nick walked her through Harvard Yard and pointed out the hallowed brick buildings from the 1600s. She was awed by the history and architecture. She was at Harvard. They stood in front of the library.

“Can we go in?” she said.

“Students only. But Cambridge has a library. It’s on Broadway, about four blocks away.”

A sudden gust of wind bit through her coat and a shiver ran through her.

“You’re cold.” He took off his beanie, placed it on her head, and pulled it down around her ears.

The cap was still warm from his body heat. She pressed her hands over her ears and smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

“Come on. There’s more to see.”

Harvard Yard buzzed with students bundled in pea coats, scarves, and hats. They sat in groups or walked hurriedly to class. Shouts and laughter spiked the air. Nick pointed out the architectural details of columns, arched windows, and leaded glass. When it was time for his class, he pointed her in the direction of the Square. She didn’t want to leave the cocoon of Harvard Yard.

“Thanks for the tour.” She tugged off his beanie.

“Keep it. It looks good on you.” He hesitated. “There’s lots more history and architecture in Cambridge to see. How can I get in touch with you?”

“I just got a job at Brigham’s, the day shift.”

He smiled. “Okay, see you sometime.”

She slipped the beanie back on and watched him walk off. He turned and called out, “Ciao.”

“Ciao,” she called, smiling back at him, trying out the word. She didn’t know anyone who really used it. It sounded so worldly.

Jolie walked toward the clock post in the Square. She liked Nick and his altruistic goal. She was no longer intimidated by Harvard after walking around with him. They were all just kids with dreams. A revelation swelled within her. College. She wanted to go to college and study. And she would study hard. She needed to think of her future.

She leaned on the clock post and watched and waited for Will. Streams of students passed by in either direction. The Co-op bookshop window was plastered with posters of events. Inside, the display was filled with textbooks, glossy hardback best sellers, travel books, and T-shirts and hats with the red lion emblem and the word
Veritas
. She fingered the emblem on Nick’s beanie and saw her reflection. It was the Harvard logo. She smiled. What did
Veritas
mean? How would she explain the hat to Will? She pulled off the beanie and tucked it in her purse.

In the crowd of pedestrians, Will strode toward her, tall and self-assured. Their eyes met, and he smiled his beautiful, wide smile that he saved just for her. When he reached her, she too was smiling with her good news.

“How’d it go?” he said.

“I got a job. I start tomorrow.”

“I knew you would.” He hugged her tight.

“No tips though. I have to get promoted to a waitress for tips.”

“No tips? We need your tips. It’s expensive here, if you haven’t already figured that out.”

A flash of heat rose and swelled in her head. Her chest seized up. Of course she knew that. Tears welled. Do not cry, do not cry, do not cry.

They zigzagged through the streets. Food aromas wafted in the air. Hungry for lunch, they found a diner on a side street. The cheapest items on the menu were grilled cheese or fried egg sandwiches. They ordered one of each and shared. They debated which was better.

“We can’t eat out again until we have money coming in,” Will said.

She nodded, still hungry.

“I found Liberation Books and talked to the owner, Martin. The Weatherman bomb blast in New York freaked everyone out. The movement’s so fractured now. There’s no common platform. It needs leadership.” His eyes flashed with an intensity she had not seen before.

“We won’t see any change until we overthrow the capitalists and abolish the classes of society.” He drummed his fingers on the counter.

She pondered the enormous task. How would it ever work? It would take a revolution, that’s for sure. Distracted by the dessert case, her mouth watered at the glistening Boston cream pie on display next to a strawberry cheesecake and lemon meringue pie. When she got paid, she would treat them to dessert.

Outside, they gravitated toward the Charles River footbridge. The bridge’s graceful arches spanned the river, skillfully built out of brick and stone. They walked halfway out, staying clear of bicycles whirring past, and looked across at Boston and back to Cambridge.

“I think we should live in Cambridge when we save enough money to rent a place,” Will said.

“We could rent an old brick house,” Jolie said.

“There are rentals listed on the bulletin board at the bookstore. We could start by renting a room in a house with others,” Will said.

Please, not a commune. She would not live in another commune. “Not another commune.”

“No, just roommates. But if we found one that was listed at the bookstore, at least we’d have similar politics.”

Politics, he lived and breathed politics.

“I met a Harvard law student today, and he gave me a tour of Harvard Yard. It is so beautiful and historic. I want to go to college someday.”

“You what?”

“I want to go to college someday.”

“You went off with some guy you don’t know?”

“Well…I know him now.”

“Jesus, Jolie. You just don’t go off with guys you meet. Not everyone has good intentions.”

“He’s a first-year law student.”