Ten Cents a Dance (23 page)

"No, officer, no problem," he said. "My wife just fell down. Had a little too much, you know. She'll be fine in a minute."

"Wife, huh?" A big red hand appeared on Paulie's shoulder and shoved him aside. The cop looked me up and down. "You all right, miss?"

I didn't snitch. Maybe I should have. But what difference would it have made?

"I'm fine," I said.

He frowned. Glanced at Paulie, then back at me. "You make sure she gets home safe."

"I will," Paulie said. When the cop was gone, he turned around on me.

"Touch me and I'll scream bloody murder," I said. "That flatfoot will be back here in two seconds, and I'll spill everything I know. I swear to God, Paulie. I will."

He put his face up close to mine. "You breathe one word about me to anyone," he whispered, "and I'll hurt you. I'll hurt you so bad, you won't ever get better. You got me?"

I worked my lips like I was going to spit on him. He drew back fast. Raised his fist. I opened my mouth, drew a double lungful of air.

He turned and walked away.

TWENTY - ONE

When I got up this morning, my entire right side throbbed. Just taking a step made me catch my breath. I'd hobbled to the bathroom, peeled off my nightgown, and stared at myself a long time in the mirror. At what Paulie had done. A bruise the size of my palm bloomed across my ribs, the color of raspberries in the center, spreading to grape and lime at the edges. Oddly enough, the girdle helped a little, once I'd managed to get it on. Betty had tried coming in our room while I was getting dressed, but I'd yelled at her to stay out. I didn't want anyone seeing.

"What happened to you?" Ma cried when I limped into the living room.

"It was the dumbest thing," I said. "Last night I tripped and fell down the platform stairs at the el station."

Chester hustled off for aspirin and a glass of water. "Let me look," Ma said, pulling off her gloves. "Do you want to stay home from Mass?" Behind her, Betty tried to catch my eye. I ignored her.

"It's okay, Ma, there's nothing to see. And I'd rather go." The phone had rung three times already this morning. If Paulie came, I didn't want to be alone.

Getting in the car, Chester insisted I lean on him, as if I might break in half. It certainly felt like a possibility.

At the altar, the jangling stopped. The priest lowered his hands. I bowed my head, but I wasn't praying.

I'd been in fights before. But I'd never been kicked and beaten. If it'd been some rough kid, some stranger, maybe I wouldn't feel so undone. Like even the ground under my feet might buckle and collapse, no warning, nowhere to run.

I never should've made Paulie so mad. I knew he had a temper; I could still feel his grip on my arm, that night months ago in the Yards, the stomach-flipping sensation of my bones bending. Last night, he as good as admitted he shot a man. So what did I do? I dumped a tablecloth in his lap. I remembered his yell, when the water pitcher landed, and shame washed over me.

At the same time, a little part of me said, He deserved it.

". . .
nos inducas in tentationem,"
the priest intoned.

"Sedlibera nos a malo,"
the congregation replied. Betty's clear voice to my left, Ma's slightly huskier tone to my right, Chester proclaiming loud on the other side of her. I moved my lips along with them, not making a sound. The ends of the lace covering my head fell like white fences at the edges of my vision. Keeping everyone out. I wished I could make them walls and hide forever.

We stood for Communion. As soon as Ma and Chester turned toward the end of the pew, their backs to us, something nudged my elbow. I glanced down, saw a folded note in Betty's hand. I took it.

I turned to Betty, as far as the stabbing in my side would allow. "You
talked
to him?" I whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I
tried
but you—"

"Psst!" From the aisle, Ma frowned at us. We hushed and followed her.

The minute we got home, Betty and I made a beeline for our room. I unpinned the lace from my hair, tossed it on my dresser. "Tell me exactly what he said.
Exactly."

Betty nodded at my pocket. "Just what I wrote. I figured it was him calling. Two rings, nobody there. Then he called a third time and I grabbed it and said his name, and at first he didn't say anything but then he asked for you. I tried to tell you. You wouldn't let me in the room, and I couldn't say it was him because Ma was right there."

"Did she hear anything?"

"I told her it was a girl, Polly, from your work. I told her you forgot something there and this girl would bring it for you if you met her tonight." Betty stepped out of her good dress, pulled on the skirt she used for gardening. "Pretty good thinking, huh?"

It was. "Where'd you learn to make up a story like

that?" I asked. "Your friends the victory girls?"

"Are you kidding? I'm teaching
them
a thing or two." Betty pulled her hair back into a ponytail. "All those whoppers you told Ma about going out with your friend Peggy. When all the time it was Paulie, wasn't it?"

Guilt settled on my shoulders like a crow. A fat, black, sharp-clawed crow.

"And Ma," Betty went on, "rooking us with all that la-di-da about the altar society. I bet there never was any altar society."

No. There wasn't. I'd figured that out about half a second after Ma announced her engagement. I hadn't said anything to Betty, I thought it'd hurt her. But here she was, half smiling at me, that kind of smile that says you know what's what. Nobody's pulling the wool over your eyes.

Betty gave a final tug to her ponytail. "You should've heard him, Ruby. He sounded awful. What happened, did you catch him with another girl?"

"Just forget it, will you? It doesn't matter." I kicked off my shoes and unbuttoned my dress. My girdle covered the bruise, Betty wouldn't see it.

"Whatever it was, my friend Susan says you should never forgive a fellow right off. She says make them beg first. Otherwise they think they can take you for granted."

I took Betty's note out of my pocket and reread it.
He sounded awful. . .
Did Paulie feel as bad about what happened as me? Maybe he wanted to take it all back, the way I wished I could. Maybe last night was just a mistake. A misunderstanding. Those terrible things he'd said, out on the sidewalk; he'd been upset.

The little part of me spoke up.
My way, you'll get to spend more time off your feet than on 'em.
He'd said that, too, and he hadn't been mad then. Pushing me to move out. Paying my rent, just like Yvonne's fish did for her. Only not a fish. Something else.

The way this town is booming with GIs, we'll clean up. It's not anything more than you're doing already.

Tears pricked my eyes, blurring Betty's handwriting. Paulie believed the worst about me. And even worse than that: he didn't mind. All the times I'd told him about the taxi-dance racket, he'd never cared how many fish I had. All he cared about was how much I'd soaked them for.

I crumpled the note into a ball and dropped it on the floor. Betty stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "Aren't you going to go see him? Aren't you going to talk to him?"

"No," I said.

Because to Paulie, I was just another Yvonne. And I couldn't forgive that. Not ever.

. . .

I took two more aspirins, then joined everyone in the kitchen. Ma and Chester sat at the kitchen table, eating sandwiches. At the counter, Betty chopped rhubarb stalks from her garden. Ma had said she'd make a tart for dessert.

"Betty said something about you meeting your friend Polly tonight," Ma said to me. "Now, is it Polly or Peggy? Or are they two different girls?"

At the sound of the name, I flinched. "No, she's . . . they're different. But it's just a . . . a magazine I loaned her. I don't want it back."

Betty shot me a look, her lips tight. She'd yammered at me about how awful I was being to poor Paulie until finally I threatened to stuff a shoe down her throat. That had shut her up.

Chester put down his sandwich. "Shame if you lose all your friends, just 'cause you're not working anymore. Say, tomorrow when I make my air defense rounds, why don't you come with me? There's some girls up the street I bet would love to meet you." He turned to Ma. "The Gorman sisters. You remember?"

"What a wonderful idea! Why don't you, Ruby? I believe you and Betty will be in Amy Gorman's class this fall. It'll be good to make some friends before then, don't you think?"

I'd seen the Gorman sisters walking to school in their St. Casimir's uniforms. Their faces looked as sweet and blank to me as whipped cream. I opened the refrigerator, looking for the lemonade; suddenly I felt as if I were inside it, the walls pressing down hard. I shut the door.

Betty and Chester went to work in the victory garden. Chester invited me, too, but I wasn't up for hoeing, or for more of Betty's sour looks. The day whiled itself away, one radio program after the next, a different one every fifteen minutes. The news came on. I listened to war news now, with so many boys I knew gone overseas. The navy had just won the Battle of Midway; I wondered if Manny or Alonso had been there. A merchant marine vessel had gotten torpedoed by the Japanese. The news finished. When
Scatter good Baines
started, Ma switched the station to music. A minute later, she was humming along to the radio. More cheerful than I'd seen her anytime since we'd moved here. Well, why not? Now that I'd fallen in line, we were a real family. Acting the way a real family should.

Yesterday, Paulie shot a man for money. Yesterday, I was the top earner at a taxi-dance hall, and yesterday, I'd burned a hole in a woman's fox coat.

Yesterday, I'd thought that today I'd be leaving home for good.

Now today was here, and I was rolling out tart crusts for Ma. I didn't have Paulie. I didn't have a job, or my own place. In a little while, I wouldn't have any money left out of the stash in my pillowcase. Fifty cents a week allowance, and come fall I'd be walking to school with Betty and the cream-faced Gorman sisters. Four of us, in matching plaid uniforms.

I was back where I started, nine months ago, before I pulled Ma's wedding ring off her finger and went to work stuffing hog's feet into bottles. A school kid. No worries except whether or not a boy liked me, and if I'd get called on to read poetry in class. But I wasn't that girl anymore. Chester came in, red faced and sweating. I poured him a glass of lemonade. He smiled at me and I smiled back. He and Ma nattered on about the war going on six months already. I put the tarts in the oven. The days marched ahead of me, I could see them, every single one exactly the same, and I wondered how I was supposed to unlearn all the things that I knew.

"I'm going to lie down," I told Ma.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked. She felt my forehead. "Do you need more aspirin?" Chester shifted in his chair, ready to dash off for the bottle. I shook my head.

"I'm just stiff, that's all. A headache. Maybe I overdid it."

In old lady Nolan's room, the sun threw deep gold rectangles across the bed. I drew the curtains. Six o'clock. I could change into Paulie's favorite dress, the sweet little pink and black number, catch the el, be waiting for him when he walked into Maddie's Diner.

No—he should have to wait for me. I imagined strolling in, in my own sweet time. Paulie taking my hand, swearing over and over he'd never do it again. I imagined the tears rolling from his beautiful eyes. In the dark, sticky heat of the room, I built a shining picture of the two of us, just married, sitting down to dinner in a little flat of our own. Pretty curtains in the window, a quilt on the bed. Paulie carving the roast. Peggy and Alonso coming over, the men talking baseball in the parlor while Peggy and I sat over coffee in the kitchen and talked about them.

Knuckles rapped on the door and I jumped. Pain stabbed my side. I eased down onto the bed as Ma poked her head in.

"Chester's running some things to St. Rita's for the jumble sale next week," she said. "I know you're tired, but I thought you might like to go. Here it is two weeks since we've been here, and you two have hardly had a chance to say more than good morning and good night to each other."

I've decided to meet my friend after all.
I could say it, and she'd let me go.

The stabbing in my side faded to a throb. I tried to call back the picture of me and Paulie and the pretty little flat. I couldn't.

Even if you made Paulie lose his temper, the little voice said, you didn't make him kick you like you're a low-down cur. He did that himself. And as good as he did it, what do you want to bet it wasn't his first time?

Maybe not. But it would be the last time for me.

The words came like they were being dragged in chains, but I spoke them. "Sounds like fun," I said.

Ma crossed the room, leaned down, and kissed the top of my head. "Thank you, sweetheart," she whispered. From the doorway, she threw me one of her old smiles, blue eyes flashing. "I'll call you when Chester's ready to go," she said.

As soon as the door closed, I laid my head in my hands and cried. For Paulie. For the Starlight. And for whoever I was now.

TWENTY - TWO

I could get used to it.

An hour later, though, after drinking three cups of coffee and listening to the St. Rita Jumble Sale Committee argue over how to arrange the sale tables, I was ready to run screaming around the parish hall. Right at this moment, the Ladies' would be hopping. Yvonne crowing at the top of her lungs about how she'd run me out, I bet, Gabby and Stella and all the others congratulating themselves. I wondered if Peggy missed me, if she was watching the door, rooting for me to come in. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Quarter to eight. Fifteen more minutes, and I'd officially be canned.

Fifteen more minutes, and Paulie would be waiting at Maddie's Diner.

I got up from my chair and poured myself another cup of coffee. By the time I finished it, the meeting was breaking up and it was three minutes after eight o'clock.

"Sorry we got stuck there so long," Chester said, on the way to the car. "I hadn't meant to get caught up in all that. Hope it wasn't too boring for you."

"No, it was fine."

"Your mother and sister'll have dinner waiting for us, I expect. I'm starved, how about you?"

"Starved," I said. He opened the car door for me, and I smiled at him. It felt strange, like putting on a favorite dress that you've outgrown. A little tight. The good-girl dress.

On the way home, the shadows stretching long across Sixty-third Street, I decided. I couldn't unlearn what I knew. But I could make Ma happy, I could get along with her husband. And I could damn sure watch out for Betty. Betty and those friends of hers. Victory girls? Know-nothing idiots was what they sounded like. Trouble.

Keep Betty on the right road—that much, I could do. It would have to be enough.

I'd make it be enough.

The house smelled good, pork roast and potatoes and the rhubarb tarts. I'd eat, then plead another headache and go to bed. I was tired and I hurt. My heart, more than my body now. But that was worse.

I followed Chester into the dining room. "How come the table's only set for three?" he asked. "Where's the munchkin?"

"On an errand," Ma called from the kitchen. "She'll be back soon."

"Errand?" Chester said. "At this time on a Sunday night?"

Ma appeared in the doorway, a bowl of mashed potatoes carefully cradled in one arm. I went and took it from her. "It's Ruby's fault, really," Ma said. Winking at me, so I'd know she was joshing. "Apparently, when Betty spoke with your friend Polly this morning, she promised you'd meet her tonight."

My fingers froze around the bowl.

"Then you said you weren't going to go," Ma went on, "and Betty felt badly. So she went instead."

"She
what?
And you let her? You let her go?"

Ma frowned. "Well, we couldn't have your poor friend sit there for hours waiting. Betty said she'd explain what happened, then come right back. I would have sent her with Chester but—for goodness' sake, Ruby, what's wrong?"

I didn't answer. I dropped the bowl and ran for the door.

. . .

Maddie's Diner lay around the corner from the USO. Servicemen of all stripes—literally—crowded the place, along with their dates. The radio was blaring, but you could barely hear the music over the riot of laughter and joking. I picked my way around a soldier's outstretched legs ("Go ahead, step over 'em, honey, they don't bite") and squeezed past a bunch of sailors blocking the path between tables. ("Say, darlin', what's your address? I'm lost without you.") A waitress would need hazard pay to work this joint. I searched for a dark blond head, but the few there were all in uniform. Had he taken her somewhere else? How would I possibly find her? Stand in the streets, scream her name? Call the police?

Maybe I was panicking for nothing. After all, what would he do when Betty showed up instead of me? A kid like her, probably he'd tell her to scram. She might this minute be on an el train headed back to Chester's house, boo-hooing because Paulie had called her a squirt and a baby. And when I got home, by the time I got through with her, she wouldn't know which way was up. I was almost comforted, imagining how I'd lay into her.

But what if he hadn't laughed at her?
I'll hurt you,
he'd told me last night.
I'll hurt you so bad you won't ever get better.
I'd thought he meant he'd break my arm, or my leg, or cut a cross into my cheek like Eduardo Ciannelli did to Bette Davis in
Marked Woman.
What if he looked at Betty and saw a way to get back at me? She could be anywhere in this bedlam of a city with him, a man with the backseat of a car, a man who'd shot someone just last night.

I pushed my way past two marines. And caught my breath in relief. There, in the very last booth. Dark blond, facing me. All I could see of Betty, the sleek chocolate crown of her head.

It's easy to sneak up on people when you're short. It's also easy when the people you're sneaking up on are sitting with their heads practically touching, holding hands between glasses of cola and vanilla milkshake. When I was almost to their table, Paulie raised his eyes. "Hey, waitress, gimme—" Then he saw me. His face went through an odd kind of struggle. He ended up smiling, but I'd seen the anger in his eyes before he pasted on that grin. He didn't let go of Betty's hand. No struggle on Betty's face; she wasn't happy to see me, and she didn't care if I knew it.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

"I thought I'd ask you that." I turned to Paulie. "Let go of my sister."

He shook his head slowly at Betty, as if she was a naughty child. "Looks like your big sis thinks you're horning in on her turf." He glanced up at me. "You want to send her on home? Slip into her spot?"

"Paulie!" Betty cried, at the same time I said, "Gee, thanks. But we're both going home." I jerked my head toward the door. "Come on, Betty."

"You go wherever you want. I'm staying."

"The hell you are." I took her by the arm. She yanked free and glared up at me, mad as an alley cat and ready to bite.

"Go on back to your dance hall, why don't you! You and your clubs and your booze, who are you to tell me what to do?"

I felt myself go cold. I felt my mouth flapping. No sound coming out. Paulie raised a pale, cool eyebrow at me and shrugged. Then he lifted Betty's hand to his mouth. Kissed it, all the while watching me, one corner of his mouth curling up.

I grabbed Betty's hand out of his and wrenched her half out of the booth.
"Nol"
she yelled. Give her credit, she was a quick thinker; instead of pulling back, she stuck her foot out to trip me. I'd have been proud of her, except that it was me she was doing it to. I kicked her in the ankle and hauled again and got her to her feet.

"NO!" she yelled. "You hypocrite, you
liarl Leave
me alone!" Kicking and flailing so hard, I couldn't keep hold of her wrists. So I got behind her and crooked one arm around her neck and the other under her tits and dragged her backward to the door. The servicemen about choked, they laughed so hard. Shouting bets to each other, shouting to Betty:
Sock her, sis! Land her a good one!
She did, too. Knuckles right in my eye, which got her a whooping round of applause. Finally, though, we got to the door. A grinning sailor pulled it open for me. I dragged Betty onto the sidewalk. I let her go to catch my breath and that was a mistake; she put her head down like a bull and aimed straight for the diner. This time I threw both arms around her waist and lifted her clear off her feet, spinning us both around.

My side was killing me and I was gasping for breath, but Betty had plenty of fight left. I realized I had no idea what to do now. I couldn't possibly wrestle her on the el the whole way home; I'd expire before we got to Western Avenue.

"Ruby? Ruby!" A man's voice, familiar. Tall, a natty blue uniform. A navy officer. I had to stare at his face a second before I recognized him.

"Stan!" I said, just as Betty twisted her neck and tried to bite me. I pinched her ear as hard as I could and she yelped.

"Need a hand with anything?" Stan said. He was grinning too. What was it men found so damn funny about girls fighting?

"God, yes," I said. "Whistle us a cab, will you?"

"Let me GO!" Betty bellowed. "I'm old enough to do what I want, and you can't stop me, you liar, you phony, you—"

Christ on a shingle, it was like trying to hold a giant cat in a dress. Where the hell was that cab? "Betty, so help me God, if you don't quit, I'm going to rip your ear
right off your
head!" I gave it a good wrench. Show her I meant business. That calmed her down some.

A cab pulled up to the curb. "Here we go," Stan said, and opened the door.

That set Betty off again. "If you send me home, I'll tell Ma everything! I'll tell everyone, I'll—"

I hauled her around and slapped her across the face as hard as I could. Her hand flew to her cheek; red blotches spread from under her fingers. I shoved her toward Stan, making sure to keep her sideways so she couldn't kick him. "Take her home, please, Stan. I have to—I have to clear up something here. Will you? Please!"

He glanced at the window full of laughing sailors. Then at Betty. "Tell me which one it was. I'll take care of it."

"No, you're an officer, you'll get in trouble. I can handle it. Just please, take her home!"

"No," Betty whimpered. "No, I won't . . ."

"You will. Or I'll belt you so hard you'll think God himself smote you." To Stan, I said, "You better get in first. Or she'll jump out the other side."

"You always were the sharp one, Ruby." He bent forward swiftly, kissed me on the cheek. Then he grinned and folded himself into the taxi. I pushed Betty in after him. The slap had taken the wind out of her sails; as soon as her fanny hit the seat, she collapsed on Stan's shoulder, sobbing. I leaned in the cab window and babbled the address to the driver.

"Make sure she gets in the house," I told Stan. "Hand her to her stepfather. He'll take care of her from there."

"Will do," Stan said. "You sure you don't need a hand? I could call a few fellows . . ."

"No. But thanks."

Betty raised her head. Her face was ugly, contorted with tears. "Ill tell Ma!" she shouted. "I'll tell her everything!"

Yeah? Tell me something I didn't know.

I walked back into the diner to a chorus of whistles and applause. "Watch out, here comes the wildcat," someone called. I shouldered past them but didn't look left or right. My eyes were fixed on Paulie. He was leaning against the diner counter, his hands in his pockets. Then he straightened up and crossed his arms. Tough guy. Paulie was a tough guy, all right. Won all his fights, in the ring and out. Half killed a fellow with his hands. Beat up a girl on a sidewalk.

The trick to punching somebody,
he'd told me once,
is aim six inches behind where you want to hit. Then follow through. Where most chumps make their mistake is, they don't follow through.

I drew my fist back, still walking. The soldiers hooted. Paulie tilted his chin up, out of my reach. Gray eyes hard as walls slanting down at me.

Last step, dip of my knee, fist swinging underhand. Paulie knew where I was headed then. Tried to scuttle backward but I'd figured on that and I kept coming. Eight months of dancing, my legs strong as hell. Fist coming up. Knuckles scraped cotton trousers, kept going. Followed through so hard I felt his heels lift off the ground.

I staggered a little, recovering. Almost tripped over Paulie jackknifed on the floor. I put a hand on the counter and steadied myself, and I said, "You come within a mile of my sister again, 111 kill you."

Paulie didn't answer. He was puking.

I walked a clear path to the door. God parted the Red Sea, I parted a khaki one. Nobody crowding. No catcalls. The only sound, Paulie retching.

I stepped outside and I didn't look back.