Ten Cents a Dance (8 page)

Ask him!

"Tom," I blurted, at the same time he said, "Ruby . . ." He laid a hand on my shoulder. He had big hands. His fingers could wrap all the way around my arm.

"I feel awful," he said. "This was supposed to be a good time, and here you are, miserable."

"It's not your fault I'm so clumsy," I said. "Besides, it's just a . . ."

"Just a dress, yeah, I know." He edged closer. "And I'll bet it's the only one you have. It is, isn't it?"

My heart hit the gas. Suddenly I was aware of everything: the pressure of his fingers, the stirring of his breath in my hair, the anxiety in his voice. I wondered what he had to be anxious about, this man who could throw five dollars away on a single dinner.
I'd
scraped my mother's knuckle bloody so we could pawn her ring and not get thrown into the street.

The statue blurred and trembled. I groped for my handkerchief.

"Don't cry," Tom said. "Ruby, don't. If. . . if I . . ." He took his hand away. I thought he was getting his own handkerchief. But the hand came back, and it was holding a wallet.

"If I loan it to you . . . ," I heard him say.

"I'll pay you back. I promise. I will." I slashed across my chest with my finger.
Cross my heart, hope to die.

Fingers reached into the wallet. Pulled out a bill and folded it neatly into thirds, and then the fingers tucked the bill into my palm. It shouldn't have felt right to take money from a strange man. It should have felt wrong. Terrible.

I stared at the
10
in the corner of the bill. I'd never held ten dollars all at once in my life.

It felt wonderful.

"Is it enough?" Tom said. "I mean, to buy something as nice as . . ." He gestured at the dress.

Men never know how much those things cost.
"This? Oh, well,
this
was twenty . . . But I have a little money of my own, and besides, I don't need anything nearly so pretty to dance in." I gave a little laugh. "You don't like the Starlight, anyway. I won't be dressing up for you."

Outside, the cabbie honked. The wallet still lay open in Tom's hands. He pulled out another bill. "Here."

"No, I . . ."

"Please, Ruby. It'll make me happy." He waggled the money. "Please?"

I took it. "Thank you." My voice cracked against a sudden ache in my throat. "You have no idea what . . . I'll pay you back. I promise."

"I know you will," Tom said.

In the cab, Jack tried to get us to go with them to a party at his friend's house ("Be our dates for an hour, come on!") but Peggy was firm. Supper was fine, but we were working stiffs and we had to be up early. I let her do all the talking. I clutched my pocketbook to my side, as if the twenty dollars might escape. I hardly even noticed when Tom put his arm around me.

"You sure are nice," he murmured. "Such a sweet little thing." He nuzzled my ear, and I moved away. It tickled.

His arm tightened around my shoulders. "Well, that's a little hard, considering . . ."

He'd been nice to me. I supposed I ought to be nice to him. Besides, if I wasn't, maybe he'd demand his money back right now. That thought made me nervous enough that when he nuzzled my ear again, I let him, and when he turned my face toward his and kissed me, I let him do that, too. His kiss didn't make me thrill, not like Paulie's. Well, that only proved there was no harm in it.

My stomach had another opinion, though. Between my keyed-up nerves, and the chop suey, and the beer— inside me and on Tom's breath—I felt a little sick. When the kiss was over, I ducked my head and snuggled into his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't take it into his head to do it again. I wouldn't answer for my stomach, if he did. But he only kissed the top of my head.

"Remember what you promised about those flips," he said. "I'll watch you, I'll hold you to it."

"Sure." I hardly paid attention to what we were saying. With the four of us crammed close, the cab was too warm, and Tom's sweater smelled doggier than ever. I was relieved when we got back to the Starlight. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I took a long, clean breath of cold air, to clear my head.

"That cheapskate Jack," Peggy said after the men dropped us off and pulled away in the cab again. "His friend pays for dinner, you'd think he could spring for cab fare to get us home. Well, how'd it go with you? Did you get the money?" I nodded. "I knew he was a sap," she said, and then, "Where are you going?"

"My streetcar's this way."

"Uh-uh. It's your big night out, remember?" Another cab was passing; Peggy flagged it down. I got in after her and kicked my shoes off and closed my eyes. She was right. I felt like I was flying on a magic carpet, winging my way home.

"So how much does a gown like yours cost?" I asked. "With sequins and things?"

"Sequins?" Peggy sounded puzzled. "You were just supposed to get a couple of bucks for dry cleaning. How much did you end up soaking him for?"

I smiled and snuggled deeper into the seat.

"You mean to tell me"—her voice disbelieving—"he gave you enough for a new
gown?
Just like that?"

"Well, not
gave.
Not exactly. More like a loan."

"More like? You mean exactly like, don't you?" At the sharpness in her tone, I opened my eyes. Light from the passing streetlamps flickered across her face: glimpses of finger-waved hair and one dark, serious eye.

"I don't know. He just said . . ." What
had
Tom said? "Well, what difference does it make? I got the money, didn't I?"

Peggy blew her breath out. "You little ninny . . . Look, this isn't borrowing a dime from your girlfriend for the movies. No man gives a girl money without expecting something back. If it's a gift, you can pretend there's no strings. If he says otherwise, then you act insulted, or like you don't know what he's talking about. But if it's a loan, God help you. Because then he'll make sure you pay. One way or another."

I straightened up in my seat just as the cab rounded a corner. Waves seemed to crash against the inside of my skull, and I fell back against the door. I was so tired . . . All I could remember was the wallet's cracked leather, the bill sliding free. I'd promised something. Hadn't I? And the money had slipped into my hand.

The cab pulled up to a curb in front of a narrow brick building. By the light over the front door, I read its sign: GREELEY ARMS HOTEL FOR WOMEN. "My Stop," Peggy said. Getting out, she told the cabbie, "My friend'll pay the fare."

"Hey!" I yelled after her.

She stuck her head back in the door. "I got you that fish. You may have reeled him in, but I snagged him. And now you're rolling in dough. Aren't you?"

Back in the restaurant, my finger skimming across my chest.
Cross my heart, hope to die.
I'd promised, all right.

"Fine," I said. "We're even. And I'm no fool, you know. I'll pay Tom back."

Peggy straightened up. "If I were you," she said, her voice drifting down into the cab, "I wouldn't wait too long."

SEVEN

I blinked. My eyes stung, as if my lids were lined with sandpaper. Barely light outside. Must be before six. Not even three hours' sleep . . . the inside of my mouth tasted as doggy as Tom's sweater smelled. Maybe I'd dreamed it . . .

Then, from the window, a sharp double tap. I sat up and immediately sagged back on one elbow. Laid a hand over my eyes. It didn't help the throbbing.

Another tap, loud enough this time to rattle the glass. Next to me, Betty stirred and muttered. I reached for my housecoat and shrugged it on, then crossed the two steps to the window and parted the curtain.

Our flat was separated from the one next door by a narrow alley. No streetlight reached between the buildings—or much sun, either, during the day—and it was almost as dark as inside.

"Ruby!" Faint, through the glass.

I unsnapped the latch and raised the window. Freezing air gusted over my arms. Cigarette smoke and garbage reek came with it. The wood frame squeaked and caught, the glass shuddering so hard I thought it might break—it already had a crack halfway down its length, from a thrown rock years ago.

"Ruby!"

I pulled the curtain around behind me, then slid the window open just enough to let my head and shoulders through. We were on the first floor, but the windows were high off the ground. In the dim quarter-light, I could just make out Paulie's face, a few feet below mine. My heart skidded into a fast jazz beat.

"Morning," he said.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered.

"You still working in that packinghouse . . . office?" Grinning, the rat. Reminding me that I'd lied. Despite the pain in my head, I couldn't help grinning back.

"I'm at the Starlight now. Not that it's any of your business." I tucked my housecoat higher around my neck and glanced at the Schenkers' window across the way. Mrs. Schenker might be deaf, but her husband wasn't.

"Told you before," Paulie said. "I can make it my business." His cigarette end flared bright orange. Suck and puff of a draw, then a fresh waft of smoke drifting through the window. "You like it over there?"

Bedsprings squeaked behind me. "Ruby, are you nuts?" Betty said. "Shut the window!"

I settled my arms on the windowsill, not caring about the cold. "I like it fine, thank you. Why, just last night a
very
nice man took me out to dinner." I remembered sweet-and-sour pork tumbling over Clara's gown and shoved the image away. I didn't want to think about that. Not yet.

"A nice man, huh? What about me? Am I nice?"

"You know good and well you're not. You know how much trouble you got me in last time? If my mother catches me talking to you . . ."

The cigarette tumbled to the ground. Grinding of a shoe on dirt. "Gee, I'd hate for you to get in trouble," he said. "Guess I'll take back what I brought you, too." He turned away, a blur of ash in the dark.

Baby. Squirt.
I shoved myself farther out the window. "No, wait!" I whispered. My voice sounded strangled. "Paulie!"

From farther up the alley, I heard him laugh. "Tell you what," he said. Loud, as if he was talking across a room. "It's in your back lot. You find it, you can keep it."

"Shhh!" I hissed. I shoved myself back inside just as Mr. Schenker's face appeared across the way. I grabbed the sash but before I could yank it closed, Betty ducked under my arms and stuck her head out the window.

"Who are you talking to?" she said. "Oh. Mr. Schenker."

"Ruby!" Paulie called. "You like it, go to Reinhard's. On Madison. Tell 'em I sent you."

Betty gasped and hoisted herself half out of the window. "Who is that?" she said. Paulie's laugh bounced between the walls. "Who's there? Is that—"

"Get back in here!" I grabbed the collar of her nightgown and hauled her inside, then slammed the window shut. I caught a glimpse of Mr. Schenker leaning out his own window, peering up the alley, his gray hair sticking up in back like a patch of weeds.

Betty tried to dodge past me. "Was that Paulie Suelze?" she said. "It was, wasn't it? What did he say?"

I spun her around and shoved her toward the bed. "No it wasn't. Go back to sleep!" I yanked my shawl on over my housecoat, kicked on my slippers, and hurried out of the room.

Ma was up already, stoking the stove. The kitchen light stabbed like a ten-penny nail to the back of my eyes. I closed them to slits and stumbled to the back door.

"Where are you going?" Ma asked.

"The privy," I called over my shoulder. "The toilet's clogged."

"But I was just there, it was fine," she said as I stepped onto the back porch. I shut the door behind me and hurried down the stoop, gripping the handrail so as not to slip on the ice. I ran through the back lot to the alley behind, and peered up the gangway between our building and the Schenkers'. Betty hung out the window, looking away from me toward the street. Nothing in the gangway but scraps of wood, bashed-up tin cans, bits of old newspapers scurrying in the wind. The Schenkers' window was closed. Paulie was gone.

He'd brought me something.
You find it, you can keep it.
Darned right I'd find it, and right now, too. Betty might've heard more than she let on. I dodged around our ash heap and began searching the back lot.

Nothing along the fence. Surely Paulie wouldn't hide something in the privy. Under the back stoop? Shivering, I started toward it. Then stopped opposite the coal bins. Four in a row, one for each flat in our building. Three bins locked. Our lock hanging open.

I lifted the lid. Our bin was almost empty; Ma had been putting off calling the coal man for weeks. The morning light was brighter now, dull gray instead of dull almost-black. Enough to see a paper sack lying on the dregs of coal.

I almost upended myself, reaching in to grab it. Whatever was inside was soft. Light. I opened the sack and peeked inside, and for a stretch of heartbeats, I forgot about the cold.

Too dark to tell the color for sure. Too dark to tell if it was real silk. I didn't dare touch it, for the coal dust on my hands.

I rolled the sack and laid it back down. Closed the bin, locked it, and ran inside.

The two hours until Betty left for school seemed to stretch like days. "What did he
say?"
she whispered, the moment Ma left us alone in the kitchen.

"Nothing. Hello, that's all."

"Why would he wake everybody up just to say hello?"

"Will you
hush?"
I said, just as Ma came back into the room.

"You look worn out," Ma said to me. "No wonder, as little sleep as you got. You should take a nap this afternoon."

"Yes, Ma." I knew why I looked terrible. My head ached something fierce. I must have drunk more beer than I'd thought. I'd have to be careful. Buy a bottle of mouthwash, stash it someplace in the hall toilet. Ma hadn't noticed anything last night, thank God. But if she caught me coming home with alcohol on my breath, there'd be hell to pay.

As soon as Betty left, I nabbed Ma's biggest whale of a purse, whipped Clara's stained gown out of the bottom drawer of our dresser where I'd hidden it, and stuffed it inside. I slung the purse over my arm, yelled, "I'll go run your errands, Ma, bye!" then slipped out the back door and was running for the coal bin before she remembered she didn't have any errands today.

I opened up the bag as soon as I was out of sight of our flat. Dark, smoky blue. Silk for sure. I longed to pull it out, but across the street Mrs. Dudek was sweeping her front stoop, talking to Mrs. Pavlak. I waved to them and headed for school. I could find Angie easy enough. Signal her through a window, meet up at the east gate. Her mother would be home, but we could go to a movie theater, the ladies' room, where I could try it on, whatever it was, and Angie could tell me what Paulie meant by it. Just yesterday, I'd told Angie about Paulie kissing me. She'd gotten jealous—inspecting her nails, like she wasn't listening—but then I told her the rest, about him calling me
squirt,
and she got good and mad at him. Just like a best friend should. And now this! Angie read romance magazines by the truckload—if anyone could figure out a man, she could.

But she'd be sure to ask about her sister's gown, and what would I say? I slowed my steps. Worse, what if she caught sight of it in Ma's purse? I imagined her shrieking and crying, and my stomach clenched. I'd have to explain about the date with Tom and Jack. I'd have to tell her about the twenty dollars. I remembered how I'd let Tom kiss me, in the cab, and I felt my face go hot. She would think I was a bad person. Maybe she already did.
I
couldn't lie to my parents . . . it's different for you.

But I didn't have a choice. She'd said so herself.

I turned away from the school. I'd take Clara's gown to the cleaner's first. Once it was fixed, and I'd given it back, then I'd tell Angie everything. It would just have to wait a little while, that was all.

Half a block away was Hirsch's candy store. Nobody on our block had their own phone; we all used the candy store's. If a call came in for you, the Hirsches either yelled for you—if you were in earshot—or sent a willing kid to your flat with the message, or told you about it the next time you came by.

I plunked the nickel into the coin slot and dialed zero. "Greeley Arms Hotel for Women," I told the operator. My voice low, so Mrs. Hirsch couldn't hear.

Ringing on the other end. "Greeley Arms Hotel," a woman answered.

"Peggy deGroot, please," I said.

. . .

Peggy's room at the hotel was tiny, just big enough for a bed, a chair, and a cramped narrow armoire. But the chair was upholstered in a red flower print, a thick blue rug cushioned the floor, and the tall window let in bright winter light. At first, I barely noticed any of these things. I was too busy staring at myself in the mirror.

The silk fell like water over my skin to the floor. The bodice was sleeveless, lower cut than Clara's gown. The shoulder straps were wide set, covered with sequins the exact same dark, smoky blue as the silk. The same color as my eyes.

"It's perfect," I breathed.

Peggy pinched the fabric over either side of my ribs. "Needs to be taken in a little. You're not
that
big in the bust." She let go and stepped back. Slipped a cigarette case off the top of the armoire, flipped it open, and offered me one. I shook my head. She lit one for herself, then walked around me, studying me up and down.

"So who gave it to you?" she asked. "Not that steelworker Tom, or I'll eat my radio."

I shook my head. Still staring at myself. Clara's gown was beautiful—but for the first time, I realized there was beautiful, and then there was beautiful on
me.
I looked like someone out of Angie's romance magazines. An heiress. A movie star. I looked like someone who'd never heard of the Back of the Yards. "He's just a fellow I know," I said.

Peggy laughed, a short dry
ha,
and leaned to tap her cigarette into an ashtray. "If I knew a fellow with that kind of taste in stolen dresses, I'd latch on to him so hard he'd think he picked up a leech. Does he have a brother?"

I blinked at her in the mirror. "What do you mean,
stolen?"

"Didn't you notice?" She gestured at the back of the dress. "The label's cut out."

"You mean Pau . . . this fellow . . . he pinched this right out of a store?"

Peggy grinned so that her crooked tooth showed. She laughed a lot, but she didn't smile much, I'd noticed. "If he has the brains of a monkey, maybe. No, this got boosted from a warehouse somewhere. Or a delivery truck. They swipe a dozen or two, cut out the labels so nobody can tell where they came from. Then sell them to a fence. That's where your fellow got it, probably, from the fence."

"Reinhard's," I said. "On Madison."

"How'd you know—" Peggy laughed again, shaking her head. "I can't decide if you're the luckiest babe in woods I've ever met, or just savvy and putting on an act." She crushed her cigarette. "Here, get out of that thing. There's a girl on the third floor who'll take in the bust. Unless you do your own sewing."

"And try to explain to my mother where I got this from? No, thank you." She unzipped me. Reluctantly, I lifted the straps off my shoulders. A stolen dress. I should've been mad. Or afraid, or insulted. Instead, a thrill stirred, shivery-cold, under my ribs. I looked at the long, shimmering fall of silk. The way the color made my eyes seem deeper, darker blue. Just the way Paulie'd known it would. I was sure of it.

. . .

I brought the dress to the girl on the third floor. I gave her a dollar to do the alterations and another fifty cents to finish by six o'clock that night. Peggy'd promised to bring the gown to the Starlight with her.

At the dry cleaner's, the man behind the counter
tsk'd
when he unrolled Clara's gown. I tried to make him guarantee he could get the stains out, but he only shook his head and said he'd try. Well, I'd have to keep my fingers crossed, that was all.

The streetcar jolted and clanged. I sat with Ma's purse on my lap, almost flat now that the gown was gone, and I chewed my lip, thinking.

If only Paulie had given me the dress yesterday, instead of today, things would be so much simpler. I'd never have borrowed Clara's gown. I wouldn't have spilled Chinese food on it, and I wouldn't have had to take money from Tom to buy a new dress.

But now . . . I had the money.
And the
dress.

Peggy would tell me to give Tom his money back.
If I were you, I wouldn't wait too long.
But how could I? He'd given it to me because the only dress I had was ruined. If I handed him his twenty dollars, while wearing Paulie's gown, he'd think I was a liar.

Of course, I could buy another dress. I was dancing six nights a week, after all, eventually I'd have to have more than one. The other girls each had four or five at least.

Then again . . . I reached inside Ma's purse and pulled out the pawn ticket for her wedding ring. The shop's address was all the way over in Canaryville, the Irish neighborhood east of the Yards. Ma hadn't wanted anybody to find out. That was why she hid her left hand anytime she went out of our flat, so no one would notice her bare finger.