The Chaperone (18 page)

“I was thinking you seemed so nice…” She laced her hands behind her back. “And that you maybe knew where the records were kept, and… I thought maybe you would be more sympathetic?”

He moved his fingertips along the stubble of his chin, his eyes cool inside the wire rims. He pointed to her, and then to himself. “You are… you are trying to be seductive?”

He smiled, skin crinkling around his eyes.

Heat moved up her throat. She picked up her gloves, backing away.

“I look so desperate?” He held out his hands and looked down at himself, his clean overalls, his scuffed shoes. “You know, if I want to pay a woman to be nice to me, I can find a… professional woman, and I don’t risk losing my job.”

“I’m shocked by what you’re insinuating.” She didn’t look at him, pulling on a glove. She felt as if she were falling inside her own body, the drop nauseating and fast.

He chuckled again. “You think I should be so grateful.”

She was going to faint. The perimeter of her vision was going dark. She turned and started toward the kitchen anyway. Better to collapse outside, out on the street, than in front of this horrible man, this handyman Kaiser. She was almost to the kitchen when she felt herself going down. She grabbed the edge of a table.

“You should sit.” He put his hand under her elbow.

She reached back to wave him away and accidentally swatted him in the face. She felt the spectacles beneath her glove, and heard them clatter on the floor.

“Just sit.” He pressed down on her shoulder. “You must sit.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Fine.” He laughed again, and she understood the meaning, the cruelty, in that. He did not want to touch her. That was the joke. The immigrant handyman did not want to touch her.

“I’m all right,” she said, though she was crying now, completely against her will. She turned away, holding the edge of the bench. She was only wearing one glove. She’d dropped the other one somewhere.

“I’m going to get your water. If you get up now, you will go to the floor. Don’t. Just wait.” He started to walk away, then stopped. “Can you… you should try to bend forward, and your head low, between your knees.”

She shook her head. She really couldn’t. Not in the corset. She felt a loose curl, stuck to her neck with sweat. “You’ve misunderstood,” she said, the words garbled. But she needed him to know. “I was asking nicely. That’s all. I was asking nicely for something I need.”

He came back with the water. She took it, and he sat on the far end of the bench.

He was wearing the spectacles again.

“Drink,” he said.

She looked down, trying to get the one glove off.

“What are you doing?” He scooted closer. “Leave the glove. Drink.”

She turned away from him, holding the glass, and drank as best she could. Her nose was running. But it was fine. It would all be fine. No one from home, from the real world, would ever know about this. She could walk out the door, and eventually, put on a smile, and it would be like it never happened. She knew that better than anyone.

“Okay,” he said. “I will help you.”

She turned back to him. “What?”

“I will help you. I know where the records are.” He shook his head. “But today is too late. They will be down soon. You have to come back another day, and I’ll let you in.”

Cora stared. “Why? Why will you help me?”

He shrugged.

“You feel sorry for me.”

He shrugged again. “Ya.”

She turned away, her hands in fists at the sides of her face, looking down at her sensible shoes. She should be pleased. He was going to help her. That was all she’d wanted from him. She should have just tried for pity from the start—that had always been her strong suit. What had she been thinking? That she was some great beauty? Or even charming? She was not Louise. She had never been Louise, even when she was young. If Alan could see her now, knowing everything, he, too, would likely feel only pity. That was the main feeling she inspired in men. And oddly, admiration. Alan said so all the time. That he admired her. He admired her so very much.

“You are fine?” the handyman asked. He rested the backs of his elbows on the table, his legs crossed so that his ankle was propped up on his other knee. He was looking at her, waiting, but there was no cruelty or judgment in his gaze—she saw that, now that she was calmer. He had a thoughtful face.

“Just embarrassed,” she said, straightening her posture. “But yes. I’m fine. Thank you. I can’t come over the weekend. But I’ll be here on Monday if that’s all right.”

Still looking at her, he smiled, the spectacles lifting a little.

TEN

She woke too early,
just before dawn, and already warm and sweating in her gown. It was Saturday, the first morning with no dance class, and so, not wanting to wake Louise, she closed the bathroom door while she ran a bath. She stayed in the tub for some time, reading and occasionally running more lukewarm water over her toes. She assumed that if Louise woke and needed something, she would knock.

But when she got out of the bath and put on her robe, she opened the door to an empty room. She walked out into the front room, her wet hair still cool against her neck, and found the note. It was written on a page ripped from one of Louise’s magazines, an advertisement for Palmolive soap with a picture of a young bride in white urging readers to
Keep that wedding day complexion.
Louise had crossed out the words and written her own in a speech bubble connected to the bride’s mouth:

Good Morning, Cora. I hope you’re having a nice bath. I really need to use the bathroom, so I’m going across the street to use theirs. I might get something to eat.

P.S. Don’t cast a kitten.

L

Cora found her
at the luncheonette’s counter, talking with Floyd Smithers, who was leaning on the counter, clearly more interested in whatever she was saying than in the needs of his other customers. When he saw Cora, he straightened and turned his attention to a smoking woman and her little boy. Cora slid onto the bar stool next to Louise, who was fiddling with the straw of her drink. It was hard to tell if she’d dressed in a hurry or by design. She did not appear to be wearing any kind of undergarment—even a brassiere—under her thin dress. But the black hair was brushed and smooth.

She looked up. “Oh. Hi.” She did not seem particularly pleased or displeased. She lowered her head, peering up under Cora’s hat. “Your hair is still wet. I hope you didn’t rush over here.”

“It’s just cooler this way.” Cora fanned herself with a paper menu. She’d already decided she would avoid another battle. No harm would come from the girl walking across the street for breakfast on her own. “Thank you for leaving a note.”

“Oh, did you like it? The blushing bride? I thought you might.” She nodded over to Floyd, who had returned to get Cora’s order. “I’ve just been over here getting free elocution lessons from my learned friend. Did you know our counter boy goes to Columbia?”

Cora smiled warily at Floyd. “I think I heard something about that.”

Floyd wouldn’t meet her gaze, focusing instead on his notepad, his pen at the ready. Of course he was still trying for Louise, she thought. That was his nature, as a young man. He couldn’t be expected to be too concerned with Louise’s age. It was Cora’s job to keep him in check.

He thanked her for her order, but said nothing more. Apparently, the elocution lessons were over. Cora waited until he walked away before she spoke to Louise.

“If you’re truly worried about your speech, I’m sure your parents would pay for real lessons.”

Louise shook her head. “People who take lessons always sound like frauds, like they’re faking an English accent.” She nodded at Floyd again, who was now engaged with the little boy in a pleasant discussion about pancakes. “This is far better. His speech is perfect, unaccented American. And he said he doesn’t mind helping me.”

“Imagine that.” Cora looked at Louise’s glass. “Is that a chocolate milk shake?”

Louise frowned at the mixture in her glass, though she took another long sip. “I know,” she finally said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “You’re right. I need to watch it. I’m getting fat.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She pushed the glass away. “No. You’re right. I need to be on all sixes. They’ll only pick a few girls to join the company at the end of the course, or maybe not any at all. Mother thinks I have a good chance, but I’ll never make it if I’m fat.”

Cora had to work not to roll her eyes. Then again, Louise, small as she was, was actually thicker in the hips than most of the girls Cora saw in magazines these days. Models and actresses had gotten so thin, not just in the waist like a Gibson Girl, but in the hips, too, and most with nothing at all for breasts. All these girls had thrown away their corsets, claiming liberation, but apparently, they weren’t supposed to eat.

“That’s just silly,” Cora said, taking off her gloves. “You have a lovely figure. Milk shakes aren’t a good breakfast for anyone. You can have some of my eggs and toast when they come.” She patted Louise’s arm. She hadn’t known that the girl had real hopes of joining Denishawn, and that the goal, for Myra as well, was for Louise not to return to Wichita at all. “And you get a break from dancing today,” she added. “Our first weekend. What would you like to do?”

Louise frowned. “Do?”

“Yes. What would you like to do today? I imagine you’d like to see something of the city besides Broadway and that church basement. I’ve been looking at my guidebook. We’re not at all far away from Grant’s Tomb, which I hear is very impressive. But we could easily get to the Natural History Museum. I’d like to see the Statue of Liberty sometime.”

Louise groaned. “Sorry. I have no interest in playing the Midwestern tourist. Can’t you do all that while I’m at class?” She turned to Cora, perplexed. “What
do
you do while I’m at class?”

Cora wasn’t sure what to say. Telling Louise about the orphanage would be a mistake. It was all too tender, too painful. Any mockery would be more than she could bear.

“I just rest at the apartment,” Cora said. “I get in the bath and read.”

Louise put her hands on the small of her back and flexed her shoulders. “That sounds wonderful. That’s all I want to do today. I don’t know that my body has ever been so sore. I’ll probably just go back up to the apartment and nap. I have to write Mother a letter, too.” She turned to Cora. “And we’re going to that show tonight. Did you get the tickets?”

“Orchestra seats.” Cora frowned. “The theater is all the way out on Sixty-third Street. Why is it so far away from all the others?”

Louise shrugged. She pulled the milk shake close again and took another sip from the straw. Floyd set the eggs and toast in front of Cora, asking, very professionally, if she needed anything else.

“Another plate, please. And more silverware.”

He retrieved both without another word, giving Louise a wistful look before again moving away. Cora used her knife and fork to push half of the eggs and toast onto the second plate, which she slid in front of Louise.

“Eat,” she said. “And I do understand you just wanting to rest today. But as for tomorrow, I found a beautiful Presbyterian church not far from here at all.”

If Louise was pleased with the idea, it hardly showed. She put her hand over her mouth as she chewed. “Church? I didn’t know you were religious.”

Cora smiled. She was hardly devout. She and Alan missed services all the time, especially now that the boys were gone. She thought they would go tomorrow for Louise’s sake. And she herself wouldn’t mind—with the week she’d had, she was longing for something of home, some ritual she knew and understood.

“I actually thought you were religious,” she told Louise. “You liked to go to Sunday school back in Wichita. Isn’t that right?”

Louise put her fork down. She was suddenly, unmistakably, angry. The black eyes focused on Cora’s. “How do you know about that?”

Cora didn’t know what to say.

“Did my mother tell you that?”

“No… I just heard it.”

“You heard it.” Louise lifted her chin. “From whom? From whom did you hear this tidbit, Cora?”

“Louise, I—”

“From whom?”

“I’m friends with Effie Vincent,” she stammered. “Her husband teaches Sunday school.” It was a half lie, leaving out Viola. Cora didn’t want to say that she’d heard Louise went to Sunday school because her friend was friends with the Sunday school teacher’s wife. It just sounded so convoluted, as if they’d had some big meeting about it. And she did know Effie Vincent, a nice woman, who never said a bad word about anyone. “We’re friends,” she said again.

“Are you.” Louise looked at her coolly. They were quiet, surrounded by the clatter of plates and the ring of the kitchen’s bell. “What else did Effie Vincent have to say?”

“Nothing. Just that you liked to go to Sunday school. That’s hardly gossip, Louise. It’s a nice thing for people to say about you. I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

Cora wanted to reach out and touch her on the arm, gently, to show she meant no harm. But something told her not to. Was Louise just being dramatic? Was this the famed moodiness of the adolescent girl? Her boys had never been like this, imagining a slight where there was none. Earle could get distant and quiet when he was down, but neither of her sons ever got so angry or cross-examined her over the most innocent remark.

Louise nudged her plate away. “I’m not upset.” She looked up and gave Cora a pitying smile, exactly like the one she’d given to her father on the platform back in Wichita. “I’m just astounded that you good ladies are able to keep such a close tab on everyone. It’s really something, how much you all know.”

The 63rd Street Music Hall
was not only outside the theater district, it held none of the grand opulence of the New Amsterdam. It was just an old lecture hall, really, with a crammed-in orchestra pit and seats with torn upholstery. Cora and Louise were among the first of the audience to arrive, and the theater was still quiet enough that they could hear a persistent telephone ringing, without pause or response, from whatever space was to the left of the auditorium. But Louise had sworn that
Shuffle Along
was one of the biggest hits of the year, and that the review she’d read promised there was no coarse humor or language. Sure enough, the seats began to fill with respectable-looking people, and Cora relaxed, taking her book out of her purse. She had no option of conversation. Louise, sitting to her left, had pulled out the Schopenhauer the moment they took their seats.