The Leaving Of Liverpool (18 page)

Levon nearly choked on the champagne. ‘
That
much!’ He wouldn’t have parted with a single cent for any one of the so-called works of art. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘My husband told me.’ She thrust out her hand. ‘Elizabeth Blinker, Mr Levon, Ollie’s wife, though my friends call me Lizzie.’

They shook hands and he said, ‘I’m Levon, but my friends call me Lev.’ He liked her straightforward manner.

‘One of these days, Lev,’ she said, nodding at the paintings, ‘these will be worth ten, twenty times that much.’

‘Is that why you bought them, not because you liked them, but as an investment?’

‘Ollie bought them as an investment: he knows nothing about art. Me, I wanted them for themselves.’

He studied the portrait of Ambroise Vollard again. What had been gained by painting a figure entirely in triangles? He couldn’t think of anything. ‘I suppose you could call it experimental?’

‘I suppose you could, Lev.’ She linked his arm. ‘Come on. I’ll introduce you to some of our guests. We have artists, lawyers, bankers, writers, actors, and quite a few crooks here, so take your pick.’

‘The lawyers,’ Levon said hastily. ‘Where are you from, Lizzie?’

‘Manchester, England. My mother used to take in washing, so you could say I’ve come up in the world.’

‘Quite a long way up,’ he agreed.

He was introduced to a group of lawyers and spent an instructive few hours discussing the law in the state of New York, until the orchestra stopped playing and Ollie Blinker strolled on to the floor, Peggy Perlmann hovering behind him, and requested everyone to find a seat.

‘I’ve got a little treat for you,’ he hollered. ‘My boy, Herbie, and his friend, Anne, are gonna dance for you.’ There was a smattering of applause; Levon joined in. ‘Firstly, they’re gonna do “Tea for Two”, followed by “Crazy Rhythm”, both from the latest hit Broadway show, then a new tune by a new writer and composer who goes by the name of Rupert Coolidge.’ He winked. ‘No relation to the president, I’m pleased to say.
This
Mr Coolidge is violently opposed to Prohibition.’ There was more applause from the heavily inebriated crowd. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Anne Murray and Herbie Blinker.’

Anne and Herbie ran in hand in hand and bowed to the audience. Herbie was as blond as Anne was dark and about six inches taller. A good-looking, fresh-faced young man, he wore a black shirt and pants, and Anne a short black dress. They began to tap-dance to the rather leisurely music, each a perfect shadow of the other, the timing perfect, the moves faultless. The music quickened and so did the dancers. How could they remember the steps? Levon wondered. At one point, Herbie knelt on one knee, Anne sat on the other, and they began to sing, ‘Picture you upon my knee, tea for two, and two for tea . . . ’ Then they leapt to their feet and finished the number with a series of cartwheels, somehow managing to end up in each other’s arms.

There was a thunderous burst of applause as the couple ran from the floor. ‘She’s a wonderful dancer, that girl,’ the man beside Levon cried. He was a lawyer whose name was Carl. ‘One of these days she’ll make it big time.’ He nudged Levon with his elbow. ‘What d’you think, fella?’

‘Big time,’ Levon echoed. He could hardly speak for the lump in his throat. Anne was good. No, not just good. She was brilliant, destined for great things.

It was hardly a minute before she and Herbie reappeared, having changed into glittering silver costumes: a suit with a bolero for Herbie; a top and shorts for Anne. They both wore top hats, which they immediately flung into the audience. The room darkened, the only illumination left over the space where they were to dance.

‘Crazy Rhythm’ was a fast number. Levon’s eyes were on Anne’s face, rather than her feet. Her eyes were bright, her lips smiled, yet he could tell she was lost in the music and the dancing. She was giving it her all, throwing herself into it,
being
it. He could hardly believe this was the mute, white-faced girl who’d climbed into his taxi less than a year ago. What would she be doing now had he driven off and left her outside the apartment in Bleecker Street? It was due to
him
that she was here, dancing and singing in front of a room full of extremely rich people at one of the top addresses in New York.

The number finished with Anne spinning like a top around Herbie while he held on to one of her hands. There was more applause, even louder than before.

‘Wow!’ Carl muttered. ‘What did Ollie say the girl’s name was?’

‘Anne Murray.’

‘I expect to see her name in lights on Broadway one of these days.’ He continued to clap, yelling. ‘More, more.’ Anne had already gained one enthusiastic fan.

The lights came back on and waiters hurried among the guests with trays of drink. Levon helped himself to more champagne: he’d lost count of how many glasses he’d drunk. No doubt he’d pay for it in the morning, if not later that night.

Once again the room fell into darkness. Anne appeared in a green filmy frock and the ballet shoes he’d bought her from Amelia’s in Delancey Street. She began to sing, ‘I wake up and find, you’ve been on my mind, and I’ve been dreaming of you all night through . . . ’ Her voice was rich and creamy, a woman’s voice, not a girl’s.

Herbie strolled on in a green gypsy shirt and pants to match, and began to sing along with her in a pleasant baritone. The dance that followed was sad and forlorn, and ended with Herbie carrying Anne aloft out of the room.

Levon had sensed the audience were getting fidgety. Perhaps they were bored or only liked the fast numbers. The applause was sparse; only Carl and Levon clapped until their hands hurt. Afterwards, Levon felt so giddy he couldn’t stand up. He had a feeling that, not long afterwards, everyone joined hands and sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’, but he wasn’t quite sure.

‘You’re a fool, Lev,’ Tamara said tartly, but with a smile, the following morning. ‘You should have known to be careful when you hadn’t had a drink in so many years.’

Levon groaned and rested his head on the kitchen table. ‘I had a great time,’ he said weakly. ‘I really enjoyed it.’

‘I suppose Anne had to call a taxi to get you home.’ Anne was still in bed, sensible girl.

‘No, Lizzie Blinker, Ollie’s wife, sent us in the Duesenberg.’ It was a strange conversation they were having: Tamara spoke in their old language, Levon in English.

‘Lizzie and Ollie! They sound like a music hall act.’

‘They’re a really nice couple; very generous.’

‘You just claimed the champagne was nice, and look what that’s done to you. Have you finished, darling?’ she asked John, who was curled on her knee having his breakfast formula. He let go of the bottle and gave Levon a lovely smile.

‘Good morning,’ Levon grunted, raising his head.

‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘Are you asking me or John?’

‘You. Didn’t you notice my tone wasn’t nearly so pleasant?’ She smiled again. He felt annoyed that she was finding his hangover so amusing.

‘I wish you’d been there last night, darling,’ he said. ‘You’d have loved it. Anne was . . . I can’t emphasize enough how good she was: a star in the making, according to my friend Carl. He’s a lawyer, by the way.’

‘You’re a lawyer and I don’t trust your judgement any more than I do Carl’s.’

‘We’re having lunch together one day next week. He specializes in property. I’m going to pass some of my clients over to him, and he’s letting me have his litigation cases.’

‘In other words, the murderers and bootleggers and those sorts of nasty people.’

Before Levon could answer, there was a knock on the door. Tamara put John on his knee and went to see who was there. She came back accompanied by a man he recognized as one of the waiters from the party.

‘Present from Mr Blinker.’ The man put a cardboard box on the floor. ‘With his compliments.’

‘What is it?’

‘Fruit.’ The man winked.

Tamara tried to tip him fifty cents, but he waved the money away and left, crying, ‘Happy New Year.’

‘If it’s fruit,’ Tamara said, ‘why did it clink when it touched the floor?’

‘Open it and see,’ Levon suggested.

The box contained half a dozen bottles of French wine. Tamara completely and instantly changed her opinion of bootleggers.

 

The new office had three rooms: one for Emily, one for him, and a waiting room for his clients. It was situated right behind Union Square, within walking distance of the apartment.

In the spring, when John was six months old, Tamara again began to insist that they move to somewhere more spacious with a garden. She took the baby with her to look at real estate while Levon was at work. She seemed to have settled on Brooklyn and caught a bus across the bridge when the various realtors informed her there was a house for sale or rent - they’d had a telephone installed in the apartment. When he arrived home, she would tell him all about it, show him the details, say that John had loved it and so had she.

‘John told you that, did he?’

‘I could tell by his eyes, the way they lit up. Oh, and Lev, the one I saw today had a vegetable patch.’

‘Would I be expected to look after it?’ he asked quickly. The last thing he wanted to do in his free time was grow vegetables. He’d become a fan of the theatre and the movies. Tamara wasn’t interested, so he went with Carl, who was unmarried, or Anne and Herbie, or with the Blinkers - Ollie always hired a box at the theatre and invited him along.

‘I’ll take care of the vegetables,’ Tamara said testily. ‘By the way, I’m seeing Lizzie Blinker tomorrow. I telephoned and she asked me to tea.’

He was surprised and pleased. She’d shown no interest in meeting the Blinkers before. ‘You’ll like her,’ he said.

‘Can we go and view the house with the vegetable patch this weekend?’ she asked.

‘I reckon so.’ He felt defeated.

‘I’ll arrange it with the realtor,’ Tamara said triumphantly.

 

Anne didn’t want to move. She hadn’t said anything, but he could tell by her face when the matter was discussed. It closed up, as it always did when it was something she didn’t want to hear. When she’d told him she loved New York, Levon knew she’d meant the island of Manhattan with its bright lights, theatres, little streets and wide avenues, Macy’s store and Mulberry Street market, Times Square, St Patrick’s Cathedral where they sometimes went to Mass - he’d managed to establish that, like him and Tamara, she was a Catholic - and the myriad other things that made this tiny part of America so unique and never-endingly amazing. When the good weather came, he would miss strolling part of the way home from his office, giving five cents to the organ-grinder who only played Italian opera, walking through Central Park in spring when the leaves were in bud, and in autumn when they began to fall. He would miss having the theatres virtually on his doorstep, the restaurants that sold food from virtually every part of the world, the noise and the vibrancy of Manhattan.

‘If I look at this house on Sunday,’ he said to Tamara the following morning, ‘will you do something for me?’

‘We’re not looking at the house for me, Lev, but for
us
: you, me and John.’ He noticed she didn’t mention Anne. ‘Anyway, what is it you want me to do?’

‘Become an American citizen.’ He was beginning to think like an American, speak like one. He said words like ‘yippee,’ and ‘okey-dokey.’ He called Carl ‘pal’ and referred to dollars as ‘bucks’ - but only when he played poker with some of his lawyer pals during an extended lunch-hour every other Friday, something Tamara knew nothing about. He wanted to take part in the next election, vote for the Democrats the same as Carl and Ollie Blinker. He felt American in his heart.

‘If that’s what you want, Lev,’ Tamara said evenly, ‘then I’ll do it.’

He could tell she was reluctant, but then he was reluctant to live in Brooklyn. Levon felt his sacrifice was the greater of the two.

 

When he arrived home that night, there was a great bunch of red roses in a vase on the table. ‘Lizzie Blinker gave them to me,’ Tamara told him. ‘As you said, she’s very nice.’

‘What did you two talk about?’

Tamara shrugged. ‘Herbie and Anne mostly. They have another party on Saturday night.’ Since New Year’s Eve, the youngsters had been hired to entertain at a number of private parties for which they received a hefty fee.

‘Is Anne home yet?’ It was a quarter after seven and John had already been put to bed.

‘Tonight’s the night Peggy takes them to the movies.’

Levon missed Anne’s delightful smiles and her charming presence, particularly at mealtimes. He made a harrumphing noise and took the satchel containing a heap of files into the dining room - he had work to do later. To his surprise, Tamara followed him. ‘Sit down a minute, Lev,’ she said. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘What about?’ He was spreading the files on the bureau.

‘Sit down first.’