The Puzzle King (8 page)

To Aunt Hannah and Uncle Paul, the world was split evenly between takers and givers. Takers tended to be “pretentious,” and “imbecilic,” two of the first words Flora learned when she came to America. Givers were “civic minded” and “generous,” and although they would never claim that they were the latter, Aunt Hannah and Uncle Paul were the ones who insisted that the girls stay with them when Flora’s mother first brought up the idea of sending her daughters to America.

S
EEMA GRABBED
F
LORA’S
bags and pretended to be bogged down by the weight of them. “You’ve brought everything but the kitchen sink.” Seema had been slower to master English than Flora, and she was still delighted with herself each
time she came up with an American aphorism or slang phrase. In Seema’s case, it only added to her allure. Flora hadn’t seen her sister in four months, and each time she did she seemed even more beautiful than the last. Young men were always trying to help her choose the correct word and get rid of the Teutonic sludge in her accent. But young men were always trying to help her with everything, and Flora knew it would only be a matter of minutes before some eager fellow with glowing cheeks and a hopeful smile would come up to Seema and offer a hand with the luggage.

Flora laughed, so happy to see her sister after all these months. “I didn’t know which dress to bring, so I brought four of them.”

“So, you are turning into a fashion plate, are you? Well, I’m sure all of them will turn heads.”

Flora walked beside Seema. Even amid the crowds in the dimly lit station, Seema glowed. She laughed and tossed her hair. One young man did come up and offer to take her bags, but Flora could tell that with his shabby suit and dirty fingernails he didn’t stand a chance. “Thank you, but I can manage,” said Seema, not even meeting the boy’s gaze. Flora straightened her spine and tried to keep up with her sister’s brisk pace. She wondered if she would tell her sister about the strange man on the train. No, not while Seema was shining all of her attention on her.

A whole weekend with Seema. She wished she could make the next two and a half days last forever. Seema was working as an au pair for the White family. He was a wealthy banker, an old friend of Uncle Paul’s, who had three children and lived in one of the new brownstones on Fifth Avenue. Although Seema had
been with the White family since the winter, this was the first time Flora had ever visited. When Flora had asked Aunt Hannah and Uncle Paul if she could go in and spend the weekend with her sister, the two of them had pretended to be in a fix about whether or not to allow her go. “I don’t know,” said Uncle Paul with mock seriousness. “Two beautiful young women alone in the big city could be catastrophic. What do you think, Harry?”

“Flora’s only fifteen. Can she really take the train by herself? Maybe it will be too much for her, Ziggy.”

Back and forth it went like that until they finally, and with great fanfare, decided that yes, she could go. “On one condition, Miss Chatterbug,” said Uncle Paul. “You mustn’t talk to anyone on the train. New York City isn’t like Mount Kisco, where you can count on people’s good intentions. And when you’re with Seema, just keep your conversation between her, you, the Whites, and their children. Can you promise us that?”

Flora had said of course she would. “Besides, what do I have to say to total strangers?”

“Young lady, I would never worry that you lacked for conversational topics,” Uncle Paul had answered.

It would be out of the question to ever tell Aunt Hannah or Uncle Paul about the strange man on the train, thought Flora, as she and Seema walked out of the station and onto a street that was wider and filled with more people and buildings than Flora had ever seen in one place.

Flora had heard about the horse-drawn trolleys that carried people up and down the streets of New York City, and now she and her sister were grabbing on to the metal handlebars and hoisting themselves onto one that would take them to the Whites’ house on East Sixty-first Street. The two horses pulling the trolley
clopped along in a steady rhythm; the wheels squealed on the tracks below. As the sisters rode uptown, Seema kept talking. She told Flora how Mrs. White would get dressed up three and four times a day and go out for social engagements. She talked about the bedroom she had in the back of the Whites’ house and how she had decorated it with magazine pictures of girls in beautiful dresses with lace insets and pearl buttons. And she told her about Lulu, the family dog, who had become her closest friend. Flora tried to listen but could barely pay attention for all there was to see: the red brick train station with its copper cupolas, the cobblestone streets, the conductor in his official-looking uniform who stood at the back door holding a large gold pocket watch in his hand. Had Seema become so familiar with this amazing spectacle that she didn’t even notice it anymore?

“Here we are,” said Seema, as the trolley came to a bumpy halt at Sixty-first Street and Fifth Avenue. “Come, we go in the back way.” It was a grand house, different from the one in Mount Kisco. This one was made of limestone, and the way the sun hit it just so, it looked as if it were covered with glinting specks of diamonds. Seema pushed open the back iron gates, which were taller than Flora and were topped with ornate curlicues. As soon as Seema stuck her key into the lock, they heard a loud, piercing bark. Flora backed away. “Oh, don’t let that scare you,” said Seema. “It’s Lulu. She’s happy to see us.”

Her aunt and uncle’s house smelled like fresh air, or like basil and rosemary and whatever else Aunt Hannah was cooking. This house smelled like leather and wood and had the faint odor of yesterday’s fire. It was dark inside, and as Flora’s eyes were adjusting to the lack of light, she felt something cold and wet press against her knee. “Down Lulu,” said Seema. But that was after
Lulu had placed both paws on Flora’s breastbone and knocked her to the floor. Lulu drooled on Flora and stuck her nose under her armpit. “Get her off me,” she screamed.

“Nothing to be scared of,” said Seema, bending down to pet Lulu. “She’s a German shepherd, a landsman. She wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

“A fly,” said Flora abruptly. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly is how they say it. And I don’t care if she’s from Kaiserslautern, she’s drooling all over me and smells awful.”

Seema put her arms around Lulu’s black-and-russet neck. “Ach, Lulu darling,” she said. “Don’t worry, everything is okay. You stay with me now. Okay?”

There was something about the way Seema cooed at Lulu, the way she talked about the Whites and studied the pictures from the magazine that made Flora think Seema had changed. Flora stood up, brushed herself off, and made sure the anger was out of her voice before she spoke again. “C’mon, Seema, show me your room. I’m so sweaty, I’d love to splash some cold water on my face.”

Seema led Flora down the back hall past the Whites’ hulking mahogany furniture and wood-paneled rooms with Tiffany windows and Persian rugs on the floor. As Seema pushed the door open, Lulu ran past the two of them and jumped on the narrow cot that was pushed up against the corner of the small, sweltering room. “This is the only room where she gets to be on the furniture. The Whites are very strict about that,” said Seema, pushing Lulu to the foot of the bed and placing Flora’s suitcases atop her linen sheet.

Seema closed the door and the air inside the room became even more still and clammy. “I have a surprise for you,” she said, turning to Flora. Maybe it was the way she’d lowered her voice to
a whisper that made Lulu sit up on her hind legs and widen her liquid black eyes. Both dog and sister leaned toward Seema as she revealed her secret. “We’re going to a dance tonight. It’s at the New Irving Dance Hall on the Lower East Side. The other girls who work here go every week. I’ve never been, but I’ve decided it’s time we go.”

“A dance?”

“Shh,” cautioned Seema. “Keep quiet.”

“Why? No one’s here.”

“Just in case. Aunt Hannah and Uncle Paul would be so displeased if they knew I took you to a dance. Or to the Lower East Side. It’s not really a place for people like us.”

F
LORA NOTICED HOW
Seema’s face changed as they walked into the New Irving Dance Hall. The eyes of every boy in that hall were on her, pleading and caressing. Seema glanced at all of them, settling on none of them. Flora wondered was it her imagination or was Seema swaying in a way she had never seen before, as if she were balancing a large package on one hip, then the other. Her mouth melted into a hint of a smile. She must have realized the effect she was having, but she just tossed her hair and kept walking. Seamless indeed.

Flora followed in her wake, feeling that each of her steps was landing with a thud. Why had she agreed to come here in the first place? Unlike Seema, who had the air of someone who’d spent her whole life going to dances, Flora had no idea how to act in a place like this.

She followed Seema to the corner of the room, where the rest of the girls were lined up, whispering as they studied the boys standing at the other side of the room. The room was so large
and crowded with people that it was impossible to see from one end to the other. The girls wore their best dresses and fancy bows in their hair. Some boys wore knickers, others long pants. Everyone’s face was scrubbed. Only the ground was filthy with peanut shells, spilled beer, and globs of spit. Flora had to sidestep a cockroach, and her shoes stuck to the floor. Best to look up, she thought. Besides, she didn’t want to miss a thing.

In the center of the room stood a man in baggy trousers holding a silver triangle in his hand. “Okay, all of you Romeos, shut up for a minute and listen to me,” he shouted.

The man had one of those accents that Uncle Paul liked to mimic. “Shaddup ya little creeps,” he’d say, talking as if he had a cigar dangling from the side of his mouth. Only this man wasn’t pretending. “So here’s how it goes. When I ring the bell, the gentlemen will go over to the other side of the room and ask one of these fine ladies to dance. And ladies, if any of these gentlemen don’t suit your taste, just give ’em the brush off. Remember, this ain’t no barnyard, so be polite. And no running. Ready?”

He hit the silver triangle with a metal beater. The pings were still reverberating in the air as at least eight boys lined up in front of Seema. Most of the others lagged behind and only a handful stood at the feet of girls they knew, sisters or cousins or girls who had caught their eye earlier. Flora watched her sister scrutinize her admirers the same way she’d seen Aunt Hannah squint her eyes and examine the chickens that hung at the butcher’s. Seema looked away, her mouth twisted with displeasure. None of the chickens measured up. The man in the center of the room kept striking his triangle until, finally, everyone paid attention.

“Okay, that didn’t turn out so good. We’re gonna try somethin’ else. The Mirror Dance.”

A murmur floated through the room. Some of the girls were smiling. The Mirror Dance was a favorite.

“Any of you smarties out there don’t know the rules?” Flora raised her hand. “Not me, sir. I never heard of the Mirror Dance.”

There was some tittering. Then another hand shot up. “Me neither,” said a slight boy in the back of the room. “I’ve never heard of it.” He cast a quick glance at Flora. She noticed his hands, delicate and slender.

“Come on up here, young lady,” said the man. “I’ll show you how to play.”

He pulled a wooden chair into the center of the room. “You sit here,” he said, pointing to it. “Good, now take this.” He gave her a yellow hand mirror. “Hold it up so that you can see what’s happening behind you. When the music starts playing, some boy will come and look over your shoulder into the mirror. If you like him, nod your head yes and get up and dance with him. If you don’t, shake your head no, and the poor bum’ll go back to where he came from.”

Flora positioned the mirror so that she could see behind her shoulder. A brass band struck up a melody that most in the room seemed to know. Boys started to whistle; a few girls tapped their feet. Because the mirror was so small, Flora could only guess by the amount of rustling and footsteps behind her that there was some commotion. In the glass’s reflection, she caught sight of a boy with a wide face and a shiny pair of gold cufflinks. The boy was sweating and gesturing to someone behind him who Flora could not see.

Slowly another boy came into view. He was short and slim and wore silver-rimmed glasses. She recognized his hands, the same
elegant fingers that had waved in the air moments earlier. He wasn’t handsome. He had pursed lips and heavy-lidded eyes, and his face stayed tense and earnest all the while that his fat friend was coaxing him forward. Clearly, he wasn’t having a good time. Impeccably dressed, he had a steady gaze behind those glasses and he looked older than many boys in the room. When he saw that Flora noticed him, he smiled thinly.
It’s not the kind of thing he does often
, she thought.

The boy with the thick neck was pointing at Flora. By now, everyone in the room could see what was going on. A few boys began clapping in rhythm to the music. More joined in, but when the boy in the glasses stuck his face right behind Flora’s shoulder so she could see him, and only him, the room turned quiet. Flora knew this, and slowly, and almost imperceptibly, moved her head up and down until it was clear she was nodding yes. There was a short burst of applause and a few cat whistles. As Flora put the mirror down on the chair and got up to dance with the boy, she caught Seema’s eye. Did she raise her eyebrow as if to say,
He’s not our type
, or did Flora just imagine that?

The boy put his hand on the center of her back; she held him around the waist. There was nothing tentative about his grip. She had danced with a few other boys before and always felt as if she were being sloshed across the floor. This one was different. He wasn’t graceful but he danced with energy and determination.

Flora whispered in his ear: “You must be a regular here, you know all the steps.”

“Not really so,” he said. “This is my first time.”

“How did you get here?”

“My buddy. He said that all work and no play made me a dull boy. Or something like that.”