The Ruby Slippers (26 page)

At that particular time, there was much disturbance surrounding Margaret Hamilton, who was the Wicked Witch of the West. She had been badly burned to her face and hands when they tried to make her disappear in a puff of smoke, and was in hospital and six weeks off set because of this. Of course the gossip and complaining that came from this was huge, especially as she was so good a person under the costume
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In all this turmoil I continued to be good and steady at my job and always managing to keep a smile. Why should I not? Dealing with actors was better than dealing with Nazis, and working in a painted paradise was better than going home to a slum. Jane Sixsmith was very impressed with me, because it must be remembered I was still so young, just eighteen at this time
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It was because of all this chaos and confusion that I then was brought to the most extraordinary fortune of all, for a dresser had left – run off with a production accountant – and Jane brought me into the presence of Miss Judy, as she first was named to me. She took me to her, where she was just sitting in a chair at the side. Because she looked in her blue dress so ordinary in among so many extraordinary characters, I was not properly aware of her starring position in the movie. Also, I was an outsider in America and so did not know anything about her
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So when Jane introduced me to her, suggesting that I can help her with her costume, I did not realize how special a thing this was. To me, she looked like a frightened girl, more scared by far than me. But this was the great Judy Garland and soon I get the picture, when people come running up, bringing script changes for her to learn, or making a fuss to adjust her hair and powder her face. I think that Jane was smart in thinking that I would be good for Miss Garland. We were two girls of almost the same age – she sixteen and a half, and I only just eighteen – and although we were so physically different – her being so tiny and me so much taller and big in the bones – we had much in common and seemed to get along. And so I came to be the dresser for Judy Garland, from this time until the movie was made, which was five months
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To me, Miss Garland was nothing but kind and quiet and would stand happily while I sewed her into her costume and later helped those lovely shoes onto her feet. This is how I remember her: sad and quiet but at the same time funny, because she had a gorgeous sense of humour. These two opposite things so often go together, for it was the same with me, and it was this that made us easy with one another. There were stories going about that she was proud and had tantrums, but I never saw them on the set, and with all the confusion, she was one insecure person among many. You would think that she might like me not at all, because I was tall and also good-looking, and, as I soon discover, she was dreadfully self-conscious for her own appearance. The famous Judy Garland would ask me, the dresser, did I think she was good-looking under this light or from this angle? And always I would reply that she was beautiful and how much I envy her. And this was true, for while she was not of classical beauty, her loveliness was from the inside and always shone through. She loved me for saying this and saw that I was sincere, but the sadness is she never seemed to be convinced of it. On more than one occasion she asked of me if I thought she had talent, which was absurd, and this was after I hear her sing that wonderful song and after she acts in front of a thousand people who all stop everything they do to watch her, and every one of them worship her
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It did not help that to play this innocent little girl, Dorothy, they pushed and pulled her body all around – to bind her breasts flat and put caps on her teeth, and make special rubber discs to press her nose and make it not ugly. To me it was unbelievable that they did this, but she told me from her own mouth that they did not think much of her looks and that she was third choice for the part. She had been called ugly duckling all this time and the great Louis B. Mayer had a pet name for her, which was ‘my little hunchback’. This was incredible to believe, but others told me it was true. No wonder she was very insecure. But there was worse than this. In order to have her always able to work, they gave her drugs. The studio day was long at this time, starting sometimes before seven in the morning and finishing as late as nine at night. All that time heaping stress and strain on her, who was like a little girl. I saw it only once when it was late and she wanted to be in her bed and demanded to have her warm milk and her little pill. And this is what they fed to her. I did not comprehend it at the time, but found out the truth of it many years later – that in the mornings they gave her amphetamines for energy, and at night, barbiturates to make her sleep. And all this to make a movie, a made-up story on a screen
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G
REAT
Aunt Crystal has been ‘over the moon’ ever since Harrison told her he would ‘kinda like’ to go back to the Tabernacle with her, and once again it has given her joy unending to see him make himself clean and presentable to go to the House of the Lord.

Three days after he made his declaration to Rain outside the school, the nephew holds up his arm and walks slow and upright so that the old aunt at his side can shuffle, pigeon-toed, along the dusk-damp sidewalk towards the Tabernacle.

Inside, the lights are low to assist the outpourings of the soul, and if anything the hubbub is noisier than before. As soon as he catches sight of Rain, seated on the other side of the great mahogany horseshoe, Harrison sizes up his best vantage point. ‘No, not there, Aunty,’ he says, ‘in here.’ And so he insinuates his aunt and himself into a row right at the front and directly opposite the gorgeous girl and her parents. The zappings and babblings are well under way now and the dingy light gives him greater freedom to sound his soul, and in among some ‘Yessirs!’ he now floats up a few ‘Well, rights!’ and even an ‘Alleluia’ in response to the minister’s rantings. And when Crystal pushes herself to the gangway at the end of the row and hits the floor twirling, he inches himself just to the edge. Closer to the action, he can see the people speaking in tongues, rocking their bodies and lifting their eyes to God, who seems to be somewhere up in the massive central chandelier. He looks across again before starting to sway and stumble on the spot, doing his level best to look like the Holy Spirit is in him. ‘Abiba huala cooka,’ he cries out, which sounds kind of right among the holy babble. He shoots a glance across to where Rain is standing so graceful, and catches her eye and sees her shyly cast down her eyes.

Afterwards, they go again to the social area, and eventually he summons the courage to raise his own gaze from the floor. She is there, laughing at her father’s side. What a wonderful jolt it is to see her close up, bright and shining in that same blue dress. She smiles at him. He loves her, surely loves her, and his heart begins to thump. ‘Could I see you a moment, please?’ she asks, and leads him out of the back door and up the side path to the street. He follows in a daze. What is this for? My God, does it mean she feels the same as him, that she wants to tell him privately how much she would like to be with him? They arrive on the sidewalk, a little way away from the Tabernacle. ‘This is for you,’ she says sweetly, and deals him, as hard as she can, a single slap, her palm weighty on his face. It is so loud people turn in the street. ‘Don’t you ever come to God’s house and pretend to be what you are not!’ she rails. He stands there, childish, rubbing his face and smiling like a fool because he cannot cry.

‘Now go back in there, and be kind to your aunty and learn from good people what it means to be good!’ Like a schoolmistress, she stands ramrod-straight, pointing the way for him to go, accepting no other possibility, until he turns and walks, with head bowed, back towards the building.

■ ♦ ■

Such a sweet and gentle soul, Michael thinks to himself as she spells out the rest of her order: ‘Yes, and some of the pastrami please, the usual amount.’ Gracious as ever he is with this customer, he arranges the meat in the slicer and cranks the handle over, the heavy wheel turning in its slow scything rhythm, the slices easing into being, smooth and perfect of shape. Michael likes to serve this lady, the little Filipino nurse whose name he has never quite remembered but who always has a feeling of peace about her. ‘Good,’ he says. ‘And would you like some of the . . .’ Over her shoulder, he sees something fearful: a police car cruising smooth and silent into the window space, its tyre crunching against the kerb. ‘Mr Marcinkus, are you all right?’ she asks, all anxious. But he is already oblivious, and she watches in amazement as he glides out from behind the counter, feverishly wiping his hands on his apron. In the time it takes for the policeman to get out of the passenger door on the other side, Michael manages to pull himself together. So, the game is up. Harrison spilled the beans, and he must face it with dignity.

He stands dead in the doorway, ready to step forward and hear the charges against him and be led away. But when the officer reaches the door, he sees to his relief that it’s his son-in-law, Karl. Relief is quickly overtaken by growling resentment, and he watches, cold-eyed, as Karl enters, his hat scraping against the door frame. ‘Whaddya want?’ The look on Michael’s face has lost none of the reptilian hostility that was on it last time they met. Karl peers beyond Michael and sees Inez standing there, curious and concerned, but he is as reluctant to speak as Michael is to listen. At last, though, he finds it in him to squeeze out the minimum of words: ‘I have to talk to you.’

‘OK. Fine, so talk,’ says Michael, blithe all of a sudden, but Karl is not amused. ‘What am I supposed to do here, say it right out in front of everybody?’ Michael shrugs and motions him over to the window seat. Karl draws up a stool. ‘A coffee would be nice.’ Michael sighs and beckons Inez forward to the cash register. ‘My son-in-law,’ he mutters, as if it explains the strangeness of the situation. But she is too kind and polite to enquire further and busies herself with arranging the groceries in her bag.

‘Ah’, she says, and ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, and is gone.

He goes to the coffee machine while Karl turns the sports pages lying there. As he brings over the coffee and looks at Karl, perched on the stool, Michael pretends not to notice the muddy streak, the faded line of bruises along his neck, just below the collar. For all of a millisecond, he allows himself to feel repentant, to feel sorry for the guy having such a time of it, trying his best to be reasonable when really he had every right to hit out at his cussed old father-in-law. Michael draws up a stool of his own, trying not to look at all interested in what Karl has to say. ‘You know that the shoes are gonna be sold?’ says Karl, just like that.

‘I had noticed, since every reporter in New York fetched up at my door.’

‘Yeah, well that wasn’t meant to be.’

‘You had no right.’

‘
You
had no right to try and kill me. We all do things we don’t have the right to do. D’ya wanna argue about it?’ And the two go eyeball to eyeball, until Karl sees fit to move matters on: ‘Now, about this black kid been hassling you.’

‘Since when did I say that?’

‘Since your poor suffering wife said so. Anyways, it’s taken care of; you don’t need to bother your head about it no more.’

‘I don’t remember asking for your help on the matter.’

‘You don’t have to ask. All in the family, Michael. Just so you know. Now excuse me, I have to go. My partner is waiting.’

‘Nice of you to drop by.’

‘No problem.’

Michael watches ruefully as the cop car wheels round and roars away. Karl’s eyes are fixed front; not once does he turn to look back in Michael’s direction. And so he does not see the lonely old man stoop over and reach out his hand to steady himself against the wall, for into his head has come a sudden rush of heat and a swirling, swelling feeling that would tip him over. And there Michael remains a full minute until the heat goes out of him and the ground is in one place again. Wearily, he sinks onto the stool that’s still warm from Karl’s fat ass, and swivels around to peer along the shadowy rows. He senses the apartment above his head, creeping cold. The world is against him, yet he’s no monster, so how come so many are lined up in opposition?

In his desolation, painful memories reel in his mind like a tuneless song stuck on replay: Rosa lying in her own dark place; the family all slack-mouthed and baying like dogs because he dared to dream; Harrison’s face with the rage stamped on it as he held that knife up to him; and himself lying for ever on that floor, fused cold to the stone. The worst of it is Grace herself – staying on at Jenny’s, clinging there for sanctuary, as if he had ever threatened her or shown aggression in their whole marriage, beyond raising his voice now and then. What does she fear would happen to her if she came home? That he would kill her and stuff her body under the floorboards? Does she not worry for him? Does it give her pleasure to think of him so cold and lonely? Once more he thinks of Rosa lying there senseless: it all started with her and yet she feels nothing – she is protected from the slings and arrows while he dies a thousand deaths on her behalf. And within himself, sitting on the stool he has hardly ever sat on, Michael makes his decision. Let them go, he tells himself. Don’t stand in the way. Be neither right nor wrong. Let them go and if all hell breaks loose and people end up taking a fall, there would be no arguing he had not warned them. Let it be their problem.

■ ♦ ■

As she shuts the apartment door behind her, Donna Inez is automatically on the alert for the sound of the chair whirring into life, for the sound of his voice slashing and slaying. Nothing. So her remedy is going well. He has been so much quieter lately, less violent in temper and not so quick to hurl insults. He has complained of feeling drowsy and woozy and so nauseous he was sick several times and sleeping all the more. His mobility and mental capacity have also been visibly slower, which is, of course, in keeping with his disease. And she has arrived at the perfect daily dosage – for each tablet prescribed, one of her own little top-ups, which she has obtained from her own doctor to treat the arthritis that has lately sprung up so mysteriously. It is the best of all worlds: his nastiness contained, the onset of side effects not too sudden and the satisfaction of knowing that this will see him nicely on his way. It is a fact, too, that the more the Oxycontin takes hold, the more his illness has its way. There have been messes on the bathroom floor, humiliations that have made him lost and brooding, his helplessness almost touching, so that Inez has thought more than once of slacking off on her little extras.