Strings Attached (19 page)

I rolled my head against the wall. “I know that.”

“Then act like it.” The elevator door opened. “Going down?”

“I sure hope not.”

The elevator doors closed on his smile.

Twenty-three

 

New York City
November 1950

None of us knew what to expect that night, but even Ted Roper was surprised that a murder didn’t drive away crowds — it brought them in. A table covered the spot where Ray Mirto had died, but it didn’t stop anyone from looking for the bloodstains.

I got through the three shows dancing like a puppet, like somebody else was moving my arms and legs, pulling the corners of my mouth up over my teeth. I searched the club for Billy and Nate, but I didn’t see either of them. Nothing was good anymore — not the lights or the applause or the cheers, or even feeling at the center of everything. The center suddenly felt like a bad place to be. I was exposed, and everyone was looking.

And tonight, Billy would want his answer.

“I’m beating it out of here as soon as I’m offstage tonight, let me tell you,” Pat announced.

“You said it. My mother flipped her wig when she saw the headline,” Mickey said. “My dad’s coming to walk me home.”

“My husband said this is it, I’ve got to quit,” Edna said. Darla leaned forward, powdering her face. “I heard there’s a witness.”

That stopped all of us. “Who?” Mickey asked. “Someone from the club?”

“Nobody knows,” Darla said. “I just heard the rumor from one of the waiters, that’s all.”

Nobody looked at me. They all looked at each other, or in the mirror, and I could swear that Mickey kicked Darla on purpose.

Ted stuck his head in the door. “Thanks, kids. Tough night. Everybody uses the lounge door when you leave tonight. We got some vultures outside the main entrance.”

I wrapped my coat around me and followed the others out. Everybody hurried through the crowd outside. Nobody wanted to talk to a reporter. We could see them, hanging near the front entrance, their eyes moving, trying to pick out people to interview.

Billy was leaning against the building, waiting, not moving a muscle despite the cold. I hurried toward him. As soon as I got close I could tell that he’d seen the papers at last.

“Everybody’s entitled to a good defense, right?” he said.

“Sure. It’s the American way.”

I could feel the waves of tension coming from him, the way he held my hand, dropped it, picked it up again. The way he stretched his neck.

“He’ll never get out now,” he said. “I didn’t realize — we had a blowout tonight. I saw him as I was coming into the Lido. We couldn’t talk here, so we went out someplace for dinner. I shouldn’t have talked to him at all. He’s in with Frank Costello now? How is that getting out? Wills and trusts — my God!”

I didn’t know what to say. My brain was buzzing. How much did he know?

We walked quickly, our breath like smoke in the cold air. “He says he owes them,” Billy said. “Him and his favors.

Do you know, he actually said it was because he pulled in so many favors to get me out of that Jeff Toland jam? I didn’t ask for his help!”

But I had. I opened my mouth, but Billy kept talking.

“He runs his life on debts. I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait to ship out. Korea isn’t even far enough. I’d go to the moon if I could.”

“Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s his last job.”

“I was still with the guys, we were walking on the street when I saw the headline. We all saw it. One of the guys bought a paper. We saw the name Benedict. They just looked at me. I said I didn’t know him.” Billy turned to me, his eyes anguished. “I said I didn’t even know my own father, Kit!”

We stopped on the sidewalk outside my door. I reached for his arm. “Come in for a while,” I told him. “You need some coffee before you head to Brooklyn.”

Inside, when I put out my hand to turn on the light, he stopped me. We stood in the dark hall, just breathing for a moment.

“Can we be together tonight?” Billy asked. “Billy, I don’t know…”

“I won’t… push for anything. But can we just… sleep in the same bed? We don’t have to do anything. I want to be near you. I don’t want to be alone. Can I stay?”

Tomorrow morning I had planned to call Daisy and see if her horrific roommate was moving out to get married. I’d have to confess that I’d missed my callback, risk looking like a lightweight, but it would be worth it if I could have a place to stay, even if I had to sleep on a couch again. Tomorrow I would take the first step to being free.

But tonight Billy looked so beaten down, so full of anger and sadness. It could be our last chance to be alone.

“Yes. Of course.”

I made hot chocolate and we listened to the radio, turned down low, Billy in his trousers and T-shirt, me in my robe and slippers, like nothing was wrong at all. When our cups were empty, I put them in the sink and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I opened a new toothbrush for him and left it on the sink. Then I went to bed, took off my robe, and slipped under the covers. The sheets were cold and I curved into myself, hands between my knees, and waited. I closed my eyes when I heard him leave the bathroom. He switched off the light and got under the covers. He lay on his back, and I could feel the tension in his body without even touching him.

I moved closer and he shuddered as I tucked myself underneath his arm. Slowly, warmth crept in. He moved until he was circling me. He was wrapped around me now. My ear was pressed against his heart. Every inch of me was against every inch of him. Even our bare feet were touching.

I wondered what would happen, what he would do, and how this moment that we’d waited for would move into another moment of closeness, and another. His lips brushed my hair.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he said. The endearment was lovely and soft. “Good night.”

“I think I can sleep,” he murmured. “I think I can finally sleep.”

I closed my eyes and saw the blackness of the blood in the newspaper photograph. The stain spread on the floor. The man’s outflung hand and the thin beam of light.

That night I held Billy while he twitched and moaned, deep in his dreams. I slipped in and out of sleep, as Billy thrashed in his sleep. Everywhere I moved on the mattress, he would move, too, following me even though he was
dreaming. I’d thought that sleeping with Billy would be the most peaceful way to rest, but it was as though we had taken all the darkness into the bed with us and were each trying to make it through to morning.

 

When I woke, he was still sleeping. The sun made a stripe along the bed and just brushed his cheekbone. I looked down at him. The army haircut made his features look sharper. The perfection of the way his nostrils curved and his lips met made me believe in God more than church did.

He woke slowly, stretching first, then opening his eyes. When he saw me so close, leaning on my elbow looking at him, he looked startled, and he came awake immediately.

Then he smiled. “Wait until I tell the guys I slept next to a beautiful girl and all I did was sleep. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Breakfast. I’m starving, aren’t you? I have eggs, I have bread, I have jam, everything.” I slipped out of bed and quickly put on my robe, knotting it tightly. “Can you get the milk?”

“Sure.” He smiled lazily at me, making no move to get up. “Hey, this is what I want to wake up to every morning.”

“Get up, lazybones. We need to talk about Thanksgiving. If you’re going home, if I am… we can take the train together. We can tell our parents what we’re doing.”

“What are we doing?”

“If you’ll get the milk, I’ll tell you.”

Suddenly, I knew. I knew it absolutely, and I knew it was right. I couldn’t let Billy ship out and not be his wife. I
would tell him everything. I had forgiven him for things, and he would forgive me, too.

I’d tell him over eggs and coffee. It wasn’t moonlight and roses, but it was our kind of romance, and it would be perfect.

I padded down to the kitchen and got out the eggs. I put the bread into the slots of the toaster. Measured out the coffee. I heard his footsteps, heard the door open behind me, then close. I broke the eggs into a bowl and whipped them with a fork.

“Where’s that milk?” I called.

Billy didn’t answer.

“Billy?” I turned and he was looking down at the paper, barefoot in his army pants and T-shirt, the milk bottle tucked under one arm. I was so happy that I did a little shimmy, just like Lauren Bacall does at the end of that movie where she knows Bogart loves her and they’re going to get off the island, escape the Nazis, and be together.

He didn’t smile. The milk bottle slipped out from underneath his arm and crashed to the floor.

“Don’t move,” I said. “The glass —”

He walked toward me, right over the glass. He flipped the paper so that I could read the headline. He shoved it up against my face and at first I couldn’t focus.

N
ATE’S
M
OLL
I
s
L
IDO
D
OLL

 

On the front page was a photograph of me and Nate dancing. The photographer had snapped the picture just as Nate had leaned closer to talk to me. It looked as though we were staring into each other’s eyes, but I knew I was pushing against his chest, wanting distance between us.

The night in the lounge, the flashbulb popping… I thought they were taking pictures of the stars.

Dread dropped in my stomach, a cold, cold stone. “Billy, you can’t think that I —”

“It says he pays for this apartment.”

“Let’s sit down and talk. Billy, your foot! You’re bleeding.”

“It says he pays for you!” He suddenly punched through the paper, making me cry out and jump back. “Is it true? This is his
‘love nest’?”
He spit out the words with contempt.

“No!”

“How do you afford it, then? Was I so stupid? That you’d make that much as a chorus girl? Enough for your fancy clothes and this place?”

“Just listen…”

“I’m listening!”

“He does pay for it, but —”

His face was clenched, every muscle tense. “Is this why you keep putting me off?”

“I’m not! I was going to tell you this morning, I want to get married —”

“What did you do yesterday? Did you see him? Is that why you couldn’t see me? Did you see him?
Did you?
“

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t lie. “Billy, just listen. If we could just sit down —”

He walked past me toward the bedroom, leaving bloody footprints behind. I followed him, grabbing a dish towel for his foot.

When I reached the bedroom, he’d pulled on his shirt and was reaching for his socks.

“Let me help you,” I said, crying now, the dread moving up to my throat, choking my words. I couldn’t seem to catch a breath. “Please, let me help you.”

I went toward him with the towel, but he jerked away. He pulled on his sock and I saw blood staining it, spreading outward in a bloom of dark red.

“This apartment — it’s for you and me,” I explained, the words tumbling out as fast as I could push them. “He came to see me, he said if you had something to come back to, it would keep you safe. He said he wasn’t against our marriage anymore. I’m not his… moll, or whatever they’re saying. How could you believe that? You said you’d trust me, Billy!”

He thrust his arms into his shirt. Suddenly, he jack-knifed forward, his head in his hands. He pressed his hands against his temples. His shoulders shook. He let out a wrenching sob, and the sound was the most terrible thing I’d ever heard.

Alarmed, I touched him gently. “Billy —”

He twisted away and kicked out at me. “Keep your hands off me!” he screamed. His mouth was pulled out of shape, his eyes wet with tears.

I backed against the wall. “Please,” I whispered.

His fingers shook as he jammed his foot into his boot.

I fell to my knees. “You have to believe me.”

“Believe you?”
With an outstretched arm, he swept my cosmetics off the bureau, my lipstick and rouge and powder. The silver compact skidded across the rug. He stood for a moment, weaving, looking down at the lipstick and the compact, the powder spilled on the floor. “My God,” he said. “I’ve been so blind.”

“No! If you’ll just listen —”

He kicked the compact out of his way and crashed out of the room and I fell trying to get up, tripping on the sash of my robe, trying to catch him, trying to make him understand. I ran after him to the front door just as he flung it open.

“My life is full of lies,” he said. “Isn’t it crazy how it happens? Just when I think it’s over, it starts again. One after another after another. Lies. And deaths. And
love nests.
Do you think you’re the first to shack up? Maybe you should ask your Aunt Delia. Hell, maybe I should ask her. That’s the start of it, isn’t it? Is that what he wants here, a second chance?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “What does Delia have to do with this? You have to listen to me!”

“No! I’m tired of listening. To you. To my father. I can’t listen anymore. Can’t you see, you’re destroying me!
You’re all destroying me.”