The Leaving Of Liverpool (19 page)

Irritated, mainly by the fact that Anne wasn’t there, he sat at the table.

‘I was telling Lizzie we were about to move to Brooklyn,’ Tamara said, ‘and that Anne didn’t want to go, and she suggested she came and lived with them.’

He felt anger rise in his throat and his head began to throb with it. ‘Have you asked Anne if she wants to go to Brooklyn?’

‘No, but I can tell she doesn’t. She freezes over whenever we talk about it.’

‘Whenever
you
talk about it. I’ve never once raised the subject of Brooklyn.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Lev. You know what I mean.’

The anger was beating like a hammer in his chest. He got to his feet and the chair fell back on the floor with a clatter. Tamara jumped and looked frightened. Levon rarely lost his temper and never with her. There was something sly about her beautiful, haughty face that he’d never seen before. She was avoiding his eyes, unwilling to look straight at him, her mouth pulled in a mean line.

‘It’s why you went to see Lizzie Blinker, isn’t it?’ he said in a deep, rough voice that sounded strange to his own ears. ‘To ask if Anne could live with them. You’ve taken her child and now you want rid of her.’

It was Tamara’s turn to lose her temper, though she kept her voice at a more subdued level, no doubt worried John would be woken by the noise. ‘I didn’t exactly
take
her child, Levon. If I hadn’t looked after John, then who would? I find it uncomfortable her living with us when she completely ignores his existence. It makes for a bad atmosphere.’

‘I hadn’t noticed a bad atmosphere.’

‘That’s because you’re hardly ever here,’ she said coldly. ‘If you’re not at work, you’ve gone somewhere with your new friends.’

‘I go with other people only because you refuse to come. We could always get a sitter for John. It would only be for a few hours.’

Her eyes blazed. ‘I refuse to leave John with a sitter.’

‘Then don’t blame me for going out with my friends.’ The argument was getting ridiculous. If he’d known she felt so strongly about it, he would have stayed in. His anger was centred on the fact that she’d gone out of her way to get rid of Anne. ‘Did you tell Lizzie that John was Anne’s child?’

‘Of course I didn’t.’ She wanted everyone to think John was
hers
. ‘There’s another thing, Lev,’ she said, more softly than before. She came towards him, put her hands on his shoulders, and looked at him directly. ‘The main reason I want Anne to go is that I believe you’re in love with her.’

He laughed incredulously. ‘That’s ridiculous, Tamara.’

‘No, it isn’t, Lev.’ She put her fingers against his lips: they smelt of formula and the oil she rubbed on the baby when his skin was red. ‘Just think a minute, don’t speak. How many times a day does Anne come into your mind compared with me, your wife? You’re infatuated with the girl, besotted. She’s all you talk about and I reckon she’s all you think about, too.’ She removed her fingers from his lips, but Levon was too astounded to speak. ‘I’ll go and get dinner: it’s meatloaf, a genuine American dish for two prospective American citizens,’ she said with a slight, rather sad smile. ‘I won’t be long.’

 

They didn’t take the house where vegetables grew in the yard - Levon thought it too big for two people and a child - but six months later the Zarians left Grammercy Park and moved into a single-storey house in Brooklyn not far from the promenade. It had two bedrooms and one under the roof for when someone came to stay - he had Anne in mind, but she was already living with the Blinkers in the apartment overlooking Central Park. She never once visited the house in Brooklyn. Levon reckoned she was keeping away from Tamara, whom she’d sensed had turned against her. Maybe she’d even sensed the reason: he didn’t know and never would.

He continued to see her at lunch-times, paid the fees for the academy until she left in the summer of 1927. After that, he saw less and less of her, though she would telephone and tell him whenever she and Herbie had a new booking. They toured the East Coast in a show called
High Jinx
, third on the bill, appeared twice at Radio City, did a summer season in Maine.

Peggy’s boyfriend, Rupert Coolidge, got backers for
Roller-Coaster
, although Ollie Blinker refused to have anything to do with it. It opened in Philadelphia with Anne and Herbie in supporting roles, but closed within a week after terrible reviews. The music was dire, the plot-line improbable, the costumes lacked imagination. One critic wrote: ‘The only thing this show has to offer is the brilliance of its two junior stars: Anne Murray and Herbie Blinker. With her fragile beauty, scintillating dancing skills and enchanting personality, Miss Murray, in particular, is someone to be watched. I expect to see her in a major role on Broadway any time soon.’

 

Levon’s own visits to the theatre and the movies had virtually ceased. He’d managed to see the first talking movie -
The Jazz Singer
with Al Jolson - but hadn’t been since. Tamara had made friends who gave regular dinner parties and it was apparently essential that he attend, though he and the friends had nothing in common with each other. Every few weeks, it would be the Zarians’ turn to have a dinner party. The neighbours were invited to picnics in the yard or to drinks on Sunday afternoon. Naturally, the invitations were returned. Since John’s first birthday, Tamara had condescended to engage a sitter - a young college girl, Colette, who lived next door.

There were always things that had to be done around the house: the screen door needed fixing, a tap wouldn’t turn, or a tile was loose on the roof. ‘And it would be silly to hire someone to do a small job like that, wouldn’t it, Lev?’ Tamara would say, smiling sweetly.

It wasn’t the sort of life he had ever envisaged and it wasn’t the sort of place he’d ever wanted to live. What’s more, their relationship wasn’t the same as it had been: something had gone and she was punishing him for loving Anne. For he
had
loved her, Levon realized. It hadn’t been a sexual love, nor a father and daughter one. It had been love, pure and simple. He had loved Anne, still did.

He and Tamara had made themselves familiar with the history of the land in which they now lived, knew the structure of its government, had studied its constitution, taken the Oath of Allegiance, and were now American citizens. But Levon didn’t feel the glow he had expected. Once he’d found life exciting, now it was boring. Each day was the same as the one before and there was nothing new to find. What’s more, his hair was turning grey at the temples and he felt old.

One day, two years after the move to Brooklyn, Ollie Blinker telephoned Levon in his office. They hadn’t seen each other for months. ‘You got any stocks and shares, Lev, old pal?’ Ollie enquired.

‘No, I don’t trust my money anywhere but in a bank,’ Levon said primly.

‘In that case, drop everything, go to the bank, and withdraw every single cent.’

‘Why?’

‘Just do it, pal.’ There was a click. Ollie had rung off.

Levon sat at his desk, staring at his hands. He didn’t have an enormous sum in his account: the mortgage on the house took a huge chunk of his earnings and he’d recently bought a car, an old Maxwell, but there was enough put away for the garage Tamara wanted and to see them through should times ever get hard.

He got slowly to his feet. Somehow, despite his conviction that Ollie Blinker was a crook, he trusted the man. If he removed the money, he’d lose some interest, but it would be better than losing the lot. The Stock Market had been very volatile lately and millions of shares were being traded each day, but he couldn’t visualize the banks going broke.

Nevertheless, Levon withdrew his savings. Two days later, the Stock Market crashed, the banks ran out of cash, and thousands of Americans had their entire life savings completely wiped out.

The safe in Levon’s office was comfortably full of dollars, but he felt sorry for his fellow citizens. It was if a giant boot had stamped down on the city of New York, squeezing all the life out of it and grinding its heel on Wall Street.

Anne rang late on the day of the crash. Emily had already gone home, and he was trying to think of a reason for delaying his own departure. ‘Are you all right, Lev?’ she asked. ‘I mean financially.’

‘I’m fine, darling.’

‘Ollie promised to warn you. I don’t understand how he knows about these things.’

‘Are you at Ollie’s now?’ Something plucked at his heart at the idea she might only be a taxi ride away.

‘We just got back from Boston. Oh, Lev, let’s go to dinner! At the Plaza! It’ll be my treat. I’ve never bought you a meal before, but me and Herbie - Herbie and I - just performed at this big political event, a dinner for Boston’s finest, and they paid us a small fortune. Will seven suit you?’

‘Seven will suit me fine.’

‘See you then, Lev.’

‘See you, darling,’ Levon said, though Anne had already rung off. He immediately dialled his home number. Tamara answered, her voice crisp and businesslike. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to be late tonight,’ he informed her. ‘Something’s come up, an emergency. I need to go see a client who’s in desperate trouble, threatening suicide, according to his wife.’

‘But you knew we were having the Di Marcos to dinner tonight,’ she said crossly.

‘Is dinner with the Di Marcos more important than a man killing himself?’ he asked unctuously. He felt, unreasonably, he had right on his side, even though he was lying through his teeth.

‘Well, no,’ she conceded grudgingly. ‘But what am I going to tell them?’

‘The truth?’

She sighed. ‘Try not to be too late, Lev.’

‘I’ll try,’ he promised, though it was another lie.

Chapter 7

‘Hello.’

The man opened his eyes and struggled to a sitting position on the bench. ‘Hello, young lady,’ he said politely.

‘I’ve brought you some breakfast: coffee and a couple of hot dogs.’

‘That’s mighty kind of you. Thank you very much.’ His hands shook as he reached for the food. The fingernails were broken and full of dirt.

‘I asked the man on the stall to put sugar and cream in the coffee. Is that all right?’ She sat on the bench where his feet had been. There was a hand-painted placard underneath which said ‘Need work - will do anything’, and a grey fedora that looked as if it had been trodden on. He’d been using a khaki knapsack for a pillow.

‘That’s more than all right: sugar gives you energy, so they say.’ One hot dog had already gone. ‘What’s your name, young lady?’ he asked with his mouth half-full of the other.

‘Anne Murray. What’s yours?’

‘Robert Edgar Gifford: known as Bobby to my friends. I expect you’re still at college, Miss Murray.’

‘I’ve never been to college. I’m a dancer. Please call me Anne.’

‘A dancer, eh!’ He seemed impressed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met a real dancer before. I was junior manager in a bank - in charge of the loans department - but the bank went bust and we all lost our jobs. The owner shot himself.’ He gave a dry smile. ‘Thought about doing it myself for a while, but changed my mind.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad you did. You’re only young and you’re quite good-looking.’ He was about twenty-five and badly in need of a wash and a shave - she could smell the dirt on him and the odour of stale perspiration. The suit he wore had been a good one, but now the collar was curled and the pockets torn. His shirt was filthy, but nothing could disguise the fact that he was handsome, if painfully thin. The look in his brown eyes wasn’t quite as hopeless as some she’d seen since New York had fallen apart and the streets were full of the hungry and the homeless, mainly men like Bobby Gifford who’d lost not just their jobs, but everything.

He smiled again. ‘Are you real, Anne Murray?’

Anne took the question seriously - she sometimes doubted if she were real. ‘Yes, I think so,’ she replied.

‘Do you do this often - feed the down-and-outs?’ The hot dogs gone, he was noisily sipping the coffee out of the cardboard cup. A dog bounded up and sniffed the hot dog wrappings. Its owner, an elderly man, smiled at Anne and stared with some surprise at her companion. It was a glorious June morning and there were already quite a few people about in Central Park. Two horse riders could be seen in the distance. She wondered if, on a day like this, Bobby Gifford felt slightly less wretched, or if he was too far gone to notice the weather.

‘Only if I see someone sleeping on this bench. I can see from my bedroom window. It’s over there.’ She pointed to the Blinkers’ apartment across the park. ‘My bedroom’s the second from the corner on the top floor. I always look the minute I wake up.’

‘That’s a real fancy place to live,’ her new friend said enviously. ‘Does it mean if I sleep on this bench tonight, I’ll get another breakfast?’

‘Yes,’ she promised. ‘What will you do with yourself today?’

He put the coffee on his knee and said thoughtfully. ‘I might go to Saks and buy a new suit, have lunch at the Amber Room - they do great salmon, so I’m told - and take in a movie afterwards. Maybe
The Wind
with Lillian Gish, I missed it when it came out. Then I’ll meet some old pals for dinner, before heading for Broadway to see a show.’ He gave another dry smile. ‘Alternatively, I might just look for work.’

‘I hope you find some soon,’ she said fervently.

‘What I’d really like to do is hitch to California - Los Angeles,’ he said, creasing his eyes as if he could already see the Pacific Ocean rippling on to the golden sands. ‘At least it would be warm. I’m not looking forward to sleeping outside in another New York winter.’

‘Why don’t you? Go to California, that is.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m scared. I was born here, Newark, and it’s all I’ve ever known. Los Angeles is a couple of thousand miles away.’

‘
I’d
do it if I were you. You could get a job in the movies.’