Bells of Avalon (8 page)

Chapter Nine

New York City, New York

1953

“I bet I could get in if I wanted,” he said and steadied himself as the car hit a pothole in the road. He glanced, annoyed, to the back of the driver’s head before turning back to her. 

“I’ll not wager it,” she said, removing her shoes and stretching her toes along the floorboard.

“What would you wager, then?” he asked in a marked spoof of her accent, flipping an imaginary top-hat through the air.  The press agent in front turned and glared. 

“Hush, you’re going to get me in trouble,” she hissed in his ear when the woman looked away again.

“What do you care?”

“What wouldn’t I care? You forget what it’s like to be seventeen and still under everyone’s thumb.”

“Aw, c’mon Katie—they’re not going to do anything. Whad’ya bet—whad’ya wager—I get in like Flynn.”

“I’ll wager you the two chaperones staying in my room against the zero staying in yours.” 

“Oh, Katie, it’s not like they’ll be sleeping in the same bed. They’ll probably get stuck in rooms down the hall.”

“Oh really? Well I was in a suite with three of them in Chicago—remember?”

“Can’t says that I do.”

“You don’t? Why, it was the last time we saw each other.”

“Was it now?”

“You really don’t remember?” she asked.

His face creased in thought, searching his living memory and shrugging when nothing came up for his trouble.

“No, I really don’t—why, something happen that I missed?”

She smiled.

“Nothing at all,” she said, turning back towards the window.

“Well, at least tell me what we were both doing there?”

“The Jimmy Dorsey broadcast, and then press on the second floor of the Palmer House. There was a party in the lobby afterwards.” 

“The
Palmer
House—now
that’s
a hotel.”

“I thought you said you didn’t remember?” she asked warily. 

“Well I remember being there, but not much else. Those things all sort of run together after a while, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well all the more reason we should catch up. You can’t say anything worthwhile around these killjoys.”

“You’ll never get past Mistlewort. If you get me in trouble just because you’ve a notion to pull a stunt, I’ll never forgive you, Daniel Gallagher.”

“My
god
, Katie, such a bluenose.”

“
Bluenose?
What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, something I heard somewhere.” He made a popping sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth and lowered his head to look past the shoulder of the driver. She was so taken with the gesture of playful arrogance that she found it hard to pretend to ignore him.

“Don’t worry about old Mistlewort. He’ll be well in bed before I get in.”

“Where on earth are you going?”

“I’m meeting Max and Al at their dad’s barrelhouse over on—well, I’ve forgotten the street.”

“You’re not going out tonight?”

“Yes, I thought I told you—oh now, don’t worry. The night is young and I’ll be back in time to win my bet.”

“Oh?”

“Or are you jealous you’ll miss the club? Next year I can bring you along—by then I won’t have to sneak past anyone to get in your room.”

“With any luck, by next year we’ll be doing something interesting instead of these kiddie jaunts. If we never do another, it will be too soon,” she sighed.

“It’ll go quickly enough. We’re only in the last part…and you’re right. This
will
be our last.  Then you’ll be stuck missing me.”

The dumpish press agent turned again—this time with more forethought. Katie smiled, but the charm was lost on her hard-boiled face. Katie nudged an elbow into Danny’s side.

“Shhh!” she hissed in his ear once again. “I’m serious now.”

He smiled, his pretty teeth the result of years of cosmetic work. As a child, his teeth had always been a problem. The studio switched between caps and braces to fix his gaps and crooked smile. But Daniel’s teeth were as stubborn as he was and, after all that work, one tooth at the corner of his smile remained nestled too high within the gum line.

“Katie, tell me, did we have much time to speak—this last famous last time we saw each other?”

“Not much. You were at the bar with Ronnie Clayworth and his sister Violet.”

“Is that right?” he asked, leaning back, “I can’t say I remember seeing much of Ronnie—I
do
remember Violet.”

She raised an eyebrow, imagining herself looking very much like the dumpish press agent.

“Well, all the more reason to catch up tonight,” he said at last. 

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about in the morning.”

“You’re joking—getting the Christmas special in the can is always a madhouse.”

They arrived at the hotel and Katie watched the driver settle into his seat while the dumpish press agent fiddled with a large handbag. She poured herself out and took a dunking step onto the curb.

“Well, come along, Caroline,” she said to the darkened back seat of the car, her eyes in a confused sort of squint. She slammed the door behind and walked into the warm light of the hotel lobby. Katie slipped back into her shoes.

“She thinks your name is Caroline?”

“No. She knows my name,” she said and got out of the car. 

“Can’t you correct her?” he asked, circling around the back of the car to stand in front of her.   She shrugged, pulling her coat around her body.

“It’s not worth it. What do I care what she calls me?  I’ll have a new one next week, so why bother?” she said and watched a wicked smile creep across his face—a look she hadn’t seen much of since they were children.

“Don’t you dare, Danny. I’ll scream murder right here on the street if you say it.”

He up his hands in mocking defense and laughed, “I didn’t say a word.”

“Oh sure,” she said and fumbled at her coat buttons, her fingers already clumsy with the cold. She overlapped her coat in front of her and walked away. 

“You can’t still be embarrassed about that?” he called from behind. When she didn’t answer, he tugged gently at her elbow.

             “
Stop
it
, Danny. It’s freezing out here. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”

             He stood quietly for a moment, then smiled and took a solid step back

“Well...run along then, Caroline.”

Katie turned and walked away. Through the glass, she saw the dumpish press agent barking off to a concierge. She put her hand on the brass handle and pulled open the door halfway until she heard him shout from behind.

“
Tangerine
!”

She glanced at the dumpish press agent through the window, now drilling her finger into the marble check-in desk. Katie held the door for an older couple waiting behind, and then allowed it to close behind her. The warmth from the lobby flittered away in the cold. The chilly air twined up her bare legs and rearranged her hair until it blew free from her face and clung to her dark jacket.  The city was momentarily silent, and she heard only the soft clicks of her heels on the sidewalk as she walked towards him.

“I thought you said you didn’t remember?” she asked. 

“You know I never liked Jimmy Dorsey all that much. He’s ok but—I’ve always been more of a Kenton man.” 

“Is that so?”

“Oh yes—he’s a radical, keeps things interesting— if you know what I mean. Dorsey’s a dead wood. But the Tangerine song—now that’s all right. Even if they did play it a hundred times that night. What were they thinking?” He smiled.

“Well, I’ve never liked any of it. What else do you remember?”

“Besides Violet Clayworth?” he smiled and pulled a blue-edged pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He took one from the pack and placed it between his lips.  He cupped a protective hand against the chilly breeze, and the striking light from the match flickered and shined against the heavy gel in his hair

“Besides Violet Clayworth.” She rolled her eyes. 

He took a drag and shook out the tiny flame from the end of his matchstick.  Curling swirls of smoke whisked around his head as he glanced at his watch.

“Oh, look at the time—I’m over an hour behind and you know how Al gets if he has to wait for anything.”

“No—how does he get?” she asked and took a tiny step toward him, “tell me?” Her eyes tipped up to meet his.  He paused and, for a moment, she thought he would step away.  He didn’t, but his face became still.

“Grumpy—as a Warwick widow,” he said.

“What?” She laughed. His greenish eyes switched from cold to warm as he focused on her nose, her forehead, until his eyes met hers again.

“You know—a Warwick widow.”

“Don’t tell me—something you heard somewhere?”

“You got it.”

She took a step back when the playfulness of his face never returned.

“Well, I’ll not keep you waiting. Send Max and Albert my love, will you?” She turned and walked back towards the hotel doors.

“You can’t just come out and ask can you? Even after all that?” he called from behind and smiled.

“Not with that clumsy fishing around of yours, I won’t.”

 He tossed his cigarette to the sidewalk and placed his hands on his hips. “Well, forgive me. I tried my best to draw you out—but you’re damned tough, Katie Webb.”

“The bluenose I guess.” she said.

“You
were
going to ask me though, weren’t you?” He grinned.

“Not really.”

“Well, why not?” 

She looked at the sky for a moment and felt dizzy when she saw how the skyscrapers seemed to arch over them, rather than stand up straight into the night sky.  She looked back at him and smiled.

“Because not everything that happens is worth talking about,” she said and watched his hands lift in the high sign of defeat.

“Have it your way then. Goodnight, Katie Webb.” He smiled.

“Goodnight, Mr. Gallagher.” She returned the sentiment and watched him walk away.

Danny was right.  He usually was, but she would never tell him that.  The dumpish press agent shoved a key into her hand, which led to her own room rather than a suite of three or four. 

“The call time is 6:30, not 7 or 7:15. I expect you to be ready and waiting in the lobby by 6 o’clock, Caroline.” 

She nodded and stared at the little brass key in the palm of her hand. Even after the dumpish press agent left with the rustling sound of fabric, she turned the key around and around in her hand with dumb awe, admiring how the light dully reflected off the metal. It was an adventure to have a key all her own—a key that opened a room that was all hers. Putting the key to use, she unlocked her door and walked inside. Expecting something special because it was her own, she was disappointed to find it was same as the rest she’d stayed in since she was a child.  She sat on the bed and felt her body sink into the mattress. 

She undressed and bathed—put on a nightgown and slid beneath the cool bed sheets, their thread count singing as she slipped inside. She closed her eyes. Sleep came quickly, and the hostage part of her mind knew that that was no good. It was an empty certainty, and there was nothing to be done now.
Best to run its course, of course. 
That sing-songy, warbling old friend of a voice sang out over and over again. She saw the blue tile—always the same color like a reflective sky against something horrible; a hideous pale blue, so weakly-colored and incapable of saving her. But she couldn’t be saved from what had already happened. There was nothing to be done about the past,
best to let it run its course, of course
.

In the present world, she was safe in bed. In all the ways that mattered, she was a woman—taller and leaner than anyone expected her to be. That had worried her at first, and it had worried the Meltsners.  She’d seen her contemporaries become stretched out by age, their faces becoming pale and long, unrecognizable to the people who’d once watched them on the silver screen. First there was Callie O’Donnell and Freddie Sinclair…and a few years later, The Kingly Kittredge Brothers—known to her simply as Max and Albert. Those children faded away, one by one, irrelevant casualties of the clunking Hollywood machine. She thought the same would happen to her. She’d prepared for it— like taking a hissing gulp of air before being pulled down into the water.  But it
hadn’t
happened to her, not in the same way at least. She didn’t stop to think too long about why she’d been spared…but she knew the Meltsners had a lot to do with it.