In the Unlikely Event (42 page)

Daisy came out from behind her desk. “Oh, Christina.” She put her arms around her. “I hope you’ll be very happy.” Then, “You didn’t
have
to get married, did you?”

Christina laughed. “No. And that doctor you sent me to…he fitted me for a diaphragm so I won’t have to worry.”

“When are you going to tell your parents?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Well, don’t say anything about Las Vegas yet. First, Dr. O has to make up his mind. But I have a feeling he’s going to do it, and I admit I’m kind of excited about going. I’m starting to feel like a pioneer.”

A pioneer, Christina thought. The Wild West. She’d have to learn to ride a horse, she supposed. The idea of it made her giddy.

Daisy

Christina and Jack were married! She knew Christina had something on her mind but a secret marriage had never occurred to her. She should have guessed. Hadn’t she done the same at Christina’s age—running off with Gerald Dupree, né Dorfman, to Elkton?
Gerald Dupree
. What a name. And
Daisy Dupree
—even better. A fabulous name, she’d thought at the time, a name fit for a stripper, or, even better, a movie star, which made her laugh—the only good thing that had come out of her hasty young marriage, annulled two weeks after they’d eloped.

But that was a lifetime ago. Gerry had been older, twenty-five to her eighteen. He’d been working for ten years by then, for the Stasio boys, number runners, then bootleggers. It was 1936, times were hard. She was a year out of Linden High School, where she’d won every award in the business program—for typing, steno, bookkeeping. She was lucky to find a job working as a secretary for an insurance agent in Newark. She wasn’t his
número uno
, as he called his longtime secretary, but he liked Daisy, admired her for her organizational skills. With her first paycheck she went for an eye exam, got prescription glasses and the difference in the way she could see felt like a miracle.

Tall, with perfect skin and thick dark hair cut short, a good body, excellent posture, Daisy could have passed for twenty-five. Her older sister, Evelyn, had taught her a thing or two about using makeup, about flirting.

She’d met Gerald Dupree at a lunch counter, where they’d both ordered split-pea soup. When their checks came he put down the fifteen cents to pay for hers. She married him on a whim, two months later.

She knew what to expect on her wedding night, but nothing beyond that. In a motel outside Elkton, Gerry became frustrated with her. “What’s going on down there?” he’d asked.

“How should I know?” she’d answered.

“I can’t get in.”

“I told you—I’m a virgin.”

“I’ve had my share of virgins, baby, but this is something else.”

He sent her to a doctor, who broke the news. She would never be able to have children, would never have normal sexual relations. She understood about not being able to have children. But what did she know about normal? What did she know about sexual relations? She didn’t ask questions, and the doctor didn’t offer explanations.

When she told Gerry she would not be able to have children he seemed more angry than disappointed. He didn’t hold her or kiss her or say he loved her anyway. “Did he tell you why you couldn’t have children?” he asked.

“Something about missing female body parts.”

“Jesus, body parts! What body parts? You mean you’re a freak? I married a freak? Did you know? You must have known.”

“I didn’t know.”

“How could you not have known? You tricked me into marrying you.”

“How did I trick you?”

“You gave me the come-on from day one. You were such a sexpot. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? What did you think would happen when…oh, Christ, never mind. We’ll get it annulled.”

“What’s ‘annulled’?”

“It means, since the marriage was never consummated—”

“What’s ‘consummated’?”

“We never had sex. Do you know what that means?”

She wasn’t an idiot. She just didn’t understand what was happening.

“So now we go back to the way it was before we went to Elkton,” he told her. “We go back to our lives before we met.”

“Can I keep your name?”

This made him laugh. “
Dupree
? You want to be
Daisy Dupree
?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, Daisy! How’re you going to explain that to your family?”

“That’s my business.”

“Be my guest.”

—

AFTER THAT
, she’d reinvented herself. She’d learned to throw back a Scotch, to straddle a chair, smoke a pack of Camels a day and laugh at off-color jokes. She even told a few herself.

When her brother-in-law, Mel, said,
You’ve turned into a real broad, Daisy, she’d said, Good for me!

She became strong, even tough if she had to be, a woman who made friends with men but who never let it get romantic. She was done with all that, with girlish dreams of houses with picket fences and little children calling her “Mommy.” She was a female in every way but one. So she was missing some of her lady parts. So what? The doctor had referred to her as “juvenile” down there. Well, that was the only part of her that was juvenile. She’d never have to worry about why she wasn’t getting pregnant, the way her sister, Evelyn, did. Maybe Evelyn was missing lady parts, too. She hadn’t told Evelyn or anyone else about her
condition
.

She lived with Evelyn and Mel in the small house she and Evelyn had inherited from their father. When Mel was killed driving home one rainy night on Vauxhall Road, Daisy was there for her sister. After a few months she encouraged Evelyn to take a refresher course at Katharine Gibbs, using some of the insurance money she’d collected when Mel died. “Get a job,” Daisy told her. “You’ll feel better.”

But jobs were scarce. The insurance agent was sorry he had to let Daisy go but the Depression was taking its toll, as if she didn’t know. She learned to drive her father’s old car, which had been sitting in the garage since her father’s death. The mechanic down the street got it running in exchange for a few bags of groceries. She heard about a dental practice in Elizabeth, looking for an assistant. She was interviewed by the dentist and his wife. They hired her on the spot. They hoped things would improve soon, and when they did, they’d promised her a raise.

—

AFTER TEN YEARS
working for Dr. O, he’d asked out of the blue, “I don’t mean to pry, Daisy, but how is it a beautiful, accomplished woman like you has never married?”

She’d burst into tears, surprising herself and Dr. O.

“There…there…” he’d said, holding her, patting her back the way her father might have.

She felt so safe with him, trusted him so completely, she told him about Gerald Dupree and her condition.

He took a minute to respond. “Would you like me to set up an appointment with a specialist for you?”

“Yes,” she said, surprising herself again. “I would.”

The specialist confirmed the first doctor’s findings. He gave a name to her condition, though she would never use it. She asked Dr. O to tell no one, not even his wife.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said. “You are an extraordinary person, Daisy. Among the finest I’ve ever known. I consider myself lucky to have you in my life.”

“The feelings are mutual, Dr. O.”

She’d thought after that day they’d have no secrets from each other.

Elizabeth Daily Post

COMMERCIAL JET FLIGHTS BEGIN

By Henry Ammerman

MAY 3—While Elizabeth awaits the CAB verdict on the reopening of Newark Airport, a new era of airplane travel began today with the flight of a British De Haviland Comet jet airliner from London to Johannesburg, South Africa. The British Overseas Airways Corporation plane carried a full payload of 36 passengers on this first-ever commercial jet trip. The journey was expected to take 24 hours, with intermediate stops in Rome, Beirut, Khartoum, Uganda and Northern Rhodesia.

With a top cruising speed of 480 miles per hour, the Comet is 50% faster than propeller aircraft such as the DC-6, and its proponents say it provides smoother and quieter travel.

32

Miri

On May 8 news spread that another plane had crashed in Elizabeth, smashing into Levy Brothers department store. Miri was eating lunch at her usual table in the cafeteria when she heard. She felt sick to her stomach and had to swallow again and again to keep down the egg salad sandwich she’d just finished. She thought of the lady who worked in the teen department at Levy Brothers, the one who was having her nails done the morning Mr. Roman gave Miri her Elizabeth Taylor haircut. Had she been at work today? Was she dead now?

The teacher who was lunch monitor that week shouted, “Everyone under the tables. Now!” She was one of the new, young teachers. She wore small pearl earrings that gave her face a glow. But now she wasn’t glowing. She shouted, “Quiet, please! Another plane may be on the way. Cover your heads with your hands.”

Kids were screaming. Someone vomited on the floor. The smell of sweat mixed with the vomit and the uneaten lunches. They had grown complacent, Miri thought, more interested in ninth-grade graduation and going off to high school than about planes crashing. They’d been moving on with their lives, which is what their parents urged them to do. They were trying to be regular kids, happy kids, to please their families. But this proved you never knew when something terrible would happen. Miri wished she could be with Mason. If she was going to die she wanted to die in his arms. Oh, god—please let him be all right. She and Suzanne held on to each other under the table. Some girls were whimpering. For once, the boys shut up.

Miri could smell her own sweat, the sweat of fear, the sweat that deodorant didn’t prevent. Robo was probably so glad she’d moved away from Elizabeth. But not everyone could afford to buy a house in Millburn or South Orange or some other fancy town where planes didn’t crash. Suzanne’s eyes were tightly shut. Her lips moved silently. Probably she was praying. But praying wouldn’t save them, would it? It didn’t save the people on the planes. Not that Miri knew if they’d prayed, but she was betting they had. Was Suzanne praying to Jesus? Did it matter who you prayed to? Did anything matter?

It seemed like they were under the lunch tables for hours. Finally, an all-clear whistle blew. As they came out, they saw Donny Kellen, that idiot, standing on a table, shouting into a bullhorn. “April Fool! April Fool, everybody!”

“It’s May, you asshole!” Charley Kaminsky yelled, throwing his half-finished plate of spaghetti and meatballs at Donny. That’s when all hell broke loose. Kids rushed at Donny while he danced around on the table trying to avoid the food being hurled at him like bullets—half-eaten sandwiches from home, the daily special from the cafeteria, apples, oranges, candy bars.

Miri pitched her milk carton at him and clipped the side of his head. “Ow!” he yelled. “Stop…come on…it was just a joke! Can’t you take a joke?”

A group of boys pulled him down from the table and started pummeling him.

Was he evil or just stupid? And why should they believe him when he said it was just a joke? He wasn’t someone you could trust.

The young teacher couldn’t begin to control the madness. “People, please…people!” But her pleas didn’t stop them. She sent Eleanor to the office to get help.

Minutes later the principal’s voice came over the loudspeaker, telling them it was a hoax. “Boys and girls,” Mr. Royer said. Just the sound of his voice was enough to infuriate Miri. “There is no danger. There was no plane crash. Return to your tables immediately and give your attention to Miss Jensen.”

None of them liked Edith Jensen, the vice principal. She probably didn’t like them, either. She marched into the cafeteria, grabbed Donny Kellen by the arm and demanded that he apologize. “Apologize to your classmates right now.”

“But I didn’t
do
anything.”

“Apologize!”

“I’m sorry,” Donny Kellen said. “I thought—”

“That’s the problem,” Miss Jensen said. “You didn’t think. You never think. You probably haven’t had a lucid thought in your life!” And she dragged him out of the cafeteria. Maybe Mr. Royer had already called the police. Maybe Donny Kellen would be taken away to jail, or juvenile detention. Miri was sure at the very least he’d be expelled. Finally, Mr. Royer could expel someone who deserved it.