Songs of Willow Frost (9 page)

William closed his eyes and tried to remember. Sounds came first, and then smells. “My earliest real memory,” he said, “is of lying on my back, staring up at the tin ceiling of what must have been our
apartment at the Bush Hotel. I was wet and warm from a bath in the kitchen sink, and the towels felt cold and rough against my bare skin. I remember my nose twitching from the scent of ammonia or detergent, and I couldn’t stop giggling and kicking my feet as my ah-ma cleaned my belly button with a Q-tip.”

“That’s a sweet memory.”

He smiled.

“She would say in Chinese, ‘Don’t be a wiggle-worm.’ Whatever else she said to me I’ve forgotten, or lost, along with most of my Cantonese. And I remember hearing live music on the radio, and the window—it was dark outside, except for the moon, so it must have been my bedtime. Ah-ma sat me up and I wobbled as she stretched and tugged this nightshirt over my head that must have been too small because I recall my ears throbbing afterward. I don’t even know if that actually happened. I was little. It’s been so long. I barely remember anything. I might have imagined it all.”

William paused and cleared his throat. Then he went on, speaking more slowly.

“But there was another time I’ve never forgotten, years later, I was older … maybe five, I’m not sure … she was helping me get dressed and I heard a knock on the door. She turned and walked away. A man’s voice was shouting something … in Chinese, and my mother shouted back even louder. I heard glass breaking. Then my world turned sideways, the ceiling became the wall, and the wall became the floor. My head hit something, and everything went dark. I wanted to cry but couldn’t inhale, or exhale.”

“Who was that man?” Charlotte asked.

Was that my father?
“I … don’t know,” William said instead. He chewed his lower lip. “But I touch the side of my head whenever I think of that moment, even to this day.” He removed her hand from their shared mitten and guided her fingers to a crease on his temple, just below his hairline.

“That’s how I know it’s a real memory,” he said. “Because I still have the scar.”

He closed his eyes and felt Charlotte run her soft, delicate fingertips along his old wound that had been so neatly hidden.

“We all have scars, William. You. Me. I’m sure Willow has more than her share.”

She gently kissed his blemish, then wished him good night.

Velvet Rope

(1934)

William and Charlotte woke the next morning and turned on the light, to the vociferous complaints of their neighbors in the next room. They quickly turned off the bulb and gathered their meager belongings. William could barely knot his tie in broad daylight, yet somehow Charlotte and her amazingly dexterous fingers managed to craft a perfect bow in the gloaming. Eager to leave, they left the flophouse midmorning, shooing away a flock of pigeons that had been picking at earwigs crawling on the cold steps that led up to the street. The sidewalks were less crowded than the night before, though there were now men of every age, sleeping in gateways or raggedly snoring beneath nearby bushes with sheaves of old newspaper stuffed into their coats to stave off the crisp, damp Puget Sound air. How they remained asleep was a mystery, especially as the Salvation Army marched by, banging their loud bass drums. They formed a semicircle in the square, where the brass instruments lit into a heaven-splitting hymn that William barely recognized as “Solemnize Our Every Heart.” Charlotte grinned from ear to ear as the two of them sat on a vacant bench and listened to the men and women in their strange, bright uniforms playing bugles, trumpets, cymbals, and trombones. Before the song was over a stout woman passed a tambourine among the crowd asking for donations for the
poor and downtrodden. William regarded the homeless men sleeping in the gutters and put in a nickel.

William thought his companion should eat as they walked uptown, so they stopped at a lunch counter and ordered shredded wheat with cream, sprinkled with salt, and shared a cup of Ghirardelli chocolate. He let Charlotte have most of the hot cocoa and barely touched the cereal. His stomach was a knot of excitement and anxiety. As he glanced around the diner, he worried that grownups might question why they weren’t in school, but then he looked outside and saw dozens of kids their age, many younger, shining shoes, delivering newspapers, and sweeping up in front of stores.
Public school is free
, William thought,
but even that has become a luxury some can’t afford
.

At the counter, William asked a stranger for directions, then guided Charlotte toward the new Skinner Building, where the 5th Avenue Theatre was impossible to miss. Its glowing red and yellow neon sign must have been four stories tall—William spotted it from three blocks away and squeezed Charlotte’s hand. Plus flashing signs for KOMO and KJR adorned the roof, along with towering radio antennae, which broadcast NBC Red and NBC Blue. But his heart quickened even more when he saw the entrance to the theater and its Chinese motif—layers of gold and jade, with massive, studded double doors painted burgundy, the threshold guarded by a pair of giant Foo dogs. Each golden canine was at least a foot taller than he or Charlotte.

“Is this the place?” she asked.

William looked up at the lighted grand marquee, which read:
SEATTLE’S OWN WEEPING WILLOW FROST. PLUS: STEPIN FETCHIT—THE WORLD’S LAZIEST MAN. FEATURING ASA BERGER AND THE FOX MOVIETONE PLAYERS, WITH THE INGÉNUES
. Stepin was a bigger star and had been in dozens of movies, but Willow, a local hero, had managed top billing.

“Without a doubt,” William said. He’d forgotten that the 5th Avenue was a
Chinese
theater, at least on the outside. Somehow it was fitting that Willow would be performing here. It was the audience that would appear out of place.

William took Charlotte’s hand and showed her how to touch the ball within a Foo dog’s mouth. “You’re supposed to rub it for good luck.”

“Do I make a wish?”

“You can if you want.”

Charlotte closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. Then she smiled.

“We should get in line,” William said as a crowd gathered, everyone waiting for the box office to open. William’s eyes widened when he saw that the theater was showing movies—some with Willow, though most of them, like
Show Boat
and
The Galloping Ghost
, featured Stepin. There was also an anthology, showcasing some of the other performers who would be appearing live, once in the afternoon and once for the final show of the evening. As much as William wanted to watch the other movies, he knew that they needed to save their money. So he didn’t mention the other shows as they lined up and bought tickets from a blond woman for the matinee, which cost thirty cents apiece, half the price of the evening show.

As he stared at the posters and portraits of Willow in her elaborate gown and dramatic makeup, he wondered what he’d say to her.
Will she remember? And if not, will I be forced to beg for answers?
She was famous and he was nothing. He began to doubt, suddenly bereft of hope, contemplating what he’d do if she weren’t his ah-ma.
What then?
He’d be on his own, but at least he wouldn’t feel so rejected. There was strange comfort in that.

W
ILLIAM AND
C
HARLOTTE
spent the afternoon skipping from store to store, savoring the freedom they’d been starving for back at
the orphanage. They wandered like curious dogs with broken leashes. They lingered at Mozart’s Cigars until they were kicked out for loitering. And they played downstairs in the Bon Marché’s vast toy department, where Charlotte delighted in touching and squeezing the stuffed bears. They even tried on hats at Best’s Apparel, until a customer mistook William for an Indian and a security guard was roused to chase them off. Neither of them seemed to mind. The city was noisy, and smelly, and fragrant, and even though poverty and joblessness had consumed whole boarded-up neighborhoods, the downtown district was alive. Plus, there were storefront theaters on almost every block—sometimes three or four in a row, showing second-run talkies, newsreels, cartoons, and a mix of silent photoplays. Motion pictures seemed to be the only business that was thriving.

By the time they got back to the 5th Avenue Theatre, William’s legs were tired and his feet sore from walking in shoes one size too small. But that discomfort diminished with each minute that ticked away, bringing them that much closer to showtime. As they waited, some of the people in line gave them queer looks or commented under their breath, especially when they saw William’s Oriental face or Charlotte’s cane. William ignored them.

And when the ornate doors finally parted, everyone fell silent.

“What is it?” Charlotte whispered.

“It’s …” William blinked as his mouth hung open. “It’s …” He was at a loss for words. As the crowd marveled, William took Charlotte’s hand and walked through the entrance into another world. They sank into the lush carpet of the lobby, promptly greeted by usherettes in Mandarin costumes of red, blue, green, and gold. The walls were draped in shimmering ribbons of crimson and jade. And as they entered the massive theater, William felt as though he were setting foot in China’s Imperial Palace, overlooking the landscape of his ah-ma’s wildest fairy tales. He looked up, in awe, gushing his amazement as he beheld an enormous, lavishly sculpted five-toed
dragon that had been carved across the center of the high, deckled ceiling. An opulent pearl chandelier dangled from the creature’s gaping mouth.

“From all the gasps I’m hearing, I take it this theater is quite impressive,” Charlotte said, squeezing his hand. “I can feel this place—the way it smells, the way the air moves, the way our voices carry. It must be huge.”

While waiting in line William had overheard someone mentioning that the 5th Avenue had nearly three thousand seats, but he’d never envisioned a place this large. The interior resembled the Temple of Heaven he’d once seen in
National Geographic
. The décor felt like a confirmation, a sign that Willow was indeed sent from somewhere on high.

It’s the most breathtaking place I’ve ever seen!
William thought. But he said, “It’s so fantastically … ornate.” As he led Charlotte to their seats, he struggled to figure out how to describe such rich colors to a sightless girl. “The curtains are blue velvet, like the sky at night, the golden pipes from the organ stand tall above the arch of the stage, it’s huge, but with fine details in every corner. And it’s all … Chinese.”

“Like your mother.”

Like Willow
. William had never seen anything this majestic, this exotic, even within the few square blocks of Chinatown. “And the people here to watch the show, they’re all … white.” The contradiction left him feeling strangely proud.

Charlotte closed her eyes and beamed as the pipe organ filled every corner of the theater with sound. “Now I can see it,” she said with a smile.

William watched as patrons found their seats while the main floor filled up, almost to capacity. He felt himself drifting between two worlds: the austerity of his childhood, the orphanage, the poverty of Pioneer Square—and the magical realm of the stage, with its decadence, its overwhelming opulence. Most of the other people
in the audience wore suits or dresses, but no one was twinkling with sequins or dripping in diamonds. Some were dressed no better than he was, in his old jacket and tie. But everyone seemed rapt, nearly bursting with excitement. The theater was an escape and an amusement—a welcome, celebratory respite from the harsh, cold reality outside.

As the houselights faded and the audience clapped, William imagined that they had all stepped into Charlotte’s world of sound and music and infinite space. But then a spotlight illuminated a dashing fellow in a dark tuxedo.

“Laaaaaaadies and geeeeeeentlemen, children of all ages, shapes, sizes, flavors, and levels of sobriety …”

William recognized him from the advertisements, even before he introduced himself as Asa Berger. He cracked a few jokes and then broke into song and dance as the curtains parted to reveal the Ingénues, who began to play. William didn’t quite know what to make of them. They were fantastic, though strangely comical at times as one of the girls strutted across the stage in glittering heels while playing an ivory accordion.

The all-girl orchestra was followed by an act billed as Straight and Crooked Magic, in which a magician named Blackstone made a birdcage vanish, leaving a squawking canary in the hands of Pete, his jocular assistant. For their finale they made a lightbulb levitate from a table lamp. The radiant orb flew above the audience while the musicians in the pit played “I Know That You Know.” As William described the illusion to Charlotte, the man sitting behind them said, “I hear Thomas Edison himself is trying to figure out how he does that.” Magic made William nervous. He hoped it was just a trick.

Blackstone was followed by a duo who performed “Indian Love Call” from the hit musical
Rose-Marie
. A broad-shouldered man dressed as a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police rode in on a wooden horse and sang to a blond woman dressed as an Indian
maiden. William couldn’t help but think about Sunny, who would probably change his name to Sunny Does-Not-Approve.