The Winter of Her Discontent (15 page)

“Lucky guess.”

“Yes, I am. I'm early, I'm afraid.” He'd learn not to do that again. Ruby loved making an entrance, which meant that no matter what time you showed up, she showed up fifteen minutes later.

“I'll get her for you.” I turned tail and started up the stairs. Before I'd made it to the first landing, he stopped me.

“Miss?”

I hummed a response and turned around.

“Is she still pretty?”

I wasn't sure I understood the question. I'd never mailed her letter, so he couldn't know how bad off she'd been (assuming she'd written to tell him). Perhaps he'd begun to fear that the woman he'd met late one night in a darkened club wasn't as striking as he hoped. “Yes, she's very pretty.”

He pantomimed wiping sweat off his brow. It came off as surprisingly cute, as though he recognized how inappropriate it was to fret over a woman's looks when it was her personality that had roped him. “It's been a month. The mind can play a lot of tricks in thirty days.”

“You passed a picture of her on the way in here.” I pointed toward the foyer, where Ruby smiled to the right of Paulette. “I won't tell her if you peek.”

“It's all right,” he said. “I'm willing to let my imagination do what it wants now. Did she like the dress?”

“Navy blue with fringe?”

He nodded.

“She's wearing it tonight.”

“I hoped she might.” He took a deep breath and sat on the couch. “All right. I think I'm ready to see her now.”

I left him to his thoughts and climbed the remaining distance upstairs. I gave Ruby a courtesy knock to let her know her man awaited her, then disappeared back into my room.

Ten minutes later I watched from the window as the queen and her prince emerged from the Shaw House and chattered en route to the cab. It was clear he was enchanted with Ruby, which meant they'd at least have something in common. He opened the cab door for her and helped her sweep her coat clear of it. Then he joined her and they drove away, their two heads remaining as far apart as the backseat would allow.

 

Something about Ruby's date gnawed at me. He'd been sincere, nervous, and very sweet—the kind of guy the cynic in me wanted to label as too good to be true. There was an epidemic of these kind of men lately. Men like George Pomeroy.

That was it. While Zelda, Izzie, and Olive seemed certain that George had nothing to do with Paulette's death, I had no reason to share their confidence. After all, I knew the police had the wrong man and they didn't. Even if he wasn't the one who killed Paulette, George might still have seen something that could verify if Al was involved.

I left the room and went into the upstairs hall. Thirty seconds later I was listening to the line buzz as the operator tried to connect me to the Endicott Hotel.

“Good evening,” said a chipper female voice. “How may I direct your call?”

“I'm trying to reach a guest—a Captain George Pomeroy.”

“One moment please.” The line went silent for the better part of a minute. I was starting to think the operator had forgotten about me when she finally returned. “I'm sorry, Captain Pomeroy has checked out.”

That was right. He'd said he was staying in New York only until Paulette's memorial service. “Can you tell me when?”

Papers shuffled across the telephone line. She must've been flipping through the guest registry. “Monday, March eighth.”

“Thanks. Did he leave a forwarding address?”

“No.”

So he'd checked out on the day I'd first met him. He stayed in the city for at least a week after that. The question was, where?

W
E OFFERED TO ACCOMPANY
R
UBY
to the theater for her first rehearsal on Monday, but apparently our escorting her would've diminished the desired shock she wished to create. “Go without me,” she advised. “And don't breathe a word to anyone.” Jayne's feet were in better shape after a day off, so we took the subway uptown and walked the remaining distance to the Bernhardt. We parted with a promise that we'd find each other during lunch and attempt to talk to Vinnie Garvaggio's girlfriend, Gloria.

Walter Friday was already in the theater when I arrived, his sickly pallor and wrinkled suit both absent and replaced by something more optimistic. He greeted me upon arrival, remembering my name this time, and instructed me to join the other women onstage, where we would take the show from the top.

As we each sought our mark for the opening of the show, the theater doors opened and Ruby rushed in as if this were the final reel and she had to stop the wrongly accused from meeting his end via the electric chair. “I'm back!” she announced, her arms stretched out like she was going to sing the news. “Did you miss me?”

Zelda and Izzie wiped off their solemn expressions and greeted her with a grin. Minnie smiled weakly and exchanged her script for the one the stage manager had been using. She'd been demoted both onstage and in Ruby's heart.

“Are you healed?” asked Friday.

“Completely.” Ruby removed a fur-trimmed wool cape from she shoulders and gracefully slung it around the back of a theater seat.
“And I used my time wisely and learned the script. It will be like I never left.”

“I could kiss you,” said Friday. Ruby may have been jubilant, but she wasn't stupid. She stepped out of his range and stiffened. “Let's get cracking then. Places everyone.”

Personal feelings aside, it was good to have Ruby there. While Minnie had been passable in her part, the qualities that made Ruby unlikable in person made her magnetic onstage. Her return also coaxed something new out of Zelda and Izzie. No doubt they were as convinced as I was that the production was doomed, and now with Ruby once more in good health, they felt renewed hope that the show might survive.

We went through the first act, then took a ten-minute break. Minnie disappeared while the four of us retreated to the lobby. I thought I'd feel out of place with Ruby back, but rather than excluding me from their conversation (as I assumed she would), Ruby made an effort to involve me. I wasn't sure if this was because I'd helped her when she was sick, or she didn't want Zelda and Izzie to know how she really was. Either way, I was thrilled with the change.

“So how is he?” asked Zelda. She had her brass cigarette case at the ready and seemed dismayed to discover it held only one cigarette.

“How's who?” asked Izzie.

“Donald Montgomery,” said Zelda. “Remember? A little bird”—she cocked her head toward me—“told us he's on leave and back in town.”

Ruby waited until their chatter had ended and offered them a coy smile. “He's just fine, thank you.”

“You have to give us more than that,” said Izzie.

Ruby pantomimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.

“I can tell you that he's not afraid to keep the meter running,” I said.

Izzie put her hands on her knees and leaned toward me. “You met him?”

“On Saturday. I'm the one who greeted him in the lobby.”

Zelda showed Ruby her back. “What did you think of him?”

“Very tall. Nice posture. And greatly relieved when I told him he'd correctly remembered that Ruby was what some men considered attractive.”

Ruby's brows tipped downward. The little bird was on perilous ground. “What a thing to say.”

“I'm just repeating the facts. He was worried he'd misremembered you. He was also very pleased to hear that you were wearing the dress he'd bought you.”

“He bought you a dress?” asked Zelda.

“Not just any dress, but one pictured in the March
Vogue
.” I'd found it that morning while flipping through Jayne's copy during breakfast.

“So he bought me a dress and some perfume. So what?”

Izzie clucked her tongue. “Sounds serious.”

They were teasing her and she knew it, but rather than responding with the hostility she'd directed at me, she smiled and playfully swatted at Izzie.

“It's not serious. Yet. We did have two lovely evenings though. He's very nice. A true gentleman. And very intelligent. He has a Ph.D., you know.”

“In what?” asked Izzie.

Ruby fought a yawn. “Some science thing. It's not important. Anyway, we're going out again tonight.”

A familiar sickness bubbled up in my stomach that I immediately recognized as envy. I was used to being jealous of Ruby. She got more work, had better clothes, and managed to evade stink even when she was the only one rolling around in the pigpen. But I'd never envied her relationships before. Her ex-boyfriend, Lawrence Bentley, was the kind of man you'd wish on Ruby, someone so self-absorbed that you could fail to show up on a date and he wouldn't even notice. Already I could tell her soldier was different.

Izzie patted Ruby on the back. “Good for you, Ruby. I had a feeling this would work out for you.”

“I guess we should set Rosie up next,” said Zelda.

“Rosie has a boyfriend,” said Ruby. She snarled the word
boyfriend
as though it had another meaning entirely, like harelip or typhoid.

“No I don't,” I said. Ruby's shocked face loomed before me. What was the matter with me? I wasn't ready to abandon Jack to whatever his fate was, but I was equally unprepared to let Ruby decide my future for me. “What I mean is, he's not really my boyfriend anymore,” I said. “Technically, we split up before he shipped out.”

“So you'd be interested in meeting someone?” asked Izzie.

I smiled sweetly Ruby's way. “Possibly. I mean, if you can introduce me to someone like Don Montgomery, I could hardly say no.”

I waited for lightning to strike me dead. I was a terrible person, but who could blame me? Irritating Ruby was just that much fun. And besides, meeting someone and dating them were two very different things.

 

We continued rehearsal until shortly after twelve, then we all dispersed in search of lunch. Izzie had invited me to join her, but I declined the invite and went looking for Jayne. She was waiting for me in the lower lobby, her face pulled long by the irritation that had been her own morning's rehearsal.

“Bad day?” I asked.

“Bad would've been an improvement. I didn't think today could be worse than Saturday, but I'm here to tell you miracles happen.”

“Shall we get some chow?”

Jayne nodded toward the ladies' room. “I invited Gloria to join us. She's freshening up.”

On cue, a woman emerged from the restroom. “Here I am,” she said. Gloria was downright Amazonian, making me feel petite in comparison. Her ginger-colored hair was done up in ringlets that framed her wide face like she was a fun-house version of Shirley Temple.

“You changed,” Jayne said. Gloria was wearing a satin pantsuit that had become all the rage the previous fall, the kind of getup you
wore for cocktails at Delmonico's, not cold cuts at the local deli. Jayne didn't bother to hide her dismay at the ensemble. It was clear that Gloria was less perceptive than a bag full of kittens at the bottom of the Hudson.

“Who's your friend?” asked Gloria.

“I'm Rosie Winter. I'm Jayne's roommate.”

“Charmed.” She offered me her hand. As I took it, I became entranced by a rock the size of Topeka.

“Nice ring.”

Gloria let go of me and held the slice of ice as far from her face as her arm would allow. I'm sure this was because the stone was so big that she couldn't take it all in unless she held it at a distance. “Thanks. Vinnie said it matched the color of my eyes.”

I wasn't sure which of them was color-blind, but the gem in question was clearly a diamond and Gloria's eyes were blue.

“Shall we?” said Jayne.

We crossed the street to Mancuso's Deli and took turns putting in our orders at the counter. Jayne got the egg salad and I settled for the roast beef that wasn't really roast beef, while Gloria debated the merits of both of our choices for more time than it took for Hitler to occupy France. At last she decided to also have the beef, and we retreated to a booth and flagged down a waitress to request some coffee.

“So how do you like the show, Gloria?” I asked.

She flashed a smile, showing me teeth smeared with Orange Flame lipstick. “Oh, it's too much. I never knew Broadway could be so exciting.” She had a lisp when she talked, though I couldn't decide if it was genuine or some affectation she'd picked up to complete the childlike effect.

“Have you been dancing long?”

“Only since I was this big.” She illustrated her former height with a hand dropped to the booth seat. “Of course, I never thought I'd get to be a professional dancer, but Vinnie says I'm made for the stage. And the pictures.”

Sure, I thought. The silent ones.

“How'd you meet Vinnie?”

“My pop introduced me. Vinnie sometimes works for him.” So Gloria came from a made family, and a high up one at that.

“How long ago was that?”

She looked at her fingers and ticked off a calculation. “I guess it's been three years now.”

“It must be pretty serious,” I said.

“Oh, you know.”

I did know. Nothing was serious when your boyfriend already had a wife.

“That's great that he's backing this show,” I said. “I'll bet Walter Friday was thrilled to find a partner who was so enthusiastic about theater.”

Jayne watched me, open-mouthed, from across the table.

“Oh, Vinnie loves the arts. He also puts in the for the amateur ice show at the Garden each year.”

“Can't bring a guy a lot of money though, can it?” I said. “I mean, I know Walter's been struggling and, let's face it, theater hardly brings in the big bucks these days.”

Gloria's face dropped. I had just told her Santa Claus didn't exist. “Really?”

Jayne cleared her throat and joined the interrogation. “What Rosie means is, most people don't just invest in theater. They have other things they do too.”

Jayne spoke her language. Gloria's face softened again. “Oh, well, Vinnie does all sorts of stuff. But theater is his love, you know? I guess you got to have the other stuff to keep it going.”

The jobbie at the counter called our order number, and for a few minutes we were distracted by the demands of condiments and cutlery. “Sounds like Vinnie's a smart man,” I said.

“How do you figure?” asked Jayne.

“He doesn't put all his eggs in one basket. We should think about doing something like that. Maybe we could invest the money we're getting from this show into something.”

“Like stock?” asked Jayne.

“Naw. Remember what happened in '29.” I did a fine job of wrinkling my brow the way my pap always did when he talked about money. “What other stuff does Vinnie do to earn his cush?”

Gloria spoke through a mouthful of beef that wasn't beef. “He's in sales.”

I knew evasive; it was a skill I was well practiced in. Gloria wasn't being evasive when she described Vinnie's other vocation. This was what she truly believed he did.

“What kind of sales?” asked Jayne.

Gloria smiled at her sandwich. It didn't grin back. “He doesn't really talk about his business with me. I think he sells hard-to-find stuff. All I know is anytime I want something, he makes sure I get it.” She snapped her fingers. “Like that.”

There'd been a cartoon in Sunday's paper of a bull labeled “black market” terrorizing people on the streets. Uncle Sam was screaming at the bottom of the panel, “Is there a bullfighter in the house?” When I was being a good patriot, I knew it was wrong to sneak a cookie when you'd just been told by your mother that she was saving those for company. I also knew what a huge surcharge Vinnie and the like were levying at us poor saps who couldn't go another day without a bar of chocolate and a deck of Luckies. Make no bones about it: we were lining organized crime's pockets. While for many the war was an exercise in anguish, for others it had become an incredibly profitable venture. I was sickened by that thought.

At the same time, though, we were living in a world where sliced bread was no longer available at the corner bakery (that metal had to be put to better use) and where the luscious banana filling of my Hostess Twinkies had been eradicated along with any sign of that glorious yellow fruit. We were constantly being told to use it up, wear it out, fix it up, or do without, and yet we had seen almost no benefit from our efforts. We'd already done all that in the thirties—did we really have to do it again? Sacrifice without reward was a terrible state to be in. We needed something to keep us going.

When the war was over, I'd probably look back at the sacrifices I made and see them for how small they really were, but right now, in the fray, every one of us needed something forbidden, not because we were greedy pigs who didn't care about our boys abroad but because we needed to be reminded of how normal life once was and that what we were fighting for was the return to a way of life where butter was commonplace, sliced bread the norm, and the man by your side as natural a thing as the air you breathed.

“That's got to be handy,” I told Gloria. “What I wouldn't give for some silk stockings and a pound of butter.” I turned to Jayne. “How's the egg salad?”

“Fair. How's the roast beef?”

“Disgusting.”

“Ham again?” asked Jayne.

“Oh, to be so lucky. No, this is something else. It's not beef; it might not even be meat. How's yours taste?” I asked Gloria. She was already halfway through her sandwich, her gusto being evidence enough that only one of us had lost the lunchmeat lottery.