Welcome to the World, Baby Girl! (43 page)

“No, you’re not.”

She had not meant to fall in love and get married but his joy and enthusiasm for life had been so infectious that she actually began to think that maybe her life could be different. Maybe she could leave her past behind and really live happily ever after, in a small town in the middle of the country, making a fresh start in life.

But it had only been a momentary dream. After Gene was killed she realized how foolish she had been to even consider it for a moment. And when their daughter, Dena, was born, she made up her mind what she was going to do. She had every intention of taking Dena to Elmwood Springs and leaving her with Gene’s parents and simply disappearing from her life.

It had not turned out that way. When she stepped down from the train that day, it was already too late. As hard as she tried to leave Dena, she could not. Every day that passed, she knew she should go, but as the days went by life in Elmwood Springs had somehow begun to make her believe that maybe she was safe here. The Nordstroms asked no questions, accepting her with open arms.

She had almost begun to forget who she really was and what she had done when suddenly her worst nightmare had come true. Right after Dena’s fourth birthday, Theo had found them, had come knocking on the Nordstroms’ front door.

She should never have married, never have had a child; she should have left Dena that first day. What had she been thinking of? What was she thinking of now? She could not stay in Philadelphia or anywhere permanently. She had to keep moving. She could not take a chance again, not with Dena’s future.

A week later Mrs. Porter called the La Salle and asked to speak to Miss Chapman. The owner said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Porter, but she’s no longer with us. Can I be of service?”

“You mean she doesn’t work there anymore? What happened?”

“I don’t quite know, Mrs. Porter. One day she called in sick and the next day when she didn’t come to work I called to see how she was, and the man on the desk told me that she had moved and didn’t leave a forwarding address. I don’t know what to think. I have a paycheck for her but I don’t know where to send it. I’m sorry, Mrs. Porter, I know you were fond of her.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Porter said. “Yes, I was.”

Dena went with Julian Amsley to see the musical
Mame
, a benefit performance for the Actors Fund, and it seemed as if all of New York was there. It was a glittering evening and she admitted to herself that she enjoyed hearing people whispering as she walked down the aisle, “There’s Dena Nordstrom.” She was dressed with elegant simplicity and stood out in the crowd even without the expensive jewelry and expensive face-lifts of the women who had married well. Seated, Dena was thoroughly enjoying the show when halfway through the first act, she started to break out in a sweat and felt as if she could not breathe. Her heart began to pound and she heard a ringing in her ears; everything became distorted, began to look unreal. The entire audience seemed to be moving in on her … and she was gasping for breath. She felt as if she was either going to die or pass out.

She stood up and was stepping over people, trying to get to the aisle. Julian turned and half-rose, but she was gone before he had a chance to ask her what was wrong.

Dena made it to the ladies’ room, ran to the sink and held on, but her head was still spinning. The attendant was concerned when she saw her face was as white as her dress. “Are you all right, miss?” Dena was still fighting for breath and turned on the cold water and
splashed herself in the face. The woman sat her down and said, “Just sit here and breathe as deeply as you can.” Dena was still shaky but began to feel slightly better as the attendant kept talking to her and applied cold compresses to her wrists. “You probably just got too hot in there. Just try to relax, you’ll be all right.”

Dena had never had this happen before. “I don’t know what happened. I thought I was going to faint.”

“You might have eaten something that didn’t agree with you or you might be coming down with the flu. Or you could be pregnant; lots of ladies feel faint when they are pregnant.” An elderly usherette who had seen Dena run into the ladies’ lounge knocked on the door. The attendant said, “Yes? Who is it?”

“It’s Fern … is she all right?”

“Yes.”

“Does she need anything?”

“I need a drink,” Dena said. “Tell her to get me a drink.” The attendant called out, “Fern, go to the bar and tell Mike to give you a brandy.”

Dena called, “A double.”

The thought that she must be pregnant snapped her back from wherever it was and into reality. Julian had been driving her crazy, and last month she had gotten pie-eyed at a party at his place and thought she might have finally gone to bed with him, but she couldn’t be sure of the details and the next morning she hadn’t asked. She didn’t want to know.

The drink came and she drank it in one gulp. She sat in the chair motionless and stared straight ahead. Finally, she turned to the attendant, looked her right in the eye, and made this solemn vow to a complete stranger: “I will never go out with another Greek man for as long as I live.”

The attendant, a large, caramel-colored woman who had never been out with a Greek man, nodded at Dena. “I don’t blame you, sugar.”

Dena got up and tipped her $50 and tipped Fern and Mike the bartender on her way out the door on her way to a taxi and home, leaving Julian in his third-row center-aisle seat, wondering what had happened to her.

The next morning she woke up scared to death and for the first time was glad she had an appointment that day with the doctor. She really needed to talk to someone.

She told Dr. Diggers exactly what had happened the night before, including the thought that she might be pregnant. Dr. Diggers listened and jotted notes. Dena was irritated that she seemed so calm and unconcerned. “I’m glad you can sit there doodling or whatever it is you do, while my life may be over. I may be carrying some Greek child I don’t even know.”

Elizabeth Diggers said, “You’re not pregnant.”

“How do you know, you weren’t there. That man is like a rabbit.”

“Dena, you had an anxiety attack.”

“A what?”

“What you described is a classic, old-fashioned, ordinary anxiety attack.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Oh, thank God.” Dena breathed a sigh of relief. “Wait a minute—why would I have an anxiety attack?”

Diggers asked automatically, “Why do
you
think you did?”

“I don’t know … I don’t even know what it is, that’s why I’m asking you.”

“Well, are you unusually anxious about something?”

“No. I’m perfectly fine. Everything is going great. Why would anxiety attack me all of a sudden?”

Diggers did not answer.

“I was just sitting there enjoying myself and then,
wham
, it was horrible. I don’t know where it came from or why. Why do people have anxiety attacks?”

“Sometimes it’s environmental; sometimes it’s subconscious, something repressed trying to get out.”

“Great, now my subconscious is attacking me. It’s not enough that I have to fight off Julian Amsley every night, now my subconscious is after me.”

“Let’s talk a little bit about last night. Tell me exactly what you were doing.”

“I told you I was just sitting there watching the show.”

“What were you watching at the time? Do you remember?”

“Mame.”

“What part of the show?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the first act; why?”

“Try and remember exactly what was going on at the moment you started to feel anxious.”

“What would that have to do with anything?”

“Maybe nothing. But humor me … try to remember.”

Dena thought for a moment. “It was something about Christmas. They were singing they wanted a little Christmas early and there was a tree. That’s all I remember.”

“Ah, yes, that was the ‘We need a little Christmas’ song. I know the show.”

Dr. Diggers was busy writing. “Let me ask you this. Does anything about Christmas or a Christmas tree trigger anything for you?”

Dena looked at her blankly.

“Remind you of anything? Did anything happen to you around Christmas that would be upsetting or—?”

“No. I don’t even like Christmas. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“What did you and your mother do at Christmas? Did you go to family?”

“No, I don’t remember what we did. Nothing. We just did nothing.” Dena started to break out in a cold sweat. Her mouth became dry and she became suddenly panicky.

“Dena? What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you feeling anxious right now?”

Dena had dug her nails into the chair and was breathing heavily. “A little … I don’t know why.”

Diggers immediately wheeled over to her. “OK, now, just calm down. You’re all right; I’m here. Get up and walk. Let’s go in the kitchen, put some cold water on your face—keep looking at me, I’m right here with you.”

They made it to the kitchen and Dena put water on her face and held on to the sink like she had the night before. The woman who worked for Diggers stood in the kitchen over in the corner, saying nothing. Diggers said, “Louisa, go in the medicine chest and bring me a ten-milligram Valium.” She gave it to Dena and made her lie down on the couch, then sat talking to her. “You’re OK, just keep breathing, and relax. It will pass, I promise you.”

Dena felt herself calming.

“I’ve been through this myself,” Diggers said. “I know how scary it is but you’re OK.”

“I hate this.”

“I know you do.”

“Is my time up yet?”

Diggers said, “No. Can you stay here by yourself for a minute? I’ll be right back. If you need me just yell.”

She wheeled herself into her office, called the doorman downstairs, and told him not to send the next patient up. She would reschedule. She came back in the living room.

“Do I have to go?” Dena asked.

“No. You stay right where you are.”

They sat in silence. About five minutes later, Dena said, “Something did happen on Christmas but … I forgot it a long time ago. I never think about it. I thought I was over it.”

When Dena was fifteen, her mother was living in Chicago, in a large red-brick apartment building called the Berkeley. Dena’s boarding school was outside Baltimore and she couldn’t wait to see her for the holidays. She had called and called her mother from school but each time she missed reaching her at home. She called the department store where her mother worked and they told her that her mother was no longer working there. Her mother changed jobs quite a bit and sometimes forgot to tell her, so Dena wrote a letter and told her what time her train would be arriving. All the way across the country she was humming with excitement. She loved riding through the small towns and seeing all the Christmas decorations and looking in the windows of the houses. When her train finally pulled into the station, Dena was the first person off. She looked up and down the platform but her mother was not there. She waited almost two hours. She didn’t know what to do. Maybe her mother had not received her letter or had to work late. So she went outside and took a cab to her mother’s apartment building. Her heart jumped with joy when she saw her mother’s name written on the small strip of paper next to the buzzer. She pushed the button. But there was no answer. The air was freezing and the wind was so cold it hurt. It was getting dark when a
man came, took a key, and opened the big glass front door leading into the lobby. Dena said, “Excuse me, could you tell me if there is a superintendent or something? I need to get into my mother’s apartment. I don’t have a key and she’s not home yet.” The man let her in and pointed her to the brown door. “Ring that bell.” Dena saw that it said
MRS
.
F
.
CLEVERDON
,
MANAGER
. A middle-aged lady in an apron opened the door. “Hello. I’m Mrs. Nordstrom’s daughter and I just got here and I was wondering if she left me a key.”

The woman smiled. “Well, no, dear, she didn’t leave a key. But I’ll take you up and let you in. Your mother’s on the sixth floor. Hold on while I go get the key.”

“Thank you. Guess she’s working late … you know, because of Christmas.”

“I imagine so,” Mrs. Cleverdon said, “they keep the stores open late. Thank heavens I don’t have to get into that mess. I’ve done all my shopping—well, all the shopping I am going to do.”

They took the elevator up and she followed her down the hall to apartment 6D and opened the door. “Here we are. I know your mother will be glad to see you. You have a nice visit, now.”

“Thank you.”

Dena walked into the apartment and switched on the lights and noticed unopened mail lying on the floor. Her letter was right on top. Then it dawned on her. Her mother must have gone out of town on a buying trip for the store. She often did that; she was probably on her way home right now.

The minute Dena walked into the bedroom it smelled familiar—her mother’s Shalimar—and she felt at home. She liked this apartment. It had a little kitchen and a nice-sized living room. The furniture was pretty much like the furniture in all of the furnished apartments they had lived in, a trifle worn and tired but comfortable. Then she noticed that her mother had put a small white ceramic tree on the dining table in the living room by the front window. It had tiny, little colored lights. She plugged it in and it lit up in red and green and blue. She decided to keep it on, and if her mother happened to look up when she came home and saw it, she would be surprised.