Note: Surely Janice and Mel had mothers. Set a generation before the Xena Scrolls in Pre World War I New York City, here's my attempt at an uber story - as a friend of mine wrote, "in a world where the warlords wear tailored suits, the peasants live and work in places of steel and concrete and justice is as lost as it ever was in Xena and Gab's day."
mailto:Dip49@aol.com
SECTION 12
The show had already begun when they arrived. Sina found a place for Mel to stand backstage where he could see the performances and still be out of the way. Then she disappeared and Mel was left to wonder at the strangeness of her world.
The theater was dimly lit except for the stage and the faces of the audience were a blur to him. The whole place smelled of greasepaint and tobacco smoke and there was a steady hum of conversation backstage as performers and stagehands readied themselves for each act. The limelights shone on center stage and already the air was hot.
Mel had only been to a few stage shows. Every penny he earned went to books and tuition and there was little left for entertainment. He stood next to a stage hand who pulled a jungle of ropes that moved the heavy velvet curtain and he smiled like a kid at the circus to be witness to it all. The first act was a troupe of acrobats who seemed to fill the stage as they tumbled in all directions and made a human pyramid with their very bodies. They signaled one another with hand claps and gestures and Mel wondered at their grace and speed.
That was what was called a "dumb act," the stagehand, Fred, explained. Cyclists, acrobats, animal acts. Always started out with something noisy and all over the place with nobody talking, he said. That way everybody could get into their seats and not miss nothing. Fred fancied himself an expert on vaudeville but had few opportunities to show off. Mel was an eager student and Fred was glad for the diversion.
Then Fred yanked on his ropes and the curtain closed and parted again as Sven took center stage. Mel smiled in recognition. Sven was a big man but dressed in little more than a loincloth, he was even more impressive. His great arms and legs glistened, each muscle accentuated by the play of the lights and Mel wondered if it were oil or Sven's own sweat. He lifted barbells and anvils, pulled a horseshoe until it became a rod and bent a rod until it became a horseshoe. The crowd loved every second and hooted and exclaimed in wonder.
Again the curtain closed and the orchestra played while Sven's props were pulled offstage and the scene set for the next act. When the curtain parted again, a baggy pants comic addressed the audience, his thick German dialect delivered in a deadpan manner that made the absurdity of his remarks even more of a hit. Mel listened and tried to remember each line, sure that he would dazzle Belle tomorrow at the settlement house as he would ask, "Have you heard this one?"
The crowd settled down as one act followed another. The acts seemed a little more polished as the evening wore on, more like stage performances than circus acts. Fred explained that the first half would be capped off by two of the headliners. Then after intermission, the cycle would begin again. No one performed for more than fifteen minutes and each act was paced so that the excitement built up until the audience was primed for the performers they had really come to see.
Otto stood beside him now waiting to go on. He had talked to Sina in her dressing room and said she'd sent him out to find Mel. She seemed fine, he said. It took more than a billyclub to slow Sina down. Then Fred nodded at him and Otto tugged at his waistcoat. "This was a lot easier when I had a helper."
Mel watched as Otto ran through his routine. He ran the gamut of card tricks, sleight of hand magic and then asked for volunteers from the audience to assist in his famous escapes. Burly longshoremen eager to impress their ladyfriends tied his feet and ankles with impossible knots and Otto was standing free before they could make it back to their seats. Even a cumbersome white straight jacket proved of little difficulty for Otto's nimble efforts. The audience roared their approval.
And then the audience was hushed as the last act of the first half took the stage, the headliner they had waited for. Serafina, as she was billed, smiled at the crowd and nodded to the orchestra leader. The lights that had shone so brightly on Otto and the other acts were dimmed now and when the music began, Mel was enchanted.
She was beautiful, that he already knew. But he had never heard her sing. She started with "Shine on Harvest Moon" and the familiar lyrics took on a poignancy that he had never felt before. She sang it slowly, like a ballad, not at all like the more famous rendition by Nora Bayes. Her voice was clear, lovely, without the showy trills of other singers. When she claimed that she'd "had no lovin' since January, February, June or July," Mel and half the audience ached to remedy the situation.
And then before the applause could die down, she sang the intro to "Alexander's Ragtime Band." The song was new but already a big hit and the audience clapped in time to the chorus as she smiled and invited them to come on along. Fred tugged at his rope and to Mel's chagrin, began to chat even as she sang.
"That one's got real class," he commented. "Not like them other floozies running around backstage in their tights and camisoles. Treats everybody the same, whether they're stagehands or headliners or whatever. Friendly like. Not flirty though. Keeps her private life to herself."
Mel tore his eyes away from the stage long enough to note that Fred was giving him the once over. Like an anxious father appraising his daughter's new suitor, Fred stared at Mel's face, took in his worn Woolworth's suit and wondered if he were worthy. "You a friend of hers, I see."
Mel bristled under his scrutiny. "I gave her a ride to the theater, that's all."
Fred shrugged and turned his attention to the figure onstage. "I thought maybe she'd finally got a new boyfriend. She hangs around with that escape artist, Otto, but I'm pretty sure they ain't ...you know." He pulled an cigar from his vest pocket and stuck the end of it in his mouth. "She ain't brought nobody backstage since the spic tango dancer. Never did like him though. Too good looking. Knew it too. I never seen nothin' like it. Was just like catnip with women, he was. All them chippies went crazy soon as they laid eyes on him. Couldn't get out of their scanties fast enuff, trying to get his attention."
Mel tried to concentrate on Sina's song. He supposed anyone dark would qualify as a "spic" to Fred and imagined that he would be classified as such in the future. He was irritated and realized that it was not so much by Fred's remarks as he was reluctant to hear him speak of Sina and Ari, of Sina and Ari together. But Fred was not to be put off by Mel's expression.
"Ari something or other. Him and Sina was a dance team a couple of years back. I used to watch 'em rehearse. He was a lucky sonofabitch. Made you break out in a sweat just seeing the way she looked at him. Like he was a ham sandwich and she hadn't et for a week. I hear he's a rich mucky muck now. Decided he'd rather be a fancy man to rich women uptown. Pretty Boy just screwed his way to success, the way I hear tell. Damned fool, if you ask me, go and give her up."
Mel turned to the stage. There was complete silence as they strained to hear each word and the houselights were dim and shone on her face. She was singing a new song, one he'd never heard before, "Melancholy Baby." She held the audience in the palm of her hand now and her voice was rich and soft. And there was a sweetness and longing there that reached out to every one of them and Mel closed his eyes and pretended that she sang it just for him.
But then Fred's voice cut into his imaginings. "That's funny. She's ain't moving much. She usually sashays across the stage when she's doing that number, right there during the chorus. Her voice is softer than usual too." He chewed on his cigar thoughtfully. "You never know with that one. Maybe she's trying out something new. Most of 'em do it the same every time. But she never does a song the same way twice. Always sounds good though. When Sina sings, it's more like she's singing to you, just you."
Then there was a thunder of applause and the lights went up on her and the orchestra played for her exit. It was intermission now and there was a flurry of activity where Mel stood. She had bowed and exited left and Mel mumbled his goodbye to Fred and went in search of her. There was a crowd of chorus girls, prop men, and he waded into their midst, nervous now. Something was wrong, he knew it.
And finally hidden away beneath a staircase, out of sight of the others he found her. She was doubled over, breathing in short shallow gasps, her arms wrapped around her midsection as if she feared it would burst apart if she did not contain it. She caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye and she stood upright, slowly and carefully.
He looked at her and found his voice. "Let me get the car so I can get you out of here."
"No, I'll be all right in a minute. I've got another number in the second show."
He looked at her face, saw the beads of perspiration on her brow and knew they were not because of the footlights alone. He knew that she was a woman who was used to having her way and who was quick to anger. But even at the risk of that anger, he leaned over and scooped her up in his arms. "Not tonight, Serafina. I'm taking you home."
She was startled by the sudden movement and the pain cut across her chest like a poker red hot from the fire. She would get to her feet, she told herself, as soon as she could speak or move. She pressed her cheek against his neck to steady herself until she could catch her breath. He smelled of soap, bay rum cologne and pipe tobacco. She breathed in the scent of him and felt her body begin to relax.
He was not much taller than she but he had lifted her easily and now he held her tightly and cushioned her body against his chest with his arm as he walked to the stagedoor. The orchestra started on the other side of the curtain and for one crazy moment, she felt like they were dancing. He moved surely, gracefully and she leaned against his body and felt the warmth of his embrace as it seemed to draw her own pain away.
She could breathe easier now. She cursed to herself when she realized that she'd clutched the back of his shirt when the pain had flashed through her, holding on like a child afraid of falling. But he said nothing and only held her tighter because of it. He started out the door and she knew that by the time they reached the car she would stand on her own and walk beside him. But until then, for just a moment, for just one fleeting moment, she felt like that little gypsy girl searching the crowd for someone who would claim her, care for her. And for now she rested in Mel's arms as if she'd belonged there from the very start.
SECTION 13
By the time they reached her apartment, he thought she seemed more like herself. Her color had returned and she sat up straight and tall now. She opened the car door and stepped to the pavement before he could assist her and he shook his head. Her self reliance was admirable and maddening at the same time. He saw her hesitate as she contemplated the flights of stairs to her apartment, sensed how she needed to grip the banister for support but was unwilling to have him witness it. Without a word he offered her his arm, casually as any gentleman would a lady and she rewarded him with a smile.
He had imagined what the home of a vaudeville entertainer would be like. Flamboyant and artistic, he thought, paintings on the wall, velvet or silken hangings, perhaps a steamer trunk tucked in a corner brightly displaying all the railway station labels of its travels on the circuit. But her apartment was a revelation to him, nothing like he'd imagined. The room was almost a mirror image of his own, filled with books and music. While Sina retired to the room at the end of the hall to clean off her makeup and change her gown, he stood before the bookcases and scanned their leather spines.
Most of the volumes were second hand, a few were new. Her tastes were diverse, her thirst for knowledge as intense as his own. There were novels by Zola, Dreiser, Dickens. There were history books, books of philosophy, art, poetry. Some were in French or German but most were in English and he reminded himself that despite her fluency, it was not her native tongue.
But then he began to chuckle as he read the titles on a shelf by the settee. There was a well thumbed copy of Owen Wister's The Virginian and an equally worn copy of Mark Twain's Roughing It. Biographies of Jesse James and Wild Bill Hickock stood shoulder to shoulder with The Last of the Mohicans and the new bestseller, Riders of the Purple Sage by Zane Gray.
"What's so funny?" she asked as she sat carefully on the settee. Her face was scrubbed and shining and her hair hung loose to her shoulders.
Mel sat on the Morris chair facing her. "It's just that I know your secret now. You want to be a cowboy when you grow up." He gestured to the shelf and smiled.
His teeth gleamed white behind his dark moustache and she liked the way his eyes flashed when he was amused. She smiled back and said, "I can't deny that. I grew up around horses. I love them. When I was a girl, a day didn't pass that I didn't ride."
He settled into the chair and crossed his long legs. "I would love to see that. I imagine you'd be pretty impressive on horseback. I can see you now, dark hair flowing over your shoulders, the reins in your hands, leather boots gleaming, riding across the sunset on a beautiful black stallion."
"No," she said. "A palomino, it would have to be a palomino. Nothing else will do."
He laughed and said, "A palomino it is, then."
She leaned back against the pillows. "I think I know your secret too. I bet every once in a while you skip school to go see Broncho Billy Anderson at the pictures with the other kids." They laughed together and it cost her. He saw her press her arm against her side as she fell silent.
"Are you all right? I can go get Belle."
She shook her head. "It's okay. You know what they say, it only hurts when I laugh." She raised a hand as if to reassure him and sat back against the pillows.
It was late and it was a long walk home. He knew he should go but he wanted to sit and talk with her. She was better now but he was still reluctant to leave her. He leaned back, trying to make conversation. "Serafina, is that just your stage name? It means angel, doesn't it? It's a pretty name. You should use it all the time."
She shook her head. "I'm no angel." Another woman might have said it playfully, even seductively but her voice was almost a whisper.
He wanted to deny it, to reassure her but she was a mystery and he promised himself that one day he would know her secrets. "Well, I like the sound of it. It's musical." Like you, he thought.
He sat up again, afraid he might begin to babble. "You must be hungry. Can I get you something before I go? A sandwich, a cup of coffee? I could scramble a couple of eggs if you have any."
"I'm not hungry. But thanks for offering. It's been a long time since anyone cooked for me. Not since Viktor." She noted his surprised expression and wondered why she had volunteered that fact. "He was my husband. Back in Europe. He died a long time ago."
"You must have been very young." He wondered about Viktor, wondered what he had been like to make her love him enough to marry, envied him that he had shared her life and her bed.
"I was a rough and ignorant girl. He taught me about art and music, the theater. He was so patient with me. I was very lucky." She thought of her awkwardness, her stubbornness. She had learned so much from Viktor and had had only her youth to give back in return. Not for the first time, she wondered if Viktor had ever regretted his rash choice of a young wife.
Their eyes met and she seemed discomforted, sorry to have brought up the subject at all. She loved him, he thought. Maybe she loves him now more than ever. He had thought he wanted to know her secrets but now he was not so sure.
He leaned back and said, "I think Viktor was the lucky one." She rolled her eyes as if he had made a joke and he hurried to change the topic of conversation. "Well, I'm probably can't cook as well as Viktor but maybe someday I'll make you my specialty - Southern fried chicken and biscuits."
"Where'd a nice Greek boy learn to cook fried chicken and biscuits?" She settled back, more at ease now.
"Actually, I was born in Virginia. You ever hear the one about the traveling salesman? My father was a tobacco salesman, my mother worked in a general store. Never knew him. And I never really met any Greeks until I got to New York. Everybody in my town was blond and blue eyed. Easy to find me in a crowd, you know? Dark skin, curly hair."
She nodded. "You're a long way from home, Mel."
" I left years ago. Ma threw me out when I was about twelve." He looked up nervously. But her eyes were warm, blue as the sea and she seemed to look into his soul. She pushed aside his uneasiness with a tilt of her head and he started to explain, wanted to explain. " I used to hang around with a colored boy named Atticus. My best friend. Well, his Daddy used to play guitar. Oh, how his Daddy could play. Sweet sad songs, about lost loves, broken hearts, going home. Sometimes on Sunday I used to sneak out and go to church with them just to hear him play and to hear everybody sing. Their church music was like nothing you've ever heard before. Well, my Momma found out where I'd been going and she beat the daylights out of me. She said I'd already brought her enough shame. Said that it wasn't bad enough I looked like a nigger, I might as well go live with them too."
Mel looked at his hands, avoiding her face. It had been so many years since then, since he'd first felt the fear and the loneliness. He had told no one about it, for there had been no one to tell, no one he wished to tell. And there were so many thousands like him, children who had learned to make their way alone. Some had been cast out, some had run away, some had left to make room for the newest, one less mouth to feed. Newsboys, messengers, factory girls, prostitutes - Plenty of jobs for the cheap labor of children's hands and bodies.
But tonight, with her, talking had made his own memories real again. And he had no idea what had compelled him to suddenly speak of them. She was a strong woman and brave. More than anything he wanted her respect, hoped that someday she might even admire him. But instead he spoke of a pathetic little bastard child and could not stop himself.
Then he looked at her and her expression was caring, wise. It was as if she had known his story all along and had just been waiting for him to trust her with it. He was ashamed of his tale when he told it but she accepted it, like a gift. And she smiled a half smile and her blue eyes met his own and held them.
"What did you do?" It was more than a polite response. Her voice was soft and low, as it had been when she sang.
And he shifted his gaze so that he could continue. "I rode a boxcar to Pennsylvania and then to New York. I did the usual - newsboy, messenger, dishwasher. Lots of kids like me on the streets so we stuck together. I could speak English to help them out and they showed me where to sleep, where I could go for food. After a while I smartened up and got night jobs so I could go to school during the day. I wasn't kidding about driving that ice truck."
She shifted her position, trying to get comfortable. "Did you ever think of going back home?"
He shrugged. "No, and now I'm glad I left. I love the University. I'm doing just what I always wanted to do. But once, when I graduated from high school, I was so excited I wanted to share it with someone. I thought maybe she'd finally be proud of me so I called her. She got on the phone and I never got a chance to say a word. She told me if I was looking for a handout to go find my old man, not to call her again. My fault. I should have known better."
He couldn't look her in the face. Instead he got to his feet, hoping to find something to do, to replace speech with action, to stop the self confession now before he made an even greater fool of himself. "How about some coffee?"
He glanced at her. She must be in pain again, he thought. Her head was bent, turned away from him and she hugged one of the sofa pillows to her body as if to protect it or perhaps herself.
"No. No thanks. But there's a bottle of brandy in the cupboard. Why don't you get us some?"
"Maybe I should just leave so that you can go to bed."
She shook her head. "No. It hurts to lie down. Stay a little longer. Have a brandy."
He poured the drinks and settled back into the chair. "You've got a nice home here. I always feel comfortable when I'm surrounded by books."
She stretched her neck and rested her head against the back of the settee. "It's not much of a home. Just a room in a boarding house, a place to eat and sleep."
He looked at the curve of her neck, the angular cut of her chin. She'd felt so good against his shoulder, her face warm, soft. He hoped that the smell of her perfume would linger for a while on his collar, that he could take a bit of her back with him. Then he caught himself and picked up his end of the conversation. "I imagine most performers must feel like that. I mean, you're on the road a lot."
She sipped her brandy and then stared into the amber liquid. "No, I've always felt like that ever since I was a little girl. My parents were killed when I was very young and the gypsies found me, raised me. It seems like I've been on the move ever since." Why was she telling him about her childhood, about Viktor? She wasn't given to babbling like this. Maybe it was the brandy.
Or maybe his company. It was late and he probably had to be at work early tomorrow. She should tell him good night, thank him for his help and send him on his way. He'd stood by her, all day and half the night. It was unfair to keep him here now that she was back home, settled down. But she wanted him to stay, just a little longer. She felt drowsy and knew she would fall asleep soon but somehow she wanted to hear the comforting rumble of his voice as she drifted off. Her body ached and it hurt to move but his voice wrapped around her like velvet and she felt better just listening to it.
Mel spoke softly, "I want a real home someday. I want a wife and kids - the whole shebang. Embroidered pillows on the sofa, "Home Sweet Home" on the wall."
She smiled, "Cat on the windowsill?"
"Porch swing."
"White picket fence."
"A mortgage."
She shook her head. "You sound like half the songs in the vaudeville repertoire. All except that mortgage part."
"Well, that's probably because it's so hard to rhyme." He sipped his brandy. "It figures though. There's hardly anyone in your audience who hasn't given up his home to be here. In America home's more like a feeling, a sense that you finally found a place that feels right. And you don't have to come from overseas to need that."
Mel saw a shadow cross her face and berated himself for keeping her up, prolonging his stay. He was more than a little uncomfortable by the confessions he had made and realized that she shared his uneasiness. Perhaps she was uncomfortable that he had confided in her. Maybe she was uneasy that she had revealed so much of herself to him too.
There was silence for a minute, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Then finally, Sina spoke. "Tell me about your studies. About Columbia. One thing I regret, I've never been to school a day in my life. I was already grown when Viktor taught me to read." Her voice was soft, her tone apologetic.
He glanced at the bookcases. "I'd say you've done pretty well on your own. Half of my homework assignments are to read books you've already read." She looked skeptical but he went on. "I had a literature class last year you would have liked..."
She leaned back against the pillows and listened but soon her head turned, her eyes closed and Mel saw that she had fallen asleep. She seemed younger, even more vulnerable than she had backstage. He sat quietly for a few minutes and then covered her with a blanket that he found folded at the foot of her bed. He was putting their brandy glasses in the sink when he heard her stir, heard her murmur, "Good night, Mel. Thank you."
He put out the light and watched her face in the moonlight until she fell back into sleep again. He leaned over, kissed her forehead softly and whispered, "Good night, Serafina." And then he closed the door behind him. But as he left her apartment, as he left her, he felt more like he was leaving home than going home.
SECTION 14
"Why are you sitting in the dark?" Sina had knocked on Belle's door to invite her to supper but Belle was sitting at her kitchen table, still dressed in her uniform. It was winter now and the daylight waned early. Sina looked around in the semi-darkness and quickly moved to turn on the lights. "Belle, what's going on?"
"I've just come from Sofia's apartment. Anton's dead. He fell off a platform during rush hour and was crushed by a subway car. The police found his wallet with his address in it and they came to tell her. They just left. I sat with her a while and then I gave her some sleeping powders. She'll be out until tomorrow morning, if you want to see her then."
Sina nodded and sat down at the table across from her. "Was he drunk?"
Belle shrugged, "I guess so. He usually was. Nobody knows exactly what happened. The police said that the platform was very crowded. One minute he was waiting for a subway, the next minute he was dead. Either he fell or someone may have pushed him accidentally."
They were quiet for a moment. Then Sina spoke. "He should have died sooner. That would have spared everyone a lot of pain. He was a miserable mean bastard. I know he started that fire and left them all to die. He didn't deserve to live." She closed her eyes and saw the bodies on the ground, thought of Marcus helpless in his wooden chair.
Then she opened her eyes and looked into Belle's face. She had been ranting, she who was usually so quiet, so controlled. For once she had spoken out without thinking. The anger she always kept inside broke free and she had been glad he was dead, glad that he would never hurt a friend again.
But the expression on Belle's face caught her up short. The younger woman was tired, shocked but there was something else in her eyes that frightened Sina as Anton's knives and threats never had. Oh my God, she thinks I killed him, Sina thought. Her mind raced to her last confrontation with Anton, to their fight in the hallway. She had threatened him, hurt him. And Belle was witness to it all.
The silence in the room was heavy, ominous. Then Sina said, "Belle, I swear to you, I never..." Her heart pounded in her chest, for fear that this new friend would turn away from her in fear as others had.
But then Belle smiled and reached out to Sina. Her touch was warm as she took Sina's hand in her own. "Don't even say it. I know you Sina. I've seen you risk your life to protect people and I know you can hold your own in a fight. But I know you 'd never do anything like that and then just sneak away. You're a hero, not a murderer. There's no one I respect and admire more than you."
But Sina did not reply. Instead she looked at Belle's hand holding onto her own. Belle's hands saved lives, brought life into the world, kept families together. Her hands...slowly she drew her hand away from Belle's grasp. Then she stood up to leave and stopped at the door. "Let me know if there's anything Sofia needs." And she hurried out of the apartment.
And then, far from Belle's gaze, she stopped halfway down the hallway. With no one around, she turned and rested her palms against the wall. Her face flamed hot with shame, fear, regret and she leaned her forehead against the cool plaster wall and rested there a moment. She stood quiet, motionless, and then she straightened up and walked slowly to her own dark and empty apartment.
******
In the weeks that followed the newspapers were full of accounts of the court case that the ILGWU had brought against Ari. Belle had been pleased and proud when the charges of manslaughter had been announced. He would pay this time, she told Sina. In America there were laws to protect everyone, not just the rich. He would be fined, maybe sent to jail. It would be a lesson to others who exploited their immigrant workers. No matter how many times the police would break up a labor rally, there would be another until the unions grew stronger and the workers finally had a voice. Sina shrugged and said, we'll see.
But the power of the Factory Owners Association was firmly entrenched. If Ari were to found culpable, so might others. A team of lawyers assembled in court and one by one the charges were dissected and tossed aside. The building had no sprinkler. Unfortunate, but not a crime. Not all factories had them. No elevator - but that was not a law either and had the girls crowded into the cage of one, they would have been trapped as surely as they were on the staircase, for an elevator shaft was little better than a chimney in such a fire. The fire escape was not so old, they said - too many girls had foolishly crowded onto it at once, that was the problem.
Every night Belle read the accounts as Sina sipped her wine and stared out the window. Belle's hopes crumbled a little with each edition until it seemed that there would be no justice, no punishment at all. Sina made no comment or just shook her head. But Belle heard the "I told you so" in her own mind and felt her anger grow day by day.
She spread the newspaper across Sina's kitchen table and could barely force out the words. The experts said that the fire had started in the stockroom, so close to the stairway that there had been no means of escape. Young girls took the stand and told how Anton would disappear into the stockroom every afternoon for a drink and a smoke.
But then Ari took the stand and swore that it was not so. There was no smoking allowed in the factory at all. He had insisted upon that and Anton had complied. They were lying to protect themselves, pinning the blame on a poor dead man who was not here to defend himself. You know how they are. Ignorant greenhorns, just off the boat. One of them had probably sneaked there behind Anton's back for a cigarette and had started the fire herself.
He was only a small businessman who had given them jobs, given them a chance. It was unfair that he should be punished and shamed so, dragged into the courts when he had committed no crime. He was saddened by the tragedy. But they were their own worst enemies. If only they had done what they were supposed to, they'd be alive today.
And the charges were dismissed.
Belle had wept. She felt the tears of frustration fill her eyes and looked at Sina. "You knew all along he would get off. I didn't want to believe you but you knew. You were right. It's not fair. He does harm and walks away."
Sina face was hard as if cut from stone and her face was half in shadow as the daylight waned and her apartment grew darker. "I knew the courts would let him go. I never said I would let him walk away." As Belle walked to the door, Sina drummed her fingers on the tabletop and the sound of it was like the somber beating of a drum as in a court martial or an execution.
Belle shuddered at the sound of it. She stood in the hallway and said, "Sina, promise me you won't...."
"Good night Belle." And then Sina closed the door and she was alone in the hallway.
******
It was only a day or so later that Sofia joined them in Sina's apartment. She had knocked on the door timidly, uneasy in her new found freedom. She was free to come and go but old habits died hard.
She smiled as Sina poured her a cup of coffee. "Thank you. It is so nice to sit here with my friends. Always Anton was angry if I spoke to anyone. Mind your own business, he said. I think he did not want for me to have friends. I must have only Anton, just my husband. No one else." Belle cut her a piece of pie and she picked at it with her fork. She avoided their eyes but the words flowed as if a dam had broken and the debris had to be washed away.
"You don't know what is like to be married to a man like Anton, a man who likes to hurt women. There's no way to get out. Always he said it was my fault. I did something wrong or I shamed him. I tried so hard to do things right but no good. One time he breaks my arm and I think I will run away but he said if I tried he would find me and kill me. Always I am afraid. I am afraid when he hits me and the rest of the time, I am afraid I will make him mad and then he will hit me. Other women, trapped like me, they must feel the same."
Belle and Sina were silent. There was little they could say, so they let her speak and poured more coffee. The words tumbled out and still they sat quietly.
"When he went out at night to the saloons, I would sit and listen for his footsteps. Sometimes he would not come home for two, three days and I would think, maybe he has a fight or maybe an accident and maybe never come home again. But always he comes back and I think maybe next time." Sofia grabbed Sina's hand so tightly that the dark haired woman almost cried out. "You were the only one who tries to help me. But then I was afraid he would hurt you too."
She let go of her hand and looked into Sina's face, searching, her face troubled and confused. "When they told me he was dead, I was glad. Policeman say I am a widow now and I know he can't come back to hurt me no more, make me scared no more. I know is a sin but I am so happy now. I think I should feel ashamed to be so glad because Anton dies. Do you think God will forgive me?"
The seconds passed as Sofia waited for her guardian angel to bestow her forgiveness. Belle waited for the words that would put Sofia's mind at ease. So many times Sina had helped her when she was troubled, had known exactly what to say. Surely she could comfort Sofia now. It was as if Sofia were kneeling at a confessional, seeking absolution and there was no one in the world she trusted and loved more than Sina. If Sina forgave her, then she could forgive herself.
But Sina was silent. Her face was pale and she seemed stunned by Sofia's words. Her expression was haunted, confused and Belle was puzzled. Surely she could understand Sofia's reaction, the relief she must have felt to be delivered from such a living hell. But Sina sat as if Sofia's words were a revelation to her. She sat motionless, her hands resting on the tabletop.
So instead Belle hurried to sooth Sofia's guilt. "No, Sofia. It's Anton who needs God's forgiveness, not you. He was a cruel man who liked hurting people and he poisoned the lives of everyone he met. Not just you, Sofia. Everybody. He'd get mad and beat you. He'd go to bars and pick fights. I'd bet he started that fire and killed those girls. He would've killed someone else sooner or later, most likely you. There are so many men like Anton who spend their whole lives hurting people. He's dead but I don't feel sorry for Anton either."
Belle took a breath, hoping that she would find the right words to bring comfort. "You know who I feel sorry for? The man who was driving that subway car. It happened so fast he never had a chance to think. All he knows is that he took someone's life. Anton brought it on himself but if he's a decent man, it'll tear him up inside. But you know, because of him, all the people Anton would have hurt will be safe now. Especially you, Sofia. I hope he finds peace. It's too bad he'll never know that he was really giving you a second chance to start over and find happiness again."
There was quiet for a moment. Then Sina finally spoke and her voice was low, throaty. She looked at her hands as if seeing them for the first time. "She's right, Sofia. You know, they say everything happens for a reason. Even if you can't see it right off. Maybe things just had to work out the way they did." She cleared her throat and for a moment it seemed like she was going to say more. But instead she merely declared, "I could use another cup of coffee."
Belle had been concentrating on Sofia, had watched the expression of peace and relief settle over her features as she finally understood that she was safe, that her life would be better, easier. Belle hardly noticed when Sina rose to get the pot off the stove, was unaware that she hesitated for a moment behind Belle's chair and stood behind her silently. So she was shocked to feel Sina's hand touch her neck and shoulder and rest there for a moment, tenderly.
It was a little thing but it was so rare for Sina to make such a gesture, to touch someone unbidden, that Belle turned to search her face for an explanation. But Sina was already at the stove, her face impassive again. Well, Belle wondered, what the hell was that all about?
But her confusion was short lived for Sofia had something else on her mind but was uneasy about mentioning it. Belle saw her hesitance and tried to draw her out. "How did you come to marry Anton in the first place?"
Sofia shrugged. "Anton was from my home village. He wrote back and said that he wanted a wife. He said that American girls were no good to be wifes, didn't know their place. They didn't know the old country ways. So Anton's family and my father decided I would come to America. My father said it was a good thing. Maybe if I work hard, Anton and me, we get rich and I could maybe someday send for my little sister. But Anton wouldn't even let me write home once I got here."
She attacked her pie, now that she felt more at ease. She looked at Sina and spoke. "But now Anton is gone. I am not sure what to do. I want you should maybe give me advice. Otto has been good. He comes with me to make the funeral. And now he says he has a job for me. I can be magician's helper." She paused and it was clear she was not exactly sure what that was. "I knows he is your friend but I have nobody else to ask. I need a job but I am afraid too. He is very handsome and he has many girlfriends. Maybe he thinks different from what I think. I can trust him?"
Sina smiled. "Otto is a flirt but he's not a liar. He wouldn't take advantage of you. Otto's girlfriends usually want to get into show business and they use him to do it. You know, I can't remember him ever asking anyone to be his helper before. Usually girls talk him into it. Then they take his money and leave."
Sofia looked from Sina to Belle as if she could not believe her good fortune. "So he would not lie to me? I think he has a good heart and I think maybe he is lonely too. We talk and I tell him about my sister and how Anton would not let me write to her. Right away Otto gets a paper and pencil and we write. He says it is important to have family. He said Sina is the only family he has. She's like a sister, the only one who ever cares what happens to him. He makes jokes sometimes but not then. I don't know. You think it would be a good thing for me to take this job?"
Sina nodded. "Yes, Sofia. I think it would be a very good thing." She smiled to herself. For both of you.
SECTION 15
Belle waited a moment as she closed the door behind her. The interior of the theater seemed dark compared to the brightness of the sidewalk outside. It looked different in the light of day, less magical. The seats were scratched, the carpet worn and dust motes swam in the afternoon light like fireflies. In a few hours it would be transformed to a place of beauty, color and wonder. But for now Belle stood in the back, an interloper, uneasy as she searched for Sina.
She had been to a vaudeville show once during her student days. The acts had seemed so effortless, so natural onstage but now she watched as the performers labored and rehearsed. Half a dozen chorus girls practiced their steps on one end of the stage while a pianist at an upright played the same melody over and over again. A team of acrobats was arguing with the trainer of a dog act, unhappy to be following animals onstage and questioning the definition of the term trained. Otto was upstage, showing Sofia the dozens of secret pockets hidden in the formal clothes he wore. Somewhere a singer was practicing scales and the sound of it clashed with the curses of Fred as he tested the ropes that worked the curtain and found them wanting.
Finally she spotted her friend sitting on the edge of the orchestra pit, talking to a young teenaged boy who held his violin tightly under his arm. Belle almost laughed as she watched them. Sina was stern, laying down the law, and the boy stood nodding his head and taking in every word as he had heeded no sermon before in his life.
"...on time every night. No excuses. Everyone is depending on you, the performers, the other musicians, and you'd better not let them down. Especially the people in the audience. They spend their hard earned money to see this show. Don't disappoint them. Remember, no matter how many times you play a song, someone out there will be hearing it for the first time. You play for that one person and then you'll do all right."
He nodded vigorously and stared at her, dumbstruck.
"And another thing. I don't want to see you in those kid knickers again. If you're going to earn a man's pay, you'd better dress like one. Go see Mabel the wardrobe mistress downstairs and tell her I sent you. She's got a pair of long pants for you and you wear those when you come to work."
His eyes widened with wonder. It was too good to be true - his first job and his first pair of honest to god long pants. He struggled to keep from smiling but his face shone with the joy of it.
Sina spotted Belle and got to her feet. "All right, Lenny. Anyone gives you trouble, you come see me. And remember, if your schoolwork goes downhill, they'll be getting themselves another fiddle player. No booze, no cards and you stay away from those chorus girls."
He started to thank her and he grabbed her hand and shook it with such excitement that Sina's head bobbed up and down. "All right, Lenny. You're welcome. Now go see Mabel." Sina turned to Belle with a smile as Lenny scurried away. "Hello Belle. What brings you here?"
"That's the kid who lives across the street, isn't it? You got him a job?"
Sina shrugged. "I got him in the door. Whether he keeps the job is up to him. He's a good kid. And he's talented. He can use the experience and the money won't hurt. Right now his family doesn't have a pot to..." Sina's words faded as she sat down in one of the seats and gestured to Belle to join her.
"I didn't know that the theater provided clothes for the musicians. I thought that was just for certain performers." Belle sat back against the velvet cushions.
Sina shrugged again. "You'd be surprised what you can find just lying around backstage. Anyhow, what's going on?"
Belle began. "I was in Little Italy today. There's a measles epidemic and I went to help out. Anyhow, I found out some things, some things about Ari."
Sina's eyes narrowed and she nodded for Belle to continue.
"He's found himself a partner. Eduardo Gambini."
Sina sat up suddenly. "Gambini? Ari is involved with The Black Hand?"
Belle nodded. "The woman who told me called it the Mafia but I guess it's the same thing. Ari got thirty thousand dollars in insurance money after the charges were dropped. He'd already bought another old sweatshop not far from the one that burned down. And word on the street is he's using the rest to go into business with Gambini. What do you think?"
Sina pursed her lips and leaned against the back of the seat. "Ari's a fool. Gambini doesn't need a partner and if he did, it wouldn't be a Greek. The Black Hand likes to keep it all in the family. It sounds more like they want into the neighborhood. Ari's just the front man. They must want to spread out."
Belle was heartsick. "So Ari will buy more sweatshops."
Sina shook her head. "No. That's not enough to keep them happy. Gambini controls the rackets, prostitution, money lenders. That's what's heading our way. Ari's just a greedy opportunist who's going to hand it all over to him." She got up. "He's got to be stopped. And this time I do it my way."
Belle looked at her and her expression was set, almost detached as it had been in the darkened corridor when Anton and she had fought. Belle was suddenly afraid. She knew that Sina was capable of violence, maybe capable of killing. She had been puzzled by Sina's silence when Sofia had proclaimed her relief that Anton was dead. Sina had denied killing him and Belle wanted to believe, had to believe her.
But Ari was another story. He had the power to do greater harm than Anton ever had. And he had been her lover once. Under it all, surely there was an undercurrent of pain and resentment there that Belle could only guess at. She had seen enough of the world to know that the deepest hurts always come from those who first say I love you.
Belle had stopped her once before when Anton had lain on the hallway floor seconds from death. When the rage had overcome her Sina had paused at the sound of her voice and turned away. Perhaps Belle could help her contain that rage once again. "Count me in."
"No, I don't want to involve you. The less you know the better." Sina was adamant.
Belle stood up beside her. "You can't do it all by yourself. We're in this together. Tell me what your plan is."
"No, Belle. Please. You may not like some of the things I have to do. The courts couldn't handle him before. The laws can't touch him."
Belle looked into Sina's eyes and smiled. "If you recall, I've broken the law before without any help from you. And I'm ready to do it again. Some of those girls died in my arms, Sina. And for what? We have to do what's right. He has to be stopped. In my heart I know it's the right thing to do."
For a moment Sina's blue eyes looked into her own but Belle's green eyes were steady and unflinching. Finally Sina's face broke into a smile and she nodded. "All right, my friend. We're in this together." She looked up to the top of the spiral staircase as there was a flurry of footsteps above the stage. "But let's go back to the apartment and talk about it there."
And as she opened the door to the street, they heard Otto muttering as he stormed out of his dressing room. Sina quickly pulled Belle by the arm and out of the theater as Otto leaned over the banister and shouted, "Sina, come back here! Where the hell are my pants?"
******
It's my first party, Belle thought. When she had arrived in New York she had been truly alone for the first time in her life and now, a year later, she was surrounded by friends, good friends. There were not nearly enough chairs and instead they good naturedly sat on the floor and laughed and talked with one another as the smell of fresh brewed coffee filled the room.
Sven and Simon had been the first to arrive. Sven had taken one look at her couch and plopped himself down on the floor, more confident of its support. Simon bustled around the kitchen, in search of a knife to cut the bagels he had brought from "the best deli in New York." Otto and Sofia had arrived shortly after them and sat with their heads together in one corner of the room. Only Mel stood apart, standing at the window, waiting until he saw the big black Buick pull up to the curb.
And within minutes she stood beside him and began to lay out her plan. There was a hush as she finished until finally Simon spoke.
"You're going to take on the Black Hand? I don't know Sina. That's pretty risky, even for you." He looked nervous, unsure.
"No, Simon, I'm not taking on the Black Hand. We're going to stop Ari and we're just going to use the Black Hand to do it. Ari's made a lot of money taking advantage of innocent children and helpless immigrants. Well, he's a piker compared to Gambini and his crew. He's in over his head and he doesn't even know it yet. Well, we're going to make sure that he finds out. It's Gambini he's going to have to worry about, not us. And that would have happened sooner or later anyhow. We're just making it happen sooner." She looked around at their faces and prayed it would be as safe as she planned. "But it won't be easy to do. If anyone wants to pull out now, I won't blame you. Things could go wrong, there's always the chance there could be trouble."
Otto waved his cup in the air in a theatrical salute. "I for one wouldn't miss it for the world. Time for a little excitement before we get too old and settled."
Sven looked at Sina and nodded his support. "I'm in."
Simon shrugged. "You need a good booking agent, I'm your man."
Mel stood by the window silently and then smiled at Sina. "Just tell me what you want me to do. That's all I have to know."
She smiled. "It's Ari's greed that got him into this. It's money we'll use to break him." She turned to Simon first. "You spend a lot of time at that moving picture studio in Jersey. How well do you know this Mack Sennett?"
"Well enough for him to owe me twenty bucks. He had me pick up a truckload of cream pies last week and he still owes me. Must have been a party or something. What do you do with a truckload of cream pies?"
"Think he'd lend you a few costumes one night?" Sina was smiling now, sure of herself. "We need cop uniforms. Mabel only has two."
"Sure. Why?"
Belle's was smiling, fidgety like a little child with a secret. "Sina and I have been checking out some leads. You know the Szabo Printshop? Well, he's pretty prosperous considering no one ever goes in there. Brand new delivery truck, spiffy dresser, little pinky ring. Well, that's because he's printing more than wedding invitations. He's making twenty dollar bills in the back room. Sina got some handbills run off for the theater and sure enough he palmed one off on her with the change." Belle's face was impish, mischievous. "He doesn't know it yet but the police are about to end his life of crime."
Sina smiled at Simon. "You, Otto, Sven and Mel are going on a raid," Sina said and her eyes danced with amusement.
******
Mel fingered the collar of the scratchy woolen uniform as he sat on the settee in Sina's apartment. They were never going to get away with this. Sennett's police uniforms were of a style at least ten years earlier than that worn by New York policemen. In addition, Sven's was too tight and Otto's was too big. Simon's fit pretty well but he was so nervous that he looked more like a criminal that a law officer. As luck would have it, Mel had been a perfect fit for the sergeant's uniform.
"Get rid of the belts." Sina eyed them critically. "And the hats. They're a dead giveaway." She walked around them, like a cautious shopper examining the wares at an open air bazaar. "There. That's better." She walked around a little more. "What do you think, Sofia?"
"Will be okay. I use a pair of Anton's pants. The color is right. Just try them on." She opened up a cotton sack and produced four policemen's caps that looked more authentic than the stiff old fashioned ones Simon had brought. " I make this afternoon. Was Anton's favorite pair of pants." She made snipping motions with her fingers and giggled girlishly.
"All you need now are the finishing touches." Belle handed each of them a pair of handcuffs. "Courtesy of Otto." Then she brought out the heavy nightsticks from the box Simon had brought and stepped back to see the final effect. "It'll have to do."
Mel held the stick in his hand, felt the weight of it and shook his head remembering how Sina's body had bent under the force of one just like it. He was glad she would not be a warrior tonight but rather a general sending volunteers out on a raid to the enemy camp. He was lost in thought when he felt Sina at his arm. "What did you say?"
"I said, be careful. I don't want anything happening to you." She looked at him and then added, almost as an afterthought, "Any of you." She turned to address the others. "Don't take any chances. I'm more afraid of you bumping into real policemen than I'm afraid of Lorenz Szabo. Just make it short and sweet, all right?"
And so it was that well after midnight they found themselves at the rear door of the Szabo Printshop. They huddled behind Mel as he pounded on the door. "Police. Open up."
There was no response and they looked at one another nervously.
Mel pounded again. "Police. Open up now!" He was about to kick the door when he heard the scuffle of feet and Lorenz Szabo opened it.
He was a thin man and his Adam's apple bobbed nervously in his throat as he let them in. "What do you want with me?" He was fully dressed, as if he had just come in from a night on the town. Belle's description had been accurate , for he was clothed in the height of fashion and there was a trace of the dandy about him. He wore a tailored suit and shining white spats. His hair was slicked down with brilliantine and Mel knew that no moustache on earth would hold that shape without the aid of wax and plenty of it.
"What's going on?" He watched nervously as Sven, Simon and Otto began to ransack the small room behind the store. It was only a matter of moments before Otto shouted "Got it!" and produced a cardboard box filled with counterfeit money. "There must be ten grand in here."
"My life savings," Szabo said. "It's not against the law to keep your own money safe at home, is it?" He eyed the box in Otto's hands and his face began to turn red.
"I see you only save new twenty dollar bills. Why is that, Szabo? Are they just easier to count?" Mel was beginning to enjoy himself. Maybe Sina and Otto were not the only ones with theatrical flair around here. "Charge is counterfeiting and this goes with us as evidence." He pulled out a pair of Otto's cuffs and motioned to Sven to guard the door.
Then there was a commotion on the stairs leading from the shop to the Szabo home. "I knew it! I told you!" Mrs. Szabo stood at the foot of the stairs. She was short and solid and furious. "I told you you wouldn't get away with it for long. I told him." She turned and shook her finger in Mel's face and he stepped back in surprise. "How did you find out?"
Mel looked at Simon, Simon looked at Otto, Otto looked Sven and Sven just crossed his arms across his chest. Mel tried to look authoritative as his mind raced.
"It was your cousin. It was his cousin, wasn't it?" She looked at Simon for confirmation. He nodded. "He wants a player piano. The damned fool can't play a real one but he wants to impress his fancy girlfriend. I told you not to give him anything. He can't be trusted. We should only spend one or two bills at a time and never in the same place, I said. But no, you have to go give him money. You should have listened to me. That fancy girlfriend of his. The three of you, worthless. You and your damn family. I've had to put up with them all these years. And now look. He gets the piano and you face the music."
Szabo hissed out of the side of his mouth, "Gertrude, shut up."
"Don't you tell me to shut up, Lorenz. This was all your idea in the first place." She looked at the four of them and decided that Mel was the man in charge. "Look, let's talk this over. My Lorenz is not a vicious criminal. Stupid maybe but not vicious. He prints a little money, nobody gets hurt. You put him in jail and what good does it do anybody? Me and the babies end up in the poorhouse is all. You want that on your conscience? What do you say we see if we can work something out?"
Szabo hissed again, "Gertrude, shut up. You're going to get me in worse trouble."
But Mel inwardly sighed with relief. Sina had told him to demand a bribe so that they wouldn't have to make an arrest but this was even better. "What did you have in mind, Mrs. Szabo?"
"Policemen don't get paid much. Maybe we can show our appreciation for how you protect the neighborhood so good." She scanned their faces and sighed with relief when she saw Otto smile.
"Give us the plates." Mel was stern, commanding. "Then we talk."
Szabo handed them over and glared at his wife. "How much?" he asked. "What do you want?"
Now Otto took over. "Do we look as stupid as your cousin? We're not taking any money from you. The ink is probably still wet. Empty out your pockets."
Szabo hesitated, puzzled and then started to place his belongings on the table.
"That's better," Otto said. There was a gold cigarette case, a matching lighter and a number of silver dollars. "Now take off those cuff links. And the watch. And the watch fob."
Lorenz Szabo looked like he was going to cry. One by one he placed each item on the table and fingered its gold plating as he left it there.
"Now the ring." Otto was relentless. Almost. "No, not your wedding ring. The other one."
Szabo added his pinkie ring to the pile. "That's all I have."
Otto was putting the jewelry into his pocket while Mel motioned for Simon and Sven to head for the door.
"Not quite. That's gabardine, isn't it? Take off your pants." Otto sat on the edge of the table.
"My pants? You're joking." Lorenz Szabo was aghast.
"Shut up, Lorenz," his wife said. "Take off the damned pants and let them get out of here."
"All right, all right." He slipped off the trousers and stood there, resplendent in starched white shirt, natty white spats, white cotton drawers and black braces. "Satisfied?"
Otto folded the trousers over his arm. "Yes."
Mel cautioned Szabo. "You mention this to anyone and we'll be back. And we'll be back angry, understand?"
Szabo looked at Sven and nodded. It seemed the danger was past. They would leave now and all would be peaceful again.
Then he caught the look in his wife's eyes.
Perhaps not.
Mel maneuvered the Buick through the deserted streets back to Sina's apartment and laughed in triumph. Otto and Simon were whooping like schoolboys and even Sven chuckled as they sped along.
"What do you think, Simon? This would probably fit Sofia." Otto held up the pinkie ring and examined it in the glow of the streetlights.
"Forget it, Otto." Simon shook his head and admired the cuff links that he held in his own hand. "It's as good as stolen. If I know Sina, she's not going to let you keep it."
Otto sighed. "I love Sina but her honesty is a little irritating sometimes." He put the ring back in his pocket. "But I'm keeping the pants." His tone was resolute, determined.
"She owes me."