Manhattan Noir - Lawrence Block [85]
“It was an accident,” I said. “The police said so. Besides, the driver should have stopped.”
“Always running,” he muttered.
Can’t recall much about the funeral. My three brothers did the adult things and said very little to me. We were virtually strangers, since they were gone by the time I was born. I wanted to scream at everyone to shut up and stop crying. I didn’t cry. My thoughts zigzagged from the driver who left my mother on the road to die, to my father who never spent time with her, to Audrey, dancing in the moonlight in the arms of Bogart, the ugly industrialist, the man who would look after her for the rest of her life as Sabrina. Only in celluloid, not in Hong Kong.
Hey kid, I’m on. We do five shows Friday night. You’re going to wait? Suit yourself. Back in fifteen, max.
How did he get me started? Asked about the ring, that’s how. This one’s different. Got a little class. Been in a few times, always buys me a drink. Looks at me when he speaks. Most guys can’t. All they see is … well, you know.
Ron couldn’t even watch me dance, never mind this act. But if it weren’t for my little specialty, I couldn’t keep this job, not now. Occasionally, he’d wait outside, even in the snow, before things got bad. “Times Square’s no place for a girl after dark,” he’d say, whenever he walked me home. Afterwards, we’d watch movies together till sunrise.
I miss that.
Vegetables? Funny? I suppose they are. There was the cigar, until some joker lit it. Scorched thighs hurt. Like the boss says, every act needs to change. Cucumbers taste better anyway.
Oh, so now you want to know what happened next? You’re the funny one, kid.
Six months later, A-Ba sent me away to an all-girls boarding school in Connecticut.
“You’ve been begging to go to the States,” he said over my protests. “I’ve made all the arrangements. Besides, I can’t look after you.”
He hadn’t touched any of Mother’s stuff since the funeral.
I wanted to find a keepsake among her silks and jewelry, but didn’t dare without his permission. Being the only girl, it was my right to have the first go. Once I was gone, my sisters-in-law would ransack all her beautiful things and there’d be nothing left for me.
I sulked my way to Connecticut.
Didn’t like the school. We weren’t allowed late-night TV. Despite the rules, we sneaked out after dark to meet boys. My classmates were in competition to lose their virginity. I won on my sixteenth birthday, easy. You don’t have to be either graceful or beautiful in the backseat of a car. Being the only foreigner added to the freak factor. Anyway, it’s not like those boys would bring me home.
I wrote home, dutifully, once a month. My brothers I never heard from. A-Ba only wrote brief notes with money, once each semester.
Mother would have written me long, gossipy letters, full of movies and news of society friends. If she’d seen an Audrey, her words might have flown. Mother survived on
sentiment. She used to say, “One day, I’m taking you to New York where we’ll do ‘breakfast’ at Tiffany’s. We’ll buy the diamonds for your wedding there.” When it all got too much, I’d shout, “Mother, don’t be silly! Who’d marry me?” And she would hold me tight, tears rolling down her cheeks, promising, “Trust me, my darling, someone will. Someone will.”
I never wasted time crying.
Fantasy home. That’s what this club is. Guys come in for escape or relief because they can’t make it. A-Ba wasn’t like them. He had Mother because he was successful. Problem was, she needed someone classier. Wasn’t his fault. Other than his temper, he wasn’t all bad. It’s just that you can’t manufacture class the way you can soy sauce.
Maybe I came along too late and caught a dismal closing act. They must have had a better life once.
I didn’t talk about family to anyone.
Summer after graduation, I finally was allowed home. In Connecticut, it was possible not to think about her or her miserable life with A-Ba. But home, without Mother, was worse than being kept away at school.