Palisades Park

by Alan Brennert

  One of the booking staff promptly looked up the entertainer’s file and found the name and address of his agent: Bernard Goldschein, 630 Tenth Avenue, New York 19, NY. Phone: Circle 6-9750.

  Eddie bid goodbye to the staff and headed for the nearest newsstand to pick up the latest issue of The Billboard. Then he stopped at the bank, where he was surprised to find a total of some five thousand dollars in their savings account, deposited in weekly increments this past summer—the season profits from Palisades. The most recent withdrawal, dated three days ago, was a mere hundred and fifty dollars. Adele could have taken a lot more than that and Eddie would not have blamed her, but she apparently only took as much as she felt she needed to start her new life. He thought of what that new life entailed—the handsome Latin magician who had all the girls at Palisades swooning—and he felt a stab of jealousy, anger, and loss.

  He beat back the grief and drove to his onetime employer, Grantwood Lumber Yard. Five thousand bucks in the bank was more than enough to meet the family’s needs until next summer, but Eddie wasn’t taking any chances—and he needed something to keep himself occupied. His old boss, Bill Holahan, was happy to offer the returning vet a part-time job.

  At home, Eddie opened The Billboard to the “Magic” column by Bill Sachs, which reported on the comings, goings, and bookings of performers in the magic biz. There were items about magicians both renowned and not-so-renowned—Harry Blackstone, Prince Samara, Jack Gwynne, Paul Rosini—but no mention of any Lorenzo, not even a classified ad.

  So Eddie simply picked up the phone and called Lorenzo’s agent, Bernard Goldschein, in New York. “Hi,” he said, in the hard-sell tone of one of his park ballies, “this is Ed Worth of Worth Amusements in Ocean City, New Jersey. I operate a small sideshow on the boardwalk and I’m looking for a magician to play a week’s engagement later this month.”

  “Well,” the agent replied enthusiastically, “we have several available. There’s the Great Rudolpho, he does a swell variation on the vanishing trunk gag—we’ve got Ron LeRon, his specialty’s the Ten Card Trick à la Leipzig—”

  “I was up at Palisades this summer and saw one of your acts, does a great Blade Box—Lawrence something?”

  “Lorenzo. Lorenzo the Magnificent.”

  “Yeah, that’s it, what’s his availability?”

  “He’s playing state fairs in Maryland and Virginia through early October. Sorry. Now, Rudolpho, though, he’s—”

  “I really liked this Lawrence guy,” Eddie said, laying it on thick. “When’s the next time he’ll be in the Jersey area?”

  “Well…” The sound of pages in a booking calendar being flipped. “He’s playing the Traymore Hotel in Atlantic City in late October. But won’t your show be closed by then, for winter?”

  “Yeah, afraid so.” Eddie feigned disappointment. “Well, thanks anyway, buddy, I appreciate it.”

  “But Rudolpho or LeRon are avail—”

  Eddie hung up with a smile. He could, of course, take the train down to the Maryland State Fair and confront Adele there. But that meant leaving the kids with Ralph and Daisy in Tenafly, and he wasn’t yet ready to publicly acknowledge Adele’s departure. He harbored hopes of talking some sense into her, winning her back—and that might even be a little easier to do once Adele had been on the road for a few weeks, living out of a suitcase, playing every sawdust-covered stage between here and Virginia.

  He could wait until the Traymore Hotel in late October. It would also give him time to figure out what the hell to say to her.

  When the kids got home from school that afternoon, Eddie consoled them as best he could. Toni seemed shaken but unwilling to talk about her mother’s absence, while Jack responded by throwing out every magic book, deck of cards, and silk handkerchief in his possession. From that moment forward his passion for magic turned into a bitter aversion.

  For dinner Eddie cooked fried chicken and French fries, which delighted the kids. They were nearly as delighted the next day when dinner turned out to be fish and chips. The night after that—when it was chicken-fried steak and a side of, you guessed it, French fries—Toni took her father aside and asked, “Dad? Is this all you know how to cook?”

  Chagrined, Eddie admitted that it was.

  “Okay,” Toni said, “I’m taking over the cooking.”

  “Since when do you know how to cook?”

  “I’m taking Home Ec. We have a cookbook. I can skip ahead.”

  “Maybe I should ask your Aunt Viola for her help—”

  “No!” Toni said vehemently. “Nobody needs to know about this, Dad, okay? You’re gonna get her back, so until then, maintain radio silence.”

  He smiled at that. “I don’t disagree with you. But what happens when your grandma calls for your mom?”

  Toni thought for a moment and said, “She got a job as a line dancer. Working for Aunt Minette. In Chicago.”

  “Minette’s spending the off-season right here in Fort Lee.”

  “Jeez, Dad! Do I have to think of everything? Make something up. Ad lib it!”

  Eddie smiled and said he would try to improvise something.

  That Sunday, while dressing her first roasted chicken, Toni was appalled when her father reached into the bird’s chest cavity, pulled out its heart and something called a “gizzard,” and announced he was going to cook them “like they do in the South.” He could not be dissuaded from first parboiling, then deep-frying the creepy things and serving them with a hot sauce made of Worcestershire sauce and horseradish. Toni took one nibble and nearly retched, but Jack ate it up enthusiastically along with his father.

  But the chicken itself was delicious, and Toni, emboldened, moved on to other recipes in her cookbook. Even Eddie began picking up the book, educating himself on cuisine not requiring hot grease of any kind.

  * * *

  Eddie and Adele’s honeymoon in Atlantic City in 1930 had taken place over Labor Day weekend, the traditional end of summer and beginning of the off-season that saw the city on the sand shrink from a boom town to a virtual ghost town. At least that was the case until ’42, when the U.S. Army leased the city arena for use as a training facility for the Army Air Force, and a sudden influx of soldiers swelled the off-season ranks. Many were still there in October when Eddie drove down to the Traymore Hotel, a grand old edifice whose tan-bricked facade crowned by yellow-tiled domes had earned it the nickname “the Taj Mahal of Atlantic City.” Walking into the airy lobby, Eddie couldn’t help but think of the Hotel Rudolf, in which he and Adele had spent three blissful days. Atlantic City was where their marriage began; Eddie hoped it would also be where he would rescue it.

  Carrying an empty envelope addressed to Lorenzo Marques, he walked up to the front desk and told the clerk he had an urgent delivery for Mr. Marques, and could he be directed to the magician’s suite? “We’ll see to it that he gets it,” the man said, taking the envelope, and Eddie, prepared for this, handed him the envelope, thanked him, and walked away.

  He went no farther than one of the thick columns supporting the lobby ceiling, behind which he hid until the desk clerk rang for a bellboy to take the envelope to Mr. Marques’s room. When the bellboy headed for the elevators, Eddie followed, slipping inside the car just before the door clanged shut. The bellboy got off on the fifth floor and so did Eddie, though he turned in the opposite direction … then doubled back and followed him to room 532. Eddie watched from around a corner as the door was opened by—Adele, her hair still in curlers. “For Mr. Marques,” the bellboy said.

  “He’s not here right now. I’ll see to it he gets it.”

  Adele closed the door.

  Eddie had considered the possibility that Lorenzo might be in the hotel room, and was prepared for an ugly scene if it came to that. But this was much better. He walked up to the room, knocked twice on the door, and was rewarded with the gratifying sight of Adele standing in the doorway, staring goggle-eyed at the husband she had abandoned.

  “Eddie!” she said. “Ho
w did you—”

  “The Shadow knows,” Eddie said lightly. “Can I … come in? And talk?”

  She balked. “Not a good idea, Eddie. Lorenzo’s downstairs checking out the equipment for the first show. He could be back at any minute.”

  Hearing her speak that name, Eddie flushed with jealous anger.

  “And what’ll he do?” he asked, his tone no longer light. “Call the management and tell them his assistant—who’s sharing his room and bed—is in talking with her husband? Contracts have morals clauses, don’t they?”

  Surrendering, Adele stepped back to admit him. It wasn’t a sumptuous suite, just a bedroom and sitting room, nicely appointed; the afternoon sun bounced off the white sand outside and its light dazzled the windows. Adele led Eddie to a couch, on which were draped parts of a costume, including a ruffled green skirt. “’Scuse the mess, I was doing some repairs on my costume,” she said, making room for him.

  “That’s pretty, what is it?”

  “It’s called a ruffle-tiered train. It’s made of silk taffeta, I just love it. I wear it with this.” She held up a sequined leotard. “Snazzy, huh? And these shoes are three-inch peep-toe heels.” The shoes glittered silver in the sun.

  “Nice.” His gaze softened as he watched her sit in a chair opposite the couch. “You’re looking—”

  “Don’t tell me I’m looking good in my rollers,” she quipped.

  “Okay, I won’t. But you do. How’s life been on the road?”

  “It’s been great. Exciting. We’ve played two state fairs and a half-dozen smaller venues.” She sighed. “Why did you come here, Eddie?”

  “Because I love you,” he said. “And the kids love you and need you.”

  She shook her head. “They don’t need me anymore. They’re teenagers—almost adults.”

  “Toni misses you. She still needs a mother.”

  Adele laughed shortly. “Does she miss the way she used to scream at me and tell me she hated me? Oh yes, those were good days, weren’t they?”

  Eddie looked at her and said quietly, “Don’t you even miss them?”

  That hit her square between the eyes; her face hardened.

  “Of course I miss my children,” she said, raising her voice. “I never said I never wanted to see them again, did I? Because I do. Someday. When they’ve stopped being angry at me for leaving, and I can explain—”

  “Isn’t this really about you being angry at me for leaving?” Eddie said. “Look, I admit it—I was an idiot. Me and my stupid male pride. I spent two years as a grease monkey in the South Pacific, never saw a minute of combat—I might just as well have stayed in Edgewater at the Ford plant. I was wrong to leave you. Wrong to enlist without asking you.” He leaned forward earnestly. “I swear, honey, it killed me being so far away when I knew you were hurting—when I should have been by your side. I’m sorry, Adele. I really am. I am so, so sorry.”

  His voice caught and Adele could see him fighting back tears. She’d always loved that about him, the way his feelings showed in his eyes like light through frost, and seeing it, she could forgive him almost anything.

  “I … know you are,” she said softly. “But that’s not all of it, Eddie. Like I said in the note—I’m not getting any younger, I’ve only got a few years left to make my mark in show business.”

  “What, by getting sawed in half three times a night?”

  “Yes! It’s a start.”

  “Only if you’re a two-by-four, for Chrissake!”

  She wouldn’t let that rankle her. “I’m onstage. I’m performing. And I love it, Eddie, I love hearing the audience gasp or cheer or applaud … I haven’t felt this alive since I was a kid acting in my father’s two-reelers.”

  Eddie sighed.

  “That’s just it, Adele. This isn’t your dream, it’s your father’s. He’s the one who drummed it into you that you had to be a star.”

  She calmly took that in, then said, not unkindly, “You mean like your father took you to Palisades Park just before he died … and now by working there, there’s a part of you who’s still a kid, and who’ll always have a father?”

  Eddie looked away, embarrassed, at a loss how to respond to that.

  Adele sat down next to him, touched him gently on the arm. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Eddie. Maybe my father did fill me with his unrealized dreams. But they’re my dreams now, and I want to live them. They make me happy. Happier than I was as a … wife and mother.”

  He nodded. “Okay. I get it. But we…” A last, desperate try: “We could live them together, Adele. Travel the carny circuit, like you wanted. Come up with an act for you—”

  She shook her head. “It’s too late for us, Eddie. I’m sorry.”

  Eddie had run out of things to say.

  “Lorenzo really will be here any minute,” Adele said. “You better go.”

  Lorenzo. It reignited the fever in him. He felt hot, angry, helpless. He turned away and headed for the door.

  “Eddie?”

  He looked back. There was a melancholy smile on her face. “Tell the kids I miss them and I do want to see them again. I just can’t say when.”

  Eddie nodded wordlessly and left.

  He took the elevator down to the lobby and headed straight for the hotel bar. Sliding onto a stool, he asked the bartender, “I don’t suppose you know how to make a Singapore Sling?”

  The guy stared blankly at him. “A what?”

  “Make it a Scotch and soda.”

  The Scotch, as potent as it was, did nothing to alleviate the grim realization that Eddie’s marriage was over, that the woman he loved was with—if not actually in love with—another man. He didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to have to face the kids and tell them their mom wasn’t coming back. So he nursed his drink and felt sorry for himself until he finally roused himself off the stool and out of the bar.

  On the way out he passed the hotel’s main dining room, outside which was a framed poster heralding the appearance there that evening of LORENZO THE MAGNIFICENT and FEATURING THE ALLURING ADELE.

  Eddie stared at the poster. FIRST SHOW 6:30 P.M. Eddie’s watch said it was a little past five.

  He couldn’t let go of her just yet.

  He made a reservation for six with the hostess, then found a pay phone and called home, telling Toni he would be a little later than he had expected—careful not to give her any false hope for her mother’s return.

  He returned to the bar for another Scotch, listened to a Giants game on the radio, then left at six for the dining room. The tables were fanned out around a raised stage in the shape of a seashell, backed by coral-pink stage curtains. Eddie asked for a table toward the back, then ordered a steak in mushroom sauce—the food, and the prices, sobering him up a bit before the six thirty curtain, when an announcer came up to the big floor microphone:

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the Traymore is proud to present that phenomenal prestidigitator, Lorenzo the Magnificent!”

  The crowd, all but Eddie, applauded the entrance of the dapper magician, looking elegant in his black tux and tails. Eddie took in the guy’s pencil-thin mustache and slicked-back hair and thought he looked like an oily prick. But then, maybe he was a little biased.

  Lorenzo started out with his usual card tricks, magically making a fan of playing cards appear in his hands, then shuffling them up his arm before making them disappear. As the audience applauded, the stage curtains parted slightly and out of them appeared “the Alluring Adele.”

  And so she was. She wore the costume he had seen in the room, filling it out more breathtakingly than Eddie could have imagined: a strapless, dark green hourglass of a leotard with sparkling silver brocading; black silk stockings and silver heels showing off her shapely legs; and the ruffled taffeta train, a lighter shade of sea-green, fanning out behind her like a peacock’s plumage. Her blonde hair, set in a permanent wave, fell in soft curls down to her shoulders.

  She looked beautiful. More beautiful than Eddie had e
ver seen her.

  Smiling, she walked gracefully to Lorenzo’s side, then stood there with one foot slightly in front of the other, one knee slightly bent, looking supremely poised. She assisted the magician both passively—taking one silk handkerchief after another as Lorenzo produced them out of thin air—and then more actively as she mingled with audience members to assure them that the steel rings she was displaying to them were, in fact, completely solid. “Take a look,” she said, wearing them around her wrist like bracelets, then handing them to the people seated at the nearest table. “Go on. Look for a seam; you won’t find one.” The audience members agreed they were solid steel … and then, of course, minutes later, Lorenzo miraculously linked those seemingly solid rings to loud applause, as Adele watched with a smile. She seemed totally at ease on stage—as if she were born to be there.

  Then, midway through the act, Adele wheeled out from behind the curtain a black wooden box on four legs that looked like a coffin. Eddie remembered the kids telling him about this, and his stomach tightened as Lorenzo gestured to his lovely assistant and said, “The alluring Adele has agreed to brave one of the most dangerous feats a magician can perform. You may never see her again as she is now, beautiful and vibrant with life!”

  As Adele climbed gracefully into the box, Lorenzo winked at the audience: “If this trick goes wrong, at least she already has a funeral casket!”

  The audience laughed. Eddie didn’t. Lorenzo picked up the first of his many long metal blades and plunged it into the box. Eddie flinched. He plunged in another, and Eddie found himself growing unaccountably angry. Again and again Lorenzo pierced the box with blades, as if the woman inside were his property to do with as he wished. Eddie bristled at every penetration, until there were at least ten blades perforating the box.

  “That ought to do it!” Lorenzo proceeded to withdraw the blades, then paused dramatically before opening the coffin lid.

  Adele sat up, smiling as if she had just spent a few minutes in a good hot bath; Lorenzo helped her up and out of the box. The audience clapped and cheered, and Eddie could see Adele basking in the applause.