Susie turned back to him and forced a smile. Jacob mustered all his courage.
“Susie-Pocket?”
“Yeah?”
“I need you to know something,” he said, his heart pounding. “It’s just that, well, we’ve known each other forever, it seems like, and I understand if you think of me like a – a brother – or something, because you know you’re my best friend –”
“You’re my best friend too, Jake –”
“But you should know, that even though we’ve never gone steady or anything,” Jacob paused, his voice catching in his throat. Was he about to ruin everything by saying it aloud? “I just –” he looked away again, feeling hopelessly out of his depth. “I just want you know that I adore you. Actually, Susie, I love –”
But before he could finish, the words were stolen from his mouth. Susie’s lips, warm and sweet and trembling, found his own. Whatever misgivings had been in his mind before, dissolved. With a sigh, Jacob fell into her kiss, and returned it, enthusiastically, until all other thoughts were gone too. It was as if no one else existed.
“I love you, too, Jake,” Susie said. No other words were needed. And she kissed him again.
The moment stretched into minutes. The ache only seemed to grow. Their young hands found one another, away from the cold concrete beneath them. The smell of salt and wet, rotting timber seemed to swell, and they fell back, lying together in the jumble of discarded crates and barrels. Hidden from view, the distant rumble of trains and automobiles snaking their way into the city frayed at the edges of their thoughts, then disappeared, leaving only the quiet lapping of water behind, as the great river licked itself away from the dock and out toward the sea.
Jacob’s fingers sparked with fire. This love, this need had been growing inside him for so many months. His fingertips found her face. Her hands. Her waist. And Susie seemed to fear nothing. She wrapped herself around him on the cold concrete until the heat of their bodies broke through the thin fabric they wore.
The night grew cold around them and the deserted dock overhung with the specters of empty buildings and discarded crates and barrels. Long shadows cocooned their moving form until the darkening sky matched the inky black of the pilons and the tide had drawn out as far as it could go. This was the place they had spent years learning to fight together, suddenly softened by the promise of love.
Their passion was not quick to burn out, but rather, had been tempered by years of silently watching the other grow into their body. Her kiss was shaped by years of learning to trust the only friendship that brought her happiness. His touch embodied months of peeling away his own fears to inspire the courage that would shape both their adulthoods, looming so close.
Muffled cries and kisses rose and fell. Fingers entwined, clasped and broke away again. And the dark night kept their secret safe.
“I promise I’ll look after you,” Jacob said, raising his head from her chest as they lay breathing in the dark. “One day, you’ll have everything you want. Dresses and lace curtains and – we’ll get married. When we’re older and we’ve finished school. You’ll have a real family – my family. Aba and Ima will love you too.”
Susie’s face paled and the radiant smile that had been there only seconds before dropped away. The thought of Jacob’s parents, despite their enduring kindness to a poor girl from a violent, godless home that their son had befriended, shattered the façade of his promises.
Abraham and Golda Lawrence were proud and traditional in their beliefs, and only a Jewish girl of outstanding moralities would be acceptable as a wife for their first-born. Jacob carried their pride like a mantle. As the eldest, he was expected to carry on the family name, their hard-earned social standing and precious traditions and his father’s profession as one-day commissioner of the New York City Police Force.
“They’d never let you marry me,” Susie said, tears slipping down her face. “I’m not the right kind of girl. I’m not their kind.” Jacob kissed her tears away, tracing the salty lines with his lips.
“You’re my kind,” he said, earnestly. “And in a few years, I’ll be a police officer, and I’ll be able to keep you safe from your father. From them.”
“They’ll never let me go, Jake. Not while I’m alive. I’m too valuable to them.”
“You’ll be married to me. They’ll have to.”
“But they won’t. They’d kill you first.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Jacob growled under his breath. “Besides, we have years until then.”
Years.
But once Susie realized what it was, that nausea that kept finding her in the morning and night, the tiredness that plagued her as she tried to scratch out her homework after being dropped back from Donny’s warehouse at midnight, the tenderness of her body and the aching of her stretching belly, there was only one choice she could make.
To leave.
Disappear.
Before her weakness showed.
Before they used it against her.
If her father, Roy, found out she was pregnant, Susie knew that he would track Jacob down and kill him. She was too valuable to lose. Susie was Roy’s only insurance against Donny turning on him and he had threatened her too many times, for Susie to be naïve. Roy may have been stupid, but he was violent and unpredictable. A hired thug. A killer. And Susie was his property.
She was left with no choice.
Susie had to rid herself of her father before he recognized the child within her.
She had to rid herself of Donny and his insidious web of cruelty and manipulation.
Because if she stayed, her baby wouldn’t be safe. Donny already knew that Susie’s gift had passed down from her mother, Ethyl, to her. He would recognize the potential Susie’s baby held, as insurance against her fighting back, and eventually, as another weapon in his own arsenal. Donny was a patient man. He would wait. Then use them both.
And Susie could never allow him such an advantage.
No.
She had no choice.
Susie needed to die.
Only then, would she be free.
Only then, would Jacob be safe.
Only then would her baby have a chance to live an ordinary life.
A happy life.
And so, with nothing but her silver box, her mother’s locket and a kitchen knife, Susie made her first hit.
She lit a match.
She walked away.
And Betty began.
“She’s mine?” Jacob whispered in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“That’s why you ran away, after –”
“Yes.”
Jacob sat in stunned silence.
“To protect her from Donny?”
“And to protect you from my father. He would have killed you, Jake. Like he killed so many others. I loved you both too much to stay.”
For the longest time, Jacob stared at the sitting room window, not seeing past the lace curtains that hung there.
"I just - I don't know what to say." His face was pale, and his hands were trembling. "I would have looked after you, and her - my - our - Nancy. But I - I never even had the chance."
"I know you would have." Tears stung Betty's eyes at the heartbreak on his face. "But they would never have given you that chance, Jake. My father and Donny - they would have had you killed before they let me live a normal life with you. I was too important in their game to relinquish and as the son of such a high-ranking police officer, you weren't someone they could ever have brought into their insidious business to make us both comply." The very thought of Jacob becoming caught in Donny's web made the bile rise to the back of Betty's throat. "Your father made you untouchable. He was one of the few people who would never have fallen under Donny's spell, he couldn't be blackmailed or bought. He was irreproachable, both in his work and his personal life. So, your Aba was too dangerous to have close, and that means they could never use you, either. You were all too good, Jake. Imagine the damage I might have caused Donn
y if I got too close to you - to your father. What a threat that might have been to him. They would have murdered you, rather than lose me to your family."
"They ruined us. Every chance we might have had of happiness together!" Jacob got to his feet and paced the small sitting room. "We could have taken him down, years ago! Had a life together!"
"We were just kids, Jake. Still in school. We could never have escaped Donny's clutches alive. It's taken me years to break his empire, you know that. And years for you to be in a position with the police force where you finally have the power to see it through." Betty shook her head sadly. "There was no other way, don't you see?"
"But I - "
"No Jake," Betty said getting to her feet. She led him back to the couch, where he sat, angry and pale, staring at his hands. "There was nothing you could have done. I had to leave, with our unborn child before they found out she existed, and make it seem to them as if I could never return. I had to die, in everybody's eyes. It was the only safe way that you both could live."
He looked up at her. Sadness had replaced the anger, but regret still lingered. Perhaps it would never fade.
After a long minute of silence, he spoke. “I think I finally understand,” he said. “And I'll be doing everything I can to make sure that man never sees the outside of his jail cell again. But - I’m just so sorry you were alone.”
“Only to begin with,” Betty smiled, gently. “George has been a wonderful husband.”
“Yes." Jacob swallowed hard. "I'm grateful for that. He's a good man. Does he – know about me?”
“He does now.”
“And Nancy?”
“No. In time, though, if you want her to.”
“I see. I think – I need some time myself. To think about all of this. To get my head straight.”
“Of course, you do. You know where to find me when you’re ready.” Betty stood up with her handbag. She knew when he was ready, that he would have more questions. But now, there was a lifetime ahead to answer them.
“Wait,” Jacob said, getting to his feet. “Before you go. There was a reason I came to see you at your house that night. I stole this –” He strode out of the room, and Betty heard a timber drawer slide open and then shut again. A second later, Jacob returned with a folder in his good hand. On the front was the insignia of the U.S. military. A neat, hand-written name was below it. Her own name. Jacob passed her the folder.
“It was on the desk of a high-ranking official at City Hall. They’re using the Governor’s Room as a base for operations during the war – classified, of course. But this,” he flicked the folder, “has been read by someone very high up in the chain of command. No one saw me take it, but I assume it’s not the only copy.”
Betty flipped it open. Inside was a monochrome photograph of herself, taken from a distance, atop a single sheet of typed paper. Underneath was a dossier.
BETTY JONES (Mrs.)
Current residence: Whitestone, New York.
Of unknown origin. Approx. 28 years old.
Unusual and extraordinary speed, agility.
Unnatural strength.
UNDER SURVEILLANCE.
Implicated in Grandville Bank Robbery, Military Heists. Possible connections to Chinese Triad, Russian Bratva and Five Points Gangs. Potential underworld figure. Unknown allegiance. Mrs. Jones has significant influence on local informers.
Possible connections to NYPD law enforcement.
HIGH SECURITY RISK.
“You’re being watched,” Jacob said, grimly. “Closely.”
“So it seems.” Betty sighed and handed the file back to Jacob. “To be honest, I’m not surprised, although I tried my hardest to cover my tracks. I’ve been killing people for so long now –”
“Well not anymore,” Jacob warned. “Now you play it safe. Let me take care of Donny from here. Legally.”
“It says ‘Possible connections to NYPD law enforcement,’ Jake. It seems they’re watching you too.”
“Apparently so.”
“Well then, I suppose this will keep me on my toes. Don’t worry, I’ll figure out who’s watching us.” Betty winked. “You know I like to keep busy.”
She turned to leave. “Thanks, Jake. For – everything.”
“Always.”
Jacob opened the door and Betty walked out. She turned back at the threshold and smiled.
“Adina will love it, by the way.”
“Love what?”
“The lapel watch hidden in your desk drawer. With the little bow. Practical and fashionable,” she winked. Jacob shook his head, grinning.
“Keep out of my head.”
Betty laughed. “Almost always.”
As Betty rode the elevator to the sixth floor of an elegant New York City building, she took a deep breath and smiled. It was familiar and thrilling, all at once. She’d once followed her spark of passion and independence to the revolving glass doors and found within it the spark which inspired her new calling in life. Her world had flourished since that day.
She wasn’t entirely sure why she had been called into the Avon head office, and hoped it wasn’t due to the unfortunate return of several cosmetics she’d sold to Mrs. Clara Belvedere the week before. Admittedly, Betty had been rather preoccupied during her visit, planning Donny’s imminent murder at the time. Moreover, the poor woman had come down with a nasty case of hives that had changed her skin tone quite drastically. After picking up the refunded cosmetics and offering a very cranky Mrs. Belvedere a jar of home-pickled beets in apology, Betty had written to her superiors explaining the unfortunate situation. Minus the homicidal distraction, of course.
Betty stepped out of the elevator into an ivory waiting room.
“Welcome, Mrs. Jones,” greeted a stylish young receptionist with a blonde up-do.
“Hello, Margaret, dear. My, I do love that eyeshadow on you today!” Betty trilled. “Forget-me-not blue, am I correct? With a touch of frost?”
“You are indeed! I don’t think anyone knows our latest catalog as well as you do.”
“Well, that shade suits you just beautifully, Margaret. You really should convince them to take your photographs for next season’s catalog, you’re an absolute dish, darling.”
“Oh, I could never!” the girl blushed.
“Well, I’ll suggest it myself,” Betty winked. “We can’t keep a beauty like you hidden behind a telephone, all day.” She settled herself with the latest copy of Vogue, as a red-faced Margaret busied herself with a ledger, barely containing the smile on her face.
After a few minutes, a sharp buzzer sounded. Margaret sidestepped a long vase of pink tulips on a stand beside her counter and held her arm out graciously toward an office door.
“Mrs. Birchman will see you now.”
Betty followed Margaret into a bright, crisp boardroom. The tasteful décor and large, printed product displays paid homage to the modest beginnings of the Avon dynasty before the turn of the last century, to modern times, an icon of women’s empowerment and self-sufficiency. Painted advertisements boldly claimed their place in the evolving history of the United States women’s movement.
“Our Pledge to Loveliness, since 1886.”
“We support our suffragettes – Votes for Women!”
“Enchanting perfection that’s kind to your purse - Good Housekeeping Approved!”
“The Fair and the Brave – join The American Red Cross effort today!”
As the door shut behind her, a hearty round of applause came from a dozen ladies standing around the table. Betty recognized all of them. A handful of corporate administrators and sales staff were beaming at her, along with local representatives from her own district, including Fannie-May, Dotty Morris, Toula Apostolou and Mrs. Gladys Eubanks, who was clapping most enthusiastically of all. The table had been laid with an arrangement of crumb cakes, sweet biscuits and pots of tea, each sitting on a starched white doily. Given wartime rationing, it was an impressive spread.
“Goodness me, what�
�s all this?” Betty cried with delight.
“A celebration for you, Betty,” said Gladys, stepping forward to embrace her. Betty gave her a meaningful look.
“And how’s Sam?” she whispered as she kissed Gladys’ cheek.
“Perfectly well and an absolute delight. I’ve written to my dear Henry to explain the boys’ predicament. He has a few days leave before he ships out, and well, as we were never blessed with our own children, we’ve decided to adopt the lad. Sergeant Lawrence is pushing all the paperwork through for me with the Sisters.” Gladys’s eyes were shining with tears. “Henry says he’ll feel better knowing I’m not alone while he’s off fighting.”
“That’s wonderful, Gladys,” Betty said, truly overjoyed. With just a flicker of suggestion and a little mind-reading to make sure her intuition was flying true, she’d managed to spark the perfect outcome to both parties’ privations. Sam had a home, and Gladys a new purpose.
Standing behind the director’s chair, a copper-haired woman held up her hands to quiet the room.
“Mrs. Jones,” the woman said, in a voice loud enough to carry over the trailing applause, “we must congratulate you on your recent efforts. You have not only surpassed your own sales record this month, but made this season your highest ever, as well as lending your support to numerous new recruits in their efforts to learn our range and practices. You really are an asset to us, dear.” She stepped forward, lifting a small porcelain statue of a lady in Victorian Dress from the table and continuing around the other women to pass it to Betty. The statue was exquisitely hand-painted with gold embellishments, complete with parasol and handbag. “In honor of our very first Avon Representative,” the woman continued, “we present to you, the Mrs. PFE Albee Avon Sales Award for 1943, for your dedication and outstanding sales!” She pinned a small gold brooch to the front of Betty’s red coat dress. “We’ve put on this morning tea today, as a small gesture of our appreciation, in the hopes you’ll continue your most excellent work!”
Avon Calling! Season One Page 38
