There’d been a big fight when Marianthi confronted him at home. The Smyrniot’s excuse wavered between the fact that he’d summoned Kivelli at the last minute and that it was none of her business anyway. “‘Do I tell you what colour curtains to hang on the windows?’ he yelled, as if it were the same thing. So I picked up the creamer from the silver tea set his mother gave us as a wedding gift and threw it at his head. It missed, unfortunately.” The Smyrniot didn’t flinch as it hit the doorframe and clanked uselessly onto the floor. He kicked it back at her and walked out. All of their exchanges were like this now, she complained. Marianthi left the creamer where it lay, overturned and dented, and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of strong coffee. Kyra Xanthi had taught her a few tricks, and she was getting good at recognizing the symbols left by the grounds. “They told me that I was going totake a short trip today. To the Bella Vista. By myself. But I thought it would be even better if I went with you. What could Panayotis do then, send us both home?”
“So he doesn’t want you there?”
She shrugged and released an exasperated sigh. Luckily Marianthi was so caught up in her battle with the Smyrniot that she didn’t question why Kivelli hadn’t run over to tell her she’d appeared at the Bella Vista, or why she’d made herself so scarce in the week that followed. In her friend’s imagination, Kivelli spent her empty days carousing with manghes in the square and flirting with fishermen and sailors at the docks, doing things and visiting places that were off limits for a married woman of standing. There was no point in disabusing Marianthi of these notions since she seemed to enjoy and even to envy them, though she still wasn’t comfortable walking through Drapetsona by herself, no matter how often she stopped by Kyra Xanthi’s and then took the opportunity to visit Kivelli.
“He’s a greedy and loathsome bastard. Takes my songs as if he owns them and gives me nothing but grief in return.”
Kivelli wanted to be sympathetic, but the story was always the same, and they were both starting to annoy her.
“Leave him, expose him, or stop giving him your songs. It’s quite simple, really.”
Marianthi nodded in agreement, though Kivelli knew she didn’t dare. She had no means of her own and nowhere to go; to expose him would be to also destroy herself. Her only plans for escape played themselves out inside her head.
“What if he drops dead tonight, or some mangha shoots him because he looked at him the wrong way? With that face it’s as likely to happen as anything else.”
“Not at the Bella Vista. It’s not like Barba Yannis’s.” She sounded a little too superior for Kivelli’s liking.
“Who said anything about the Bella Vista? A lot of the guys around here are mad at him because he won’t take their songs. Someone is going to get stoned enough one day and when the Smyrniot is leaving your house …” She made her finger into a pistol and pointed it at the other woman’s forehead.
Marianthi laughed nervously. “If that’s his fate, so be it. But until that fine moment I have to keep giving him my songs so that you can sing them for me.” She was dying to hear her words and Kivelli’s voice in public, to see what effect they had on an audience of strangers. “Kyria Effie’s was one thing, but this is the Bella Vista!”
Kivelli took her hand and noticed her fresh manicure, the stripe of pearly polish in the centre of her nails. “Ok, Marianthaki, we’ll go together. But you have to leave me alone for a few hours. My preparations are private, and this room is too small for an audience. Why don’t you drop in on Kyra Xanthi? She was asking after you the other day.”
Marianthi pulled her hand away. “You’ve seen Kyra Xanthi behind my back?” She seemed genuinely offended. Kivelli had seen that accusatory look before on the faces of jealous men, and tried to keep the lingering malaise the last visit to the fortune-teller’s had provoked from shading her own face.
“I ran into her in the square the other day. We’re neighbours after all. There’s nothing very mysterious or exciting about it. She had a pair of shoes for me …” The room was suddenly stifling, and Kivelli got up to open the window.
Marianthi could barely disguise the hurt in her voice. “So that’s what you’ve been up to all week instead of coming to see me. I was sure there was some new man in the picture, and you’d thrown me over.” There was no answer to this, only the empty space Kivelli’s apology should have filled.
“Why don’t you go sit in the square for a while instead of fish- ing for reasons to be angry with me. I didn’t have a chance to come see you this week, but if you come back at eight we’ll catch up on everything on the ride to Athens, all right?” She ushered Marianthi towards the door.
“Sit in the square by myself? Have you lost your mind? What if someone saw me?”
Kivelli’s patience was dwindling and irritation raised her voice. “Then go home and come back later. Or I can stop by and pick you up in a taxi. But right now you need to leave me in peace. In a few hours I have to get up on stage and turn myself inside out in front of all of Athens. Please, Marianthi …”
Crestfallen, she stepped into the hallway. “Forgive me, Kivelli. I just got so excited when I heard, and I missed you all week … I’ll come back in two hours exactly. I’ll just sit in the square and pray.”
“For what?”
She smiled. “For the two hours to pass as fast as they can.” Marianthi reached into her bag, fishing for something. “You don’t have anything for me to write on, do you? If I’m going to play the manghissa in the square, I should take some notes. It will help pass the time.”
“No,” she replied too quickly. “But you can buy some stationary at the kiosk. And don’t worry. No one will eat you. Just order a glass of wine to settle your nerves and enjoy yourself.” With that Kivelli closed the door, locked it and breathed a sigh of relief.
She immediately began rummaging through a drawer for the envelope that contained the Smyrniot’s invitation. She crossed out her name, then tore a page out of one of Aspasia’s old exercise books. She felt bad for not offering it to Marianthi, but she had her own need for it. How she would get a note to Diamantis at this hour, she was not sure, but their date had to be cancelled. As a man who prized discretion, he would understand. They could meet at the Bella Vista, as if by chance — how they arranged matters at the end of the night was a different matter. Aspasia was dispatched to look for him in the square. She had a big crush on Diamantis and helped Kivelli sneak him out in the morning by distracting her mother in the kitchen, dropping a pot or spilling the vegetablesshe’d just washed on the floor. The prospect of standing before him and handing him the note thrilled her, even though she probably wouldn’t manage to utter a word or look him in the face.
All week Kivelli had been searching for the right way to tell Marianthi what was going on but had found neither the right words nor the opportunity. She couldn’t announce it in the middle of a game of cards, and that very fact kept her from going over to play. She knew she wouldn’t be able keep Diamantis from Marianthi forever, but this wasn’t the time to explain the whats and the hows, nor did she feel up to fending off her friend’s reaction. She needed to concentrate, to review the songs she’d been told to prepare, and to sit quietly with herself before stepping up in front of an audience that would do with her as it wished. Once this night was over, she would be happy to tell her friend all about her new man and answer the inevitable questions. Better yet, Marianthi could sit with Diamantis at the club, and if he wanted to, he could tell her himself.
The Smyrniot had given her half her wages in advance for a new dress, but she compromised by picking something out from a second-hand dealer’s cart and saving the rest for her rent. A swatch of mauve fabric had caught her attention from beneath the piles of moth-eaten suits, musty coats and severe blouses that reminded her of Aunt Penelope. The dress was sleeveless, with a low neckline and black beads sewn in a diamond pattern around the hips, and the hem had a sassy flounce that made her feel like a dancing girl in an American movie. She
put it on, painted her lips bright red and stepped into Kyra Xanthi’s lilac shoes. It was only the second time she’d worn them, which made her think that the only road they knew led to the Bella Vista. She’d ride over with Marianthi, and Diamantis could carry her home in his arms. The Smyrniot was bound to escort his wife back to Piraeus.
28
How I long to sit beside you
To hear your angel’s laugh
Kiss your sweet lips and tell you
You’ve broken my heart in half
Marianthi reappeared at five minutes to eight, glowing as if she had good news to deliver and crackling with anticipation.
“What’s going on, my girl?” Kivelli teased. “Did Kyra Xanthi predict some smashing success for us, or have you been drinking retsina with the manghes in the square?” In response, Marianthi threw her arms around Kivelli’s neck.
“I’m just happy. Happy to see you, happy to be going to the Bella Vista to hear you sing.” She was blinking rapidly and was positively giddy.
“I take it you found something to amuse yourself with while I was getting ready?” This had ultimately involved lying down for another hour. Bathing and getting dressed took her no time at all, but without that extra hour of rest, she would not have been able to live through the night.
“I followed your orders and sat in the square and had the most marvellous time. I drank some wine, made some friends.”
“You do look a little tipsy. I hope you didn’t get into any trouble.” Kivelli winked and patted her friend’s warm cheek. Marianthi’s slurred words and languorous gestures made her smile. Normally it was impossible to get her to sit still, but now she draped herself across Kivelli’s bed, her arms thrown behind her head. It suited her, this slowness.
“Are you ready my friend?” she purred. “I have a taxi waiting outside.”
“I’ll be done in a minute.” Kivelli looked in the mirror one last time and placed a fresh gardenia behind her ear. “I hope the meter isn’t running.”
“He doesn’t have a meter. He said he’d count his worry beads until I came back down, then add that to the fare. But when I told him who you were, he put the beads in his pocket and told me to take my time.”
“Let’s not take advantage then,” Kivelli said, and took a step towards the door, but Marianthi grabbed her wrist.
“Just a minute. I have a present for you, for good luck.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a gold bangle, which she slipped over Kivelli’s hand. It hung from her wrist, too big and heavy, weighing down her arm and threatening to fall off. She removed it and handed it back.
“Marianthi, I can’t accept this. It’s too much, and you know I don’t wear jewellery.”
“Take it, Kivelli. I have half a dozen just like it from my dowry, and I never wear them either.” It was true that the thin gold cross around her neck and the wedding ring on her finger were her only adornments — other than an assortment of flashy earrings that she hid behind her hair: shells, moons and starfish encrusted with rhinestones and coloured beads. “Sell it if you want to. You’re going to need a lot of new dresses if you become a regular at the club, and I know a sweet little seamstress who will make you one in exchange for it.”
Kivelli slid the bangle back over her hand, then pushed it up to her forearm like the silver snakes Sophia the Cappadocian wore when she belly danced. “I’ll wear it tonight to please you, Marianthi, and then we’ll see. We’d better be on our way now. You know I detest being late.”
When they stepped outside, a familiar face smiled at her from behind the wheel of the taxi. The driver waved enthusiastically and started the engine. “Hello to the pretty Kivelli. It’s me again. Your personal chauffeur.” He smoothed out his moustache with his fingers and put on a dignified air. “I guess it went okay last week since you didn’t come looking for me.” Before she could respond, the back door swung open. A long leg emerged and a black polished boot planted itself on the sidewalk. Diamantis tipped his hat, bowed slightly and held open the door for the women. Marianthi beamed at him and laughed girlishly. “Look who I found in the square, Kivelli. Do you remember my friend Diamantis?”
“I have a vague memory,” she replied in her most neutral voice, “of some madman you once introduced me to.”
“That would be me,” he replied very seriously. “And I’m still mad, Miss Kivelli, in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” she said, and quickly got into the cab before Marianthi saw the panic in her eyes. After both women were in the back seat, Diamantis shut the door and sat beside the driver. “To Athens, Captain,” he commanded, and the car began to move. “Diamantis was going to the club too, so I suggested we all ride there together, make an entrance,” Marianthi explained, a little too enthusiastically, as if she were guilty of something other than coincidence.
“How convenient,” Kivelli muttered sarcastically. This certainly put her in a difficult position at a moment when all she wanted to do was be calm and prepare herself mentally for her night. She wondered what had happened to Aspasia, though it didn’t matter now.
“I’m taking a few hours off tonight to hear you sing, Miss Kivelli,” the cabby announced. “I decided it, just like that, when your friends told me where they were going.” Kivelli just nodded whenever she was addressed by the cabby or Marianthi, who was talking enough for all four of them about nothing at all. Both she and the cabby were overly excited about their night out on the town, the unexpected company. Marianthi even invited him to sit at her table, and he replied he would be honoured to, but would not think of intruding. Diamantis sat in perfect silence, looking straight ahead, no doubt planning an escape. Who could blame him with all this useless noise? But if he was in the midst of it, it was his own fault, so Kivelli was disinclined to feel sorry for him. He wouldn’t have wanted her to anyway. She drummed her fingernails against the bangle and stared out the side window, concentrating not on what might happen next but on the aftermath, when she and Diamantis could be alone again.
When they stopped in front of the Bella Vista, Kivelli was the first one out of the car. There was no hesitation on the sidewalk this time. She marched inside, followed by Marianthi and Diamantis, who the Smyrniot greeted first, as if both women were invisible. He then turned his attention to Kivelli, directing her towards a door that led backstage where she could leave her things.
“She can leave them with me,” Marianthi piped in, and the Smyrniot looked at her as if he’d just noticed her standing there.
“What a surprise,” he pronounced in a flat tone, though his ears were burning with rage.
“You know that I’m mad for Kivelli’s singing,” she replied, averting her eyes from his, turning them pleadingly towards her friend. Diamantis had already excused himself and was shaking hands with a few of the other musicians. Kivelli too wished to be far away from their little trio. “I think I’ll have a look backstage,” she began, which prompted Marianthi to link arms with her. “I’ll keep you company,” she said, leading her away. “And Panayotis, my boy, be good and reserve a table up front for Diamantis and me.” She threw this over her shoulder like spilled salt. It had its effect, because when Kivelli came out to sing, Marianthi and Diamantis where seated at the best table in the house, their chairs as close to each other as those of would-be lovers on their first stolen rendezvous.
Marianthi leaned in to whisper something into Diamantis’s ear, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. He smiled warmly at her, refilled her glass several times — Kivelli had never seen her drink so much — and offered her mezzedes, but stopped short of feeding them to her. Wasn’t that how their affair had started a week ago? For all her eagerness to come hear her sing, Marianthi hardly seemed to be paying attention at all, applauding only for her own songs, and even then, a little bit late. The minute the next song started, she was on top of Diamantis again, no better than the working girls at Barba Yannis’s making their pitch at the end of the night.
Did the Smyrniot see it
the same way from where he stood? He seemed to be avoiding looking in their direction altogether. The sight of her best friend with her lover gave Kivelli a slight but unmistakable cramp between the breasts. This, she supposed, was what jealousy felt like. During the intermission she would take Marianthi aside and tell her about Diamantis. Then she would have to behave herself, stop leaning into him and fluttering her hands about his body like a mating bird.
Kivelli closed her eyes, concentrating on the music, on the lyrics she was singing, riding the song’s wave until it crashed on the shoreline and soaked those who stood too close. But one eye kept flickering open, like a guttering candle that provided only intermittent and inadequate illumination. Whether the first set had gone well or horribly, she could not say. Marianthi’s assurances hardly convinced her, and even Diamantis’s praise did nothing to assuage her doubts. Instead of sitting with them at the table of honour, she asked Marianthi to join her in the dressing room. And though she immediately followed Kivelli, she was still looking back at Diamantis.
The dressing room was empty, the male musicians preferring to mingle with friends in the audience or with each other at the bar that ran along the back wall of the club. Kivelli sat in a chair and watched Marianthi as she primped in the mirror, smoothing her hair and touching up her face. From her purse she extracted a small silver phial of perfume and applied drops to her wrists and neck, filling the small room with the scent of freesia. She always wore too much perfume, Kivelli thought, but this was not the time to criticize. It was the least of their problems.
The Goodtime Girl Page 20
