“Oh, doodah,” she sighed.
The ladybug pattern fell from Katie’s lap to the ground as she stood in one quick motion and wrapped her arms around Mrs. Gallagher’s waist. She clenched her eyes shut, and if she’d thought that her tears still meant anything—she would have cried them for Daniel’s mother. Mrs. Gallagher kissed the top of her head. Katie smiled, feeling the fringe of Mrs. Gallagher’s wild, dark hair over the top of her arms and bare shoulders. She breathed in, inhaling her cotton-vanilla essence until she heard Daniel’s boots scraping across the porch.
“Oh god, what is it now?” He grimaced.
“Tys, Daniel,” Mrs Gallagher scolded.
“What?” he asked defensively, “you two look like a pair of hounds.”
“Katie is leaving us, Daniel. We only now heard the news.”
“Huh, that’s the breaks.”
“Daniel, is that all you have to say? She’s leaving tomorrow.”
“What?” he asked again with the same comic defense in his voice. “It’s not like she’s dying—I’m going to see her again next week when we record our air trailers. Nothing to snap your cap over.” He walked past them into the house, the screen door bawling behind him.
“Pis og papir.” Mrs. Gallagher exclaimed, uncharacteristically aggravated. Katie smiled up at her. They both looked toward his window and caught a glimpse of Danny’s grimy hand closing the drapes.
“Four daughters, huh?” Katie asked. Mrs. Gallagher looked down at first with a perplexed tilt of her head then laughed. She draped her long arm over Katie’s shoulders as they went inside to start dinner.
Katie stood across from them, carrying two suitcases. The one in her right hand was the one she’d come with. The other was a small red case that Mrs. Gallagher had bought on yet another trip to Desmonds. Mrs. Gallagher spoke to the men, not so differently from the day they’d told her that her father was gone. But Danny was missing from this version of the scene. He’d left early that morning, making a thin promise to return that afternoon—but she’d know then that he wouldn’t.
Only tonight if there is no one else—but there was someone else: a woman—although, she was little more than a memory to Katie. As a child, she’d thought she was rather tall and a little bit mean. A woman who didn’t look much like her, although she should have. The last time Katie saw her was at the tiny house near Bushey Heath. She’d always thought of the house as belonging to her and her father. As if it had always been just theirs. But Katie somehow knew that the tall woman had also once lived there. The same way she knew her mother had been there as well. Maybe that was why she’d been angry that day—angry because it was no longer her home. She never spoke to Katie. The words were only for her father. That day when the sirens came, her words turned to shrieks. Katie watched, helpless and young, thinking even then that it didn’t seem right for a woman to shriek like that. She remembered crying when the girl tore at her long dark hair. Her father finally pulled the woman up in his arms and flung her, still flailing, over his shoulder. In one last move of resistance, the woman’s hand flattened and slapped a vase to the floor. The glass exploded while the door slammed behind them. Then the shrieking was gone. She realized sometime later that the shrieking girl had been her sister, although no one had told her as much. When her father died, she was scared they would find her. Maybe it had been one of the reasons she’d cried so much during the night. But it seemed they hadn’t found her.
“Do you have everything, doodah?” Mrs. Gallagher asked as she swept a strand of hair from her shoulder.
“I think so.”
“Did you check everywhere?”
“Yes, it’s all here,” Katie smiled and looked down at her cases.
“I’m sorry my Danny isn’t here to say goodbye.” She placed both hands on Katie’s small shoulders.
“It’s alright.We’ll see each other soon enough.”
“He doesn’t mean to be cruel. It is just his way. You surely know that by now.” Mrs. Gallagher said. Katie shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t think we really know each other at all. People think we do, but we don’t.”
“I’m sorry Katie. Do you hate me for bringing you here with us?”
“Oh no, Mrs. Gallagher. It’s not what I meant.” Katie struggled to catch her words then hung her head low. “I’m sorry. It’s not what I meant,” she repeated and closed her eyes. She managed to say the next few words—but they were hard words. “I was happy here.”
She felt Mrs. Gallagher’s finger lightly touch her chin before she guided Katie’s face back up to meet her own.
“You’re welcome here anytime, Katie Webb.”
“Thank you,” Katie said, wanting to say so much more.
“I’ll tell you something about my son that you do not know. He doesn’t mean to be hurtful. It is only that he hates to say goodbye. The morning his father left to fight in the war, he disappeared. No one knew where he’d gone. He came home after the sun had set and his father was gone and said not a word to anyone. My mother still lived with us then, you see, but that’s not important I suppose,” she finished. “When his father was brought home to be buried—he did the same of course.”
Katie looked up, overran by the brief glimpse into Danny’s mind.
“He gives what he can. We have to be grateful for what he does give. He was born to be stubborn, and I learned that long ago. It is just his way, and he doesn’t mean to be hurtful.” She smiled and brushed another strand of hair from Katie’s shoulder.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Gallagher,” Katie smiled.
“Goodbye, for now, Katie,” she answered.
Katie didn’t look back, even as she heard Mrs. Gallagher’s footsteps follow them out to the front porch and stop as she reached the edge of it. The younger of the two men opened the backseat door to her and she climbed inside. He shut it behind without looking at her and took his seat in the front. In the corner of her eye, she saw the fuzzy, faraway image of Mrs. Gallagher’s white housedress as she remained standing on the front porch. Her body stood cruelly still…like the promise of something that could never be. Katie struggled to breathe though the air thick with aftershave and new upholstery. For a moment she thought her tears would come—the real ones this time. But just before they did, she turned and saw that Mrs. Gallagher had finally gone inside. The ignition turned and she closed her eyes. The car engine hummed while the men spoke short, clipped words to each other.
“Drive, please drive, drive,” she whispered the desperate litany over and over again. Yet they continued to sit and talk in that horribly detached way. She thought she would die if they didn’t leave. She thought if Mrs. Gallagher reemerged in her thin, flowing dress, and gave her a last wave she couldn’t resist, it would kill her.
The car began to roll, but she kept her eyes down until they stopped for a long red light at the intersection of San Vicente and 26th. That was when she saw him. For one frantic, unconscious moment, she put her hand to the door’s crank lever. It was him…Danny in jeans and a dark t-shirt—waiting for the light to cross with a cigarette in his hand. Looking at the ribbons of smoke, she began to cry—real tears. He might as well have been a stranger on the sidewalk, some drugstore cowboy with a foul mouth and too much time on his hands. She leaned back in her seat, still watching through blurred tears. The light turned green, and they began to move again. The car drifted parallel to Daniel for an instant, and he looked at her. It was a quick glance over his shoulder as he hustled across the street—but he saw her. His dark eyebrows lifted in surprise when their eyes made contact. After that—he was was gone, growing smaller and smaller as the car gathered speed and left him behind.
Chapter Nine
New York City, New York
1953
“I bet I could get in if I wanted,” he said and steadied himself as the car hit a pothole in the road. He glanced, annoyed, to the back of the driver’s head before turning back to her.
“I’ll not wager it,” she said,
removing her shoes and stretching her toes along the floorboard.
“What would you wager, then?” he asked in a marked spoof of her accent, flipping an imaginary top-hat through the air. The press agent in front turned and glared.
“Hush, you’re going to get me in trouble,” she hissed in his ear when the woman looked away again.
“What do you care?”
“What wouldn’t I care? You forget what it’s like to be seventeen and still under everyone’s thumb.”
“Aw, c’mon Katie—they’re not going to do anything. Whad’ya bet—whad’ya wager—I get in like Flynn.”
“I’ll wager you the two chaperones staying in my room against the zero staying in yours.”
“Oh, Katie, it’s not like they’ll be sleeping in the same bed. They’ll probably get stuck in rooms down the hall.”
“Oh really? Well I was in a suite with three of them in Chicago—remember?”
“Can’t says that I do.”
“You don’t? Why, it was the last time we saw each other.”
“Was it now?”
“You really don’t remember?” she asked.
His face creased in thought, searching his living memory and shrugging when nothing came up for his trouble.
“No, I really don’t—why, something happen that I missed?”
She smiled.
“Nothing at all,” she said, turning back towards the window.
“Well, at least tell me what we were both doing there?”
“The Jimmy Dorsey broadcast, and then press on the second floor of the Palmer House. There was a party in the lobby afterwards.”
“The Palmer House—now that’s a hotel.”
“I thought you said you didn’t remember?” she asked warily.
“Well I remember being there, but not much else. Those things all sort of run together after a while, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so.”
“Well all the more reason we should catch up. You can’t say anything worthwhile around these killjoys.”
“You’ll never get past Mistlewort. If you get me in trouble just because you’ve a notion to pull a stunt, I’ll never forgive you, Daniel Gallagher.”
“My god, Katie, such a bluenose.”
“Bluenose? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, something I heard somewhere.” He made a popping sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth and lowered his head to look past the shoulder of the driver. She was so taken with the gesture of playful arrogance that she found it hard to pretend to ignore him.
“Don’t worry about old Mistlewort. He’ll be well in bed before I get in.”
“Where on earth are you going?”
“I’m meeting Max and Al at their dad’s barrelhouse over on—well, I’ve forgotten the street.”
“You’re not going out tonight?”
“Yes, I thought I told you—oh now, don’t worry. The night is young and I’ll be back in time to win my bet.”
“Oh?”
“Or are you jealous you’ll miss the club? Next year I can bring you along—by then I won’t have to sneak past anyone to get in your room.”
“With any luck, by next year we’ll be doing something interesting instead of these kiddie jaunts. If we never do another, it will be too soon,” she sighed.
“It’ll go quickly enough. We’re only in the last part…and you’re right. This will be our last. Then you’ll be stuck missing me.”
The dumpish press agent turned again—this time with more forethought. Katie smiled, but the charm was lost on her hard-boiled face. Katie nudged an elbow into Danny’s side.
“Shhh!” she hissed in his ear once again. “I’m serious now.”
He smiled, his pretty teeth the result of years of cosmetic work. As a child, his teeth had always been a problem. The studio switched between caps and braces to fix his gaps and crooked smile. But Daniel’s teeth were as stubborn as he was and, after all that work, one tooth at the corner of his smile remained nestled too high within the gum line.
“Katie, tell me, did we have much time to speak—this last famous last time we saw each other?”
“Not much. You were at the bar with Ronnie Clayworth and his sister Violet.”
“Is that right?” he asked, leaning back, “I can’t say I remember seeing much of Ronnie—I do remember Violet.”
She raised an eyebrow, imagining herself looking very much like the dumpish press agent.
“Well, all the more reason to catch up tonight,” he said at last.
“I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about in the morning.”
“You’re joking—getting the Christmas special in the can is always a madhouse.”
They arrived at the hotel and Katie watched the driver settle into his seat while the dumpish press agent fiddled with a large handbag. She poured herself out and took a dunking step onto the curb.
“Well, come along, Caroline,” she said to the darkened back seat of the car, her eyes in a confused sort of squint. She slammed the door behind and walked into the warm light of the hotel lobby. Katie slipped back into her shoes.
“She thinks your name is Caroline?”
“No. She knows my name,” she said and got out of the car.
“Can’t you correct her?” he asked, circling around the back of the car to stand in front of her. She shrugged, pulling her coat around her body.
“It’s not worth it. What do I care what she calls me? I’ll have a new one next week, so why bother?” she said and watched a wicked smile creep across his face—a look she hadn’t seen much of since they were children.
“Don’t you dare, Danny. I’ll scream murder right here on the street if you say it.”
He up his hands in mocking defense and laughed, “I didn’t say a word.”
“Oh sure,” she said and fumbled at her coat buttons, her fingers already clumsy with the cold. She overlapped her coat in front of her and walked away.
“You can’t still be embarrassed about that?” he called from behind. When she didn’t answer, he tugged gently at her elbow.
“Stop it, Danny. It’s freezing out here. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”
He stood quietly for a moment, then smiled and took a solid step back
“Well...run along then, Caroline.”
Katie turned and walked away. Through the glass, she saw the dumpish press agent barking off to a concierge. She put her hand on the brass handle and pulled open the door halfway until she heard him shout from behind.
“Tangerine!”
She glanced at the dumpish press agent through the window, now drilling her finger into the marble check-in desk. Katie held the door for an older couple waiting behind, and then allowed it to close behind her. The warmth from the lobby flittered away in the cold. The chilly air twined up her bare legs and rearranged her hair until it blew free from her face and clung to her dark jacket. The city was momentarily silent, and she heard only the soft clicks of her heels on the sidewalk as she walked towards him.
“I thought you said you didn’t remember?” she asked.
“You know I never liked Jimmy Dorsey all that much. He’s ok but—I’ve always been more of a Kenton man.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh yes—he’s a radical, keeps things interesting— if you know what I mean. Dorsey’s a dead wood. But the Tangerine song—now that’s all right. Even if they did play it a hundred times that night. What were they thinking?” He smiled.
“Well, I’ve never liked any of it. What else do you remember?”
“Besides Violet Clayworth?” he smiled and pulled a blue-edged pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He took one from the pack and placed it between his lips. He cupped a protective hand against the chilly breeze, and the striking light from the match flickered and shined against the heavy gel in his hair
“Besides Violet Clayworth.” She rolled her eyes.
He took a drag and shook out the tiny flame fr
om the end of his matchstick. Curling swirls of smoke whisked around his head as he glanced at his watch.
“Oh, look at the time—I’m over an hour behind and you know how Al gets if he has to wait for anything.”
“No—how does he get?” she asked and took a tiny step toward him, “tell me?” Her eyes tipped up to meet his. He paused and, for a moment, she thought he would step away. He didn’t, but his face became still.
“Grumpy—as a Warwick widow,” he said.
“What?” She laughed. His greenish eyes switched from cold to warm as he focused on her nose, her forehead, until his eyes met hers again.
“You know—a Warwick widow.”
“Don’t tell me—something you heard somewhere?”
“You got it.”
She took a step back when the playfulness of his face never returned.
“Well, I’ll not keep you waiting. Send Max and Albert my love, will you?” She turned and walked back towards the hotel doors.
“You can’t just come out and ask can you? Even after all that?” he called from behind and smiled.
“Not with that clumsy fishing around of yours, I won’t.”
He tossed his cigarette to the sidewalk and placed his hands on his hips. “Well, forgive me. I tried my best to draw you out—but you’re damned tough, Katie Webb.”
“The bluenose I guess.” she said.
“You were going to ask me though, weren’t you?” He grinned.
“Not really.”
“Well, why not?”
She looked at the sky for a moment and felt dizzy when she saw how the skyscrapers seemed to arch over them, rather than stand up straight into the night sky. She looked back at him and smiled.
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