Bachelor Girl

by Kim van Alkemade

  I moved through that evening like a somnambulist, making inane small talk over drinks and forcing food into my mouth at dinner. Babe’s assault on Jake’s stateroom was a general topic of conversation. Instead of joining in, I watched Albert gaze at King, who was seated across the table in the extra chair I’d squeezed in for the new recruit. I cringed to see how his eyes feasted on the sight of the man.

  Jake’s attention, fortunately, was elsewhere. When I made the seating chart, I’d put Claire to his left because I wanted him to know what a lovely woman she was. She’d been studying Jake’s antiques and commenced to dazzle him with her knowledge of his Emma Stebbins bas-relief depicting the purchase of Manhattan. “I believe she used Charlotte Cushman as a model for that woman who stands behind Henry Hudson in the sculpture,” Claire said. “They were lovers, don’t you know.”

  “Charlotte Cushman and Henry Hudson?”

  Claire playfully swatted his wrist. “You’re teasing me, Colonel Ruppert. No, Charlotte and Emma, of course.”

  After dinner, Claire insisted she and Jake go look at the sculpture together. I excused myself, too. I told Albert I’d hired some extra help from the village and that I needed to have a word with the girls before they embarrassed themselves fawning over Babe Ruth. I came back up from the kitchen to see everyone gathered in the parlor, music from the player piano filling the room. Jake was showing Claire a vase from his collection of Chinese porcelain while Babe and Gehrig talked over plans for their exhibition tour, set to commence tomorrow afternoon at Dexter Park in Wood Haven. Albert was talking to King and Rex, the three of them making a casual group in a quiet corner of the room. I thought about joining them—what would be more natural than approaching my brother and my young man? Except Albert wasn’t really mine, was he, not while King was here.

  “Is there anything you need, Miss Winthrope?” Mr. Nakamura was at my side, an ice bucket in his gloved hands.

  “No, thank you. If anyone asks, tell them I went up with a headache, would you?”

  “Shall I bring you some aspirin, miss?”

  I shook my head. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  I shut my curtains and curled up on the bed, awash in self-pity. I wished I had Pip to comfort me, but I’d left him at home with my mother. The thought reminded me of Princess, who’d died a few years back. Jake had replaced her with a feisty descendant of one of Pip’s littermates. I supposed she was sleeping in the wicker basket Jake kept at the foot of his bed. I was considering going to get her when my door opened, a wedge of light widening across the ceiling. Albert, I thought, come to reassure me that nothing could come between us. King’s appearance was an aberration, he’d say. As soon as the party was over and the guests had gone, we’d go back to being ourselves again, me and Albert and Jake, the three of us cozy around the breakfast table, the dogs playing at our feet.

  “Helen, are you okay?” Claire sat on the bed beside me. “Here, I brought you some Saratoga water.”

  I sat up and accepted the glass she put in my hands. “I’m fine, just a headache.”

  “I saw you come up and then I noticed Albert disappear, too. I figured I’d better move my things over to Babe’s room now, before you two wouldn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Of course that’s what she would assume. For years, I’d let people believe that Albert and I were lovers. I secretly savored their knowing looks, though the truth was we had nothing to be ashamed of. But tonight he really was someone’s lover, just not mine.

  I started sobbing. Claire held my hand and asked no questions. She must have been acquainted with plenty of reasons for a woman to cry. “Let me get you a cold washcloth for your face. You won’t want Albert to see you like this.”

  I closed my eyes as I listened to her cross the room. But instead of hearing the door to the bathroom creak, I heard the pocket door sliding open. Too late I sat up. “Not that door, Claire.”

  But she had seen, through the opening, Mr. Nakamura in Jake’s room, laying out his pajamas on the bed. I could practically hear the gears in her mind whirring as she slid the door closed. I knew what conclusion she must have jumped to. The idea of a washcloth forgotten, she hastily gathered her things before I could find the words to set her straight. At my door, she stopped and faced me. “What I don’t get, Helen, is why Albert goes along with it.” Then her beautifully arched eyebrows rose to the top of her lovely forehead. “He was right. Babe, I mean. About Albert.”

  “Right about what?”

  “He’s a pansy, isn’t he? I should have known. I was an actress long enough to recognize the type. I guess it was seeing him with you that threw me off. You three have got it all worked out, haven’t you? Albert covers for your affair with Ruppert, and you cover for him.”

  “No, Claire, it isn’t like that, not at all. Let me explain.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Nothing shocks me anymore, not since Babe told me about Dorothy. She’s his, you know, with another woman. Can you believe he convinced his wife to adopt his own daughter?” She shook her head. “It’s a wonder we women have any pride left at all.”

  “Claire, wait—” But she’d slipped into the hallway. I was getting up to follow when I heard Mr. Nakamura’s gentle knock on the pocket door. It was the same knock he gave every morning, the knock that asked if I was dressed and ready to join Jake for breakfast. It had never sounded so corrupt before.

  “Is everything all right, Miss Winthrope?”

  “Yes, Mr. Nakamura, everything’s fine. Good night.”

  “Good night, miss.”

  He locked the door from that side, as usual. You see, I wanted to tell Claire, I couldn’t have crept into Jake’s room even if I’d wanted to. Claire had projected her own compromised situation with Babe onto my innocent one with Jake. I’d speak to her in the morning, make her understand how wrong she was about us.

  But that night, as I curled myself around a pillow in an otherwise empty bed, I wondered if Claire wasn’t right after all. I did cover for Albert. He didn’t have to worry about being pegged for a pansy with me by his side. But why shouldn’t I shield him from suspicion? It wasn’t as if Albert wanted to be the way he was. I’d never seen him so distraught as the night he confessed his condition. He couldn’t help it, any more than he could help his color-blind eyes or his damaged heart. It was a perversion of the sexual instinct, Dr. Havelock Ellis wrote, that attracted men like Albert and King to one another. It wasn’t normal. You couldn’t build a life on it. I doubted you could even call it love.

  Claire was right about me, too. Being with Albert explained my presence in Jake’s household. Without him, I knew how people would think I earned my place. Jake wouldn’t abide a scandal, of that I was certain. Where would it leave me, if Albert paired off with this baseball player? An unmarried, unemployed, ex-actress living with my mother. What do you call a Bachelor Girl who forgot to get married? A spinster. That’s how the joke went, and it would be on me. I was thirty-one years old. I’d let my chances slip through my fingers. A future with Albert was all I had to count on now. If I didn’t hold fast to him, I’d be left empty-handed.

  Chapter 37

  King held my head to his chest. “How fast is my heart beating?”

  I listened to the pulsing of blood through the muscle. “Not as fast as you think.”

  He eased his legs down, stretched out his hips. “Don’t lie to me, Albert. You were perfect.” He kissed the top of my head. “I can’t believe you’ve never done that before.”

  “When would I have done that? I’m a pansy, remember.”

  He arched his back and shifted me to the side. “That doesn’t really matter, Albert. It didn’t matter in Berlin, anyway.” We were face-to-face on the pillow, our noses touching. “You say we’re different, that I’m normal and you’re a pansy, but don’t you see? We’re really the same. We’re both men who love other men.”

  I only half-listened as King went on to explain Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld’s theories on homosexuality. Let him have his
German ideas, I thought. Just hearing him use the word love filled my heart with helium.

  “Let’s have a smoke,” I said. We sat up in my narrow bed, the cot that had been brought in for him neglected on the far side of the room. I had the lights off and the windows open, inviting a breeze without exposing us to any guests who might look up from a nighttime walk on the grounds. All they’d see, if their vision was keen, were the red dots of two cigarettes floating in the darkness.

  “It was good of Helen to put us together like this,” he said. “It must be wonderful for you to have a friend like her.”

  It was. Helen was more like family than my own mother had ever been. She was the sister I never had. I was closer to her than most men were to their wives. To King I said simply, “I can’t imagine my life without her.”

  King frowned. “The question is, does she leave any room in your life for me?”

  “Why, are you planning our wedding?” I was joking, of course, but even so I embarrassed myself.

  He didn’t laugh at me, though. “I went to a wedding like that, at Hirschfeld’s Institute. They didn’t have a license, of course, but there was a ceremony and rings. Cake, too.”

  I sometimes wondered if he made them up, the things he told me about Berlin. Anyway, I assured him Helen would be happy to include him in our circle. King’s mind must have still been on the subject, because he asked me why the Colonel had never married. “Is he queer, too?”

  “I wonder about that myself.” I narrated to him the episodes that formed the basis of my speculations: the red bow tie, the Hamilton Lodge Ball, the kiss he’d placed on my damaged eye.

  “But that was five years ago. You’ve never just asked him, in all this time?”

  The moment had never been right, I explained, and besides, what if I were wrong? I’d be exposing myself by simply posing the question. What I had been puzzling over, since the last time I’d seen King, was the connection between the Colonel and Helen. “He treats her like a mistress, but that’s not at all how it is between them. It was one thing when he was backing her professionally. Even opening an account for her at Macy’s made sense, since he wanted her to be well dressed to accompany him places. Since her production company failed, she’s been on his payroll, but I’m not sure as what. She helps out with these parties, but that’s just a couple times a year. She’s such a smart woman, I’m sure she could make a success of herself if given half a chance.”

  King bit into one of the apples I’d brought up, knowing how he got hungry in the night. “Didn’t you say the Colonel was friends with her father?”

  “The man died in his arms, he told me.”

  “Well, maybe that’s it, then.”

  “But twenty years is a long time to feel guilty for an accident.”

  “Not guilt. I mean love.”

  I took his apple and bit into the flesh. “I told you, he’s not in love with Helen.”

  “Not Helen. Her father. Don’t you see? He might be taking care of Helen for her father’s sake, if they’d been lovers.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d never put it all together before. Helen’s father could have been like Felix—a man like us who managed to marry and father a couple of children. I told King about Felix’s proposition on the High Bridge, how that treatment in Vienna hadn’t worked after all.

  “But you turned him down?” King put the core of the apple on my nightstand and pulled me back under the blanket.

  There was no moon at all that night, just a faint glimmer from the patio lights below. Still, those blue eyes swam up through the darkness. “It wouldn’t have ended well, for either of us. I decided I’d rather just be with Helen.”

  “But doesn’t she want more from a man than you can give her?”

  Maybe it was that operation she’d had that left her devoid of sexual desire, I thought. Besides, it wasn’t the same for women. From what I understood, they mainly tolerated sex because it led to children. She couldn’t have any, so why would she bother? “No, she’s fine.”

  King slid his hand along the side of my body, following the ridges of my rib cage to the rise of my hip bone. “But you aren’t fine, are you?”

  “I love Helen, I do. When it’s just the two of us, I forget all about this.” I placed my hand on the flat of his abdomen, walked my fingers up to his clavicle. “Then you show up and remind me.”

  “Not just me, I hope. It isn’t healthy, Albert. Hasn’t there been anyone else?”

  There’s only you, I wanted to say, but didn’t. Five years hadn’t seemed like so many while they were going by, but now I didn’t want to wait another day, let alone a month or a year, to be with King again. “Do you think Huggins is going to call you up from the minors?”

  “I hope so. He’s looking at me for a pinch hitter. Babe and Gehrig both came out of the World Series on fire, but the rest of the team was in a slump.” He settled my head on his shoulder, preparing for sleep. “Are you still in the market for a roommate?”

  I think I murmured yes, but I might have already been dreaming. The last thought I had before falling asleep was that I’d have to move Helen’s things out of my second bedroom. I didn’t think she’d mind. After all, she never stayed the night.

  Chapter 38

  “Good morning, Helen.” Jake was at his breakfast table, feet slippered and dressing gown knotted around his waist. His Boston terrier bounded over to me, whimpering and yapping. I picked her up and took a seat, the little dog squirming on my lap. I hadn’t dressed yet, but with a robe over my nightgown I was covered from neck to ankles. It was a domestic scene, sure, but not a romantic one. I wished I could send Mr. Nakamura to invite Claire to have coffee with us so she’d see it for herself. “The reception was a success, thanks to you. I’m glad you sat me next to Claire Hodgson. What an engaging woman. I’m surprised she puts up with Ruth’s nonsense.”

  “I think he’s been behaving himself since they got together.” I sipped gratefully at a cup of coffee. It had been a restless night, with sleep coming only toward morning. If Mr. Nakamura hadn’t knocked on the pocket door, I’d have still been in bed with my eyes closed.

  Jake looked up from his newspaper. “Where’s Kramer? His eggs are getting cold. Osamu, ring for him, will you?”

  Mr. Nakamura and I locked eyes for a moment so brief I wasn’t sure it happened. Then he bowed his head slightly, leaving it to me, it seemed, to make some excuse for Albert’s absence. “He was up late drinking with the players. Let’s not wake him this morning, Jake.”

  Downstairs, the cook had put out a breakfast buffet for the guests, who knew better than to expect their host to join them. If anyone noticed my absence they’d assume I was with Albert, not Jake. Except for Claire. I should have dressed, I thought, and gone down to speak with her. But it was too late now, I realized, when Mr. Nakamura excused himself to coordinate the exodus of people needing rides to the train station.

  “Is everyone leaving already?” I asked.

  “Ruth and Gehrig are heading out to start their exhibition tour,” Jake said. “I think the other players all have tickets for the ten o’clock train, isn’t that right, Osamu?”

  “Yes, sir.” He let himself out, balancing a tray laden with our breakfast dishes.

  “Where is Kramer? I wanted to go over my schedule. I have a lunch meeting with Huggins to review next season’s roster. He’s anxious to finish up our business so he can go fishing in Florida.” The newspaper rustled as he folded it. “It’ll be nice to have Eagle’s Rest to ourselves again, won’t it, Helen? I’m thinking of spending a few weeks up here. I want to savor winning the World Series in peace and quiet. You and Kramer will stay, won’t you? We can invite your mother up, too, once everyone else has gone away.”

  “Of course I’ll stay, Jake.” I placed the puppy, sleeping now, in her basket and went over to the bay window. The sill, wide enough for a seat, was furnished with throw pillows. I made myself comfortable and looked out over the lawn and down to the river. What was it a
bout the Hudson, I wondered, that made it so gorgeous?

  An engine started up. I saw Babe and Claire get in the DeSoto. Gehrig, hitching a ride, was crammed in the rumble seat with their luggage. My brother and the publicity man were climbing into the caretaker’s truck, while Schultz loaded bleary-eyed players into the limousine for the trip to the train station. Mrs. Hoyt, looking up, saw me and waved good-bye. I automatically waved back before worrying what conclusion she, too, might come to, seeing me in this window.

  The rumble of engines faded away until the only sounds were the screams of peacocks and the distant chirps from the monkey house. Two men appeared on the lawn. Albert and King. They were jacketless, their shirts open at the collar and sleeves rolled up above their elbows. Where could they be going, dressed so casually? King stopped but Albert kept walking until they were some distance from each other. The casements were closed, so I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could see clear as day that Albert had a baseball glove on his hand, King a ball in his. He threw it and Albert made the catch, thanks more to the accuracy of King’s aim than Albert’s eye. His return throw was dismal. King had to jog halfway across the lawn to pick it up. They tried a few more tosses with similar results. Then King walked over to Albert. He stood behind him, put his arms around Albert’s shoulders, circled his wrists with his fingers. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Did they think they were invisible, embracing so openly in the broad daylight?

  But no, King wasn’t embracing Albert. He was instructing him in how to pitch, turning his shoulders and manipulating the bend in Albert’s elbow.

  Jake sat beside me and lit a cigarette. “I’m not sure how that player got himself invited to Eagle’s Rest. I didn’t even know Huggins was bringing him to New York. He’s thinking of calling him up from the minor leagues. Huggins says he’s never caused any trouble in Kansas City.”