The Depression had left the rich both greedy and mean. With so many near-destitute women to choose from, for the most part they treated their domestics like slaves. But the twins had envisaged their working lives differently and, judging from their looks and the way they behaved, they had rarely scrubbed floors when they’d been down on their knees.
I’d learned of their return to Toronto in the final months of my senior matriculation. Occasionally a kitchen hand would fail to turn up and I’d work the last half of a shift washing dishes and clearing glasses from the tables. The head waiter who’d instructed me had emphasised, ‘You lift the empty glass from the table when the patron’s attention is some other place, on the stage or talking to someone; now it’s there and then it isn’t. You’re the glass ghost, Jack.’ Like my mom, I didn’t want any payment, but at the end of the week if I’d done an extra half shift, Miss Frostbite would add a couple of dollars to my streetcar fare. It was usual for someone doing my job to put on a waiter’s long apron for ten minutes every hour to enter the club and retrieve the dirty glasses. Washing and polishing cocktail glasses was my main job. It was on one such occasional shift that I saw the twins for the first time since they’d left. Surprise wasn’t the right word for how I felt. I almost dropped the tray of glasses I was carrying. Both were with men much older than themselves, and I knew immediately that it wasn’t simply because the twins preferred the company of older men.
If I seem to have pre-judged them, I assure you, one didn’t need to be Einstein to know what was going on. The heavy make-up, revealing dresses and high heels, the highly suggestive dancing, told you all you needed to know about the profession they’d decided to pursue.
We’d ignored each other like always, but this time it was a management instruction. They were patrons and the rule was that the hired help only responded if first spoken to – collecting glasses was a silent and hopefully unobtrusive operation. The twins either hadn’t recognised me or they didn’t let on.
Now, with the last of my pimples finally gone, I was big, somewhat clumsy and, when it came to young women, more than a little naïve. Their presence intimidated me more than it ever had in the stairwell at home. I prayed that they’d maintain their aloofness or that my glass ghosting was so good they wouldn’t see me. Then on one occasion – I remember it was on the second-last night before the regular dishwasher returned – Melissa or Clarissa had winked at me and the following night had blown me a silent kiss. I have to admit that on both occasions I could feel my face burning and the cocktail glasses on the tray I carried set off a clinking tintinnabulation as my hands started to shake.
Even just looking at them filled me with lust and longing. The nasty teenage brats who had once shouldered me aside in the passageway with the words, ‘Oops, sorry! Didn’t see you,’ had undergone a metamorphosis and turned into two identical but astonishingly sexy creatures. Alas, I confess, I lay in bed at night in what had once been my dad’s bedroom, aching with the mental image I’d carried home of a pair of scarlet lips blowing me a kiss, my overheated imagination finally no longer able to resist the dark impulses that had my heart thumping and set my hand to doing its urgent relief work.
Two spectacular and identical new young creatures appearing on the Toronto nightclub scene didn’t pass without comment and I learned that they’d bought a nice apartment downtown and paid cash for it. Rumour had it that you didn’t bother to call them unless you were filthy rich. The fact that the men on whose arms they appeared were never young and handsome seemed to confirm this, and despite the Depression, they would invariably summon the cocktail waiter who’d served them, then make a point of being seen to tip him a five-dollar bill, in those hard times a very big gratuity. I was more interested in watching each of the girls leave, sashaying along with the delicious bounce of firm buttocks under a tight silk dress, the sight of which drained most of the blood in my body to a central location.
On one occasion, when I’d been fairly close and was watching Melissa or Clarissa leave unobserved, she’d suddenly stopped within earshot of where I was standing, tugged at the sleeve of her partner’s suit jacket, and said, ‘You forgot to tip the cocktail waiter!’ Her voice carried easily to the surrounding tables, and I noticed something else – they’d left behind the argot of Cabbagetown and assumed awfully swanky accents.
‘Oh, ah . . . next time,’ the guy grunted, clearly embarrassed. You could see he wasn’t accustomed to being pulled into line.
‘No! Now!’ Clarissa or Melissa demanded. ‘He’s probably got a wife and kids at home.’
The man had called the cocktail waiter over and, grunting, slipped him a five. So, I had to hand it to whichever twin she was, she had guts and hadn’t entirely forgotten her humble beginnings.
A week or so later Mac was waiting outside the club when I came out of Miss Frostbite’s piano room after the last bit of early-evening practice. ‘We knocked off early ’cause the foreman had to go to a funeral, so I dropped around for the jam and thought we might walk home together,’ he suggested. Even though I had the money to pay the streetcar fare for both of us, it seemed like a nice idea. Any time spent with Mac was time well spent. He was more a buddy than a mentor these days, and while I’d ask for advice, I had no qualms giving it as well. This was perhaps partly because of his size – by now he could have fitted neatly under my outstretched arm.
Shortly after we’d set out for home he announced, ‘The twins are back in town.’
‘Hey, that’s nice for you,’ I replied, not telling him that I already knew.
‘Hmm, not sure about that,’ he mumbled, but explained no further. Mac was a proud man in his own way and as we both had lots to talk about, we went on to other topics. He hoped to join up, and said with one of his rare laughs, ‘Jack, fighting the Germans won’t be nothing after all my years living with Dolly.’
I would have loved to know what Dolly thought about her recently returned daughters, who, as it were, now worked under the flip side of the quilts she’d taught them to make. Naturally I never mentioned their regular appearance in the club to Mac. I wondered why he’d come to see me after my shift. It must have been fairly urgent or he’d have waited until the next time we met, which we made a point of doing at least once a week, even if sometimes only briefly.
It was late September and while there was a definite nip in the air, it was nice being out of the steaming kitchen, where I’d spent most of the night up to my elbows in soapsuds. We’d barely got underway when Mac said, ‘Jack, I want to ask your advice. The twins have come up with something.’
Apart from the disconcerted mumble when he’d first told me they’d arrived back in town, Mac had never mentioned them to me again, correctly assuming, I expect, that there was little to tell me I didn’t already know.
‘What is it, Mac?’
‘They want Dolly and me to move into a garden apartment they’ve bought in High Park North. But I don’t know that it’s such a good idea. It’s a pretty snooty neighbourhood, as you know, and I’m not at all sure it’s for such as Dolly and me. It seems they made a bit of money in Montreal and with houses and apartments now cheap as chips they wanted us to own our own place.’
‘That’s nice, Mac, that’s real nice,’ I replied.
‘Yes, but you see they’ve given us a choice. They’ve also bought the house in Cabbagetown. We can stay there if we want.’
My heart sank. Whatever happened, Dolly would give us the instant shove and my mom would have nowhere to go. ‘Dolly know all this?’
‘Yeah, but for once she can’t make up her mind. She’s got all her friends in Cabbagetown.’
‘No, what I meant was about the twins owning our house?’
Mac looked taken aback. ‘Jack, buddy, what do you take me for? I’ve made them promise that whatever happens you can stay until the end of the war. You see, we either stay put or it’s an investment for later, that’s why they bought it in the first place.’ Then he added as an afterthought, ‘They know th
ey can’t sell it now, and you’re actually doing them a favour by paying rent.’
‘Thanks, Mac, I’m grateful. Mind if I don’t tell my mom for now?’
‘Of course.’
‘So you want my opinion – move or stay – is that it?’
‘Yeah. I’d like to know what you think.’
‘That’s simple, Mac, you move to High Park North. The other day you called Cabbagetown a shit hole and you’re dead right, I can’t think of a better word to describe it.’ I laughed. ‘Mind you, perhaps we’ve got something to be proud of. I read in the paper the other day that Cabbagetown is the largest Anglo-Saxon slum or, if you like, shit hole in North America.’
‘You think we should then?’ he asked. After a moment or two he said, ‘I don’t know, buddy. Have you seen them big houses and gardens in High Park? There’s garages for cars!’
‘C’mon, Mac, how long is it since you walked down one of our streets? The buildings are shit houses, bug- and rat-infested and in need of repair. Everywhere smells of rot, old wallpaper and mould. In the winter it’s dirty snow and coal smoke. It’s a bit better now the chemical factories have closed – at least your eyes don’t water – but all of Cabbagetown still smells of shit. I mean, do you really have to think about staying or vamoosing?’ (Like conversating, vamoosing was a ‘Joe word’ I’d decided to adopt.) ‘Cabbagetown is a broken-down old whore and High Park is a sassy lady.’ I’d read that somewhere and enjoyed being able to use it.
‘Yeah, but still and all, it’s what we know, where we come from,’ he mumbled.
High Park was pretty swanky – one of the better suburbs in Toronto, with this big park right at the centre with fancy houses and low-rise expensive-looking apartments surrounding it. My mom and I used to occasionally go there on our weekend walks. Just by visiting the High Park neighbourhood you definitely got the impression you were a long way from the scruff and general deterioration of Cabbagetown. But still, vehement as I’d been about his moving away, I knew exactly what Mac was worried about. It was about fitting in; he was scared of sticking out like a sore thumb.
‘Well, it’s a nice thing the twins have done for you both and for my mom and me, but you say Dolly’s not sure?’ I replied.
‘Yeah. Devil you know, sort of.’ He looked at me. ‘Know what I mean, Jack?’
‘Mac, why bother asking me for my opinion? Whatever Dolly decides will happen. A house is a woman’s decision; men don’t come into it.’
‘Yeah, I know, but the twins are no longer under their mother’s thumb and they take none of her bullshit no more. They want it to be my decision. As a matter of fact, they’re insisting it’s what I want to do that matters.’
I threw back my head and laughed. ‘And if you make the wrong decision, guess who lands in the shit.’
Mac grinned. ‘So what’s new?’
There would never be a better opportunity to ask him, so I said, ‘Mac, what does Dolly think about the twins returning and . . . you know what I mean . . . the rest of it?’
Mac grinned again. ‘You really want to know?’
I nodded and smiled a little sheepishly. ‘It’s a bit personal I know, so don’t say if you don’t want, but I’ve often wondered how she felt when they returned from Montreal.’
‘Okay, the whole of Toronto seems to know about the twins, so what the hell. It doesn’t matter now anyhow. Well, after a while Dolly couldn’t ignore the rumours no more, you know, what was staring her in the face, so she sat me down one night and handed me a bottle of Molson’s. She’d actually opened it for me. “Siddown, Mac, I’ve got something to say to you,” she says. Well now, handing me a Molson’s wasn’t her usual way of going about things, except maybe on Christmas or my birthday, but when she went and fetched a glass as well I started to really worry. So, hoping for the best, I poured the beer and sat down, not sure what to expect. Then she drew up a chair and sat right up close to me, I mean real close. She sort of clamped my knees between hers. I couldn’t move an inch. You know how big she is. I reckon if she’d clamped them any tighter I’d’a lost me circulation and never took another step again!’
I’d never heard Mac talk in such a personal way about his wife before. He must have really wanted to get this off his chest, but maybe he hadn’t the courage, or felt too ashamed or something. Now he continued.
‘She seemed to fill the room, you couldn’t see nothing either side of her.’ He laughed, recalling the moment. ‘If I’d wanted to take a sip of my beer I’d have needed to lift the glass over her boobs. I tell you, buddy, I could barely breathe.
‘“What is it, Dolly?” I ask.
‘“Now don’t you go judging the twins, you hear, Mac?” she says right off, leaning forward so I can smell her breath.
‘“Judging? How do you mean?” I ask her.
‘“Just judging!” she shouts. “Every woman has to do her duty when there’s a war on. If they can’t fight, they can send our boys away happy. Some of them kids ain’t comin’ back and God understands this!”
‘“You mean when there’s a war on, God grants women special permission to . . . yer know, be extra kind to soldiers?”
‘“Only the good ones, not the Germans. It’s our special women’s way of thanking them for protecting our families. The twins have decided to help the war effort. They’re doing their bit for their king and country!” She stabbed me in the chest with her finger. “Yer hear me now, Mac, I don’t want no judging!”
‘“Dolly, you’re not serious!” I say, flabbergasted.
‘“Don’t you dare look at me like that! Mr Mackenzie King says what our women do is just as important for Canada as the men going overseas: working in the factories making war supplies, farming, driving ambulances, doing hospital work and all that.”
‘“But he didn’t say they should, you know . . . ”
‘“Oh yes he did! He said we should entertain the boys, give them a good time, that it’s all a part o’ the war effort.”
‘“Dolly, that’s bullshit. Everyone knows Mackenzie King used to find prostitutes and persuade them to give in their trade and turn to God.”
‘“Mac, you callin’ me a liar, are ya? I just told you that’s peacetime. War’s different. They’re not only doing it for Canada but also for our nice new King George and not his shameless brother that’s took up with that American woman Mrs Simpson! Gawd only knows where that one’s been! Our boys deserve a good country, a nice king and a beautiful memory to take with them when they go overseas to fight.”
‘“You mean they’ll take a memory of the twins with them? Not all of them, I hope?”
‘“Don’t be smart, Mac!” she yells, not seeing I’m joking.
‘“Have the twins said all this to you?” I ask.
‘“Don’t have to, I know personal from the last war,” she says, calm as anything. “We knew our duty them days.”
‘Holy smoke!’ Mac looked at me, his eyes grown wide. ‘She says it right off, like she’s not ashamed and she’d only done what’s right and now the twins will be doing the same.’ He stopped and squinted up at me. ‘You know something, Jack, I think she’s proud of them following in her footsteps. Now the war’s come they’ve got a true purpose that both the prime minister and the king would say was okay. What were a sin yesterday is now being a loyal Canadian that’s helping win the war.’
I couldn’t help thinking that even as a young woman Dolly would have been a very big girl and she probably would have been capable of making an entire platoon happy prior to their day of departure overseas – Dolly’s last hurrah for king and country.
Mac stopped in his tracks and turned to face me. ‘Jeez, Jack, life has a strange way of turning out, don’tcha think? I took them in the streetcar to the railway station to send them off to Montreal to work with Dolly’s sister in her fish-and-chip shop. Who’d have thought, eh? I remember we had to sell and pawn some stuff to buy their tickets, but I didn’t have any money over so they could eat on the train. They had a br
ead and dripping sandwich each and two apples I bought at the station kiosk with my streetcar fare home.’
‘I remember you were dead concerned they’d go off the rails.’
Mac sighed, shrugged and spread his arms. ‘Well, it turned out different. Between them they now own their own apartment downtown, and the one at High Park and the house we both live in.’
‘That’s not just because they’re pretty, that takes brains,’ I replied.
‘Yeah, damn right. Dunno where they came from, though. Dolly and me don’t have a decent brain between us.’
‘You’re selling yourself short, Mac.’
He propped and turned again. ‘Jack, when Dolly told me about, yer know, her war effort, sending them soldiers away happy, it all fell into place.’
‘What did?’
‘The twins; you’d agree they don’t – thank gawd – look like me, nor Dolly neither. More like, you know, refined, better class.’ He looked at me steadily. ‘Well now, that ain’t entirely impossible, Jack. We were both just kids when we sort of started going together, not all that regular neither. I was doing my apprenticeship with an upholsterer out the lakes way, staying at a boarding house during the week and comin’ back to Cabbagetown weekends to see my folks and also to squire Dolly.’
‘How’d you meet?’ I asked as we continued to walk.
‘Meet? We didn’t, we’re the same age and we’d been at school together since we were little kids. It just sort of happened. My parents and hers were friends. They lived just three doors away from us. It was always, you know, expected; her and me were an item.’ Mac shrugged. ‘That’s mostly how it happened them days.’
Jack of Diamonds Page 16
