Beautiful Illusion_A Novel

by Christie Nelson

  Rosy skidded to a stop and clapped Woodrow on the shoulder. “I been looking for you everywhere,” he huffed. “We gotta get back to my place!”

  “What are you talking about?” Woodrow demanded.

  “That dame you’re crackers for is due there in short order.”

  “Lily?” Woodrow’s hair stood on end. “Is she hurt?”

  “No, Boss. Don’t ask me to explain. We ain’t got much time.” He yanked on Woodrow’s arm. “A cab is up on the street. Hurry up!”

  The cab tore back through town and sped up Gold Street. Its headlights beamed on Lily as she was peering through the iron bars on Rosy’s front window. She pivoted toward the sound of the cab’s screeching tires. Rosy was halfway out the cab before it stopped. Woodrow paid the cabbie and hopped out.

  “Woodrow!” Lily said, “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m not sure,” Woodrow said sheepishly. But he wasn’t being entirely truthful. His mind fled to one possibility.

  Lily glanced at Rosy, who was unlocking his door. “You know each other?”

  “Come in, Miss Lily. I’ll explain.”

  Lily approached, peeked in, and crossed the threshold. The men followed behind. She refused the chair that Rosy pulled out for her. She backed against a wall and folded her arms across her chest. Woodrow dragged a chair out from the table and perched on its edge. He clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking.

  Rosy paced. “You see, it’s like this,” he began. “I didn’t get you here for the interview, or whatever you call it, and I’m real sorry about that.”

  “So why am I here? You’ve got about two minutes until I lose my temper, and then I’m out the door.”

  “Slow down, Miss Lily. What I have to tell you will take a little longer.” He scratched his head. “You sure you don’t want a seat?”

  “Absolutely not,” she snapped.

  “For starters, you got to know this here is a real neighborhood where real people live. Unusual people like me who don’t fit in with regular folks. You get my drift?”

  “Of course. Hurry up.”

  “So, Woodrow, my friend, who I know from the Expo, comes looking for one of our people.” He pursed his lips and nodded several times toward Woodrow, whose heart was slamming in his chest. “Where does he go? To Pacific Street, where the sleaze joints attract a clientele that’s drowning in booze, the big H, and song and dance.”

  “Yes,” she said impatiently, “I know it. The International Settlement.”

  “That’s when I happen to come along. I pass by Spider Kelly’s. I hear a commotion. Good thing. Bottles flying, fists swinging, knives flashing. Who’s in the middle?” He nodded toward Woodrow. “That’s right. Woodrow himself. Me, I know my way around a brawl. Him, well, not so much. So, I get him out of there before he gets his head bashed in. Later, I come to find out he’s in there looking for someone because of you, Miss Lily.”

  Her eyes flew to Woodrow. “Why?”

  “It was a bad idea,” Woodrow stammered. “At Christmas, I let you down. I wanted to make amends. The business with Tokido. I lost my temper. Then I heard a rumor.”

  “What rumor?” Lily’s face drained of color.

  Woodrow couldn’t speak. The words strangled in his vocal cords.

  “Okay, Boss. I’ll take over. There ain’t no other way to say this than straight out. He was looking for a woman called Sweet Sadie.”

  “Sweet Sadie?” she asked.

  “The name of a singer, Miss Lily. The name of the woman who’s your mother.”

  Lily jerked backward, as if she’d been struck, and Woodrow jumped from the chair, rushing to her. She grasped his hand, steadying herself. “My mother. You know my mother?”

  “For years.” Rosy bent his head, as if it pained him to continue. “But I gotta tell you, Miss Lily, she ain’t singing no more.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “She’s been hooked on the big H for years.”

  “Oh my God,” Lily moaned. “How can this be?”

  “Happens to the best of ’em, Miss Lily. But now she’s clean.” His face brightened. “I talked to her about you. She’s ready to see you. Well, as ready as she’ll ever be. But I gotta warn you: she’s in rough shape.”

  “Take me to her.”

  THEY WALKED THROUGH backstreets, past industrial buildings and warehouses, to the edge of the old waterfront. Rosy stopped at a two-story building blackened by grit. A door lay partially open, its hinges rusted by salty air. Rosy leaned his shoulder against the splintered wood, and it creaked open. One bare lightbulb hanging from a cord lit a long, narrow staircase. The stench of urine and rot hung in the airless shaft. Woodrow heard Lily gag. They walked up the stairs, one at a time, holding their hands over their noses.

  Rosy led the way down a hallway, walls streaked with brown stains, past closed doors, past the sound of coughing. He stopped in front of a door flaked with gray paint. He knocked twice. He turned the doorknob. “Wait here,” he told Lily and Woodrow. The door lay half open. Lily reached for Woodrow’s hand, gripping it hard, and when he looked up at her, terror glazed her eyes.

  They heard Rosy’s voice. “Sadie, she’s here. It’s Lily.”

  Woodrow drew Lily’s trembling body closer, and together they squeezed through the opening. Across the room, the woman in the iron bed was a collection of bones covered by a thin blanket. The skin on her face was mottled; her thin gray hair was matted against her skull. A lamp on a table next to the bed cast shadowed light over the room. A sour, fetid odor hovered close.

  “Where?” Sadie asked in a hoarse whisper.

  “There,” Rosy said, pointing.

  Sadie turned her head toward Lily. Her eyes, clouded by disease, flew open, and she raised her hand, blotched with blood bruises. “My child, come closer.”

  Woodrow released Lily. She crept forward, knelt down, and took her mother’s outstretched hand.

  “Oh, you are more beautiful than I have imagined,” Sadie whispered.

  Woodrow watched, spellbound.

  “There, there, don’t cry,” Sadie murmured. “Forgive me, my precious child, forgive me.” Her eyelids fluttered, and she arched her back, straining for breath. Gradually she settled, her breathing became steady, and she drifted off.

  Lily wept, still holding her mother’s hand, until Rosy walked around the bed and helped her to stand. “She’s fallen asleep, Miss Lily. We should go now.”

  “So soon?”

  “Yes, it’s for the best.”

  “Who’ll take care of her?”

  “Don’t you worry.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. And you can come back tomorrow.”

  BACK ON THE street, Rosy bade them good-bye. “That was mighty hard, Miss Lily, but you did good. Real good.” He clapped Woodrow on the back. “Okay, Boss, see you later. Take care of Lily. I’ll watch out for Sadie.”

  Woodrow found a cab and tucked Lily inside. He gave the cabbie Lily’s address at the French boardinghouse. “You’ll be home in no time. You need to sleep.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “Oh, Woodrow, all the time that’s been wasted.”

  “You’ve had a shock,” he said, peeling her fingers from his hand. “Try to get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning.” He closed the door, tapped the window, and watched the cab pull away, its red taillights fading to pinpoints in the night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Lily

  Lily scrabbled in the dirt until her fingers unearthed the right-size pebble. She straightened, took aim, and threw. Ping. The pebble bounced off the darkened glass of the second-story window. Dew dripped off the plants and trees in the garden. The silent world seemed to be sleeping. She counted to ten. Nothing. She found a larger pebble, jagged edges, heavier. Again, she aimed, threw, and waited. On the third try, a light blinked on. The window squeaked open. Woodrow leaned out. “Hello,�
�� he called, looking down. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me.”

  A moment passed. “Lily, what are you doing?”

  “I need to see you.”

  “Wait there. I’ll be right down.”

  Sleepy-eyed, hair disheveled, he answered the door wrapped in a silk robe with a tasseled sash tied around his waist. My, she thought, who but Woodrow wears a silk robe?

  “You’re shivering. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, and no,” she answered.

  “Come in,” he said, taking her by the elbow. “Let’s get you warm.” He shuffled ahead of her, up the stairs, and into the living room. She followed, wondering how to begin to tell him why she had come.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, switching on lights and straightening the pillows on the couch. “I didn’t get a chance to tidy up tonight.”

  “It was an extraordinary night. I’ll never forget it.”

  “Nor will I. I’ll make tea.”

  “Thank you, Woodrow, but no tea.”

  He looked perplexed, shuffling on one foot and then the other. “What, then?”

  “Please, come sit by me.” She patted the cushion on the couch beside her.

  Joining her, he tightened the sash around his waist and rearranged the robe, which draped over his knees onto his bare feet.

  Timorous and uncertain, she clasped her hands together. “When the taxi dropped me off at home, Maxine was still awake and we talked. We hadn’t really talked for so long. It’s hard to hide anything from her.” She pursed her lips, trying to smile. “She seems to know things about me that I don’t know myself.”

  “She is a friend for life,” he said.

  “You’re right. I told her everything that happened today. About the giant, finding my mother, and you.”

  Lily glanced at Woodrow and then quickly away. The room stilled, silent witness to their conversation.

  “I’ve been thinking about my mother for months. Since the night Timothy told me she was alive.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see her like that. It wasn’t what I had planned.”

  Her heart beat so quickly, she was sure he could hear it banging in her chest. “If you hadn’t found her, I wouldn’t have found her.” She reached across the cushion and took his hand. His warm fingers circled around hers, cradling her hand in his strong grip. She never wanted him to let go. “Thank you, Woodrow.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, Lily. The credit goes to Rosy.”

  “You’re much too modest.”

  “Are you sure I can’t get you something hot to drink? You’re still shivering.”

  “Please, let me finish.”

  “Of course.”

  “And every question Maxine asked me about you led to the same answer.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Do I have to tell you?” She leaned over and looked into his astonished eyes. “I love you,” she whispered, kissing him tenderly, slowly, and then kissing him again.

  LILY AWOKE IN Woodrow’s arms and dared not look at him. His beard was rough against her shoulder, and as she listened to his even and steady breath, she couldn’t be certain if he was awake or not. As she slowly shifted her weight, the musky smell of love drifted from beneath the covers.

  His bedroom was bathed in morning light. Slowly, she searched its every aspect—the claw-footed mahogany bureau topped with black-and-white family photos in gold frames, the bedside table stacked with books, and, through a window, a slice of unperturbed pale blue sky.

  How like the room is the man, she mused. Solid, cultured, refined. Who would ever guess the passion in his soul disguised beneath his gentlemanly exterior? It made not one iota of difference that his limbs were shorter than those of a normal man, and as a vision of Tokido surfaced in her memory, she willed it away. After last night, she vowed, I will never be the same. I will never go back.

  And in equal measure, overlapping with and invading this revelation, came the shock of finding her mother. The stench of death had hovered in each corner of that vile room. Although Lily had been overcome by shame and disgust, her mother’s gesture of greeting had melted her heart.

  Now she was driven by one thought: I’ve got to get her out of that hovel.

  “Lily,” Woodrow said, stroking her forehead. “I know you’re awake.”

  She threw back the covers, wrapping the sheet around her body. “I’m late.” She kissed his lips lightly and twisted away. Her feet hit the floor, and she grabbed her clothes, strewn about the room.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to my mother’s place.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “There isn’t any time. She needs medical attention, and that rat hole she’s in is an abomination.”

  “Let’s think this through.”

  Lily ran down the hall to the bathroom and closed the door. After throwing water on her face and running her fingers through her hair, she dressed in a flurry. When she came out, she found Woodrow downstairs, fully clothed, talking on the phone.

  Looking up at her, he covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “I’m speaking with a doctor. He’ll advise us where to take Sadie. Then I’ll make another call. You’re not going alone.”

  A BREEZE CARRYING the tang of salt air blew through the hospital window, fluttering the white curtains and diluting the smell of disinfectant that seeped into every crevice. Lily cradled her mother’s hand in her own, afraid to stroke the papery skin, for fear it would disintegrate beneath her fingertips. With her other hand, she adjusted the pillow under Sadie’s head and drew the corner of a blanket over her bony shoulder. “Are you cold?” she asked.

  “Just a little. Where am I?”

  “St. Mary’s Hospital, near Golden Gate Park.”

  “Oh dear, a hospital. How did I get here?”

  “Remember Woodrow?”

  Sadie blinked rapidly and then smiled. “Woodrow? You mean the little man? Rosy’s friend? I first saw him at Spider Kelly’s.”

  “That’s right. He was moving fast that night.”

  “He was running for his life.” Sadie chuckled.

  “He was looking for you.”

  “Why on earth me?”

  “It’s a long story, but the simple answer is that he wanted to reunite us.”

  “It’s a blessing.”

  “Yes, it is, and he made arrangements to move you here in an ambulance.”

  “Goodness, what a generous man.”

  “In every way,” Lily said, “and now you’re safe.”

  Just then, a nun walked in, the skirt of her black habit rustling, a silver cross hanging around her neck over a white wimple. “Good morning,” she said, a faint Irish brogue coloring her speech. Her pink skin was flushed with good health. She walked around the bed and touched Sadie on her arm. “I’m Sister Bridget. How are you feeling this morning, dear?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” Sister Bridget said. A twinkle in her blue eyes, accentuated by a stark black headdress, radiated goodness. “We’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry one bit.” She peered at Lily. “I see your lovely daughter is here to keep watch, too. Isn’t that a comfort?”

  Sadie sighed. “I’m so ashamed.”

  “Now, now, we’re all God’s children. His mercy is great.” She carefully lifted Sadie’s wrist and placed her fingers over the pulse. Closing her eyes, she listened. After a minute, she slowly returned Sadie’s arm to the mattress and tucked it under the blanket. Her fingers lingered under the bedclothes. Then she stroked Sadie’s forehead before walking to the end of the bed, where a chart dangled from the white iron bedpost. There, she jotted down a note. “Now, let’s make you more comfortable. Your sheets and underclothes are a bit damp. I’ll have you spic and span in no time.”

  Lily studied her mother’s face while Sister Bridget deftly rolled Sadie to one side, quickly dressing her in a fresh gown, and then stripped the sheets and blankets and rep
laced them with clean bedclothes.

  “I’ll let you two be. Press this button on the wall if you need me. I’m only steps away.”

  “Thank you, Sister,” Lily called.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Sadie said, her eyelids drooping, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

  Lily waited, her gaze shifting between her mother’s face and a bronze crucifix above the bed. She prayed to a god she didn’t believe in, for an outcome she knew wouldn’t come, but still she prayed. Tick, tick, tick, went the minute hand of a clock on the wall. Footsteps echoed outside the door, distant voices called back and forth, horns beeped in the street.

  Suddenly Sadie’s eyes popped open. “Oh,” she gasped. “I’m so thirsty.”

  “Here,” Lily said, propping up her head and tipping the rim of a glass to her parched lips.

  Sadie struggled to sip the water. “Oh, that’s better. Thank you.” She watched Lily as if she were an illusion.

  “Can you talk?” Lily asked.

  “I’ll try.”

  “You were born in Vilnius?”

  “How do you know such things?”

  “Herman Oronoffski told me.”

  “Who?” Sadie asked.

  “The grocer on Folsom Street. Across the street from where you lived with my father when I was a baby. He spoke of you with great affection. He said you used to bring him halvah.”

  Tears bloomed in Sadie’s eyes, clouded with cataracts. “Such a sweet man.”

  “I promised him I’d come back, and I will. I’ll tell him that I found you. Oh, please, don’t cry,” Lily said, blotting Sadie’s cheeks.

  “You are so kind to me,” Sadie whispered, “when I’ve been so wicked.”

  “We won’t speak of that now. Our time is precious.” Lily reached for a bowl on the bedside table. “Taste this,” she said, gently offering her mother a spoonful of soup.

  “I’m not hungry, my dear.”

  “Maybe later, then.”

  Sadie squinted at Lily. “You asked me a question.”