by Amber Brock
“I don’t know,” Andre said. “When the one you cracked with the chair came to, he claimed he had no memory of what had happened. And—here’s the interesting part—his buddy didn’t either. Which is odd, because his buddy was looking right at you. Seems to me neither one of them wants to admit to their cop pals that they got beat up by a girl.”
“But we’ll press charges against them, won’t we? I mean, they started it.”
“You’ve got to understand. If we push them, they’ll push back.” Andre’s face was taut. “We have to let it go. Nobody is going to lock a couple of vets up because they got drunk and started a bar fight. Not when it’s with guys like Max and Sebastian.”
Kitty sat still, processing this. She wanted to scream that Andre was being ridiculous, that those guys would get what was coming to them and then some.
“They’ve agreed to stay away from the club and leave Max and Sebastian alone,” Andre continued. “Honestly, with their connections, these guys could make a lot of trouble for the band and for your pop if we start pointing fingers. I think we have to drop it, unless you want Max and Sebastian arrested for assault. Max jumped in pretty quick, and there’s no telling what the other witnesses will say about how it started.”
“I see,” said Kitty, and she thought she did. The patrons of her father’s club might not feel any incentive to tell the truth about the sequence of events if the truth favored a Jewish musician and a Cuban singer over two white men, however the white men had behaved.
Kitty and Andre sat in silence for a moment, not looking at each other. Then he patted her hand and said, “We won’t let them back in. I promise you that.”
“And next time? What if it happens to someone else? I don’t want anyone harassed in my father’s hotels. In my hotels.”
“There won’t be a next time.” He held up his hand, which had a pink semicircle on the skin. “I don’t want to get bitten again.”
“Sorry about that,” she said, looking away.
“I should have known better than to try to hold you back,” he said, his tone kind. “I’ll recover.”
She nodded. “I’d still like to go see Max and Sebastian.”
Andre placed a hand on her arm. “They look pretty bad. And you’ve had a shock. I think you ought to wait.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, her voice wavering.
“Kitty…are you sure Max will want to see you?”
“I know he was angry. Maybe this changes things.”
Andre nodded slowly. “Maybe. I’m sure he appreciates what you did. But it might be better to give him some time. It’s your decision.”
Tears stung the corners of her eyes. “If I wrote them letters, would you take them over there?”
“Sure. Sure I will.” He patted her hand again. “You need anything? Did you want the doctor to come by?”
“No. I’m fine. Where’s Hen?”
He chuckled. “She had the good sense not to jump into a bar fight, so she’s at home. I promised her I’d call when you woke up.”
“I guess you really think I’m trouble now. Glad you found yourself a nice girl who doesn’t beat guys up with chairs.”
“I think what you did took guts. No matter what happens with Max, he’s got to know that.” Andre stood, buttoning his jacket. “You call down when you’ve got those letters, all right? I’ll make sure the boys get ’em.”
“Thanks, Andre.” As she watched him walk out, she considered that while he might not have made for a very good love match, he had all the makings of a good friend. She resolved to start thinking of him as one.
* * *
Kitty had no problem with the letter to Sebastian. She hoped that since that one came so easily, the letter to Max would flow from that promising start. No luck.
Dear Max,
I hope you understand that I
Dear Max,
What happened to you, and what I did
Dear Max,
Please forgive me
Stuck again. She was in the same place she’d been weeks earlier, writing Dear Max on sheet after sheet, and then crumpling each up and discarding it. Still, she couldn’t have her letter to Sebastian arrive without one for Max. She jotted down a few earnest wishes for his quick return to health and an apology that didn’t scratch the surface of the one she needed to make.
She knew why the right words wouldn’t form, and the reason nagged at her. She couldn’t write a good letter to Max for the same reason she hadn’t been able to write to Hen. Max deserved to hear her voice when she expressed her regrets. He had the right to respond. She had to go to the hospital.
In the car on the way to the hospital, Kitty vowed to herself that she would leave if Max was really in no condition to see her. She didn’t want to add any more stress to an already horrible situation. At least she had thought to ask Andre when visiting hours ended, so she wouldn’t have to work up the courage to go all the way down there only to be turned away.
A nurse led her down the tiled hallway to Max and Sebastian’s room. The smell of disinfectant burned Kitty’s nose, and she fidgeted with the handkerchief in her hand.
“Right here,” the nurse said, gesturing to the doorway.
“Are they…” Kitty hesitated. “They’re awake, right?”
The nurse peeked in. “Yes, they’re awake.” She smiled at them. “You have a very pretty visitor, boys.”
Kitty nodded and turned the corner. Max and Sebastian lay on beds separated by a pale green curtain, hooked against the wall so the two could see each other. She stifled a gasp. The faces of both were swollen and covered in purple bruises, and Sebastian had a row of angry black stitches above his eye. Max’s left arm was in a sling. He only glanced at her, but Sebastian attempted a smile.
“Hello, Kitty. This is a nice surprise.” He pointed at a chair between the beds. “Andre said you might come.”
Kitty sat in the chair, gripping the arms to keep her fingers from trembling. “I had to see how you are. Are you feeling all right?”
“Better than the last time you saw us, I’d guess,” Max said, his eyes now on the wall.
“They’re taking good care of us here,” Sebastian added quickly.
Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m so sorry. That never should have happened in our club. Not to you, not to anyone. But I want you to know that I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure nothing like it happens again.”
Sebastian closed his eyes briefly and nodded. “I believe you will try.”
“I promise I will. And I’ll be your friend, if you still want me to be.”
“Thank you, Kitty.” The corner of his mouth crept up, but his eyes drooped.
She leaned in and gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “I’ll just speak to Max, and then I’ll go,” she whispered. “All right? We’ll talk more when you’re feeling better.”
He nodded again, and she unhooked the curtain to pull it between the two beds. She took a seat in the chair on the other side of Max’s bed, by the window.
“Is…is it broken?” She gestured to his arm.
“No. Just sprained.”
She steeled herself. “I owe you an apology.”
He exhaled hard. “I appreciate you coming all the way down here and that you helped us, but I don’t know if we should get into all that. I hope you understand.”
“I do. But I needed to apologize in person. I won’t make you sit through this if you don’t feel well enough, but it would mean a lot if you’d hear me out.”
He sat in silence for a beat too long. Kitty was sure he was ready to throw her out. Instead, he said, “Okay, sure.”
“You have every right to think the worst of me,” she said in a low voice. “And you don’t have to believe me, but I truly did care about you. I did everything wrong. I hurt you, a
nd I’ll never stop being sorry for that. But I’m trying to do better. That poem of yours has changed me.”
The mention of the poem must have caught his interest. “Is that right?”
“I’m learning the business from Papa and Andre. I have a real job in the hotel, and I’m earning my own way.”
“That’s…nice.” He sounded confused. She had planned her words so carefully, but now she couldn’t get them out.
“But I’ve also been going around New York, places I didn’t use to go,” she continued. “And, what do you know? You were right. It looks different to me. Some good, some bad. But I see all those familiar places with new eyes. Like the poem says.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” His voice had softened, and she took that as her opportunity to continue.
“I see my father’s work differently too. You talked about doors being closed. I realized I’m in a position to help open those doors. And…” She sucked in a breath. “It’s not really because of the poem. It’s because of you. Because I cared about you. Because I still do.”
“I see.”
“So I realized that if I was going to be part of a change, I would have to be different on the inside. Better, like you said. That’s more important to me now than being at the top.”
“Kitty, that’s great that you’re making a change for yourself, but you’re talking about big problems. Bigger than one hotel or one fight in a club. I mean, what can a girl like you do?”
His question was the same one that had rolled around in her mind over and over, taunting her. She offered him the same answer she’d always given herself. “Well…she does anything she can, I suppose.”
Max’s only response was to stare at the blanket on his lap.
“So,” she continued, “that’s what I wanted to say. To make sure you knew. I’m sorry for what I did. I’m grateful to have known you. And I’ll go now.”
She stood and hesitated, hoping he might respond. Ask her to stay. When he didn’t, she walked to the door.
“Hey, Kitty?”
She turned back. “Yes?”
“Sometime you’ll have to tell me, in as much detail as possible, how good it felt to crack that guy over the head with the chair.” He finally looked up at her.
“I would love that.” She stood and took a few steps toward the door. “Take care, Max.”
“Take care.”
Kitty’s father walked briskly into her cramped office one hot morning. She spun in her chair, greeting him with a slow smile.
“Why, hello,” she said. “And how are you this morning?”
“I’m in need of the itemized invoice from the Miami contractor,” he said.
She grabbed a file from the neat stack on her desk. “I’ve got it, no need to be so short.”
He took the papers and started rifling through. “Looks good. Glad I put you on this. Andre’s chicken scratch made everything unreadable.”
“I’m so glad I could dazzle you with my penmanship,” she said, her tone dry.
He squinted at the columns in front of him. “Don’t worry. If you keep at it, you’ll get more responsibilities. Learning this work takes time.” He snapped the file shut and smiled. “But you’re quick.”
“And you knew that already.” She fanned herself with an envelope, wishing her tiny room had a window she could crack. “Are we still going to dinner tonight?”
“Yes. I’ve got a meeting with the fellows from Los Angeles on Thursday. I want to pick your brain.” He started for the door then paused, looking back at her. “You really think Los Angeles is the way to go?”
Kitty picked up a pen. “We’ll talk about it again at dinner. Have a good afternoon.”
Her father nodded and walked out. She returned to the figures she’d been entering into the large whirring calculator on her desk. In the past few months, she’d been working as a glorified secretary, but she could feel the incremental progress. Andre, in particular, had been guiding her through what each of her tasks really meant and how her work, even when it might seem trivial, fit into the bigger picture of the office. He encouraged her, and she felt like she was learning. Small steps, she reminded herself almost daily.
Her father had only been gone a few minutes when Andre knocked on the open door.
“Hey, Kitty. Have you—”
She picked up a stack of papers and held them out. “All organized. What would you do without me?”
He grinned. “A lot more paperwork. Say, you want a ride to the party on Saturday?”
“You’re giving me a ride to your own engagement party?” she asked. “You must really be proud of that new car.”
“Got to show it off.” His whole face radiated satisfaction.
“I still can’t believe Hen’s mother is actually throwing an engagement party. Nothing against you, but after everything that happened, you’d think she’d still be sore. You must have made quite an impression.”
“Not on her ma, that’s for sure. But her pop likes me just fine. Turns out I’m a natural at golf.”
“I’d love to ride with you. Thanks, Andre.”
“Anytime.” He leaned against the door frame. “Hey, you hear that Max is coming back to New York? Sooner than he planned, from how it sounds.”
She kept her eyes on the documents she was filing. “Is that right?”
“So you two haven’t talked then?”
“Not exactly. I’ve been writing to him.” She had sent him letters, maybe dozens, since their last meeting in the hospital, telling him all about her job and changed perspective. After she’d apologized, it had gotten easier to write to him. Besides, he ought to know how things were going for her, she thought. He’d been a part of her new direction.
“He hasn’t written back?”
“No.” She gave Andre a sad smile. “But he hasn’t told me to stop, either.”
“There’s always hope. Maybe he’ll come around. You never know.”
“Thanks, Andre.”
* * *
The afternoons had been terrifically hot, so the trouble was balancing an elegant look with an outfit that wouldn’t have Kitty sweating through it. She chose a daisy-yellow sleeveless sheath dress with a wide white bow at the back. As she styled her hair, she wondered if the platinum color she’d adored so long suited her anymore. Perhaps it was time to go back to her natural black.
Andre arrived at six o’clock. He let out a low whistle when she walked out of the suite.
“Should I take that as a compliment?” she asked.
“I’ve been seeing you in office wear for so long, I forgot how sharp you can look,” he said.
She rolled her eyes as they walked to the elevator. “Don’t forget, sweet-talker, you’re engaged now.”
“Ah, Hen would still be the prettiest girl in the room to me, even if she was wearing a paper bag.” He pressed the lobby button.
“You’re good for her. Can’t think of a better match.”
Andre did a double take. “That’s…that’s awfully nice of you.”
“Yes, well, I can find it in me to be nice every once in a while.”
Out on the sidewalk, Andre led her to his new Buick. He opened the passenger door for her, beaming.
“It’s even better than you described it,” she said when he sat in the driver’s seat. “I love the color.”
“Mandarin Red, they call it. I don’t know how you tell the difference between Mandarin Red and any other kind, but it looked nice enough to me.” He turned the key in the ignition, and the car started with a satisfying purr.
Andre navigated through the streets toward the Upper East Side. Kitty played with the zipper on her bag, opening and closing it. She reminded herself that she was not going for the reasons she had gone in the past, to supplicate and prove herself. She was going to celebrate Hen and A
ndre. No need for fear of censure from Hen’s mother and the rest. And yet her stomach still flipped at the thought of being surrounded by those people again.
Hen’s mother stood in the foyer, as always, greeting her guests. “Ah, Andre, welcome,” she said, taking his hand. “Hen’s already circulating.”
“Thanks for throwing this party for us,” he said.
Hen’s mother leaned in. “Well, there’s already a nice stack of envelopes on the table in the hall. I’m sure that’s exciting for you, isn’t it?”
Andre’s forehead creased, and Kitty stepped in. Even if Andre hadn’t felt the full meaning of Hen’s mother’s words, Kitty knew exactly what she was implying.
“Isn’t it always nice to see such enthusiastic support for a happy couple?” Kitty said brightly. “So thrilled you invited me, Mrs. Bancroft. We haven’t had a chance to see each other for so long.”
Hen’s mother turned to Kitty, her face stony. “Yes, I believe the last time we spoke was before your trip to Miami. Did I ever thank you properly for taking Hen along? She picked up so many interesting souvenirs.”
“Please,” Kitty said smoothly. “No thanks needed. I’ve never seen her enjoy herself more. Well, we don’t want to keep you. We’ll go find Hen.” She strode away from Mrs. Bancroft with a spring in her step. The pairing of Hen and Andre was better revenge than Kitty and Charles would ever have been.
They entered the living room, and Kitty searched the crowd for Hen. But the first familiar face she saw was Charles’s. She stopped short.
“Andre,” she said under her breath. “Charles is here.”
“Oh, yeah. Hen told me her mother invited his family. Something about how they’re all still friends, blah, blah. I think she was trying to make nice, if you ask me.”
Kitty hadn’t expected that. But it did speak to what she knew of these circles. Preserving the social order was paramount, because every seat at the dining table required the right sort of person in it. Who could step in to fill the holes left by the Remingtons or the Bancrofts? No, the status quo must be maintained. Far better to seethe quietly than to make new friends.
