She pulled out a piece of blank paper and scribbled a note for Tommy: Going for a walk in the city.
* * *
She arrived at the Chronicle building too early, with an hour’s time to do nothing but pace in her heels outside the double doors.
After a half hour of huddling beneath her coat, Elaine shook herself and strode into the building. Her heels clacked on the tile, precise and controlled, even as her teeth chattered together uncontrollably.
The lobby was warm and smelled of newsprint. A man at the front desk directed her up to the fifth floor.
Women clustered in the elevator, though women’s names didn’t usually appear in the credits of the paper.
Elaine attempted to smile at a woman she was squished against. But the woman avoided her eyes. Elaine’s cheeks colored pink; she drew her gaze downward.
As the buzzer sounded for the fifth floor, every woman in the elevator, including Elaine, exited.
The office was crammed with noise and clatter—phone conversations, the click-clack of typewriters, scurries of heels on the tiles. She tried to crane her neck to find where to go. Someone stood behind her; she stepped back on his foot, unaware.
“Oh!” she shrieked.
The man pardoned her with a wave of his hand. “Are you Miss Huxley? I’m Mr. Stephens. Frank Stephens. Pleased to meet your acquaintance.” He was of slighter stature than his voice on the phone had indicated. He had graying hair and a tic in his eye.
“I’m really early, I know. It’s fine if I have to wait.”
“Coming in before the deadline suits us just fine. The other girl is late, as it turns out. So, how’s about I bring you in and we can chat for a while.”
Elaine took a breath and followed him into the interview room. An unknown man and woman waited at a long table, with unreadable facial expressions and fancy fountain pens. Behind them, a large picture window provided a panorama of the busy street below.
“Pleased to meet you.”
They shook hands. The woman introduced herself as the head fact-checker; the man was a news editor.
“I brought my résumé.” Elaine’s hand trembled as she gave them her extra copy, but she raised her lips into a smile.
The head fact-checker kept a serious expression. She was one of the few women in a senior position at the Chronicle. She had little wisps of gray on her forehead. “So, it looks like you spent three years at the radio station. What made you leave?”
“A personal obligation.” Elaine paused. “I had to look after someone.”
The head fact-checker nodded and exchanged looks with the other staff members before continuing. “Tell us about your college and professional experiences.”
Elaine described the research and journalism classes she had taken at Briarcliff College along with her day-to-day duties at the news radio station a couple of years back. Her face shone bright and friendly in the sunny meeting room even as her shoulders shook beneath her woolen suit jacket.
“Describe a difficult scenario you had to overcome at your past job.”
She froze, staring out the wide picture window. Then she recalled for them an incident where she took a subway to the end of the line at Rockaway Parkway and was forced to walk a couple of miles to interview someone about a house fire. It had been her first time in that neighborhood, and she got lost a few times, but she kept on walking, even after the heel of her shoe had separated from its sole.
The news editor smiled. “Well, it sure sounds like you’re willing to do what needs to be done.”
Mr. Stephens cleared his throat. “But what about children?”
Elaine folded her lips as her mouth went dry. “What about them?”
“Do you have any?”
“No.”
“Do you want any?”
“I don’t believe that I do.”
“Oh, but every lady wants children, doesn’t she? I don’t think you could do this job with little ones to take care of.”
“I’m not going to be having children,” she repeated, as her cheeks flushed red.
“Well, I guess we’ll see what happens,” he chortled. “We have a blunt newsroom here, Ms. Huxley,” he explained.
Elaine made herself chortle, like she was one of them. “Well, I guess you have to be blunt—there’s no time to waste in the news!” Her chest filled with a rush of sudden boldness: she winked her eye at them and cocked them all a sideways smile.
Everyone chuckled.
The mood in the room relaxed, and the staff took sips from their coffee cups.
The news editor had another question. “So, tell us, dear, what would be your main professional aspiration?”
“To work my hardest.”
The lot of them nodded and scribbled things on their pads.
They soon gave her a parting handshake.
Mr. Stephens ushered her out with a quick pat on the back. An unreadable expression set his lips tight. “We’ll ring you by next Tuesday.”
Elaine boarded the elevator to the lobby, upright in a sea of fedora hats, as men discussed the latest pre-season move from the Yankees.
In the lobby, she took another whiff of newsprint to carry her home.
On the bus ride back to Brooklyn, she scribbled some lines—the beginning of a poem:
I’d make a confession for your perceptions
I’m sorry to report that I can’t.
She returned to the brownstone to find Tommy at their kitchen table, his mouth aflame with drink, mumbling that she had taken too long in the city.
9
Lisa
The copilot dared Lisa again to go water-skiing in Beirut, but she sat on the beach with her knees to her chest as Jane cruised the shore in showy sprays of water.
The day was sunny but chilly, and the salty water of the Mediterranean splashed Lisa’s lips as Jane whirred past.
Everyone clapped as Jane rounded the bend in an Olympic-style performance.
Lisa averted her eyes to the snow-white sand. The blue-green waves lulled her, and she allowed herself to feel the breeze, chilly but refreshing. The surroundings nearly enclosed her, like the women at the Starlite—who twisted and turned for nobody but themselves and the music.
Jane coasted back, on a slow ride to the shore. Everyone gave her another round of applause as she swam from the boat dock to the land, impossibly slender in a clinging wetsuit.
Lisa looked down at her own stomach, pinching a roll of fat.
The number was always 130. She couldn’t weigh more than 130, or she would be fired. Then she would be without a job, and without a man.
It was near lunchtime now. Lisa’s belly rumbled, but she ignored the snack in her purse.
* * *
Back at the hotel, she weighed herself. One twenty-six. She was cutting it close, but she had enough wiggle room for some dinner this evening.
Someone knocked at the door to her hotel room. Lisa startled and glanced through the peephole.
It was Jane. Her hair fell in tousled waves, casual and windblown. With her hair down, she was barely recognizable.
Lisa slowly opened the door partway.
Jane pushed the door open fully, allowing herself into Lisa’s room. “So, what’s going on with your beau these days?” She sat down in a corner chair, her long legs crossing over each other as she twisted her damp hair back up into her bun.
“Who—Billy?” Lisa said his name with a light, airy quality. “I have no idea.”
“You sure seemed upset about it last week!” Jane wrapped her hair tie around her bun—one, two, three. “You were a mess when he didn’t come get you at the airport!”
Lisa crossed her arms in front of her chest; she should have ignored the knock at her door. “Well, I couldn’t care less about him now. In fact, I’m all done with men, for now at least. I’m on to other things. I’m thinking of joining a club, a woman’s club. It’s a whole different set of girls. They’re thinking about things that matter.”
Jane’
s voice lilted. “What do you mean, things that matter?”
There had been no signs or markings on that door at night. The social club must be underground—a secret. But she had already started.
“It’s like no place you’ve ever been. Women talking about all different things. Poetry, dancing, stuff like that. I was scared at first—I mean, it’s late and it’s at night, and you have to go out in the dark to get there. But now I can’t wait. The more I think about it, it’s a place that’s real.”
Jane sat upright suddenly, then adjusted the straps of her padded bra. “That sounds strange, if you ask me. And it’s at night? It sounds dangerous, with women out by themselves.” She tilted her head with suspicion and narrowed her kohl-rimmed eyes.
“It might be dangerous. I don’t know.”
After Jane left, Lisa called down to reception. No new messages. Billy wouldn’t know where she was staying. Meanwhile, Billy’s father was in Paris, in another hotel, coupling with a strange woman.
She couldn’t tell Billy about his father’s affair. Especially now that he was ignoring her; he wouldn’t pay attention to what she had to say.
Lisa trembled in the chilly air as she changed into her old nightgown and buried her head beneath the pillows.
The bed was creaky as she tried to fall asleep. Tomorrow would be another long-haul flight.
She heard the sounds of laughter from the room below. It was the camaraderie of friends—the sound of happiness, in no particular language.
The last time she laughed had been when Billy tickled her so hard that she could barely breathe. It had all mixed together in fierce attempts to get enough air, her lungs exploding, the dimples of his sensuous smile warming next to her.
Something so golden—gone.
10
Elaine
The overhead lights were white-hot, and the women’s winter scarves and skirts floated and fluttered in the air as they danced at the Starlite, laughing and twirling the night away.
Elaine danced herself into a dizzy frenzy, her own private celebration in the crowd. Only two days after her interview at the Chronicle, she had received a call from Mr. Stephens. She’d gotten the job.
Everything could change. Elaine could have her own money again, and something to do. Something important.
“I need to stop.” She gasped for air. She was covered in sweat, though her mouth was suddenly dry, as Catherine spun her around. Elaine released her hand and stumbled toward one of the garment tables. She snatched a cup of water from the edge and put effort into taking breaths and sips.
Cynthia came to her, a grin spread across her face. “My goodness, lady, I didn’t know you could dance like that! You have to teach me the steps!”
“Okay, darling, let’s go!”
Elaine didn’t usually allow her body to release itself on the dance floor, but tonight she grabbed Cynthia’s hands and they swung around each other, switching arms in waterfalls of laughter.
* * *
The mood was less celebratory on the other side of the room as the women waved around newspapers, sparring in a high-energy debate. Harriet and Gloria were locked in disagreement about President Kennedy’s expanded embargo against Cuba, and the other women were taking sides.
Harriet shouted above them all, in a fury: “You just think he’s cute! Let’s see how you’d feel if you were the wife of a Cuban cigar maker and suddenly had no money.”
Gloria’s arms twisted around in the air like corkscrews. “What are you saying, that we should just support the Communists? If they’re so self-contained, they should do just fine supporting themselves, right?”
“It’s not about Communism. It’s about free trade. And guess what—we’re not a free-trade country if we don’t endorse free trade.”
“You think we should support every damn country no matter what? Do you even know what’s going on?”
“I only know what I’ve been told. And what exactly are we being told?”
The women were loud—sharp and clear over the music that was already boosted to a high volume. Elaine shuddered in this agitated blaring of opinions: the American way. No physical violence here at least—only a lot of shouts, flails of the arms.
“Ladies, let’s consider both sides …” Madeline seemed bemused; she lit the ladies’ cigarettes and smirked, aglow in a tangerine-orange dress.
Catherine hissed in Elaine’s ear. “Come out with me for a smoke!” She yanked on Elaine’s arm and threw their coats over their shoulders.
The sisters emerged from the heated, pulsating storefront onto the chilly sidewalk. With the icy bite of the outside air, Elaine drew inward, snapped back into a cold reality.
Catherine was oblivious, as she puffed her cigarette and formed smoke rings with wide circles of her lips, nudging Elaine to do the same.
“Not in the mood, thanks.”
“C’mon, give it a stab!”
“Nope.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“I beg to differ.”
“I’m dandy.”
“You’re doing that thing you do with the left side of your mouth when you’re worried. You’re touching it too much or something.”
Elaine blushed. Her words came out thickly: “I got a job.”
“You don’t say! Congratulations!”
Catherine gave her a sisterly slap on the back, though the edges of her mouth curled down soon after. Catherine didn’t have a man to support her. She was hanging on the coattails of Elaine and Tommy. The story about quitting her airport job was fake; she had been fired. Elaine had discovered her crumpled dismissal letter beneath the velvet couch in the brownstone, citing her sister’s chronic problem with lateness.
Elaine forced herself to smile for a moment. “Thanks for the congratulations, dear sister. It is nerve-racking, though, honestly. You know how Tommy is. He may start getting into more trouble, going out with his worst friends. He’ll be alone the whole day if I’m at work.”
“All men have problems, Elaine.”
“Tommy’s different, though.”
Catherine laughed and puffed out another cloud of smoke. “All people have problems, dear sister. All women have problems. Some people are problems.”
Elaine’s head spun around; she snapped, “Can you please stop trying to make light of this?”
Catherine puffed smoke directly in her face. “So why did you go for that job interview if you need to play chaperone to your man?”
Elaine gulped, and her lips seized shut.
During her vacation in England, her parents had asked about Tommy. Of course, she had skipped over his drinking and his madcap reveries. Just taking a little vacation with his father’s inheritance money, she claimed.
She also didn’t bring up the other things: his poetry reading, his talking about the meaning of time and life. Assembling some complicated gadget that he’d drawn up from a scribble. No matter how many bad days he had, there was always a good day with him—some demonstration of his fiery brilliance.
There were those electric shivers she would get from his other side as he tapped his feet to his jazz—the two of them nestled together in the plush pocket of the parlor sofa. He might do something with his nimble, genius hands—run his strong fingers down the outline of her body.
“He’s just drinking more since his father died. Everyone goes through a spot of something in their lives.” Elaine shivered and extinguished her cigarette. “I’m going home now; are you ready?”
Catherine laughed. “I’m gonna stay for a while. The ladies are just getting warmed up. I want to learn what politics is all about.”
“Suit yourself.” Elaine wrapped her scarf around her throat and headed to her car.
She always blasted AM radio late at night, fueling her trips with late-night news from overseas. Her parents would be sipping their morning cuppa at their flat in London. Her father would be quiet, as usual, as he had never recovered from wartime and his body quaked every ti
me a door was slammed or a plate was shattered.
“Shell-shocked.” Her mother would shake her head. “What if you had been in the war? You didn’t even go to war, George.”
Wartime made her mother prone to talking. Her parents’ relationship was a duality of the loud and quiet, as her father always retreated. But Tommy was different from her dad; he rarely read the papers in distant silence. Instead, he would listen to the news as he poured himself a whiskey. The news hour would pass and he would get heated and loud, growing more and more certain of his beliefs.
Elaine pulled up to the brownstone just as an ad for the Chronicle blasted from the radio.
Her new job would start soon.
The ladies of the Starlite would celebrate her victory. Three Cheers for Elaine; she’s got herself a gig! Madeline would be sure to get a special cake for the occasion.
There would be a new dynamic in the atmosphere—something extra after she started work as a newspaper lady. She would join the fun and blow off some steam of the day.
It would be a different variety of pressure to release.
11
Madeline
Madeline wore a sapphire-blue ball gown, and her elbow-length white gloves pointed the way inside.
“We have a special theme tonight!”
With gleams in their eyes, they all protested. “But I didn’t come dressed for the occasion!”
Madeline laughed, using her heel to kick down a thin velvet strip of rug, creating a skinny catwalk. She unrolled it to the door with her dainty shoe; a display of auburn curls bounced atop her head.
“You’ve rolled out the red carpet for us!” The ladies tilted their heads high in the air and sashayed up and down as Madeline set the needle on a record. Proper old regal chamber music, with pomp and circumstance.
“Tea with the royals!” Madeline sang out.
Catherine Huxley squealed. “Oh! A night made just for me!” She twirled and grabbed a cup of tea from the counter. She took a sip, then puckered her lips. “Bloody me, what have you got in here?” A smile flickered across her face. “Never mind—I know what you’ve got in there!”
Glimmer As You Can Page 6
