by Fannie Flagg
Fall approached and the network kept calling Sandy, wanting to know when she was coming back. She sent him a telegram.
DEAR SANDY,
TELL THEM I’M SORRY BUT THEY WILL HAVE TO START THE FALL SEASON WITHOUT ME. I FIND THAT I CANNOT COME BACK AT THIS TIME. NOT YET.
LOVE, DENA
The Middleman
Elmwood Springs, Missouri
1978
Dr. Diggers had told Dena to take her time making any decisions about her future, but as the weeks went by and she began to feel stronger, it became clearer and clearer to her what she had to do first. She had to find out the truth about her mother. She had to find out for herself what had happened. As painful as it might be, she had to know before she could make any decisions about what to do next.
But she needed help. She needed someone she could trust. Someone who was not in the business, someone who wouldn’t turn around and sell information or talk to the press or simply talk. God, how she wished Howard were still alive.
On September 21 she was sitting out in the yard in the sweetheart swing, when a name popped into her head: Gerry O’Malley. The more she thought about it, the better the idea became. She didn’t know him all that well, but she trusted him. He certainly was not connected to the television business. She had been his patient; anything she told him should be privileged information, shouldn’t it? That night when Dr. Diggers called Dena asked, “You know Gerry O’Malley very well, don’t you?”
“Yes, why?”
“Do you trust him?”
“With my life. Why?”
Dena told her that she had decided to find out about her mother. Dr. Diggers was pleased; this was what she had hoped for. “Good for you. Is there anything I can do?”
“Thank you, but the problem is I can’t look for her myself, for obvious reasons. What I need is to find someone to be a middleman who would be willing to say that it was his relative he was looking for so my name would not be involved. Do you think Gerry would help if I asked him?”
Diggers thought that Gerry would probably jump off the Chrysler Building backward if Dena asked. She said, “Call him. Now.”
He answered right away.
“Gerry, it’s Dena.”
“Well, hello,” he said again. “Are you back?”
“I’m still in Missouri.”
“Are you coming back soon?”
“Gerry, that’s just it. I don’t know. I have a problem. Well, a big problem—and I need some help.”
“Oh,” he said and reached over and put on his lucky red baseball cap. “What’s going on?”
She told him everything about her mother disappearing and read the letter she had gotten from Capello. Gerry said, “Who is this idiot?”
“He’s a man I know and he’s dangerous.”
“But that’s just a bunch of stuff he’s trying to scare you with. You know it’s not true. Why can’t you call his bluff?”
“Because I don’t know if it’s true or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well … my mother did speak German.”
“So?”
“And she didn’t like to have her picture taken.”
“Dena,” Gerry said, “a lot of people don’t like to have their picture taken. Don’t let this creep freak you out. Your mother was no more a spy than I am.”
“Gerry, you didn’t know her. I didn’t know her, really. I always felt that there was something … wrong. Why else would somebody just run off like that?”
“There could be a thousand different reasons. Maybe she met a guy. Maybe she just didn’t want to be a mother anymore; it happens all the time. Who knows what her reason was. But Dena, you can’t let this jerk drive you out of your job. If you don’t want to go back, that’s one thing, but this is blackmail! You can’t let him get away with it.”
“I have to,” Dena said. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Sure, you do. Come on, there has to be something. Talk to a lawyer. Sue him for defamation of character.”
“You don’t know Sidney. He would love for me to sue him, get it on public record.”
“But it’s not true.”
“It doesn’t have to be true. Besides, I don’t want my mother’s name dragged through the papers. And my name would make it news. There is nothing I can do, believe me. Don’t you understand? I can’t fight him. It would kill me. I don’t have the strength to do it anymore.”
Gerry realized she was right.
“No, of course you can’t. What am I thinking about? Sorry, it’s just that I’d like to kill this guy. But don’t worry, we’ll figure out a way so you won’t be involved. You just forget about this sicko, he’s not worth your getting ill again. Let’s concentrate on what we can do for you so you won’t have to think about this anymore. The first thing we need to do is to find out what happened to your mother. And then we’ll figure out what to do about this character. Dena, do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“OK. I want you to sit tight and let me handle this thing for you. I have a friend in Washington I can call, somebody I went to school with who will know exactly what to do. And I promise you, you can trust him, too. The sooner we find out, the better, so you never have to guess or wonder, you’ll know once and for all. OK? Are you up for that?”
“Yes … I think I am.”
“Here you have been living with this thing all these years, all by yourself, but you’re not alone anymore. I’m with you, do you hear me?”
Dena felt as if a hundred-pound weight had been lifted off her chest. “Yes.”
Macky, Norma, and Aunt Elner were in the living room when Dena told them that she had decided to try and find out more about her mother. Aunt Elner’s response to that news was “Well, she was a pretty thing, I can tell you that. When she stepped down off that train … we all said that, didn’t we, Norma?”
Norma looked at Macky with a horrified expression.
Macky slowly leaned forward in the chair and said, thoughtfully, “Baby Girl, if that’s what you want to do, then that’s what you need to do.” Norma became very nervous and stood up and said, “I think we should all take a walk. I don’t know about all of you but I’m stuffed; they say it’s good to walk after a big dinner.”
“Sit down a minute, Norma,” Macky said. “Dena, is there any particular reason other than I’m sure you’d like to know what happened to her?”
She had not told them about Capello’s threat. “I just think it’s time I found out. I’d like to know if there’s a chance she’s still alive. I know my grandfather hired some people and they didn’t find her but that was what? Twenty-some years ago? They have all kinds of new ways to track people now.”
“So you’re definitely gonna go ahead with this thing?” Macky said.
“Yes, I think so. Unless there’s some reason I shouldn’t?”
Norma wailed, “Oh, I just knew we would make the wrong decision, no matter what we did. I told Macky that at the time. Now look what’s happened.”
“Norma, calm down, nobody’s made a wrong decision. Just go get the box.”
Dena appealed to Macky. “What’s she talking about?”
Norma stood up and started for the bedroom, muttering under her breath, “I am going to have a complete nervous breakdown before I die, I just know it.”
Aunt Elner, not really clear what was going on, smiled. “I’ll tell you one thing about your mother, she was a pretty thing, had that little hat sitting on the side of her head. It looked just like a little pancake with a net on it.”
Norma came back in and handed Macky a tin box. “Here, you give it to her, I can’t.”
“What is it?” asked Dena.
“It’s a letter, Baby Girl,” Macky said, “from the detective agency your grandfather hired. I didn’t think it would do you any good to see it at the time but now, if you’re gonna go ahead with this thing, you need to know about it.” He took the letter out of the envelope.
Norma sa
id, “Does anybody else besides me want any more coffee? I know I shouldn’t have any but I’ve got to have something.”
Dena skimmed the letter. One sentence jumped out at her: According to our records, no such person exists.
“Macky, what does that mean?”
“It means that for some reason she was using a different name than her own.”
Aunt Elner said, “Maybe she didn’t like her real name. I know if I hadn’t married a Shimfessle, I would never have called myself that. I would have changed it to Jones … but I didn’t tell them that!”
The next afternoon, Dena’s phone rang.
“Miss Nordstrom?”
“Yes?”
“This is Richard Look with the State Department.”
Dena’s heart pounded. “Yes?”
“I understand from Gerry O’Malley that you might need a little help locating someone?”
Dena found herself relieved he had not called to tell her anything specific. She was not as ready to find out the truth as she had thought. She sat down and the cat jumped up in her lap. “Yes, what has Gerry told you?”
“Miss Nordstrom, just so you know, Gerry informed me of the entire situation and I understand completely the need for confidentiality. I can assure you, your name will be kept out of the investigation.”
The word investigation made her uneasy but she said, “Thank you, I really appreciate that. Did he tell you about the letter?”
“The German spy stuff? Yes, but don’t worry, we’ve handled these kinds of things before. We’ll get to the bottom of this and we’ll do it without involving you, I can promise you that. All I need you to do for me is to send whatever you have—papers, letters, photographs, the names of any friends or anyone who might have known her. Sometimes they can tell you much more than records. Can you do that?”
“Yes, I can do that.”
“Fine. Then we’ll go from there.”
All there was to send him was the one photograph, plus the letter Macky had given her the night before, the letter that had come about Capello’s file, and the first name of a woman who had been a Rockette. Other than her, her mother had no friends that she knew of.
The minute she mailed the letter she regretted it. Walking home she began to wonder again why her mother had changed her name. Had she been a spy? What if she were still alive somewhere? What if they found her and arrested her? What if they executed her? What if she would be responsible for killing her own mother? By the time she reached the house she was in a full-blown panic and was so rattled she could hardly dial the phone.
Gerry was with a patient and she left a message. She looked at the clock. She had to wait twenty-one more minutes until he would pick up his messages and call her back and for twenty-one minutes she threw cold water on her face and walked the floor. By the time he called she was almost hysterical and was too panicked to sit up and was lying on the floor with the cat walking all over her thinking it was a game.
Gerry said, “Dena, just calm down. Listen to me. It’s not too late … nothing’s happened. I can call Dick right now and stop it right now.”
“I don’t want to do this. I’ve changed my mind.”
“Fine. You don’t have to. Nobody is holding a gun to your head.”
“Will you call him?”
“Of course, whatever you want.”
“Will you call right now? Tell him to forget it, please … before he does anything. Tell him not to open the letter.”
“All right, I’ll call him now.”
Five minutes later Gerry called back. “OK, everything is fine. He’s not going to proceed.”
“Does he think I’m crazy?”
“No.”
“Is he mad at me? What did he say?”
“He said whatever you wanted. When and if you ever need his help, he’s there. OK?”
“Gerry, I’m sorry. I guess I’m not as ready as I thought. Are you disappointed?”
“Of course not. You called me, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what I’m so afraid of. I just can’t do this right now.”
“It’s taken care of.”
“Gerry, are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you, Dena. But I want you to get some help with this. You should talk to Elizabeth.”
Dena set up a phone session with Dr. Diggers for the next afternoon and told her everything that had happened.
Dr. Diggers said, “But from what you tell me, Gerry’s friend assured you that he could try and get some answers and you wouldn’t be involved, right? Don’t you want to know?”
“Yes. But … it’s more than that. I just feel it’s wrong, that I shouldn’t pry into my mother’s past, whatever it was she didn’t want me to know. I feel like I might be betraying her or something, you know? I feel guilty about sneaking around trying to find out things, it makes me feel dirty or slimy or … I don’t know, bad …”
“I see,” Dr. Diggers said. “You are going to spend the rest of your life being miserable because you don’t want Mommy upset with you or to get her in trouble. Dena, face the facts. Your mother walked out on you. You were a fifteen-year-old child. Stop trying to protect her. She was a horrible, despicable human being. You should hate her. She didn’t love you, she walked out on you, she didn’t care about you, she just left for no reason. She was a cold, heartless bitch.”
Dena felt her face flush. “Hey, wait a minute, you don’t know that. Nobody knows that for sure … she could have had a very good reason.”
“Dena, that’s exactly my point! Nobody knows and you will never know because there is a part of you that does not want to know. And sweetie pie, whatever you find out, either way, is not going to be easy. We can’t go back and change the past. All we can do is to try and make the present as pleasant as possible.”
“So you are saying I should just go ahead?”
“I can’t tell you what to do. That’s up to you. All I can do is tell you that if you do, there is no reason in the world to feel guilty. You are not a stranger or somebody trying to hurt her or expose her, you are her daughter. You have a right to know. And no matter why she left you, and whatever she did or didn’t do, that woman was your mother. And let’s be realistic: even if she is still alive, what do you really suppose the chances are of finding out she had been a spy?”
Dena did not answer.
“I can tell you. About one in a million. But in the meantime, don’t beat yourself up for getting cold feet; just take one step at a time. Do whatever you think you can handle. Are you smoking?”
Dena put her cigarette out. “No.”
A week later, Dena, to her own surprise, called New York. A woman answered, “Radio City Music Hall. Personnel Office.”
“I wonder if you can help me. I am trying to locate a woman named Christine … I think her last name was Whitten, or something like that. She was a Rockette and she worked there around 1950 or ’51. I know she lived in Greenwich Village at the time and I was wondering if you had a present address or any way that I might get in touch with her?”
“I’ll have to look in my files and get back to you.”
“May I hold on? I’m calling long distance.”
“It might take me a while.”
“That’s all right, I’ll hold.”
After some minutes, the woman came back on. “I found a Christine Whitenow but we don’t have a current address on her, just the one she gave us at the time, Twenty-four St. Luke’s Place.”
“I see. Would you have any idea how I might find her?”
“No, but there were a few of the gals that used to keep up with one another. One of them might know. They had some club.”
“Do you have a number?”
“Try calling Hazel Fenner, in East Lansing, Michigan. Her number is 517-555-9785. She might be able to help you.”
A cheery woman picked up and after Dena explained, Hazel Fenner repeated the name. “Christine Whitenow? Christine Whitenow? Was she a pretty blonde?”
/>
“Yes.”
“Oh, yes, I remember her. She came in the line right after I left. Lots of fun … Wait a minute, I used to know her married name; what was it? Well, I used to know it; we all just sort of lost touch with her. Oh, I can’t remember that girl’s name to save my life. I can’t tell you, dear, but it seems to me that Dolly might remember. I think they kept in touch for a while. Anyhow, ask Dolly. Call her—and tell her she owes me a letter.”
Next Dena called Mrs. Dolly Berger in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, at the number Hazel supplied. She said, “Oh, you know we used to send each other Christmas cards but we stopped. If you can hold on, I might can find it on one of my old lists. Hold on.”
After a moment Dolly picked up in another room. “Hello, are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“You are going to have to bear with me while I go through this. I’ll tell you, sweetie, you know you are getting old when half of your Christmas card list is crossed off. It seems like people are dropping like flies.”
Dena had a sinking feeling. It had never occurred to her that Christine could be dead. Then Dolly announced, “Here it is! I found it! I thought I still might have it. Now, I’m not sure if she’s still living there but this is the last address I have on her; do you have a pen?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Mrs. Gregory Bruce, 4023 Massachusetts Avenue, Washington, D.C. The zip is 20019. And when you talk to her, tell her that Dolly is still alive. And, as we all say, kicking.”
“I will, Mrs. Berger. And thank you so much. Oh, and by the way: Hazel says you owe her a letter.”
It was a small step but at least it was a step.
The Neighborhood
