A Kiss From Mr Fitzgerald

by Natasha Lester

  After she’d calmed herself, Evie went to the morgue – that place devoid of sensory detail; colourless, lifeless, silent, and strangely odourless once the bodies had been packed away. Today she wanted to find the baby she’d performed the craniotomy on. Someone else was already there, she saw, visiting the body of a mother: a mother who was now just a memory to a downtown family, another death to buttress the statistics.

  It was Dr Kingsley. He didn’t notice Evie enter, because he was studying the face of a dead woman. He tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear. Evie was so shocked to see this small act of kindness that she gasped. Dr Kingsley looked around.

  ‘I-I came to see the baby,’ she stuttered, wanting to cover her eyes rather than see Dr Kingsley exposed.

  ‘The first craniotomy is something you never recover from.’

  Evie nodded, sensing the truth of this. It was why she’d come to the morgue. Because now there were three babies who would always be with her, one alive and two dead. The one from the river. The one with the broken neck. And now this one.

  ‘It was the correct procedure in the circumstances,’ Dr Kingsley said.

  For the second time that morning, Evie nearly said, What? But then Dr Kingsley’s face grew severe again and he snapped, ‘You’re due out on the ambulance in less than five minutes. You can’t afford to be late.’

  Well, I’ll be damned, thought Evie. Perhaps that was what happened to you when you saw so much death. You had to hide the pain away behind something. Evie knew she wouldn’t hide hers the same way Dr Kingsley did, behind a disagreeable exterior; she’d hide it here, in the morgue, visiting every patient who lost their life under her care.

  No one asked you to do this, Evelyn Lockhart, she told herself. You wanted to. So do it. And do it well.

  And perhaps Dr Kingsley was warning her not to be late because he was looking out for her, rather than scolding her.

  After her shift, Evie changed into the glorious white dress from Bergdorf’s that she’d brought with her in preparation. Then, on the way to see Charles, she stopped at the Foundling and found the door as resolutely barred against her as it had been the last time. Charles must be paying them a fortune to keep her out, but she knew he could afford it.

  Evie slipped a note under the door, addressed to Mary, hoping that Sister Margaret would find it. Every time she thought of Mary in there, with no one to visit her, wondering why Evie had abandoned her, it broke her heart. But tears wouldn’t serve her in her meeting with Charles. She needed something more like rage to get her through the next part of the day, to get under his skin, to provoke him into acknowledging and caring for his daughter. Surely, after this morning’s victory, the meeting with Charles would go well too. She told herself this to cover the anxiousness she felt at the thought of confronting him.

  She rang the bell and the butler asked her to wait in the hall, an instruction she chose to disregard. Following him into Charles’s study, she noticed that the heads hung on the walls had been added to with a hyena and a zebra.

  ‘Going for a touch of the exotic, are you?’ she enquired, and Charles shot up from his seat, where he’d been talking on the telephone, dressed in a brocade smoking jacket with a velvet shawl collar. For once, Evie felt the advantage of being more suitably clothed for their meeting than he was.

  ‘I’ll telephone later.’ He hung up and advanced on Evie as if she was a stray animal whose head he’d like to hang too.

  ‘Trouble is, I don’t think there’s a lot you can do to add any class to this room,’ Evie continued. ‘Except, perhaps, remove yourself from it.’ She smiled at him, walked over to the decanter on his desk and poured herself a drink. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Always a pleasure, Evie,’ said Charles. ‘What do you want?’ He nodded to the butler, who withdrew with one last baleful glance at Evie, as if to let her know he’d come to Charles’s rescue if needed.

  ‘For you to take responsibility for what’s yours.’ Evie held both hands around her glass to stop them from shaking as the memory of Charles’s mouth on hers and Charles’s hand down the front of her dress flashed in her mind.

  ‘Viola has plenty of money to buy dresses. And, when the time comes, my child will be well cared for.’

  ‘It’s not Viola’s child I’m talking about.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve fallen prey to the men at Ziegfeld’s and have a child on the way?’ Charles stepped closer.

  ‘No, Charles. I mean Mary. The child you abandoned at the Foundling.’ Evie put down her glass, feeling stronger now.

  Charles began to laugh. ‘So you’ve put two and two together and come up with me? Which means you and Tommy must have had a reunion, if you know he’s not the bastard child’s father.’

  ‘We were talking about Mary.’

  Charles picked up Evie’s glass and swallowed the contents. ‘Yes, let’s talk about this girl you’ve taken such a liking to. It’s a good thing you have, because I think you’ll find she’s your sister.’ He held up Evie’s empty glass. ‘Another drink?’

  Evie frowned. ‘What do you mean? If she’s your daughter then that makes her the sister of the child Viola’s carrying.’

  ‘I think I’ll have another.’ Charles didn’t bother to get a clean glass. He poured brandy straight into Evie’s, speaking conversationally over his shoulder. ‘It makes her your sister because your father is her father.’

  Evie started to laugh but Charles talked right over her. ‘Your father had a liking for, shall we say, demonstrating rather than theorising with the Radcliffe girls who came over to Harvard for the lectures he gave. The child in the Foundling probably isn’t the only one. But it’s the only one unlucky enough to have been born on your father’s doorstep.’

  Evie wiped away her tears of laughter; she’d underestimated Charles’s talent for the farcical. ‘Charlie, earlier you tried to make me believe Tommy was Mary’s father. I’m not such a dumb Dora as you think.’

  ‘Oh no, you’re a real high hat, Evie. But think about it anyway. Your father asked me to pay off the nuns to keep you away, which I did, because I don’t want my wife tainted by the association. But when I saw the girl for myself I couldn’t understand how you hadn’t figured it out. Don’t you think she looks just a bit like you?’

  A memory surfaced. The woman complimenting her on her daughter that afternoon near Central Park. Evie had thought the woman’s assumption came from the way Evie and Mary were embracing, but perhaps it was more than that. There was a resemblance between them. Another memory: the bonnet from the hospital in Concord. Evie had thought it looked familiar. Now that she had a reason to fit the mahjong tiles in the wall, she suddenly remembered that a week or so before Mary’s birth at the river, Evie and her mother had cleared out a chest of her and Viola’s old baby things to give to the hospital fair. Her mother had put the box of unwanted items in her father’s study, ready to be moved. That was why the bonnet the nurse had given Evie at the hospital was so familiar. It was one of Evie’s old bonnets. And when Mary had pulled it down over her head, Evie had felt a jolt of recognition that she’d not understood at the time; now, though, it seemed so incredibly obvious. How could she not have seen it before?

  She sat down in the nearest chair. How extraordinary. She’d been visiting her sister at the Foundling all along. ‘Telephone the Foundling and tell them I can visit Mary again,’ she said.

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because you don’t want me to tell Viola she has another sister.’

  She saw Charles clench his jaw and knew she’d struck home. That he would do as she’d asked. But rather than respond, Charles turned the subject to something more disquieting.

  ‘Will we be hearing any wedding bells in the near future?’ he asked.

  Evie held her head high. Why should she lie? ‘Thomas has asked me to marry him.’

  Charles laughed again, as if what Evie had said was the greatest joke. ‘He’s a lucky fella to have someone like you, isn’t he? The one woman in
New York no one else would marry. You’re going to let him suffer the social embarrassment of having a showgirl obstetrician for a wife? That’s true love. Always thinking of yourself.’ He pointed at the copy of The New Yorker on his desk, with Thomas on the cover and the article inside with its mocking lines about Evie.

  Charles kept going. ‘You think it’ll be good for Tommy’s reputation if he marries you? That the wives of his rich clients will have you over for afternoon tea so long as you’ve washed the syphilis off your hands and exchanged your feathers for a gown? That the newspapers will ever stop printing his name so long as it’s joined to yours? Especially now that you have an illegitimate half-sister to add to your charms.’

  Evie wanted to press her hands over her ears to block out what Charles was saying. For he was giving voice to her own doubts, her fear that marrying Thomas would do him more harm than good, that she was selfish to even think it was possible – all the things she didn’t want to think about, because all she wanted to say was Yes, of course I’ll marry you.

  ‘If Thomas loses the bank’s money because of his attachment to you, then I lose my money too,’ Charles continued. ‘Which means Viola loses her money. And so will your nephew or niece.’

  More things Evie hadn’t thought about. More people she would hurt, including Vi. More difficulties that couldn’t really be put off until Thomas returned. She shut her eyes and saw Mary’s face behind her closed lids, as if the wraith of a child had entered the room and was standing before Evie, saying, Look at me. See who I am.

  No matter what, Evie knew she could not, ever again, turn her back on Mary. She opened her eyes and fled. Charles didn’t stop her. He sat back down in his chair and sipped his brandy, relishing his victory.

  She was almost at the front door when she heard her name.

  ‘Evie?’ Viola was standing in the hall, a very pregnant Viola, who looked bone tired and so much older than Evie remembered.

  Evie reacted instinctively; without even thinking about it she led her sister over to the stairs near the entry and said, ‘You need to sit down, Vi. You look worn out. Are you feeling all right? Have you been seeing the doctor?’ It was almost a relief to concentrate on something so practical, so ordinary, rather than trying to rethink her entire life to take into account the fact that Mary was her own flesh and blood.

  Viola laughed and batted Evie’s hands away. ‘All expectant mothers are tired.’

  ‘But you look exhausted. I’ll call the butler to fetch some tea.’ Evie could arrange tea, at least. That was much simpler than anything else that had happened today.

  Viola shook her head. ‘No. Sit down beside me.’

  So Evie did. For a moment, neither spoke. Evie’s mind was full of one simple fact. They had another sister. It was remarkable. It was so astonishing that Evie could no longer remember or care about why she had ever been cross with Viola. Should she tell her about Mary?

  ‘You’ve been dating Thomas,’ Viola said.

  Evie blushed as she considered whether dating was the right euphemism for their weekend in Newport. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I heard the end of your conversation with Charles. I know you want to think that because he’s Charlie, what he’s saying isn’t true. And I’m not saying this because I don’t want to lose our money. I’m saying it because I watched you and Thomas walk away together after you were here for dinner. I saw you look up at him and I knew that nobody had ever looked at me like that before and that nobody ever would. I don’t want you to get hurt. Heartbreak isn’t easy to live with.’

  Evie’s eyes filled with tears. She put her arm around Viola. How easy it was to let go of petty resentments now that they both knew how cruel the world could really be. ‘I’m so sorry, Vi. I’m sorry that Charles isn’t who we wanted him to be. But I think Tommy is.’

  ‘And that’s the problem. Thomas is even more of an idealist than you are. Especially when it comes to you. But he might not always have that luxury, especially if the newspapers get involved. I know it might be hard to believe, given the way I’ve behaved, but I’m worried about you.’

  Evie wiped her eyes. ‘My behaviour hasn’t exactly been perfect either. But let’s not talk about that now. Tell me what I can do to help you.’

  ‘Nothing. I’ll soon have my child. That’s all I need now.’ Viola smiled, and Evie was glad that one good thing might come out of her sister’s marriage.

  ‘I’ll come back and see you tomorrow. You should rest today.’

  ‘I will,’ said Viola, and the two sisters stood up and walked towards the door together.

  Before they reached it, Evie thought of something. ‘Did you hear what Charles said about Mary?’

  ‘Mary?’ Viola asked blankly.

  ‘Never mind.’ Evie hugged Viola, glad to have one sister back, and ready to work out what she had to do to rescue the other.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  May 28th, 1925

  Dear Evie,

  I’ve hardly slept since I’ve been in London. Every time I close my eyes, I imagine you lying beside me and then I’m awake for the whole night.

  I’m working on the deal with the English lords, as you call them. Everything is going well and I think I’ll be able to pull it off. It feels good to have worked hard for something like this, to know that what I’ve done will make the bank even more successful.

  I meant what I said at Newport. I want to marry you, if you’ll have me. I know you think it’s impossible because of your work. But think of how good it would be to come home from a long day at the hospital to our home, to me.

  I love you and I want to spend all of my life with you.

  Tommy

  June 10th, 1925

  Dear Tommy,

  This morning Bea took me out to her favourite store because she thought I needed something to cheer me up. I had no idea where she was taking me, and as we made our way down a long flight of stairs into a very dingy basement, I began to think she’d lost her mind and was taking me to an opium den. It turned out there were other illicit pleasures to be found in the basement, all of which involved tiny amounts of sheer fabric and lace. The store sold French lingerie, the French obviously having a very different idea about the purpose of underwear than we Americans do, hence the need for such a place to be hidden away below ground. I left having purchased something that Bea said was the eel’s hips and which I have no idea how to take off, as there are so many straps and fastenings, with very little in between. I’m counting on you to give me a hand to work out my new lingerie contraption when you return.

  Otherwise, I’ve quit the Follies and done nothing other than study. It’d be so helpful if you were here; diagrams in Gray’s Anatomy are all very well but I’m sure I’d learn more quickly if I had a life-size model to examine!

  Love, Evie

  PS I’ve been seeing Viola a bit. It’s nice to have my sister back. I also spoke to Charles. We were wrong. He says he isn’t Mary’s father, and I believe him.

  She knew the tone of her letter was flippant, that she was talking about lingerie to conceal the fact that she was again keeping something from him: the identity of Mary’s real father, and her decision to get Mary out of the Foundling. Evie had realised that getting Mary out meant only one thing: adopting her. Was it even possible? And what would adopting her illegitimate half-sister mean for Evie and Tommy? No matter how she tried, she couldn’t get Charles’s words out of her head: He’s a lucky fella to have someone like you, isn’t he? The one woman in New York no one else would marry.

  But it was as if the week that followed Tommy’s letter conspired to show her that Charles might be right: that no matter how much she wanted to do it, marrying Tommy might be a selfish thing to do.

  First there was Evie’s grand finale at the Follies, which was a night to remember. Bea had convinced Ziegfeld to let the chorus girls sing a song just for Evie at the end of the show. Two of the male dancers held her aloft in the middle of the stage in her magnificent crown of stars, and
Eddie Cantor led them all in singing ‘Oh! Boy, What a Girl’. Evie was in tears by the end of it, as the firecrackers sparkled and everybody on the stage smiled up at her, and the audience gave her a standing ovation. After the curtain came down, Bea hugged her and they cried until Bea eventually said, ‘You’re ruining my face. You’d better scram.’

  But it took hours for Evie to leave, because there were so many people to hug and to farewell: all of the girls who’d come to her with their gynaecological ailments over the past three years; Bob the stage manager, whose eyes were suspiciously shiny; Zalia the wardrobe mistress, who said she’d never be able to get the star headdress to fit on anyone’s head the way it did on Evie’s; and even Ziegfeld himself.

  ‘You were worth the gamble,’ he said as he kissed her cheeks.

  After picking up the case containing her kimono and her makeup, Evie took one last look in the bulb-studded mirror. She had the strangest sense that even after she’d she walked away, her reflection would stay there, backstage at the New Amsterdam, forever lingering in the theatre. But she also felt as if Ziegfeld’s would always be with her, reminding her that she was capable of doing whatever she had to in order to survive.

  Two nights later, while Evie was furiously studying, Mrs Whitman called to say that Viola had gone into labour. Evie tossed and turned instead of sleeping, and woke to the news that she had a niece. She ignored her studies and went to visit Viola and the baby, accompanied by Mrs Whitman.

  ‘I’m going to name her Emily, after Mother,’ Viola said as she watched Evie cuddle the baby. She smiled at her mother-in-law. ‘Emily Mabel Evelyn Whitman.’

  ‘What does Charles think of that?’