Bess and Frima

by Alice Rosenthal

  “Talk about exploited labor,” Beth put in. “We could use Marcantonio in that hole.” She faced down her brother’s look.

  “My sister, as you may have seen for yourself, exaggerates. She imagines she is slowly pining away in a sweatshop. Poor thing, she looks tubercular, doesn’t she?”

  Vinny reached over the table and took Frima’s hand. “We haven’t had a dance yet, Frima. Let’s leave these two to their family squabble and hope it will be over it by the time we get back.” He turned to Beth and caressed her cheek lightly with the back of his hand. “Don’t throw anything,” he said, and led Frima to the dance floor.

  She approved of this guy, Frima did, and she had an idea he could be very good for her friend. Beth’s volatile energy, her quick enthusiasms, and equally quick disappointments—Vinny could handle them, Frima guessed. He could help Beth, teach her a lot. That social ease he possessed, that diplomacy. You might be born with the temperament for it, but it was a talent and a skill, and it took experience and lots of practice. It wasn’t Jack’s strong point, and Beth had none of it. As for herself, she was a peacemaker, which wasn’t saying all that much. She was a poor fighter, anyway. Yet with all the tensions, these undercurrents going on with the four of them, it was still turning out to be a fun evening. This was Vinny’s doing. Yes, he would be good for her friend. And she, Frima, would be good for Jack. In some ways she could teach him, guide him. He was, as Mama put it, trainable. She was pretty sure of that.

  The band began a slow romantic foxtrot, and Jack cut in. Beth came to join Vinny, and they all relaxed into the music.

  “More coffee, Jack?” Vinny asked, when they at last sat down again. “You’ve got a ways to drive back.”

  “Good idea,” Jack said, taking out his wallet, “and a check, I guess.”

  “Forget it,” Vinny said with a self-deprecating smile. “It’s on the house. Owner owes me a favor.”

  —

  “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” Frima moved to the porch swing, bringing a cup of strong black coffee to Jack and sat down next to him. “You need this, I’m sure.”

  “She’s sleeping with him, you know.”

  Now that was getting down to basics. “No, I don’t know. And how do you know?”

  “Didn’t you notice? We were both parked near the cabin. He drops us at our car, then he walks Bess to the cabin, which is dark, by the way. He puts on the porch light, takes the key out of his pocket, opens the door, and goes in with her. Didn’t you see all that? It’s obvious. They’re making it obvious.”

  “I didn’t see any of that, I was already dozing off. Besides, that doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Don’t be naive, Frima. This guy is older than she is, knows his way around. And besides, he’s a red. Yes, Marcantonio is a red, and so is he. They believe in free love. It’s part of their politics—marriage isn’t. Not that I want her to marry him, God knows! But it would be just like Bess to get pregnant.”

  It was just like Beth to avoid it, Frima thought, but kept this to herself. “All this detective work. I can’t believe how you are letting your imagination run away with you. I’m sure all this will come to nothing.”

  “It’s not my imagination. I know how these Italian Catholic guys talk about Jewish girls—I remember from high school. That guy’s up to no good, believe me. I’m a guy and I should know!”

  Frima almost laughed at his shamed-face look when he realized what he’d said. “Oh, so you’re a guy like him? How would you feel if people around here said, ‘That Jack is up to no good with Frima. He’s only out for what he can get.’” She hesitated for a moment. “And what would be so very terrible if they were making love? Isn’t that what you—what we—want to do?” She held her breath.

  For a moment Jack didn’t look at her. Was he ashamed that he’d shown such rancor in front of her? Or maybe he was startled by her frankness. Then suddenly he flashed a smile, the charmer’s smile that made her feel like lying down with welcoming arms. He took both her hands in his. “You and me, we’re different.” He said this softly. “I love you, and I’ll always take care of you.”

  Which was, after all, what she wanted to hear, and she wasn’t about to spoil it by worrying about his sister’s affairs.

  CHAPTER 9

  Beth woke before Vinny that same Sunday morning. She was a lighter sleeper than he, or maybe just not as tired. Also she was squeezed against the wall, for her bed in the cabin was small for a couple, and Vinny had chivalrously insisted on the outside spot, lest a single toss land her unceremoniously on the floor. In about ten minutes the alarm would go off, and he would jump up comically and zoom into the bathroom to make himself presentable before Muriel came back from her nights away. Beth actually didn’t mind the tight squeeze. She loved to lie there feeling him breathe, occasionally still getting a whiff of shaving cream or aftershave. Vinny had a strong beard, and to save her skin, he said, he showered and shaved before bed on the nights he was with her. No one he worked with cared a hoot if he had a five o’clock shadow during working hours, he assured her. “Owners and bosses shave and shower in the morning, but the worker does this at night—kind of a badge of honor,” he informed her.

  “So it’s terribly bourgeois of me to shower in the morning?”

  “You know, I don’t know if the rules apply to women—never thought about it,” he replied, grinning. “I’ll have to check it out with Marx and Engels.”

  “Somehow I’d be happier with you sticking to Marcantonio and LaGuardia,” she retorted. “At least they’re not Germans.”

  “You like Italians better, don’t you?” he said into her ear.

  “Well, I’m not so sure. There are Mussolini and his thugs, you know.”

  “Now that’s my girl! I say we stick to Italian Americans of a certain stripe. No fascist animals, especially not that one—part strutting rooster, part hyena. You know, I’d like to see that son of a bitch in a room, stripped of his uniform, his guns, his henchmen—put him in a locked room alone with those two little New York politicians—no weapons except their voices and minds. Marc and the Little Flower would reduce him to mincemeat without breaking a sweat.”

  Beth was finding herself quite interested in politics and the world situation at large. She, who before this summer, had been reluctant to spend more than ten minutes on such matters. Of course a lot of it was banter with Vinny, with its pleasing innuendoes, but she actually felt that focus on larger events sharpened her mind and expanded her vision. If the United States entered the war, well, that would be another story. But for now, lying here in the early sunlight after a night of lovemaking followed by safe, restful sleep, war seemed very far away, and she could just be pleased with herself. She was beginning to feel sophisticated—that was the word.

  Add to this the satisfaction of reviewing last night’s double date with Frima and Jack. It had gone remarkably well, she thought. Frima and Vinny had obviously liked each other, and this was no small thing. And Jack? Well, things had gone as well as could be expected. Only a glance at the calendar on her dresser cast a shadow on her mood. The days were going so quickly. Little more than three weeks left to the season. What then? She absolutely could not go back to her family apartment in the Bronx. She would die there in about a month. But to live in Manhattan, she needed a job. And it had to be in Manhattan. How else could she see Vinny? Muriel, understanding her urgency, unearthed a touch-typing instruction book, and left the office unlocked after regular hours so she could practice. Vinny was delighted when he heard about this. He wanted her to be near him. If she wasn’t, their time together would be limited. His hours were irregular, and sometime he worked well into the night.

  Irony of ironies, she was finally learning to type. Her father’s most cherished wish for her. She had fought like a cornered animal when he wanted her to take a commercial course at the neighborhood high school rather than attend the “fancy schmancy downtown high school,” the one that had practically saved her life. And here was thi
s other man in her life encouraging her to learn office skills. But what a difference! One, contemptuous of her talent—totally dismissive of it—wanted her to throw herself away. The other wanted only to make her life easier. Oh, she knew that Vinny might not have much understanding of her creative work. That was pretty clear to her when she showed him a few of her paintings.

  “I admit that I don’t understand a lot of this, not being artistic myself. And for me, I guess I prefer more realism—a clear message. But don’t get me wrong, I am impressed, ignorant as I am, and, you know, I really like the two paintings you did up here. I think they’re beautiful.”

  “If you really like them, they’re yours. My gift to you.” She held her breath.

  “I do, and that’s very generous, sweetheart, but—”

  “I’d want to frame them first.” She deliberately interrupted him, before he could reject her offering.

  “Great, I’ll be proud to hang them on my walls, though you’ll have to decide where to hang them.” He smiled a little ruefully. “Unfortunately, they illustrate the fate of the artist in our society—the young and unknown, at any rate. Most people, me included, can’t afford to pay what your paintings are worth in terms of your labor and love and creativity. So if you want to paint, I’m afraid you’ll still need a day job.”

  “No kidding!”

  Beth wasn’t sure whether she had created or discovered it—this little cabinet in her mind to which she alone had the key. Either way, she was finding it very useful to file away thoughts, parenthetical comments and questions that would do no good to ask out loud, such as, Why is it that people who don’t get it, don’t understand a work of art, always judge it by whether they would want it on their own walls? Or, Why does everything have to be interpreted in social and economic terms? Was it worth hiding these spontaneous and rebellious thoughts? Even from Vinny, who had first been attracted to her because of her spontaneity? Yes, even from Vinny. He could not follow her to that deep unknown place from which her art sprang, and she wasn’t sure she would want him—or anyone else for that matter—to go there with her. If she asked Vinny either of those provoking questions, she would wound him, and they both were still being very careful not to hurt the other. “Lesson one in couple-ship,” she announced to the empty room. “First, cause no pain.”

  Lesson two was find your girlfriend a job! This she discovered only a few days later, when Vinny approached her with an offer. The National Maritime Union, where he had connections (naturally), needed some office help. He didn’t know how much the job would pay yet, certainly not very much, but if she shared rent and lived frugally (as if she had ever done anything else!) she’d be in pretty good shape. She knew that Vinny was vague only because he had not yet negotiated the wages for her. Or, for that matter, rent. She was quite sure he would. Vinny seemed to have a natural talent and pleasure in taking care of things, including Beth.

  So it wasn’t much of a surprise when after a week of quietly setting the stage with his landlord, Vinny asked her to move in with him. He had arranged to move into a larger apartment in the same building, which would be vacant after September. She said yes without a moment’s hesitation. It was as close to perfect as she would get. Perfect would be Vinny and a studio space of her own to paint in—all day if she wanted to. Still, the life she was about to embark on was wonderful enough. A good nine-to-five with interesting people, the man she loved mornings and evenings, and the Art Student’s League only a couple of local subway stops away for studio space and connection with other artists. She was young and strong and energetic. She could do it all. And, most glorious, she felt loved and cared for, a totally new and entirely delicious feeling.

  Beth approached the office typewriter with determination, if not enthusiasm. She’d made rapid progress and could actually type correspondence now, not just clusters of individual alphabet letters and symbols, which was a relief. Except, oy vey, the first letters she needed to write would announce her new life and complete departure from the old. She’d start with Frima, sister in spirit, before venturing into the enemy territory of her biological family. Her letter took hours to produce.

  August 18, 1940

  Frima, my dearest girlfriend!

  Get ready to visit me in the Village, and I don’t mean Monticello or Liberty. It’s Greenwich Village, New York City, USA, I’m talking about. That’s right—I’m not going back to the Bronx. I’m going to live with Vinny. Actually, I’ll be sharing an apartment with Muriel for a month or two while Vinny gets a bigger place painted and furnished for us. There’s a nice apartment that will be available in the same building he lives in on Minetta Street. Isn’t that lucky? I think it’s fate!

  And I’ll have a real job! It’s with the NMU (the National Maritime Union). Vinny has connections there. Just office work (notice that this letter is typed by me—it took me hours but I’m learning), but also the chance to do some posters and graphics. I can’t tell you how exciting all this is to me, meeting interesting, forward-thinking people, and I’ll be able to take studio classes at the Art Students League. But most of all I’ll be living with the man I love. Oh, Frima, he’s really special, and I’m learning so much from him. He has answers to things, and he can open doors I thought would always be shut against me—and they would be if I were stuck back with my folks in that prison of a store where I was almost buried alive with boredom and hopelessness. From the moment I met Vinny, he seemed to me so strong and calm and sure of himself, and yet there’s this sense of possibility and excitement and action about him. I know that Vinny’s not your typical dreamboat—not like my brother, right? Oh, yeah, I can tell how you feel about him! But, believe me, this man of mine is so romantic and sexy, and going to bed with him at night and waking in the morning with him makes me feel so wonderful. I know I’m gushing like a schoolgirl, but I’ve really never felt so adult before, and I really, really seriously hope you’ll be happy for me.

  No, we’re not getting married. Neither of us wants that yet. Also I think it’s better to try out living together before we even think of such a thing. Besides, I don’t think I believe in marriage. Lots of progressive, forward-thinking people don’t, you know.

  I feel like I’m jumping into a new life, and the only one I’ll really miss in the old one is you, kiddo (and your mother also. I hope she won’t think I’m too shocking) and, yes, Jack. So please be part of my new life, and if you have influence over Jack—and I know you do—make him be part of it too.

  Whew! I see I’ve run off at the mouth again, and I haven’t really asked about you. You seemed very happy when I saw you. Happy with Jack. I was a little surprised and yet not surprised you fell for him. I thought maybe you’d go for someone less conventional and more artistic or musical. Still, in his own way, he can be quite a guy, and he’s obviously stuck on you, which shows good taste. If you should ever get permanently stuck on him, I think it would be great to have you as a sister-in-law, and if anyone can, I think you’d be just the one to keep him from being a disapproving stick-in-the-mud about things—like about me flying the coop!

  Anyway, Vinny sends his best to you. He really likes you, and, of course, I send lots of love from me.

  Beth

  P.S. Don’t say anything to Jack about this letter. He’ll only have a conniption, and it’ll be easier for everyone if he finds out after it’s a fait accompli.

  P.P.S. I really love signing my name like this, but you can call me Bethie if you like, or if you’re really mad at me, Bethesda. But I hope you’re not. Please be happy for me and with me.

  Beth

  She read through it quickly once more, then hurried out of the office to drop it in the mail before she changed her mind.

  CHAPTER 10

  Was the girl crazy? Running off with this guy? Why, she’d only known him for what, maybe six weeks? Ridiculous! Frima almost laughed—from shock, mostly—as she read the opening lines of Beth’s missive. There was nothing remotely amusing in the lines that followed, and she
sat down abruptly to try to digest the rest of it.

  Please be happy for me and with me. Now just what was she supposed to make of that? She felt frustrated and trapped. Beth was leaving her no room to feel anything but complete happiness and approval of what she was doing. Which was impossible and completely unfair to boot. And just what did she mean by Don’t tell Jack? She had some nerve! Did Beth think so little of Frima’s feelings for her brother that she could ask that? Couldn’t she understand what a personal betrayal that would be? And didn’t she realize that his life would be radically changed if his sister ran away from home? Well, she was going to tell Jack, and she would tell Beth so. He had a need and a right to know. What she wouldn’t repeat to him were Beth’s not too subtle hints about them as a couple. How many times in this letter had she used the word stuck? Stuck on you, stuck on Jack, stuck in the Bronx, stick in the mud. Beth’s love for Vinny was freedom, but Frima’s for Jack was paralysis. Yet the only one boxing her in was Beth, herself. Her face grew hot and she felt almost choked with rage. It was not a feeling she’d had much to do with in her life. She flung down the letter and ran out of the room as if she could leave fury behind.

  What she couldn’t escape so easily was the sudden sense of loss that overwhelmed her. Oh, God! She would miss Beth so much, this sister she’d never had. Beth living down town could never again be the Bessie living just down the block. And for sure Beth was never coming home again. Home was a prison for her.

  Well, she had to talk to Beth and she had to talk to Jack. But before she did anything, she needed to talk to Mama. She had a sudden nasty vision of Beth sneering. There goes Frima running to Mama like a little girl. Now where did that come from? Beth was so fond of Mama and had longed to have a mother she could talk to—she would never sneer about that. But maybe she was jealous of Frima’s closeness to Mama. Even worse, would Beth think it was a betrayal to tell Mama? After all, the letter was confidential. Well, too bad!