The Way of Beauty

by Camille Di Maio

  When he saw her the next day at the newsstand, he told her that Emmett had mentioned that he’d be at Coney Island today shooting photos of a parade of naval ships making their way up the coast.

  “Why would I care to know that?” she asked, hoping that her feelings were not that apparent.

  “Because even from down here I can tell that you drum your fingers when he’s around, and your cheeks turn red when his name is even mentioned.”

  She sighed. “Oh, Bertie, you don’t think he notices, do you?”

  “Who knows, my dear? But I can tell you that he does the same thing.”

  And there it went. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, her broadcast of how she felt about Emmett Adler.

  “So as I was saying,” he continued. “The boy is going to be at Coney Island this afternoon, and as far as I recall, your shift ends at noon today.”

  “Why did he mention it to you?”

  “Your friend has supported my cigarette habit quite lavishly these past few weeks.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Let me ask you this. Have you seen our young Emmett actually open a pack of those cigarettes you sell him?”

  She thought about it and couldn’t say that she had.

  “He never bought cigarettes before until he started noticing you at the stand. And, as he doesn’t smoke himself, he’s got to do something with them. And yours truly happens to be a willing charity case.”

  She laughed. “Oh, Bertie.”

  “Don’t give me this ‘Oh, Bertie’ business. I know what I am, and I know what I have to offer. He gives me my smokes; I tell him things he wants. A beautiful partnership sprung from the heart’s wish for a beautiful girl.”

  “And just what kind of things does he want to know?”

  “Ask him yourself. He’ll be at Coney Island this afternoon.”

  “So you said.”

  “But you’d better catch him today. He mentioned that he was going away for a while. Weeks, months—he didn’t know. This might be your last chance to see him before then.”

  Where would he be going? Alice realized that she didn’t know Emmett well enough to know if he had family elsewhere or a job or an apartment. He could be leaving for any number of reasons. If she didn’t find him today, an untold amount of time could go by before she’d see him again. Before she could apologize for not showing up the other evening.

  Before she could find out whether these things she felt might be returned.

  She asked Bertie if he knew where Emmett was going.

  “Can’t say that I do. That boy is a mystery, if you ask me. He’s hiding something, though. I’d bet on it.”

  It was funny that Bertie should say that. It was something that had struck Alice the few times she’d met Emmett—that there was more to him than he let on—but she’d brushed it aside, convincing herself that it was only her imagination.

  But while it might have set off warning bells, it did the opposite. It intrigued her more than she wanted it to.

  There was only one way to find out. She needed to see him.

  The minute the clock hands aligned at the twelve, she kissed her father on the cheek and raced to Herald Square so she could catch the N train that went to Coney Island without transfers. At the Kings Highway stop, passengers entered the subway car, many bound for the beach with their sunglasses on their heads and picnic baskets in their arms. But just as the train started again, it lurched, sending those who had not yet arranged themselves in seats tumbling to the floor. A basket of sandwiches opened, and a high-heeled woman stepped on it, leaving a deep indentation in its side. An orange rolled next to Alice’s feet.

  Grumbling was heard from adults and whines from children as they pulled themselves up. All had questions as to what had just happened.

  The doors opened, and the subway driver walked past, shouting to everyone that a small electrical fire had started in his compartment and he’d had to halt the train and extinguish it. But it would require repairs, and he was uncertain as to how long a delay they would have.

  Alice felt her blood race at this setback. The naval ships would be visible for half an hour at best, and she was already concerned about being too late to find Emmett. Even if that would be possible at an event that would surely have attracted a crowd.

  She couldn’t wait. She stepped out of the train onto the elevated platform and raced down its rusted green metal steps into the dusty street. She looked right and left for a taxi, but the few that were present were occupied. She’d never been here before. She’d never left Manhattan.

  She stepped into a maze of confusion not unlike the hubbub that existed around Penn Station. But at least that was familiar to her. Here there were also fruit stands, grocers, washers, florists.

  She stopped at the latter. “Which way to Coney Island?” she asked.

  The woman held a child on her left hip and pointed with her right hand.

  “That way. About two miles.”

  Alice looked south and wondered what the long walk through an unfamiliar neighborhood might have in store for her.

  “Two miles?” she asked. “Do you have a bicycle or anything I could borrow? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  The woman scowled, showing yellowed teeth. “What do you take me for, a philanthropist? I’m no fool. You’d be off and I’d never see you again.”

  “Please. I promise you. I’ll have it back in two hours.”

  “Your word means as much to me as a wooden nickel. Now go away. You’re blocking other customers.”

  Alice looked back and found that no one, in fact, was behind her, but she was not going to get anywhere with this woman. Instead, she set off down West Seventh Street, only to find it closed off. She backtracked to Fourteenth Street, where fire escapes hovered above her like macramé baskets, and patches of discarded, blackened chewing gum made her hopscotch around their sticky resting places. Brooklyn felt like Manhattan except that it didn’t have the tall buildings that pierced the skyline. But the people were the same—sweeping their stoops, reprimanding their children, shaking their rugs out the windows.

  Alice hurried her pace as she checked her wristwatch and noted that it was nearly one o’clock. The ships were likely just arriving on the horizon to the north, and the ideal time for photographing them would be upon her soon.

  She’d never run two miles so fast. In fact, she’d never run two miles at all. But something inside told her that if she didn’t find Emmett today, she might lose him forever.

  As she drew closer, she heard the varied sounds of people having fun. She turned a corner and saw the arched tops of a roller coaster and Ferris wheel peeking out. She heard the rise and fall of people screaming as they sped down a ride called the Cyclone. Bright-red letters spelled out its name along its highest point. It had several turns that spiraled one on top of another, creating an illusion that must have earned it its name. She had never had the opportunity to go on such a thing, but it seemed like an adventure.

  But not the parachute jump. Or at least, that’s what it looked like. It appeared like a giant metal cornstalk, taller than anything else around it. People dangled from chains attached to its flowering top, rising and falling. The very thought of it made her shudder.

  She could not understand why anyone would find that exciting.

  Alice took a breath and smoothed her skirt. She was not here for such amusements, fascinating though many of them seemed. She was here to find Emmett, although as she looked around, she was afraid it was going to be an impossible task. She had never considered how large Coney Island might be. It wasn’t so far away, but her father rarely took a day off, and if he did, there was enough to explore in Manhattan that they never left.

  The idea that she would be able to find him in this bedlam was as likely as her becoming the mayor of New York. The very thought made her dizzy.

  Still, she had not come this far to give up.

  She bypassed the rides, and though she was hungry, she even i
gnored the sumptuous smells coming from food vendors. Signs promised hot dogs, popcorn, cotton candy, and the scents promised that they would taste amazing. Perhaps if she was lucky enough to find him, she and Emmett could eat a late lunch together here.

  She pictured them sitting at one of the wooden picnic tables scattered around in yellow and green patterns. She might wipe mustard from his chin, and he might share his chocolate shake with her.

  It would be wonderful to stroll the immense grounds with him. Although she’d never been here, she’d read so much about its colorful history. The buildings that had burned and been resurrected. The sideshows of days past with a man with parchment skin or another with a pointed head. And the animals—they had once publicly electrocuted an elephant in punishment for killing a man who’d fed it a lit cigarette.

  Served the man right, in Alice’s opinion.

  Her love of historical buildings could be nurtured for weeks on end in a place like this.

  A roar rose through the crowd, and Alice looked toward the beach. Men held children on their shoulders and pointed. She stood on her tiptoes and could not see over all the people. She looked around for some higher ground.

  Finding none, she pushed forward instead. Families and couples and sunbathing girls and ogling boys stood in the sand. At first she tried to step around the colorful towels that were laid all over the beach, but it was an impossibility.

  “Excuse me,” she found herself saying until it seemed pointless. No one cared anyway. They were all focused on the water.

  At last, she was close enough to see what everyone was watching.

  A parade of naval ships turned in from the Atlantic Ocean into the Lower Bay. Their gray smokestacks rose from enormous decks where white-clad sailors waved to a crowd that waved back. From bow to stern, rows of flags were strung and flapped in the breeze.

  Alice’s mother had told her what a relief it was when Armistice Day came, ending the hostilities. Though Angelo was spared, more than three hundred thousand Americans were dead or wounded, and millions in Europe died. Vera was convinced that the world would never see its equal—that humanity would learn from that horror. And yet, only months ago, President Roosevelt had begun calling this new conflict the Second World War, and the predictions for it were far more devastating.

  Alice looked at those sailors, who seemed so small from this distance, and wondered about their mothers, sisters, girls—all those they’d kissed goodbye at their own train stations. Some percentage of these boys would never see the shores of America again.

  A nearby boy around eleven years old asked his father the questions that Alice had herself.

  “Why don’t the ships come closer, Daddy?”

  “The bay is too shallow for them to come in all the way, son.”

  “Where are they going?”

  “They’re heading down the East Coast to Florida before going back to Europe. And they’re advertising war bonds along the way.”

  “What are war bonds?”

  “They’re a way for the government to raise money for the war now and a way for citizens to invest their money. For example, your mother and I bought some bonds recently at just over eighteen dollars. In ten years, we’ll be able to cash those in for twenty-five dollars.”

  The boy seemed satisfied. Or he became distracted, as many did, by the deep bass tones coming from one of the ship’s horns.

  Alice wondered if people generally bought bonds out of patriotism or for the purpose of making more money a decade later. It seemed an awfully long time, but an even bigger statement of trust. Who was to say that at that time, the government wouldn’t need even more money and fail to honor the bonds?

  Who was to say that this war would even be over by then?

  Alice thought that if women were in charge, these wars wouldn’t even happen. They would solve their differences over a glass of tea like civilized people did, instead of taking up guns and tanks and turning villages into battle stations.

  She returned her attention to the bay. Six ships came through. She did not know their names, though she heard people talk about the battleship and battle cruiser and didn’t know if there was a difference.

  The ships circled into the bay, one by one, reminding her of a three-ring circus. The first one swung around toward Sandy Hook Bay, and she knew that she’d better find Emmett now before the ships were all out of sight and his purpose for being here was complete.

  Where would I go if I wanted to photograph all these ships? she asked herself. The scope of this was daunting. She looked around at the throngs gathered on the sand. Too many people coming and going to guarantee a straight shot. If it were her, she’d want to find a view from which you could see all six ships.

  There were only two possibilities. Either make it up to the roof of a nearby building. Or—the Ferris wheel.

  Yes. If she were going to try to take a good picture that captured the panorama, she would ride the Ferris wheel. Its slow-moving cars would provide different intervals of height, allowing the photographer to try different views. And if she didn’t find him there, maybe it would offer her a view from which to look around for him.

  She raced over, once again ignoring the enticing smells of the food lanes. She saw a woman biting into an enormous turkey leg, and her stomach rumbled once again, but she had no time to consider it.

  The line for the Ferris wheel was long, which was just as well. It allowed her to watch the people come and go. But Emmett was nowhere to be seen. For one relieving moment, Alice thought she’d seen him—a man with light sandy hair and glassy blue eyes—but when he turned fully in her direction, she noticed that he was older, and the resemblance was less than it had been in profile.

  “Next!” shouted the carnival worker every thirty seconds, like a fatigued cuckoo clock. One after another until the wheel had made a full rotation, and then it circled around for several minutes, giving its occupants a chance to ride it without interruption. She gazed at the wheel’s metal structure, which looked like a perfectly formed spiderweb. Though it was a carnival ride, its design fascinated her as one who was interested in how things were built. She wished she had a little camera. One she would use to photograph odd angles and unique decorations on buildings, printing and saving them so she could pore over their fine details.

  It was distracting to look at not only the Ferris wheel—or the Wonder Wheel, as this one was named—but also at everything surrounding it. The pool house of white brick with the red roof and arched windows. Behind it stood a Moorish-looking tower of yellow tile.

  But as each compartment edged to the ground, she watched the people come out. There was no sign of Emmett. Maybe she was wrong in thinking that this would have given an ideal view, and he’d found something better.

  “Next!” the man grumbled when she was at the front of the line. An older couple, holding hands, stepped out of a compartment that was painted in yellow, red, blue, and green squares. He told her to hurry on in and also ushered in a couple her age who had been giggling all sorts of sappy things to each other the whole time they’d been waiting.

  Lovely. Now she was going to feel like an interloper stuck with a couple of honeymooners.

  They settled in on opposite benches, and the barker closed their car with the flip of a metal bar. The couple lost no time in cuddling up to each other and whispering affections as if Alice were not there. She gripped the opening that served as a window and decided to let them have their privacy as much as she could. Besides, she was going to attend to the impossible task of looking for Emmett from the air.

  And then there he was. Just below her like a mirage. There was no mistaking him, though, not only for his fair features but also for that same camera that hung so carelessly around his neck. He came from nowhere and walked to the front of the line, where he seemed to slip some money to the barker, who ushered him into the latest car—just two behind hers. As they continued to move upward, she leaned out her window, hoping that he would do the same. But he didn
’t until he was a quarter of the way up.

  Then she saw half his body bend over the opening, camera in hand. She was right! He’d also thought that this was the perfect place from which to photograph the ships. She followed his gaze and saw the resplendent parade of the ships just as the second began to exit the bay. As they cut through the water, they left a V-shaped pattern at their fronts and a foamy trail in their wakes. Sad to think how many boys aboard might be seeing the shores of this country for the last time, and she wondered again why Emmett had not joined the service. She’d figured it out for William, or at least what was likely—his sort could either buy their way out or make a case for their indispensability. Captains of industry or something like that. Maybe his grandfather had insisted upon it and made the arrangements.

  Emmett. At this point, they’d made another two stops, and she was now at the highest point of the ride. The lovebirds next to her seemed entirely unaware of her existence, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the man’s hand slide up the woman’s thigh until Alice could see the edge of her black garter. She was amazed at their brazenness.

  She leaned out the window once again and saw Emmett doing the same, two cars down. He no longer held the camera to his face and instead seemed to study the horizon as she did.

  Did he think the things she thought? Did he wonder what lay beyond the water and long to see a world very different from this one?

  If she didn’t take this chance to talk to him, she might never know.

  “Emmett!” she cried out into the open. He looked to his left and his right but nowhere else.

  “Emmett!” she called again. This time, he stood a little straighter and looked down and then up.

  He saw her. She could tell that he saw her. The day was bright enough to see that their eyes met. But instead of waving to her as she might have expected, he disappeared into the compartment. And didn’t return.

  The lovebirds had now graduated to the other thigh, the other garter, and Alice had nowhere to look but out. At this point, she was situated at the nine o’clock of the great wheel and Emmett had passed the peak to the eleven. If she leaned a certain way, she could see his left pant leg and his hand resting on it.