Why couldn’t I be good at anything? Well . . . I was good at some things, but why couldn’t I be good at something that was worth being good at!
I tromped up the stairs behind Doris at noon. The lunch wasn’t half bad. I’m pretty sure it was chipped beef.
She leaned close as I finished. “Why the long face?”
“I’m trying to figure something out.”
“Doing one of those crossword puzzles?”
“No. That would be easy compared to this.”
“So tell me what it is. Maybe I can help.”
Maybe she could. “Say you want to find out who someone is, but you only have his telephone number . . . could you do it?”
“Well, sure!”
“But how?”
“Call the telephone operator.”
“Call the . . . ?” But the telephone operator was me. “How would I—I mean she. How would she know?”
“What kind of dumb Dora are you? You call Central, tell them the number, they transfer you to the station, the station transfers you to the right board, and then you ask whatever hello girl answers.”
Which would still be me. “I don’t understand how she’d know something like that.”
“She’d look it up in the file box. She’d be a B operator just like you. So she’d pull out the card with that number on it, and she’d tell you what address it’s assigned to.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, sure! I mean . . . wait—did Janie not tell you?”
“Tell me what?!” The whole conversation reminded me of my economics tests. I was pretty sure I was supposed to know everything on them, but somehow none of it ever made any sense.
“When we go back down to work, I’ll show you.”
“See?” Doris was pointing to a box that was sitting underneath the desk part of my board.
I hadn’t noticed it before.
She leaned over, pulled it out, and lifted the lid. “There’s a card for every number on your board.” She pulled one out and handed it to me.
I read Tremont-4627 and then eyed the address underneath it. “So each one of my numbers has a card?”
She nodded as she stowed her gum behind her ear. “There’s one hundred and fifty of them, one for every number, in case someone calls with an emergency. That way, you can tell the police or fire department where to go, only you’ll never have to because you’re a B operator . . . but you could. If you had to. So . . . now you know.”
Lights were already blinking on my board, so I sat down, put my headset on, and went to work with growing excitement. All I had to do was make those telephone calls. Once I recognized the voice and could check the telephone number against the card in the box, I’d know where the call had gone!
I got through my shift without any trouble. I got home without any trouble. I almost made it up the stairs without trouble, but then I heard someone call my name. I slowly turned around. “ . . . Griff?”
“Hi.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “My father’s away in Washington for a few days, and your father and I were thinking, well . . . we had kind of thought that . . .”
While he’d been talking, my father had joined him down at the foot of the staircase. “Why don’t we all go down to Union Oyster House for dinner this evening?”
“Tonight? Right now?”
He shrugged, which is something he never would have done if Mother had been there. “Why not?”
Why not? Because—because I had something important to do. And Griff couldn’t just go out traipsing around the city. He was supposed to be lying low. And staying out of sight. He could be murdered at any time! “I’m not really feeling very well.” In fact, I hadn’t been feeling very well since I’d overheard that telephone conversation.
Both their faces fell.
“Are you sick?” My father was looking at me with worry etched into his forehead above his eyeglasses. “Maybe I should send a telegram to your mother.”
“No! No. I’m not sick. Not exactly. It’s just that I have a headache . . .” A headache named Griff. And another headache named whatever those men with the voices were named.
“Your grandmother always said the cure for a headache was a brisk walk down one side of Beacon Hill and up the other.”
Which had never made sense to me, because if you went down one side and up the other, then you’d have to walk all the way around the bottom in order to do it. Why couldn’t you just go down and up the same side?
“It will do you good to get some fresh air. Come on. We won’t take no for an answer.”
Oysters and clambakes! If Griff weren’t so set on going out all the time, then maybe I’d actually be able to save him. It would serve him right if he got murdered while we were having dinner!
At least we didn’t have to eat oysters. Father obeyed that “never in a month without an R” rule to the letter, so we had clams. And sarsaparilla to wash them all down. I’d persuaded Father to sit at a booth way back in the corner and insisted Griff sit beside the wall in the deepest part of the shadows. But then the waiter recognized Griff and told the manager, and then the manager must have told the cook, because pretty soon everyone in the restaurant had come over to talk to him about football. I might as well have just put a target on his chest.
I tried sitting right next to him and leaning forward so anyone trying to get to him would have to go through me first, but he just put his arm up along the back of the booth and pulled me in close to his chest, talking over my head to all of his fans.
Honestly—I don’t know why I was trying so hard to save him!
I stuffed more clams into my mouth than I should have, trying to hurry things along and get dinner over with, and then I had to figure how to chew and swallow all of them without gagging.
But he took his time.
Once he’d finished, I was all for going straight back to the house, but they wanted to walk to Faneuil Hall.
“Why?”
“Because it’s a nice night. And there’s no reason to hurry.” My father was decidedly lacking in urgency.
Griff bumped my arm with his elbow. “Can I buy you an ice cream?”
“No!”
He blinked.
“After all that food? I couldn’t eat another bite. And neither should you.” There. Could we go now?
“I think I could manage.”
“But—but—it isn’t safe. Just—look at all these rough characters!” I gestured about, but the passersby didn’t look very dangerous. Just then, however, a tall man walked into view. “See!” But . . . it was a policeman. One who looked a lot like Jack. I tried to hide behind Griff, but the cop kept coming closer.
“Janie?”
It was him! There was no use hiding now. Caught between trying to get Griff home in a hurry and trying to keep him from Jack, I decided Jack posed the greater danger. I stepped toward him, away from Griff. “Janie. Yes. She’s . . . well . . . she’s doing well. Very well.” I linked my arm through his and drew him away from my father and Griff. “As well as can be expected, her mother dying and all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Stop talking.”
“But why—”
“Stop it!”
He frowned. Griff was watching us, so I smiled and patted Jack’s hand. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to know you inquired about her. I’ll tell her when she gets back.” I stood on tiptoe, intending it to look like I wanted to kiss his cheek.
He obliged by stooping.
“Just don’t ask me any questions right now. About anything!” I whispered the words into his ear and then kissed his cheek. “Bye.”
He caught me by the elbow. “What kind of game are you playing?” He was looking beyond me at Griff. “Isn’t that—”
“Not who you think it is.”
Griff was peering at us. “Ellis?”
“Ellis? Again?” Jack was looking down at me. “Was he in that play too?”
Oysters and clambakes! I
smiled again. “I wish I could tell you more, but I haven’t heard from Janie myself. Don’t worry though. Like I said”—I pulled my arm from his—“I’ll tell her I saw you.” I turned around, grabbed hold of Griff’s arm, and tugged him away.
“Who was that?” He was looking back over my shoulder at Jack.
“One of Janie’s friends.” So to speak. He was a friend I’d made while I was pretending to be Janie.
“Janie . . . ?”
“Winslow. Cook’s daughter. You remember—she’s the one who always—”
“Warned us not to do whatever it was you always wanted us to do. I remember. And you know what?”
“What?” I dared a glimpse back over my shoulder. Jack was still standing there watching us.
“She was always right.”
Yes, of course Janie was always right! Except for this one time. She’d come up with a plan that was much more like me than it was like her, and look where it had landed us all. In big trouble!
16
Griff escorted us to our front door that evening, then came right inside and ambled into the parlor. I had to follow him; Father had already disappeared into his office, and I couldn’t just leave a guest to wander around by himself.
By the time I joined him, he was pacing in front of the fireplace. “I was wondering, Ellis, how come you never come to the football rallies?”
Football rallies? The last one had been way back in November. Why was he worried about football rallies? “Maybe I do and you’ve just never seen me.”
“You never come.”
Why should I? And see all the girls throw themselves at his feet? “Honestly, I figured so many co-eds attend already, you’d never miss me.”
“I always miss you.”
The truth was, I never quite knew what to say to Prince Phillips, star of the Harvard football team. He was so tall and so handsome and just so . . . so . . . perfect. He always made me nervous. I much preferred the Griff I knew from Beacon Hill, the one I’d grown up with. “How can you miss me? Thousands of people in the city come to cheer for you.”
His mouth twisted in annoyance. “They’re cheering for someone they call Prince. They’re not cheering for me. They don’t even know me.”
“I didn’t know it mattered to you, whether I was there or not.”
He sat down on the sofa, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Then he glanced up at me. “Do you know what they’re saying in the Finance Commission?”
I shrugged. Something to do with numbers probably. I sat on the sofa beside him.
“They’re saying I ought to run for state legislature in a few years, once I graduate.”
“Do you want to?”
“I don’t know. I’ve known that’s what people want, but it makes me feel trapped. You know? Like . . .” He sighed and slouched into the corner of the sofa.
I knew exactly what it felt like! “It makes you feel like it’s all been decided, and you have nothing to say about it. Like maybe you never wanted to do those things in the first place and maybe you wouldn’t even be good at them, but nobody cares what you think or what you want because all they can think about is themselves and what they’re good at and what they want.” I wished people wouldn’t be so selfish all the time!
“The thing is, maybe I would be good at it. And maybe I do want to, but what if I wasn’t good at it? What if I lost my elections or made bad decisions? What if the only thing that happened is people ended up being disappointed in me?”
I never started out doing the wrong thing on purpose either. It always just kind of happened along the way. “Maybe you should just do something else. Or run away even.” But not to Hollywood. Because I was going there.
He sent me a sharp glance. “Run away? Why?”
“So you wouldn’t give anyone a chance to be disappointed.”
“But wouldn’t that be worse than not trying?”
It didn’t seem like it to me.
“What if it’s something I actually want to do, and somehow it turns out I’m just . . . not good at it? Do you think it would be worth the risk in that case? What if I could do some real good in a position like that?”
“Could? You can!” Griff could do anything. And even if he couldn’t, even when he lost football games, for instance, everyone always seemed to like him anyway. “I know you can. And I think you’d even be good at it.” Unlike me, who was never good at anything. That was the difference between us. And that’s why I was leaving and why he ought to stay.
“But I’m not like you, Ellis.”
Thank goodness for that!
“I’m not very good at being myself.”
What did he mean by that? “What—what are you saying?”
“You’re more yourself than anyone I know.”
No I wasn’t. At least, I didn’t want to be. I woke up every day telling myself I was going to try hard not to be myself. That’s why I needed to leave. “I don’t think I—”
He sat forward and took up my hand. “That’s why I need you. To remind me who I am. I need to know there’s one person who truly knows me and, in spite of it, in spite of everything, likes me still.”
“But . . .” I looked down at our hands. His was so big and nice and firm. He’d never been one to give a floppy old fish of a handshake, and I’d always liked that about him. He wasn’t like some fellows. He wasn’t even like any fellows. He was just always . . . himself. I looked up from our hands into his eyes. “I don’t know if I can be that person.”
He drew back.
“I mean, not the one who knows you and still likes you, because I am that person, but I’m not the person that’s good at being herself. I don’t think you know me very well. Or maybe you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” Someone like Julia. Or Louise or Martha. Someone a thousand times better than me.
He smiled as if I’d said something funny. “I know you better than anyone.”
“But if you really knew me, then you’d know you can’t count on me.” Especially now. Especially since I was heading to Hollywood. “And then you’d understand that you really, truly shouldn’t need me.” The thought he might, that he even suspected he did, sent panic spiraling through my stomach. I couldn’t be trusted. Didn’t he know that by now? “Maybe you should need someone else. Someone more reliable.” Someone who wasn’t going to California.
“Don’t you know about griffins?”
The way he was looking at me was doing queer things to my chest. I’d never had trouble breathing before the way I did right then. “No.” The word came out in a croak.
“They’re meant to stand watch over priceless treasure.”
“They are?”
“You’re my treasure, Ellis.”
A priceless treasure? Me?!
“And they only mate once, for life. You’re the one for me. You always have been.”
“But—”
“Griffin?” We both jumped at my father’s voice and turned to see him standing in the front hall. “You’re still here?”
Griff stood. “I’m sorry. I was just—” He cast a glance down at me. Sighed. “I was just leaving.”
And thank goodness!
The way he’d looked at me on the sofa, that thing he’d said about griffins, made me want to say all kinds of things I knew I shouldn’t. If I stayed in the city much longer, then I might never leave at all. In fact, if he hadn’t needed saving, I’d beg Doris to let me stay with her for the next week and a half and leave right this minute.
My father saw Griffin out and then came back into the parlor. “I hope you’re packed and ready!”
“Ready for . . . what?”
“For the shore! We’ll leave tomorrow morning!”
Had he said the shore? My ears didn’t seem to be working; my cheeks were still too warm from all those things Griff had said. “I can’t.” I couldn’t. I couldn’t go to the shore when I had to stay in the city to look out for Griff. He was safe as long as he was at work or at home, but wh
o knew where he’d go if he stayed the weekend in the city?
“Of course you can. Tomorrow’s Saturday. And we’ll be back on Sunday night.”
“I really don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Whyever not?”
“What if—what if the train broke down and I couldn’t get back in time on Monday?”
He looked at me with a frown. “Your mother and I decided to support your efforts, but I have to confess I was looking forward to some time away from the city. I wish I could ask your mother . . .” He looked faintly put out about it. “Why have I never had a telephone put in down there?”
Because it would cost about a thousand dollars, and if a messenger could be found, a telegram would do. But that still left the matter of Griff and some king trying to kill him. I couldn’t leave town! But maybe . . . “Could Griff come with us?” If he tried to talk to me again about treasures and griffins, I’d just have to try hard not to listen and remind myself what I was doing was for his own good.
“Griffin? Phillips?”
“It would . . . it would give Lawrence someone to play tennis with.”
“I suppose I could make the request.” He scratched at his ear. “But the Phillipses always used to go away in July, didn’t they? And aren’t these things supposed to be sacrosanct?”
“We always go away in July, but now we’re away in June too. And besides, it wouldn’t be going away. It would just be . . . taking a break from the city.”
“I don’t know . . .”
I couldn’t leave Griff behind! I decided to play the one card I knew would trump all of his objections. “Poor Griff. It must be so lonely there in that big house without his mother. And with his father being gone all the time in Washington . . .”
“Yes. Of course you’re right. I’ll ask. It’s awfully late, though . . .”
“I’m sure he won’t mind!” I smiled and stood on tiptoe to kiss him as I started up the stairs.
He stayed me with a hand on my arm as he looked at me with a quirked brow. “There’s something . . . different about you lately.”
The dark circles under my eyes? My fountain pen–darkened eyebrows?
“You look more responsible somehow. And serious. That work seems to be doing you some good.” He patted me on the cheek. “We’ll leave on the eight o’clock train.”
Love Comes Calling Page 14
