Don't Put the Boats Away

by Ames Sheldon

  Dorie fingers the frilly material along the neckline of her blouse. Clearing her throat, she says, “What exactly do you do, Peter?”

  Nat smiles inwardly. On the train into town, he encouraged Dorie to ask Peter questions instead of simply sitting back listening to the conversation that swirled around her, the way she’d been doing with his family. She’s never been outside Minnesota before this trip, and he figures she must be intimidated by it all.

  “I’m very lucky. I got a position as an apprentice of sorts to the curator of drawings at the Museum of Modern Art. I’ve been at MoMA for eighteen months now.”

  “That’s really impressive, Peter,” says Nat. “You must have been the top art major at Cornell to get an opportunity like that.”

  Peter turns back to Nat. “The art department at Cornell is first rate, and they have a gallery in Willard Straight Hall that features exhibitions of works by leading contemporary artists. Thanks to my professors, I was able to start understanding modern art.”

  Nat asks, “Who are your favorite modern artists?”

  “Braque, Picasso, Mondrian. Most of all I like the paintings and prints of Klee and Miro—they’re so whimsical.”

  Their drinks arrive.

  She says, “What’s it like to live here in New York City?”

  “The city is fabulous!” Peter gushes. “There’s more to see and do than I have time for. The shops and the restaurants are top notch, and the art scene is simply amazing—there’s so much going on all the time, day and night.”

  Peter touches Nat’s wrist and asks, “What about you, my friend? What are your plans now that you’ve graduated from college?”

  “At last I can pursue my passion. Dorie and I are having so much fun playing with the Aces. We’re thinking about starting our own combo once we’ve built up a nest egg. Dorie is such a wonderful singer; audiences love her. When we get back next week, I’ll start hitting the clubs on Hennepin Avenue and the near north side of town to see where I can sit in with other groups. I know cats who work every night of the week, and I need to do that too.”

  She places her hand on his arm. She tells Peter, “Nate is a great improviser. Audiences go wild over his solos.”

  Turning to Nat, Peter says, “Nate?”

  Embarrassed, he looks down for an instant. “That’s what Dorie calls me.”

  Peter says, “I’m not surprised to hear what a good musician you are, Nat. I remember being floored by the job you did playing the piano for that Gilbert and Sullivan show at Andover, and you were just a junior then.”

  “I really enjoyed playing for Pirates of Penzance.”

  “I wish you all the luck in the world,” Peter says, his face shining with sincerity.

  Their food arrives. After tucking her napkin into her blouse, Dorie picks up her knife and fork. Nat almost says something about keeping her napkin on her lap, but he stops himself. They start to eat.

  Once they’ve taken a few bites, Nat asks Peter, “Tell me more about your life here.”

  “I’ve made some real friends—guys who like many of the same things I do.” He turns toward Dorie. “Nat taught me to appreciate Gilbert and Sullivan. Now I enjoy the offerings on Broadway. I adore musicals. I saw Guys and Dolls recently, and last week it was The King and I, which was fantastic.”

  “Do you ever go to the jazz clubs around here? Nate tells me there’s a whole lot going on around Fifty-Second Street and up in Harlem. I wish him and me could go hear what they’re up to.”

  Nat flinches at her saying “him and me,” but he’s not going to correct her in front of Peter. She hasn’t had the benefit of a fancy education like he did. “We’ve got to get back home after dinner. Mother’s waiting up for us.”

  Peter replies, “I’ve tried a few clubs. I like swing music more than bebop.”

  “Me too,” Dorie agrees.

  Nat’s thrilled to see his best friend and his girl getting along so well. He asks, “How are your parents and your sister?”

  “They’re fine. My parents are still up in Norwich, but sister Laura is here. She got married last summer to a good guy who’s in advertising. They live in an apartment downtown.”

  Dorie is focused on her food, but when Peter adds, “She’s going to have a baby,” Dorie looks up.

  Nat says, “It must be nice to have your sister nearby.”

  “It is. How is your mother doing, Nat? Has she gotten over Eddie?”

  “I’m not sure she’ll ever get over losing Eddie.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nat. I bet it’s still tough for you too.”

  “Fortunately I have someone new to think about now.” He takes Dorie’s hand and gives it a squeeze, watching her intently. She smiles back at him. He turns to Peter. “And you, do you have a special friend?”

  “Not yet, but I have high hopes.”

  Spearing a leaf of endive and lifting it toward his mouth, Nat says, “What do you think about the USSR’s performing its first nuclear test this fall?”

  “Terrifying. But I was interested to read in the Times about Walter Zinn’s experimental nuclear reactor for the production of electric power going live last week.”

  As the men carry on their conversation, Dorie doesn’t say anything until she finishes her fillet of sole and mushrooms in choux pastry.

  “That was the best fish I ever put in my mouth!”

  Peter says, “I’m glad you liked it. This place is new, but the reviews have been fabulous.”

  “What’s with your tie, Peter?” Nat chuckles so Peter will know he’s teasing. “I bet you bought that tie knowing you’d spill on it, but with a pattern that wild nothing will show. Am I right?”

  “Bull’s-eye!”

  “I know how you think.”

  “I’d love to show you around the Museum of Modern Art if you have time this week.”

  “Unfortunately we have to leave the day after tomorrow, but I’ll count on a tour with you next time.”

  Over dessert, the men discuss former classmates and teachers from Andover while Dorie sips her coffee.

  When the check comes, Nat insists he’ll take care of it. He explains, “I won a big bet with my mother, and she paid me handsomely.”

  While they don their coats, Peter says, “What do you think of New York, Dorie?”

  “I thought I’d like it, but this city is really noisy and dirty.”

  Peter laughs. “It is that!”

  Outside the restaurant, he shakes her hand and then he turns to Nat. “Let’s not let it be so long next time, my friend.” He and Nat hug. Dorie turns away from them and stares at the street.

  Once Dorie and Nat are walking along the south side of Central Park, he asks, “Did you have a good time?”

  She takes his arm. “Why is Peter so possessive of you?”

  “He’s not possessive. We’re just friends, the best of friends. You’re something more.” He stops walking. They turn to face each other, and he kisses her lightly on the mouth. Then he slides his arm around her waist and they continue down West Fifty-Ninth Street.

  She says, “I could tell he doesn’t like me. He hardly talked to me at all.”

  “Peter’s shy around women. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Hmm.” She sounds skeptical.

  The next night as Nat and Dorie and George and Eleanor leave the dinner table, his father tells him he’d like to speak with him in his study. First Nat refreshes his mother’s and Dorie’s drinks and brings them to the parlor.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he tells Dorie.

  “Don’t worry about ush,” slurs Eleanor. “We’ll have a nish chat here, jus ush ladiesh.”

  Nat heads down the hall, wondering, Now what? He opens the solid mahogany door to the room where his father usually chews him out.

  Nat would like this room if it weren’t for its unpleasant associations. Two walls are lined with books from floor to ceiling, windows without curtains look out onto the back meadow, and the fourth wall features a large fir
eplace and an oil painting of the ocean with two tiny sailboats in the distance.

  His father stands behind his desk, looking down at some papers.

  “Take a seat,” he instructs Nat, gesturing to two old leather chairs facing the crackling fire.

  Once they’re both seated, George turns to Nat. “What are your plans, Nathaniel, now that you’ve attained your bachelor’s degree? What’s next?”

  Nat leans forward. “One of my buddies in the Aces has a friend who has a friend in the recording business. If we get good enough, maybe we’ll be able to make a record. After a while we might even come join the jazz scene in New York.”

  “Your mother would certainly like it if you were to move back to this area.”

  “Speaking of Mother, she’s gotten loaded every night we’ve been here. I’m really worried about her. Is there anything we can do?”

  His father shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do. She stops for a while, and then she goes back to it with a vengeance.”

  “I don’t even like to talk to her when she’s loaded.”

  His father nods, a very sad look on his face. He pulls out a cigarette and lights up. “In the meantime, how do you plan on supporting yourself?”

  “I’m going to go around to all the jazz clubs in the Twin Cities to see where I can sit in. Maybe there’s a combo we can join that plays every night of the week, rather than just weekends, the way the Aces do. And of course there’s my teaching at the St. Joseph’s School of Music.”

  “How much do you get paid with the Aces?”

  “Thirty dollars a week.”

  “What does your housing cost?”

  “Seventy-five dollars a month.”

  “And food? Transportation?”

  He starts to feel impatient with this line of questioning. Doesn’t his father trust him to take care of himself? He’s been managing on his own for four years now. “I’ll figure it out, Father. I can always work more hours at the Radisson Hotel. I make enough money there. They like me a lot. My boss says I have good manners, and he can count on me to show up when I’m scheduled to work.”

  “I should hope so.”

  “They’ve offered me the position of host, but I don’t want to commit to that. I mean to play sax every night of the week. Some jazz cats in town have that much work.”

  George crosses his right leg over his left. “What about Dorie? How long have you known her?”

  “Three months.”

  “What are your intentions toward her?”

  Sitting up even straighter, he says proudly, “Once I’m earning enough to support us both, I plan to ask her to marry me.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. I’ve seen how you look at her, Nathaniel. Don’t let her trap you.”

  What is his father talking about?

  “What happens if she gets pregnant?”

  “We’re careful.”

  “What kind of name is Dorie, anyway?”

  “Her real name is Dorothy, but she never goes by that.”

  “Dorie is a looker all right, but she’s not our kind.”

  Nat starts drumming his fingers on his leg. “I know she’s not sophisticated, Father, but she’s a hard worker. She’s very practical—salt of the earth.”

  “I mean she isn’t bright.”

  Angrily, he replies, “She’s very smart! Just because she didn’t go to Smith doesn’t mean she’s stupid.”

  “She may have street smarts, but she didn’t attend college.”

  “She had to go to work to help support her mother!”

  “You would get bored with her before the first year is out.”

  Nat crosses his arms in front of his chest. “She’s a talented musician. We share everything we care about.”

  His father shakes his head. “You’re so smitten you can’t even see straight. You don’t hear a word I say.”

  “You’re wrong about Dorie.”

  His father looks intently at him. “Please don’t marry her, Nathaniel. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you do.”

  His gut flinches, but he’s used to disagreeing with his father. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what makes me happy.”

  “Oh, yes I do.” His father sounds confident.

  His voice low and furious, Nat says, “I’m nothing like you.”

  “Ha!” his father exclaims.

  “There’s no point in continuing this discussion. I just wish you could be happy for me. I’m finally happy!”

  A few days after they get back to Minneapolis, Dorie appears at the Flame Room in the middle of the afternoon while he’s at work. Wearing her new suit and hat, she smiles broadly at him as Nat seats her and takes her order for coffee and a piece of cake.

  When he returns with her food, she says, “I have some news.” Her eyes are shining. He thinks she must have landed them a new jazz gig. “We’re going to have a baby, Nate.”

  His heart drops into his stomach. He sinks into the chair opposite her. This is way too soon! “How did you get pregnant?”

  “How do you think?” She seems tickled by his question.

  “But I thought you were using a diaphragm. We discussed that.” He feels a momentary sense of panic, which he quickly dismisses. He loves her! It’s just that this is going to complicate things.

  She looks down. “Actually, I got fitted before we … went all the way. After a while I guess I must have gotten bigger down there, so it didn’t fit tight.”

  Scrambling to think what to do, he asks, “How long have you known?”

  “I suspected I was pregnant a few weeks ago. I went to see a doctor as soon as we got back from New Jersey. He confirmed my suspicions today. The rabbit died.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They inject the woman’s pee into a rabbit, and if the rabbit shows certain signs after a couple of days, they know the woman is pregnant.” She starts tapping her index finger on the table. She has long red nails, which have always looked exotic to him.

  “You’re sure, then?”

  “Yes!” she says fiercely. “Aren’t you pleased, Nate?”

  “Of course. You caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “Well …” She looks expectant in more ways than one.

  He takes a deep breath. “We’d better get married as soon as possible.”

  WESTERN UNION

  MINNEAPOLIS MIN 600P JAN 7 1952

  MR. AND MRS. GEORGE SUTTON

  1808 BRIARWOOD LANE PLAINWOOD NJ

  DORIE AND I TIED THE KNOT TODAY AT MPLS CITY

  HALL NAT

  April 1953

  “You’re pregnant again?” Nat is beside himself with fury. “I thought we were going to wait until I have more steady club work!”

  Dorie sits on the sagging sofa in their tiny furnished efficiency while he stands a foot away by their kitchen table. Baby Abby sleeps in her crib in the corner. WCCO radio is playing in the background.

  “Well, you know how these things happen, sweetie,” she says in a seductive tone of voice. She doesn’t seem worried at all. “All I have to do is squeeze my muscles inside there and hold on while you’re coming and … bingo.”

  “You haven’t been using your diaphragm?”

  “Everyone’s having babies these days.”

  “We’re not everyone.”

  “Abby needs a sister or brother who’s close to her age.”

  “But we agreed!”

  “We did not. You said what you thought. I never agreed.”

  “Are you sure you’re pregnant?”

  “I haven’t seen the doctor yet, but I felt like this the last time I was pregnant.”

  “We don’t have room for another baby.”

  “Babies don’t take up much room. Besides, I like being pregnant. People treat me with respect when they see that I’m pregnant. Strangers open doors for me and ask me when the baby’s due. Men take off their hats. Women tell me stories about their own experiences with morning sickness
and weight gain and labor—usually ladies aren’t that nice to me.”

  “We can’t afford a larger apartment, Dorie.”

  Raising her right eyebrow, she says, “Maybe your parents would give us a loan.”

  “I am not asking them! Don’t you understand? I’ve been preparing for a career as a jazz musician my whole life! I started playing music when I was five years old, and I wanted to go to music school right after Andover! But Father wouldn’t let me. Wanting to play music led me to defy my father, and when he sentenced me to labor in that mill in Northfield, I vowed I would never ask him for help again. You know this!” Nat’s voice has grown so loud that he’s shouting.

  Abby starts to wail. Rising quickly, Dorie goes over to pick up the baby.

  He resumes speaking more quietly. “Do I have to fight you too? Now, when I’m finally making headway with the club owners in this town, you’re telling me you’re pregnant? Again!” He pounds the oilcloth-covered table with his fist. Then he sits abruptly in one of the two metal chairs at the table. He has fought so hard for this dream, and she’s not helping him move toward it. Dorie loves jazz, so he assumed she would embrace his dream along with him. He covers his eyes.

  Dorie sways gently back and forth with the baby in her arms, humming softly, and soon Abby stops crying. After a couple of minutes, Dorie puts the baby back in her crib.

  He says, “I don’t see how we’re going to manage.”

  “If you won’t ask your parents, how about your grandmother? I bet she’d be happy to help us.”

  “Father would have my head if I asked Abba for money. Besides, Mother says Abba’s not doing well.”

  Dorie comes over to him and kneels down. Putting her arms around his back, she says, “It doesn’t matter. I won’t mind living here with two babies. We’ll be cozy. This is our very own place—I’ve never had a place all my own. We’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t know.” He feels nearly claustrophobic in their efficiency as it is—this apartment is so crowded with stuff he can scarcely breathe. Adding another baby and more bottles and diapers and clothing and toys? It’s unimaginable.

  Over the following months Nat hustles every club owner in town for more gigs, but he can’t seem to get enough work to make a decent living. He starts to wonder whether he’s been naïve. Perhaps he’s not a good enough musician to play professionally—maybe that’s why he isn’t getting more jobs and a higher rate of pay.