The Ladies of Garrison Gardens

by Louise Shaffer

  Don't think about it.

  Iva Claire scanned the room for Fritzie's costume trunk, where Pete had once told her he kept the collar. The trunk was in a corner near the bed. She started for it. A sound from behind made her jump. She whirled around to see Fritzie sighing in sleep on the bed.

  Iva Claire made her mind a blank and waited, watching the bed. Fritzie shifted position but she didn't wake up. Iva Claire moved quickly to the trunk. It was the same size as the one she'd had when she started touring with Mama, back when she was five. But this one was painted gold, with FRITZIE spelled out in hundreds of rhinestones across the front.

  The trunk was latched but not locked. Being careful not to scrape it on the floor or move it out of position, she pulled it open. Fritzie's costumes were folded neatly in the little drawers—tiny brightly colored outfits trimmed with gold braid.

  The collar was in the bottom drawer, hidden under Fritzie's red jacket. Iva Claire took it out slowly, being careful to put the jacket back exactly the way she found it. The gold collar gleamed in her hand. Suddenly there was an explosion of barking from the bed. For the second time she jumped and whirled around while ice water poured down her spine.

  An ecstatic Fritzie was wide awake, making a racket and wagging her tail. She'd seen the collar and thought she was going to do her act.

  “No, Fritzie,” she heard herself say. “Please.”

  Fritzie didn't jump well anymore, but she managed a stiff-legged leap off the bed.

  “Please.”

  The little dog pulled herself up on her hind legs and began her bow with her front paws outstretched, turning to the left and the right. But there was no Pete to help her. As Iva Claire watched, she lost her balance and fell.

  “Fritzie, I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

  She started for the door. The little dog scrambled to her feet and ran around in front of her. Iva Claire closed her eyes to keep the tears from spilling out. Soft fur brushed her legs, little paws scratched at her shins; if she opened her eyes or looked down, she'd be lost. Blindly she grabbed the doorknob behind her, opened it, and ran out. From the other side of the door she heard Fritzie's mournful little yelps. The sound followed her as she remembered to pick up the camera, hid the collar under the mattress in Mama's bedroom, returned Pete's key, and raced out of the boardinghouse.

  Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it.

  She ran back to Fifth Avenue, where she stopped in dismay. The crowd had gotten bigger. There was no way she could ever get close enough to the curb to see the parade. But she'd have to be able to talk about it. In a few days, Big Hannah would ask to see the pictures she'd taken. What was she going to say?

  Later, all she would remember was how easily all the lies had come to her and how calm she'd felt. First, she opened the camera and exposed the film to the light. When the ruined negatives came back from the pharmacy, she told herself, she'd have to try to cry in front of Big Hannah.

  Next, she got herself as close as she could to Fifth Avenue and waited. She thought she saw something that looked like ticker tape coming from the windows in the buildings across the street, but she really wasn't sure. It would be best not to mention that, she decided. Through the crowd, she heard a band playing, and then there was some clapping and cheering, but only in spots, and it seemed far away. Then the applause became a roar that surrounded her and went on and on. Obviously, Lucky Lindy was going by. She kept on waiting.

  Finally the crowd began to break up. Groups of people were walking away from the avenue, laughing and calling out to one another. She watched them pass, until she spotted two kids, younger than she was, walking behind a man and a woman who were obviously their parents. She cut in next to them and began walking.

  “Which part did you think was the best?” she asked the boy. Before he could open his mouth, his sister was offering her opinion.

  By the time they reached Broadway, Iva Claire knew Lucky Lindy hadn't walked in the parade, he'd been in a car. She knew approximately how long the parade had been, and that the little girl's favorite float had models of the Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower with the Spirit of St. Louis flying between them. The family turned to go south on Broadway and Iva Claire hurried back to the lions in front of the New York Public Library. She was in place just minutes before Big Hannah, Mama, and Pete came to find her.

  The walk home wasn't difficult. She talked about the Statue of Liberty float and all the pictures she'd taken of Lucky Lindy in his car. Big Hannah and Pete both laughed, enjoying her childish pleasure in the great day.

  And a voice inside her head said, I'm good at this. I lie to people who are my friends and take things that aren't mine and I'm good at it. And suddenly she felt very cold. But then another, more familiar voice came to the rescue.

  Don't think about it.

  Where is it?” Mama whispered, when they were back in their rooms. Iva Claire went into the bedroom and got the collar from under the mattress.

  Mama sighed with relief. “I knew you could do it.”

  She wanted to throw the collar out the window. She wanted to confess what she'd done to Big Hannah and Pete and apologize with all her heart. She wanted to promise God or someone she'd never ever do anything terrible again. And a week ago, maybe even yesterday, she would have believed she could make that promise. But now she knew better. Because now she knew too much about herself.

  She handed the collar to her mother. “Yes,” she said. “I did it.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  WHEN THEY FINALLY did perform the Beautiful Dreamer act at the Chevalier, Iva Claire didn't really care whether it was good or bad. Mama had taken the collar to a pawnshop, gotten the money, and the Gerry Society inspector had taken the bribe. But none of it mattered.

  Their first show was at eleven thirty in the morning. She and Mama sat side by side in their cramped dressing room, sharing the makeup mirror and the communal makeup table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mama's hands shake from stage fright as she lined her eyes with clown white, but her own hands were steady. Mama was chattering in a high, scared voice about agents and scouts and their wonderful future. All Iva Claire wanted to do was get through the next two days so they could get paid and buy back Fritzie's collar.

  Finally, the last bead of mascara had been applied to the false eyelashes, and the final coating of powder was dusted over the greasepaint. Mama had tweaked and puffed their costumes, and the silk roses that cost so much had been pinned in their hair. Downstairs the movie was halfway finished, and below the stage, the musicians were making their way into the darkened orchestra pit where the sheet music for “Beautiful Dreamer” had already been placed on stands. Mama kissed the rabbit's foot she always carried with her, and they hurried down the metal stairs.

  Backstage, as they waited in the wings to go on, Mama grabbed a passing stagehand by his sleeve. “Who's out there? What agency?” she whispered. The man shrugged and walked away. But then the movie screen went up, the show curtain came whooshing down, and they were on.

  Mama's voice was shaky at first but it got better as they warmed up. She still sounded tight and careful, but that was the way Mama always was in front of an audience. Iva Claire blended their tricky harmonies to her mother's melody by rote. They left the stage to scattered applause and a few catcalls.

  “The house is empty,” Mama gasped, as she stood backstage catching her breath. “Where the hell's the audience?”

  Iva Claire didn't even try to come up with something comforting to say. She just stared at the place on her mother's face where the sweat had streaked her rouge.

  Mama gulped some air and managed a smile. “That was just the first show. The agents will come later in the day. Don't worry, Claire de Lune. They'll be here.”

  There was no point in saying that she wasn't worried about anything except getting paid. They had nine more shows to go, and the collar would be back in the drawer in the little gold-painted trunk, and Pete would never
know it had been gone.

  We just have to last through tomorrow, she thought, as she and Mama trudged back up to their dressing room.

  Mama kept on believing until the last show on the second day. Then, as they stood in the wings waiting to go out for the last time, Iva Claire watched reality hit her. She finally understood that there weren't going to be any big agents in the audience and no one was going to book them on the Big Time or give them a spot in Ziegfeld's Follies.

  “I'll kill Lenny,” Mama said. As she went out onstage with her mouth stretched into her big performance smile, there were tears glittering in her eyes. And something interesting happened. For that one performance, Mama started to sing the way she did in rehearsal. They had never sounded better in their lives. When they took their bows, the applause was almost enthusiastic.

  After the show, they packed up in grim silence. They were headed for the assistant manager's office to pick up their pay—Lenny had made himself scarce—when the stage doorman called them over. He was holding out a slip of paper.

  “Somebody sent this back,” he said.

  Mama couldn't talk; she grabbed the note and started to read. For a moment Iva Claire believed in miracles. But then Mama's face went white and she looked sick, like she was going to faint.

  “Mama?” Iva Claire started to her, but Mama pushed her away. She crumpled up the note and threw it against the wall. Iva Claire picked it up.

  It was from a small-time agent named Teddy Fitz, and he had a job for them. He had a tour that had started a month earlier and one of the comedy teams had left it. He needed an act to fill in. The problem was, Teddy Fitz booked the South. His note mentioned Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Alabama, Louisiana, and Georgia.

  Iva Claire turned to her mother. “Mama, we need the money. Couldn't we? Just this once?”

  “No,” Mama said. Iva Claire was pretty sure it was having to work Georgia that cinched it.

  Iva Claire crumpled up the note again. It would have been nice to have a job that could carry them until the next check came, but it really didn't matter all that much. What mattered was putting Fritzie's collar back where it belonged.

  “I'll go get our pay, Mama,” she said.

  The next morning Mama cashed the paycheck, and they had the money. Before she went off to the pawnshop, Mama hesitated as Iva Claire had known she would and said, “If we get that collar back now, we won't have anything. Maybe we could wait until—” She looked at Iva Claire's face and didn't finish the thought.

  Two hours later, Mama had locked the door to her bedroom and was lying down with a headache. Iva Claire was sitting on the sofa in their living room holding Fritzie's collar. She and Mama were broke. Eventually, Big Hannah would have to ask them to leave because even she couldn't keep two deadbeats around forever. Iva Claire didn't know where they'd go or how they'd live. But for the first time in three days she felt light and free.

  She'd taken Pete's key from the rolltop desk earlier that morning while Big Hannah was out doing her daily food shopping. Now all she had to do was wait for Pete to leave his room. Every noon he went out to have lunch with a couple of song pluggers who'd retired about the same time he had. The threesome always went to a little place on Forty-eighth Street near the Friars' Club.

  It only took her five minutes to put the collar back. And even though Fritzie woke up and started barking just as she was closing the trunk, she didn't panic. The little dog barked a lot and everyone in the building was used to it. No one would come upstairs to check Pete's room. Iva Claire took a quick look around to make sure everything looked the way it had when she came in. Then she left.

  In the hallway she closed the door and leaned against it with her eyes closed. It was over! She'd gotten away with it! She turned around to lock the door. But as she was about to take the key out of her pocket, a sound behind her made her turn. Big Hannah was halfway up the stairs, staring at her.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  WHAT WERE YOU DOING in Pete's room, child?” Big Hannah asked quietly.

  Don't run, she told herself.

  “The door was open—” she started to say, but Big Hannah stopped her. “Pete's key isn't in the desk. What were you doing, Iva Claire?”

  She couldn't answer. Big Hannah came up the rest of the stairs. “I still know people in the business,” she said. “Word is, you and your ma had to pay off that jerk from the Gerry Society. I asked myself how you could do that when you didn't have enough money for the rent.” She paused and looked at Pete's door.

  Suddenly Iva Claire was tired—of lying and thinking and trying not to think. She slid down so she was sitting on the floor, and she told Big Hannah about the collar. “Please don't tell Pete,” she whispered. Big Hannah stared down at her for a long time; there was a hard look in her eyes. Then the hard look softened. She tucked her skirt around her knees and lowered her large body to the floor to sit next to Iva Claire.

  “No, honey,” she said. “I won't tell Pete.” One big arm pulled Iva Claire in to her ample chest. It felt so good to have someone older and bigger hold her, Iva Claire thought she would never move. But then Big Hannah said, “I don't know what's to be done. Your mother should be reported.”

  When she said that, Iva Claire had to pull away. She couldn't let Big Hannah hurt Mama. But she knew something important now. Big Hannah had a soft spot for her, and she could use it.

  “Big Hannah, we got a job last night,” she said in an eager little-girl voice. “A tour. If you don't tell anyone about Fritzie's collar, we'll leave tomorrow and you won't have to worry about what to do.”

  She could see Big Hannah waver.

  This is how Mama gets people to do what she wants, she said to herself. Then Don't think about that!

  “But it isn't right,” Big Hannah fretted. “You're just a child, and she used you. You can't go on like this.”

  “I know what I—what we did was bad. But Mama's sorry, and so am I. We brought the collar back as fast as we could. And now we have a chance to make a fresh start.” She made her voice quiver. Someday when I'm old enough, I'll do good things, I'll help people and I'll make up for this.

  “You'd be going on the road?” Big Hannah asked. “I had an idea you wanted to stay put.”

  “I want to do the act. We worked so hard on it, Big Hannah.”

  Big Hannah was troubled. She wanted to do the right thing, but she wasn't sure what it was. She was such a good person.

  Don't think about that.

  Finally the woman hoisted herself to her feet. “Give me Pete's key,” she said. Iva Claire stood up and handed it over. “Tell your mother I want her out of my house and on the road, saving her money and taking care of you. And if she ever does anything like this again and I hear about it, she won't be able to send you to do her dirty work. I'll take care of her myself.”

  And that was why, in spite of everything Mama had said before, they ran over to Teddy Fitz's office that afternoon and took the job. Rain and Rain, the Sunshine Sisters, were heading south.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  IVA CLAIRE!” Tassie's urgent voice called out from the back of the house, breaking into her daydream. “Come quick! Out here to the lobby! There's something you've got to see!”

  Iva Claire climbed down from the stage and ran through the theater to the dark lobby where there was a curved double staircase leading to the second floor. The theater balconies and boxes were on the second floor, as was the rehearsal room.

  “Over here!” Tassie said. She was standing near the right wall of the lobby. There was a glass case on the wall where the management put up the pictures of everyone who would be performing on the bill that afternoon. “Look,” Tassie said.

  Iva Claire's picture wasn't on the wall. When your publicity still was taken off the lobby wall that meant you'd been canned. For a horrible moment Iva Claire thought somehow the theater manager had heard how bad the Sunshine Sisters were. But Mama's picture was right there in its frame, although there was no sig
n under it announcing the name of their act. Obviously someone had made a mistake, and with Mama already hating the entire state of Georgia—

  “Your ma is gonna be mad,” Tassie said.

  With Tassie at her heels, Iva Claire ran up the stairs to the rehearsal room. Mama was already there, pacing and breathing hard.

  “I've been looking everywhere for you,” she said. She hadn't seen Tassie. “I need to tell you something.”

  “If it's about them not putting my picture up, I bet they just forgot. I'll go find the manager right now, and—”

  “No, you won't.”

  “I'm sure they didn't mean to insult us. If I go talk to him—”

  “I didn't give them your picture. You're not doing the act until we're out of Georgia.”

  Iva Claire's first thought was that she was free. For three whole weeks she wouldn't have to go onstage. Then she pictured Mama going out all by herself in front of an audience.

  “It's a two-person act, Mama.”

  “For now, it's a solo.”

  “Mama you need me—”

  “That's enough!” Mama snapped. Her eyes were wild; she was scared to death to do the act alone, but for some crazy reason she was going to. Iva Claire looked up at the clock on the rehearsal room wall. There was no time to argue. The rehearsal pianist would be there any minute. She had to do something. She couldn't let Mama die onstage. She looked around the room for something, anything . . . and saw Tassie standing off to the side staring at her feet.