The Legacy (1987)

by Plante, Lynda La

  Freda and Evelyne followed their men, arm-in-arm, laughing at the contrast between Ed with his waddle and Freedom with his cocksure stride, towering above Ed.

  Sir Charles was equally enthusiastic, warmly welcoming them to his suite. ‘Here he is, everyone, this is my champion.’

  As usual, Sir Charles had invited a roomful of elegant guests. The dinner was very formal with four waiters hovering to look after them. Freda insisted on speaking French to the waiter who served her, which nonplussed him as he came from Bradford.

  Freedom was being very attentive to the attractive blonde woman on his right. Evelyne excused herself, saying she must see to her child, and the gentlemen rose, half-heartedly. Freedom seemed unaware she had left.

  On her way back to her cabin Evelyne stood for a while watching the dark sea. Strains of music drifted up from the ballroom and slowly she began to waltz along the deck – one, two three, one, two three . . . she stopped to sit in a deckchair. Suddenly the lovely, balmy night was too good to miss.

  She heard Freedom’s voice and rushed to the rail to look over and call to him to come and sit with her. She could see him, with the blonde on his arm, strolling along the deck below her with some of the other dinner guests, towards the ballroom. Evelyne had never felt so jealous in her life. She wanted to go down and dance with him, but she couldn’t. She was fat and ugly while the blonde was so beautiful and slim, not pregnant, not so tall.

  She watched Freedom’s progress, inching down the steps to get a better view. There was applause, and there he was, bowing and smiling. A waltz was being played and Evelyne could see him with his arms wrapped around a small woman. She was beginning to feel furious when the couple did a twirl and she could see that he was hugging Freda in his arms. They danced towards the open deck, and Evelyne stepped into the concealing shadows on the stairs. Their voices could be heard clearly below her.

  ‘Oh, oh, I am so dizzy, darlink.’

  ‘Aye, well, I had to have some excuse, Freda, that woman was hanging on my arm so I couldn’t leave.’ They leant on the rails, looking out at the sea. ‘Does the sea not remind you of my Evie’s eyes, Freda? Freda . . .?’

  She had slithered down and was sitting on the deck, the champagne and wine too much for her. Freedom picked her up and put her over his shoulder. Evelyne put her hand over her mouth to stop herself giggling as the blonde lady appeared. ‘Oh, Mr Stubbs, don’t tell me you are leaving so early.’

  ‘I’m afraid so, ma’am, my partner here has overexerted herself.’

  ‘Oh, do come back, we are all going for a midnight swim.’

  ‘Aye, well, it’s a nice night for it.’

  The blonde was joined by another woman and they watched Freedom stride off. ‘Oh, he’s so manly, Gertrude, and so strong, he really is.’

  ‘Now, now, Mabel, he’s a married man.’

  The blonde giggled, twirled around. ‘That’s never stood in my way before, darling.’

  Evelyne had heard enough. She bent over the railings and spoke to the astonished Mabel. ‘It had better stand in your way when it comes to my husband, miss, or you’ll get more than you bargain for.’

  Mabel nearly fainted as Evelyne marched off down the deck.

  When the time came to dock in New York, they stood together on the deck to watch as the huge ship eased its way into the harbour. Towering above them was the Statue of Liberty, and Freedom lifted Edward up on to his shoulders to see her. The ship’s hooters screamed and streamers and confetti scattered from the top decks while a band played; everyone’s excitement was at fever pitch. They had arrived in New York. Freedom slipped one arm around Evelyne, his face serious and his voice quiet.

  ‘When we go home, Evie, I’ll be world champion. I promise you.’

  The wonders of America did not stop at the docks. A limousine was waiting to drive them to an airport, from which they were to fly by mail plane to Chicago. Even the garrulous Ed was stunned into silence. Sir Charles bent down to talk to them through the window of their car. ‘I’ll be flying with you, see you there . . . Ed, you’ve got the itinerary, the hotel booking and the tickets. Have to get a move on, the plane leaves in two hours.’

  As they sped through the streets, they stared at the towering buildings in awe, but their sightseeing tour was short and they soon arrived at the small airstrip.

  They had accepted the fact that they would be flying as if Sir Charles had said they were going by train, but when they saw the fragile aircraft on the landing strip it really sank in.

  ‘Oh, Ed, darlink, I think I am going to faint, I do. Are we really going up in that little thing?’

  Freedom hugged Evelyne to him, ‘You scared, manushi?’

  She shook her head, trying to keep hold of Edward who jumped up and down in uncontrollable excitement.

  Sir Charles was elated to be flying, and as soon as they climbed on board he sat next to the pilot. Freedom held Evelyne’s hand, his son on his knee, and they looked out of the single, small window. They were a little frightened, and were not reassured by Sir Charles bellowing instructions to the pilot. The faithful old Dewhurst sat with his rosary in his hands, eyes closed and praying, all through the journey.

  As they prepared to land, Sir Charles strapped himself into his seat, a glint in his monocled eye. ‘This is thrilling, absolutely thrilling.’

  The plane bounced on to the landing strip, and they all turned a little green, but were thankful to be down and in one piece. Dewhurst’s knees gave way and he had to be helped down the stairs, constantly apologizing to Sir Charles.

  ‘Freda, I think I’m dying, oh God, I’m dying, my heart it’s my heart.’ Freda gave Ed a big hug and told him he could open his eyes; they had landed, everyone else had already left the plane.

  ‘Gawd ’elp us, Freda, I feel as if I was still up in the clouds.’

  Sir Charles had been driven into Chicago, leaving the others to wait for Ed and Freda with the longest car any of them had ever seen. It was silver, and the chauffeur wore a blue uniform. They climbed into the Cadillac limousine, and Ed flipped through the itinerary and instructed the driver to take them to the Lexington Hotel. Sir Charles, he noticed, had ‘The State’ suite in The Sherman Hotel. He still as always kept his distance, and Ed knew it would be costing more than all their rooms put together . . . but as His Lordship was footing the bill for the trip, it was his prerogative.

  The journey into the city was almost as exciting as their voyage, once they had overcome their nervousness at travelling on the wrong side of the road. Immensely long cars whizzed by, drawing gasps of admiration. The chauffeur gazed at them through his mirror and when he spoke his accent made Freda giggle.

  ‘You folks from England? Well, jeez, ain’t that great, I never been outta Chicago myself; that’s the state capitol we just passed.’

  He asked them endless questions, while stealing glances at the ‘black guy’ with the long hair. He thought they looked pretty scruffy, but they must have dough to be staying at the Lexington.

  When they arrived at the hotel, Ed realized he had no American dollars so he had to go to the hotel bank to change his English pound notes. Two porters carried their luggage into the hotel and the limousine drove off.

  They pushed through the revolving doors after the porters, Freedom lagging behind as he struggled with several pieces of hand luggage, including his kitbag. The mahogany reception desk was immensely long and at least eight uniformed bellhops rushed around in the lobby, which was crowded with guests and potted palms.

  The manager looked through the glass-fronted door of his office and pursed his lips. He could see the new guests checking in and didn’t like what he saw. He made a quick call to the receptionist to tell the assistant manager to come to see him immediately.

  Ed couldn’t understand what was causing the delay. They were all very tired, and Edward had started to cry. Ed showed the receptionist the telegram confirming their rooms. He was beginning to get impatient as no one seemed in the slightest hurry
to register them and hand over their keys.

  The assistant manager, flushing beetroot red, hurried from the office, lifted the mahogany flap and slipped in behind the desk. ‘I’m afraid there has been some mistake. We only have one room booked, Mr Meadows. I cannot apologize enough, but I’m afraid the rest of your party will have to find accommodation elsewhere.’

  Ed was confused as he crossed the lobby to Freedom and Evelyne to tell them of the situation. The little boy was really beginning to scream now, so Ed suggested that Freedom and Evelyne take his room; he and Freda could find another hotel. He returned to the reception desk and asked for the key for his companions to take the room.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, that is not possible, I am afraid we cannot accept your companions, that is the hotel rule.’

  What on earth was the man talking about? Ed’s protests grew louder and then, to his astonishment, the assistant manager pushed a card across the counter. Neatly printed on it were the words, ‘No coloureds or blacks to be allowed as guests of the Lexington Hotel.’

  Ed stared at him, confused, then picked up the card and reread it. ‘What’s this got to do wiv us, for Gawd’s sake?’ Ed jabbed the manager with his finger and pushed the card forward, his voice rising as he demanded to know what was going on. He had personally sent a telegram to the hotel for two double rooms, one with a cot for a child, and now he was told there was only one room vacant and his friends couldn’t move into it. Sensing an impending explosion, the manager drew Ed quietly aside and repeated the hotel policy that no coloureds and no couples of mixed race were allowed in the hotel.

  ‘Mixed what? What you talkin’ about, mate, we ain’t black, what you think we are?’

  The manager turned and flicked a look at Freedom, then turned back to Ed. Suddenly it was painfully clear, they thought Freedom was black. Indeed, because of the sunshine on the crossing, his dark skin was even darker. Ed spluttered and could hardly speak with rage. ‘He’s contender for the World Heavyweight boxing title, for Chrissake, he’s not black, he’s a gypsy! That don’t make him black.’

  Freedom handed his son to Evelyne and began to cross the lobby towards Ed. The next moment the place was in an uproar, as Ed knocked out the manager with one punch. Ten minutes later they were on the pavement outside the hotel, Freda in tears and Ed so angry he could hardly speak.

  ‘We ain’t stayin’ in this dump, any of us, come on, we’ll get a taxi an’ see where there’s a better hotel.’

  Freedom pulled the still furious Ed aside and asked what on earth had happened in there. Ed wouldn’t say, but he hailed a taxi and ushered them all into it.

  They stopped at two more hotels and Ed went in alone to investigate, but at each one he was told, ‘No coloureds’. While he was in the second one the cabbie, who had been staring at Freedom, realized what was going on. ‘Most of da hotels around dis part of the city don’t take blacks. I know a place where maybe they’ll let you in, you want me to try there for ya?’ He hooked his arm along the back of the seat and looked enquiringly at the party in the back. They stared at him, not understanding what he was saying. He pointed to Freedom and repeated that there was a rule in the best hotels, no coloureds and no Indians. Some even refused Mexicans. A defeated Ed returned to the cab, and now that they all understood the predicament he blushed in shame for them. ‘I’m sorry, lad, I told ’em all you wasn’t black, but they don’t believe me.’

  Evelyne was silent, but as they drove off she saw in the distance a huge hotel towering above the shops and apartment buildings. The Metropole Hotel, 2300 South Michigan Avenue.

  ‘Driver, take us to that hotel, please, and, Ed, I want to go in this time.’ She would hear no argument, even when the cab driver tried to dissuade her, implying that the Metropole, of all hotels, would most certainly refuse them. Freedom said nothing, he was so taken aback, but the driver went on ominously about the Metropole and that he would lay odds against their being allowed in, not just because of Freedom but for other reasons. Evelyne repeated her instruction to take them to the hotel and gripped Freedom’s hand.

  As they stopped, Ed made to get out, but Evelyne wouldn’t let him move. She insisted on leaving them alone and, head high, she walked into the lobby.

  ‘She’ll get no joy in dere, pal, I’m tellin’ ya, I know dis town an’ I know dis hotel, ya tryin’ the wrong place.’

  All their eyes followed Evelyne as she walked from the cab through the revolving doors and into the ornate lobby.

  Inside it was opulent, thickly carpeted, with massive ferns and palms in every corner. There was so much brass and so many chandeliers that the whole lobby seemed to glitter.

  Evelyne strode to the reception desk, along, polished counter with racks of keys and pigeonholes for letters. She had to wait for a gentleman in front of her to sign the register, a burly, fat man smoking a cigar. The clouds of smoke rose up to form a ring around his head.

  A clerk, seeing Evelyne waiting, hurried forward to attend to her.

  ‘I wish to book two double rooms, one with a child’s cot, and private bathrooms, please.’

  The clerk reached for the register and thumbed through the pages.

  ‘There will be a Mr and Mrs Ed Meadows, and Mr and Mrs Freedom Stubbs with the child. Mr Stubbs is here as a contender for the World Heavyweight Boxing Championship. I am his wife.’

  The clerk murmured and leafed through his book, and the large man with the cigar turned to Evelyne and beamed. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but I couldn’t help overhearing, there’s more fighters comin’ in for that title. The whole of Europe’s after it so I wish you luck, and may I say your husband’s a fortunate man to have such a beautiful wife.’

  Evelyne smiled her thanks, but she was shaking. Aware that the clerk could hear her, she told the fat stranger that her husband was the British Heavyweight Champion. ‘You may have heard of him, Freedom Stubbs, he’s a Romany gypsy, a prince.’

  Even to her the statement sounded childish, and the big man laughed. From his back pocket he took a roll of banknotes larger than his fist, turned back to the receptionist and began peeling some off. They were fifty-dollar bills, and he was paying for his room up front.

  A doorman appeared outside and leaned on the window of the waiting cab. He told the cabbie to move on, go round the block – he could return in a few minutes but the forecourt had to be cleared. The cabbie started the engine and they did a slow crawl out of the forecourt. Coming in was a glittering Cadillac limousine, bright yellow and so highly polished that the lamps and wheels seemed to spark. The chauffeur rushed from his seat to the rear passenger door and two burly men in dark-grey suits and smart white shirts and ties hurried to the entrance. They stood like guards as the chauffeur stepped back, holding the car door open.

  A square, stocky man stepped out of the limousine, wearing a pale lilac linen suit, a white fedora hat, and carrying white gloves and a silver-topped walking-stick. He didn’t acknowledge the two men standing on guard, but strode past them into the hotel.

  Evelyne was still waiting patiently at the desk, as the clerk took forever to flip through the register, and as the brass-framed doors swung open and the lilac clad gentleman entered, the whole lobby went quiet. The two bodyguards walked immediately ahead of him, and two more appeared from behind the potted palms, hemming the squat man between them.

  ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t seem to have nothin’ available right now . . .’

  Evelyne had hoped so hard it would be all right that she was bitterly disappointed. She was unaware that a porter had been sent outside to check on the occupants of the waiting cab, had taken one look at Freedom and given the thumbs down.

  She had not noticed the flurry of excitement behind her, she had been so intent on the receptionist. The man wearing the flashy lilac suit was heading for the lifts, the two thickset men making a path for him. There was actually no need, as everyone stepped back quickly as soon as they saw the group. Evelyne clenched her teeth, trying hard not to cry. She knew
that by now Edward would be starving and fretful, but she thanked the clerk, and her initial show of confidence ebbed fast as she hurried towards the exit.

  She was so eager to leave that she bumped into one of the two bodyguards. She barely touched the man, even apologized, but the next minute she was shoved roughly aside, with such force that she fell against a pillar. This was the final straw and she turned on the man, catching him by the sleeve. ‘There was no need to push me like that, it was an accident.’

  She received no reply, but another shove. As she struck the pillar again, she dropped her handbag and all the contents spilled out on to the marble floor. As she scrabbled for her things, she missed seeing the boss give his protector a nasty crack on the shoulder with his walking stick. She only became aware of him when she saw, close to the handkerchief that had fallen from her bag, a pair of highly-polished, two-toned shoes. Her eyes travelled up the lilac pants to look into the dark eyes beneath the fedora hat.

  ‘You okay, ma’am? Want me to give you a hand . . . here, allow me.’

  As he bent down, she could smell a heavy, sweet perfume. The perfectly manicured hand picked up Edward’s well-chewed dummy and held it out. Evelyne stood up. She was a head taller than the man, and his chubby face beamed up at her as he asked about her accent.

  ‘I’m from Britain, Wales.’

  The fedora was lifted off, he made her a small, courtly bow. As he replaced his hat, he asked if she was a guest of the hotel. Evelyne bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears. He was so friendly, so charming . . . he took out a clean white handkerchief and handed it to her. She was deeply embarrassed, and try as she might to stop them, her eyes kept filling with tears. She wiped her face and told him the hotel was full, she could not get rooms. She was unaware that the lobby had come to a complete standstill as she talked to him.

  The man swept over to the counter, and now Evelyne could see the impact he made on the porters and desk staff. Every move he made was shadowed by his attendants, and now they seemed more than cordial, bowing and scraping as if the man were royalty. She watched him talk quietly to the clerk, then he gestured for her to join him at the desk.