“I’m not doing this just because he didn’t tell me what Joanna was going to do.”
“I know. And it’s not because you’re jealous that he took her on a trip and not you.” Con was not certain that was completely true, but let it pass. Peggy continued, “First husbands are unbearable. I never got married because I’d have to start with my first.”
Con laughed, and Peggy said, “No, I mean it. First husbands just drive you crazy. Second husbands are better—all my friends with second husbands are always compromising and making rules for their marriages. They say, ‘We had a long talk and from now on I’ll visit his parents only once a year’ or ‘We’re scheduling sex.’ All that negotiating is exhausting.” She reached for a crisp edge of noodle from the remaining lasagna—which was not great, but good—and bit off a piece of it. “What I want is a third husband,” she said. “My friends who have third husbands—it’s all cherishing and forgiving, day and night.”
Con laughed at her again but she was still thinking about herself and Jerry. “When we’re apart, I’ll be able to take deep breaths,” she said.
Peggy said, “All I want in life is to take big breaths. One guy or another—somebody’s always making my diaphragm clench. Even at my age.” She stood to leave.
“My mother’s friend—” Con said. “Her friend wants power of attorney.”
“Really? You’d trust her that far?”
“Oh, I can trust her,” Con said. “I’ve known her all my life. But I should do it, if anybody does.”
“She brought it up?” said Peggy.
“Well, the doctor said something.”
“It’s a big job,” Peggy said. “If she’s willing, and you’re sure she’s—you know.”
“Marlene has a criminal mind,” Con said, laughing. “But she’s not a criminal.”
“Oh, well then,” Peggy said.
Chapter 3
After Peggy left with the empty lasagna pan, Con wrapped herself in the afghan and read more of Marlene’s letters from the war years. She had to find out just what Marlene got away with—whether she always got away with everything.
Dear Gert,
Frank accused Bernard of taking money but of course that’s not what happened. It was a lousy ten dollars. But that does it, I’m finished with Frank. Mostly this is a good group of people and there aren’t many girls so I am popular. We have a few laughs.
Even you would be having a good time. We end up talking most nights. Sometimes Bernard comes home with me. When we have the simulated air raid, he’s hoping to be picked for the head of our group, but I tell him we might not even be in the same group. La Guardia is all worked up about it or so he says when he makes speeches. We’re going to be in New York for the next one. It’s supposed to be more like the real thing than the first one, in Brooklyn. I might be a casualty. It will be fun. Not that it tells us a thing about what it would be like if the Nazis really showed up. Nobody thinks it’s for real except the mayor. But for Bernard and me it’s time together.
You can’t imagine how dark New York is. Don’t worry about the money. If you can’t send it I understand, I’ll borrow it from somebody else. I do have friends besides you! I thought it might not be too hard for you because things are better, or so it seemed. Don’t get a sunburn down in Florida.
Your loving sister,
Marlene
Dear Gert,
Bernard had a fight with Frank. I don’t see what he’s supposed to do. He can’t leave Brenda home by herself. I can’t take her. I love her but I am not gifted with children, so you’d better not ask me to babysit your girls.
I know I told you that was the last time and I wouldn’t need any more money but just one more time should do it. I won’t tell Abe, of course. Don’t worry about that. Why would I tell him? I can see he wouldn’t like it if you’ve been making up something about doctor bills when you’re really sending it to me. Twenty-five would be great but I suppose that’s too much to expect. How about fifteen?
Frank really has it in for us. I should never have had anything to do with him. It was only that one time and only because we got drunk but now he treats Bernard like hell and I’m afraid he could go to people I don’t want to mention and make some kind of deal. This would not be fair because as you know the whole thing was his idea in the first place, but you never know with guys like that. He and Bernard have that Irish temper. Frank supposedly doesn’t know about me and Bernard but I guess he does.
I am sorry about your back and the baby being sick. I wish you could rely on Abe but at least he is still stateside. When is the new baby due, I forget?
Love from your sister,
Marlene
Another letter was missing the first page.
I think as you are my close friend—sister, really—you could trust me about this. I wouldn’t do anything with your money you wouldn’t like. This is quiet and not a big deal. Frank deserves trouble, he’s a lousy supervisor, always yelling at the women and saying we’re going to be responsible when the Nazis bomb the block and we all get killed. Well, what do you know, he might get killed along with us. I know you don’t have extra money with Abe in the service and the baby and being pregnant, but this is not a lot and you know you’ll get back more than I’m asking for. It’s a good plan and with all of us together we know the right people to talk to. Rationing doesn’t make sense anyway. If somebody didn’t do this, where would we be? But they have to buy the stuff—they won’t trust us.
Dear Gert,
Well, I didn’t mention Bernard for a while because you said you didn’t want to hear about him but it’s getting difficult. He can’t stop worrying and nothing is fun. I guess he promised the guy in charge that we’d give a certain percentage of the money to the men who are providing the meat, and on the basis of that we got more than we can deal with, and now what? I’m sure it will work out but if you can send another twenty, even ten, it would be good.
I told you they had me making coffee at the mock air raid, didn’t I? It wasn’t good coffee. I made sure of that, so maybe next time they’ll give me something better to do. But I didn’t spill it on anybody.
Nothing much to say today, just hoping you can put together a little something. I still hope we’ll get some benefit from all this and that will be nice. I’ll send it to you the minute I have it. You’ll be able to buy something pretty for the baby and the new baby.
Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, I met the big boss of this thing we’re doing, the mighty Lou. You never see Lou, but everything that has to do with you know what—well, you keep hearing Lou wants it this way, Lou wants it that way. You would not think little Marlene would meet this guy, who for his own reasons would rather not be seen too much. But, I was with Bernard one night last week. We decided to knock off a little early and get together, and then he kept me waiting on a street corner, freezing to death. This was the start of when he began worrying, but I didn’t know then what was on his mind. I was mad and he kept saying, “Hey, honey, hey, honey.” Finally we went into a bar to warm up and talk things over, and as we’re going in, he says, “Oh my god.”
I go, “What? What’s going on?” and he motions me to keep quiet, and introduces me to a guy at the bar, only he doesn’t say his last name, only “Lou.” The guy says hello—this is a tall guy dressed in brown with a hat and a glass in front of him on the bar, and he’s playing with both of them. He turns back and sort of talks to us over his shoulder about the weather, which is terrible, and he’s playing so fast with his hat and his drink I think he’s trying to do a magic trick. He’s one of those people who can’t sit still, apparently. He’s talking mostly to Bernard, of course, but then I say, “What are you going to do with that drink?” just meaning is he going to spill it, and he ends up buying us a couple of drinks. And somehow I find out how the side of his leg feels, sitting on the bar stool. Of course at this point I have no idea who he is. The name didn’t ring a bell.
So when we leave, Bernard goes “Oh my god�
�� again, and I go, “What? What’s going on?” and he says, “That was Lou.”
“I know it was Lou. You said it was Lou. Lou who?”
He says, “I’m not sure he wants you to know Lou who.”
So I say, “Oh, for crying out loud.” And then I catch on. “You mean Lou as in Lou this, Lou that?” The boss. If he gets in trouble, I hope nobody saw me. But I’ll tell you, Gert, this was a smart guy. I like smart guys. I don’t know how I could tell he’s smarter than Bernard, but sitting there, that’s what I was thinking. I don’t spend enough time with smart.
Stop worrying about the baby. She’ll be fine. Abe has nothing to think about but worrying? Tell him to watch his rear end, now that he’s almost overseas. We can’t do without him.
Hurry and write.
Love, your sister,
Marlene
Dear Gert,
Well, lots of luck! I didn’t think you’d have the baby for another week, so I wasn’t even looking for a letter. I’m glad it’s another girl though you may not agree. Constance is not my favorite name but I’ll live with it, and Connie is cute. At least Abe was there, but I know it’s hard now when he’s going any minute. I get news of this one and that one in Europe, and mostly news of no news. With this war, no news is bad news. People say, “My mother-in-law hasn’t heard from her aunt in Poland” and first you say, “A stamp costs money, probably she has nothing to eat.” The person doesn’t answer and you say, “I know, I know.” But what do we know?
Thank you for what you sent, and I understand that it couldn’t be more, but if you can make it a little more in a week or so, that would be very sweet of you.
Love,
Marlene
Wednesday
Dear Gert,
Don’t worry about your money, and stop asking me to send it back. You know I can’t do that yet. Things are not easy here. Bernard’s wife found out something. I think Brenda told her about the fire and what happened that day. I didn’t think she’d do that. It will work out about the money. A lot of people are excited and willing to be part of this. The man Bernard knows is good at getting hold of butter, meat—things people want. I’m not sure if this is Lou, who I told you about, or somebody else who answers to Lou. People say rationing isn’t even necessary. There are all kinds of things they want us to do, donate foil and stuff like that. Maybe in Florida too.
Still another letter had lost its first and last page.
No, it’s not what you think. I didn’t see him again and maybe it would be better if you don’t mention him. I don’t have time to write anyway. We’re getting ready for the second mock air raid and this time I’m going to be a casualty. Some women have to cook because there is going to be real hot food and real doughnuts and the Red Cross and so on and so forth. But I’ll be lying there. Then I’ll be carried. They better not drop me. There are going to be real internes and maybe I’ll meet a handsome young doctor. Mayor La Guardia came and talked to us. He mentioned people making fun of the simulated air raids. He knew he was talking to volunteers so he said we were heroines and criticized people who laugh. But some of us were the ones doing the laughing, little did he know. Not too many. Bernard and I are the only ones without stars in the eyes. It was interesting to see the mayor close up. He walked past me taking off his coat. Somebody held it for him. He didn’t look as short as people say.
I don’t know what colic is but I hope it went away.
Dear Gert,
You’ll never guess. I spent last night at a swanky New York hotel that has a name you would definitely recognize. I stole an ashtray, so you’d believe I was there. It’s huge. Maybe I’ll give it to you—I better do something with it because sooner or later Bernard is going to see it and ask questions. Or somebody is going to ask questions. I’ll keep it in my bottom drawer and give it to you when you come home. It’s dark red, very heavy, very big, or I’d mail it. But then Abe would ask questions. By the time the war is over nobody will be thinking about anything like that, and you can tell him the beautiful dark red ashtray was a wedding present you put away. You’re wondering how I happened to spend the night in a very very swanky hotel and I am going to let you guess, but it has to do with someone I have mentioned once or twice. Enough said.
In fact I’d better give it to you. I don’t think I want anybody to know I know this guy, and who knows what he wrote down on the register. Well, I’m tired. That’s all for tonight. I wanted to tell you about it. A very classy guy.
Your friend,
Marlene
Dear Gert,
I think I know better than you what risks I am taking. You think you’re not taking risks, having two children when your husband—well, who knows what could happen? I’m sorry to suggest something like that, but you know what I mean. I don’t do anything foolish, I can tell you that. I know the difference between somebody where it’s going to work out and somebody where it isn’t. I have a feeling this is going to last. For one thing he isn’t married. Or so he says.
Stop worrying about your old friend and just take care of those little girls. I wish I could see a picture. Maybe somebody has a camera. Does Connie have red hair? I should buy her a present, I never bought her anything. What do you need? If I were a real friend I would knit a sweater, but I never learned.
Write soon. Don’t worry about me. Don’t worry, I’m not mad.
Love,
Marlene
Dear Gert,
It was pretty exciting. It happened in Bryant Park, right behind the 42nd Street Library. They had fake fire and fake bombs, the Red Cross, City Patrol, ambulances. The light was eerie. A whole lot of us supposedly got trapped in the building across from the library. It was smelly. Your girlfriend almost died, only pretend. But was saved. I was on a stretcher, and they put me in an ambulance. Then they carried me out and some young guys—people said they were real internes—asked me questions and felt my arms and legs. I kept trying not to laugh. I wish Bernard was here, even if he’s not as classy as some people. I think he may go to prison, and I just hope this isn’t because I said the wrong thing, that night at the hotel, and you-know-who got mad at him. I was up half the night at the mock air-raid but it was worth it.
Love,
Marlene
Again, a letter began with its second page. Or had begun in the middle of things.
Of course I understand about the money. I know what things cost and I can do simple arithmetic. All you have to do is say no, there is no need to get huffy about this. I’m sure I never expected you to send anything unless you wanted to be part of this plan that could benefit everybody, and I thought that was the understanding all along. But I’m afraid I can’t return what you already sent. That wasn’t the idea and you knew that. True, I thought it would all work out sooner than this, but it is just a matter of time.
I have no way of getting in touch with the person in charge I shouldn’t mention, and I haven’t even seen Bernard.
There’s nothing wrong with the baby. I wish you’d stop using that as an excuse, for heaven’s sake. Everyone has told you there is nothing wrong with the baby.
Maybe I should write to Abe. Let me know how to reach him. I will explain that you are under a lot of stress and it is natural for you to worry, but he shouldn’t worry about her. I hate to think of him up nights worrying that his daughter is feeble-minded just because she can’t roll over and some stupid neighbor is upsetting you about this. Just let me know how to get in touch with Abe. Don’t worry, I won’t say much—maybe I’ll let him know a little of what has been going on, very carefully of course, so he won’t think you’ve been extravagant. He must be worried about money. If you don’t want to send me his address I think I know how to get it from someone else, don’t worry.
Love, your sister,
Marlene
Dear Gert,
Now don’t be angry. I had to do something or people I can’t name would take off my head, and something bad would happen to Bernard, and it would be my fault. I’ll exp
lain it all when you get home if that happy day ever comes. Anyway, thanks for sending it and no I am not going to write to Abe. Not yet anyway. Oh, by the way I saw the big guy again. More than just saw, if you follow me.
Love,
Marlene (your fascinating friend from Brooklyn)
Dear Gert,
The main thing is that I think Bernard is the man for me. I don’t know what would have happened if we had met before all of this, and now that events have happened I may never see him again. His wife knows and I don’t think he’ll stand up to her, even if we get away with the rest of it. He has never been willing to talk about divorce and all that. Gert, you have never told me how to live even though you don’t live the same way I do, and I appreciate that, and I know I haven’t made things easier for you. Now I wish I had lived the way you would have wanted me to.
I’m glad you heard from Abe and he is all right.
Make sure the girls let you get some rest. You can’t be picking up after them every second and if the landlady complains, well, she would have a hard time getting somebody as good as you. So be nice but just go about your business. You’ve never learned to stand up for yourself but who am I to talk about that, you’ve done better than I have.
Nothing Is Quite Forgotten in Brooklyn Page 10
