to let Jamie go to war just for that?” I hurled the words down the hall. “Well, say a prayer for yourself, Da. You just might have killed him!”
That afternoon I made my plans. Ironed my blouses. Packed my suitcase. Muddie begged me to stay, with tears in her eyes, and I told her I’d write, that I would be leaving when I graduated anyway, and she was the smart one, so why should I stay just for a diploma? She brought in her blue chiffon scarf and put it in my suitcase and then ran back out to the hall so I couldn’t say no.
Every once in a while Da came and stood in the doorway, saying, “And don’t think you can come back!” and “You’ll be back once you realize how hard it is to keep a roof over your head!” and “Please, Kit, I can’t bear to lose you, too.”
I let him talk, and I didn’t answer. I was right there, and I was already gone.
Four
New York City
October 1950
I heard the piano music in my dreams. He played early in the mornings, probably before school, and I was half awake. I started thinking of him as Mr. Broadway. He’d play a classical number, something I didn’t recognize, of course, and then he’d swing into “Embraceable You” or “I Could Write a Book.”
I’d lie in bed, listening, and for a while the piano would chase away the blues. I was out of work, and even though I didn’t have to pay rent, I needed money for food and stockings and toothpaste. I was getting down to my last dime, and it was plenty thin. I’d been hoping to step into another chorus job, but none of my auditions had panned out. Today I would look for a waitress job to tide me over. I tried not to think of this as defeat. Plenty of girls had jobs and managed to take classes and go on auditions, too.
I was up and circling want ads when the phone rang. I didn’t want to answer the phone, afraid it would be Nate, but I was waiting for a callback. If you’re a dancer, you’ve got to pick up the phone.
“This isn’t about Billy, so don’t blow up at me,” Nate said. “I know that your play closed. I’ve got a job lead for you.” He talked fast, like he was afraid I’d hang up. Before I did, he said, “At the Lido.”
“A nightclub?” I said this automatically, even though my heart raced at the sound of the name.
“Not just a nightclub. The Lido. You know what that means.”
I knew. The Lido was class. The girls on the line were chosen as much for their elegance as their legs. Frank Sinatra played the Lido, Ethel Merman, Johnnie Ray, all the big names. And Hollywood movie scouts constantly dropped in, looking for the girl who stood out, the one they’d offer a Hollywood contract to. Lido girls were on the cover of Life and Look, they were in Walter Winchell’s and Cholly Knickerbocker’s columns.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“Because you need a job.”
“You can’t just fix everything, you know.”
“Don’t make a federal case. I’ve got a new client in New York, he’s got a connection, I heard something, I’m passing it along. Look, the auditions are going to be on Friday. If you go tomorrow, you can get a jump on the competition. Just go see Ted Roper — he’s in charge of the shows. Two o’clock tomorrow. He’s expecting you. All I can do is get you in the door. I can’t get you the job, so relax.”
Nate hung up with a soft click. No chance for me to say no. It was like he knew whatever I’d say would be a waste of his time. He knew I wouldn’t turn this down. He knew I’d be crazy to say no.
I didn’t like him knowing all that. I didn’t like how staying here suddenly made me available to him whenever he felt like calling. I hadn’t counted on that.
I didn’t have cab fare, so I’d have to walk to the Lido. When I got to First Avenue, I picked up a newspaper from the corner store. I flipped the paper in half so that I couldn’t see the screaming headline allies push on Pyongyang, fighting still heavy. I wouldn’t read the war news, but I’d need to skim the want ads if the audition didn’t work out.