so that he was just a bit below me. “Aw, you’re just chicken,” he said.
“Try me.”
He put his hands on my cheeks and gently guided me down to his mouth. The kiss started, stopped, started again and kept on going. I put my hands on his shoulders so I wouldn’t fall. Da would hear about this the next day at Sullivan’s Bar.
From then on, we were together. He introduced me to the best spaghetti restaurant in Providence, to fried clams at the beach at Misquamicut, to lobster rolls in Watch Hill. He introduced me to the complicated rhythms of jazz and the photographers he loved, like Henri Cartier-Bresson, whose name I could hardly pronounce but whose pictures I could understand.
Unfortunately, he also introduced me to his mother.
“This is Kit, Mom,” Billy said.
I held out my hand to shake, but she turned to take Billy’s coat. I pretended to gesture instead. “You have a lovely house,” I said.
“You’re letting in a draft,” she told me. “Close the door, Billy.”
Her hair was tightly curled, and a bit of lipstick had been applied, an orange-red that was the wrong color. I could still see the indentations from the bobby pins that had anchored the curlers to her scalp. She was dressed in dark green with a gold pin near her shoulder.
“We’ve met before,” I reminded her. “In the lobby of Carousel.”
“I don’t recall,” she said, and I could see not only that she was lying, but that she knew that I realized it, and she didn’t care.
Nate came forward to shake my hand. “It’s good to see you, Kit. How is your father?”
“He’s fine, thanks.”
There might have been a blinking sign above Angela Benedict’s head reading YOU ARE A POOR IRISH GIRL — GO AWAY. She turned and led us into the living room, where tiny sandwiches had been set out with the coffee. The plan was to have a snack and go out to the dance, where we’d meet Jamie. There were four tiny tea sandwiches on a silver plate. Obviously, we were supposed to eat and run.
Billy perched on the edge of the couch. I’d never seen him so nervous. “Kit just got a job at the Riverbank downtown,” he said. “She’s a hostess on Saturday nights. And last night Tony Carroll, the headliner, asked her to sing, and she’s become a regular part of the show! That’s how good she is.”
“That’s wonderful,” Nate said. He lit a cigarette and poured some coffee.
“I guess you enjoy being looked at,” Angela said. “Me, I think a lady should stay at home. Take care of the family.”
“I’ve been performing since I was two,” I said. “You get used to it.”
“I suppose so, if you’re that type of person.”
“What swell sandwiches,” Billy said. “I love a deviled ham sandwich.”
“You have a lovely home,” I said to Angela. Then I remembered that I’d said it already. “Beautiful furniture.”
“Angela knows exactly what she wants,” Nate said. “She describes it and sends over fabric, and Greenaway’s makes it up for her.”
“When I was little, we did an advertisement for Greenaway’s Department Store,” I told them. “My da had lined up the endorsement: The Corrigan Three Love Greenaway’s Goods! They promised to pay us in trade, so we thought we’d get a new bed or two, or a kitchen table. They gave us pillows instead, the ones that didn’t sell. For a while we didn’t have a couch, but we had pillows. Ugliest pillows you ever saw.”
Billy forced a chuckle, but nobody had anything to say about that. I don’t know why I’d just blurted out that story. This was supposed to win them over?
“Billy, pour some coffee for yourself,” Angela said. “Warm yourself up before you go.”
We sipped our coffee and nibbled at the sandwiches. I couldn’t think of another thing to say, especially since the woman was willing me out of the room.
After barely ten minutes, Billy stood and said, “We’d better be going, we don’t want to miss the fun.”
“Now be careful driving,” Angela said. “There’s supposed to be snow tonight.”
“Oh, Billy’s a great driver,” I said.
A strangled silence fell. Billy pulled at his tie, looked at his shoes, then his watch.
I stood up quickly. My skirt brushed against the coffee cup and it rattled in the saucer. Angela jumped.
We got our coats and scarves and said good night and escaped into the frosty air.
“Sorry,” he said once we were out of earshot. “That was awful.”