He kicked the compact out of his way and crashed out of the room and I fell trying to get up, tripping on the sash of my robe, trying to catch him, trying to make him understand. I ran after him to the front door just as he flung it open.
“My life is full of lies,” he said. “Isn’t it crazy how it happens? Just when I think it’s over, it starts again. One after another after another. Lies. And deaths. And love nests. Do you think you’re the first to shack up? Maybe you should ask your Aunt Delia. Hell, maybe I should ask her. That’s the start of it, isn’t it? Is that what he wants here, a second chance?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “What does Delia have to do with this? You have to listen to me!”
“No! I’m tired of listening. To you. To my father. I can’t listen anymore. Can’t you see, you’re destroying me! You’re all destroying me.”
“No,” I said. “We love you. We both just wanted to give you something to come back to.”
“I don’t want love anymore,” he said. “Love is nothing. From now on, I just want truth. I want all this to stop, do you hear me? I have to stop it. Starting now.”
All I could do was whisper his name. “Billy…”
The door shut behind him as he stumbled out.
Twenty-four
New York City
November 1950
I sat huddled in my robe.
I imagined the whole city opening doors, picking up the paper, reading that I was a gangster’s moll.
How had it happened, how had I gotten here, what else could I have done?
I knew this: There were things I could have done. Life gives you plenty of chances to be stupid, and I’d taken every single one of them.
Now I knew why Mickey had kicked Darla, why the girls wouldn’t look at me, why Darla had asked that night if Nate approved of my hair. All along, they’d thought I was Nate’s girlfriend. Sonia had given him my shoe size. Ted had seen me because word had come from Nate Benedict, one of Frank Costello’s mouthpieces, that I was to be given a chance. He’d been expecting a no-talent nothing that day. And what had he said on the phone yesterday? It won’t be long before they start kicking up some dirt on your boyfriend. He hadn’t meant Billy — he’d meant Nate.
And now the news would spread from the club to the entire city. Daisy would read that headline, the girls from the chorus of That Girl From Scranton!, Shirley and her mother would have the best morning of their lives today with gossip like this.
It was no wonder Billy didn’t believe me. You’re fed something by a paper, you swallow it whole.
Whenever I thought of Billy trying to tie his shoe, blinded by tears, I felt as though my body would simply fold up on itself and disappear. I wrapped my arms around my legs and rocked back and forth, trying to think. Trying not to feel.
I couldn’t sit still. I mopped up the milk and the blood and the glass. I roamed the apartment, avoiding the bedroom with the mussed sheets. I would write him a letter. I would make Nate explain. I would take the train to Providence and wait outside his house. I would see him somehow, I would explain it all. This time in words he would be able to hear.
When the phone rang I was tempted to ignore it, but I hoped it would be Billy. I picked it up and listened.
“Hello? Kit?”
“Ted?”
“How are you?”
“Perfectly swell.”
“Well, don’t let the papers get you down, kid. Listen, the reason I’m calling is… you don’t have to come to the club today.”
“Ted, I’m fine. I don’t want to miss work.”
“Well, the thing is, I have to let you go. Mr. D’s orders, I’m afraid. The club doesn’t need this kind of publicity right now.”
“But I’m not Nate Benedict’s girlfriend!”
There was a short silence.
“The papers got it all wrong,” I said. “He’s my boyfriend’s father. I knew him in Rhode Island.”
“Honey, it doesn’t matter one way or another. It’s in the papers. It’s publicity, good for you, but it’s wrong for us. Never mind the cops, we’re square with that, but now the Feds are breathing down Mr. D’s neck, and so… look, kid, it’s better this way. You can hole up for a while. If you need