impressed them once, was no more. She was no one now. Just a common dancer. The waters had closed over her. She was gone. Just like Clayton, and so many others. The only one she missed from time to time, was Serge Obolensky, and his coterie of noble Russians. But they couldn't possibly have understood what had become of her life, or why she did what she did. He was still married to Alice Astor.
Elsa Maxwell was writing a society column by then, and occasionally when Zoya read the newspapers, she read Cholly Knickerbocker's tales of the people she had known while she was married to Clayton. They all seemed so unreal to her now, almost as though she had never known them. There were stories of financial ruin, suicides, marriages, divorces. She was only grateful not to be listed among them. She read also of Pavlova's death of pleurisy in The Hague. And in May, she took the children to see the opening of the Empire State Building. It was 1931 by then, and a beautiful May afternoon. Nicholas stared in awe at the imposing structure. They went up in the elevator and stood on the observation platform on the hundred and second floor, and even Zoya felt as though she were flying. It was the happiest afternoon they had spent in a long time, and they walked back to the apartment in the balmy spring air, as Sasha ran ahead of them laughing and playing. She was six years old by then, and had a beautiful head of strawberry-gold curls, and a face just like Clayton's.
People were selling apples on the street as they walked past, and more than one woman admired the two beautiful children. Nicholas was going to be ten in August, but long before that, the city lay crushed by the oppressive heat. And the second of July was the hottest day ever recorded. Both children were still awake when she left for work, in a white cotton dress, embroidered with little blue flowers. Nicholas knew that she worked, but he still didn't understand where, and somehow it didn't seem important.
She left a pitcher of lemonade for them, and reminded Nicholas to watch Sasha. The windows were wide open in the hope of bringing some air into the furnace-like apartment.
“Don't let her sit too close to the windows,” Zoya warned, and watched Nicholas pull the golden-haired child back into their bedroom. She was wearing only a slip and bare feet and looked angelic as she waved good-bye to her mother. “You'll be all right?” she asked, as she always did, when she left them, her heart aching at having to leave them at all, and her heart heavy as she walked uptown to the theater. She could hardly move in the torrid heat, even at night the street seemed to steam beneath her feet, and the holes in her shoes made it even more uncomfortable to walk. She wondered where it would all end sometimes, how they would survive, how long she could go prancing around on the stage in her plumes and ridiculous costumes.
The performance was poorly attended that night, it was too hot to go anywhere. The people who still could had retreated to Newport and Long Island, and the others were languishing at home in the heat, or sitting on stoops, hoping it would break soon. She was exhausted when she finally walked home again, and she thought nothing of it as she heard the sirens in the distance. It was only when she neared her street that she smelled the acrid smoke, and then her whole body shook as she saw the fire engines and what looked like the entire block in flames as she turned the corner. She gasped in horror as she began to run, and an icy hand seemed to clutch her throat as she saw the fire engines outside their building.
“No! … no! …” She was crying as she tried to force her way through the crowds who stood in the street staring up at the three buildings in flames. There was smoke everywhere and she choked as she pushed her way past, and was stopped by the firemen at the door of her building.
“You can't go in there, lady! …” They were calling to each other in the midst of the fierce crackling sounds, punctuated by terrifying crashing noises. There was glass exploding everywhere, and her arm was cut, and began to bleed on the white