school, and she couldn't leave her alone when Nicholas went to the public school nearby with the neighborhood children, most of whom were dressed in rags, and some of whom lived in shanties along the Hudson River. Shantytowns were springing up everywhere, filled with people who had once been stockbrokers and businessmen and lawyers. They cooked their meals in cauldrons on open fires, and they prowled the neighborhood at night, looking for food, and discarded items they could use. It broke Zoya's heart to see the children there, with their big hungry eyes and thin faces, their cheeks red from the cold, as they huddled near the fire to keep warm outside their shanties. It made the apartment seem like a haven in comparison, and she reminded the children of how much they had to be grateful for, almost daily. But even she had a hard time remembering that sometimes, as she watched their money dwindle, and began looking for a job in earnest. It would have to be something she could do at night, when the children were asleep, or at least safely at home. She knew she could trust Nicholas to take care of Sasha once he was home from school. He was responsible, and always kind to his little sister, sharing his games with her, helping her fix her toys, and talking endlessly about their father. The subject was still too painful for her, as she watched them and went back to the living room to cry silently, as she stroked ancient Sava. The little dog was almost blind now, and Nicholas had to carry her down the stairs, when he took her out into the bitter cold to walk her.
It was January when Zoya walked from West Seventeenth Street all the way to Sixth Avenue at Forty-ninth Street, with a wild scheme. She knew it was crazy, but it was all she could think of. She had applied at several restaurants, but the proprietors had seen too many other women like her. What do you know about being a waitress? they asked, she would drop their trays, break their plates, and be too refined to work the long hours for tiny wages. She had insisted that she could do it, but they had turned her away, and there was nothing else she knew how to do, except dance, but not in the ballet, as she had in Paris.
More than once, in desperation, she had even considered prostitution, others had turned to that too, but she knew she couldn't do it. The memory of Clayton was too strong and pure, he was the only man she had ever loved, and she couldn't bear the thought of another man touching her, even to feed her children.
Dancing was the only thing she knew, but she knew just as clearly that at thirty, she could not return to the ballet, after more than eleven years without dancing. She was still supple and lithe, but she was too old, and she felt a thousand years old, as she walked into the theater she had heard of. She had already been to the Ziegfeld and they had told her she wasn't tall enough. So there was nothing left but to try the burlesque halls. It was five blocks south of the Ziegfeld Theater. Not surprisingly, when she walked through the stage door, the theater was filled with half-dressed women, whom she tried not to stare at while she looked for someone she could talk to.
“Yeah?” the woman in charge said, amused, “you a dancer?”
“I was.”
“With who?”
She swallowed hard, knowing she looked too prim in her simple black Chanel dress. She should have worn something brighter and more racy, but she had sold all her evening clothes long since, and all she had were the somber, warm dresses she had salvaged from her closets at Sutton Place, the ones she knew she might have use for in the freezing cold apartment.
“I danced with the Ballet Russe in Paris. I trained in Russia before that.”
“A ballerina, eh?” The thought seemed to amuse her beyond words, as Zoya stood quietly, her red hair pulled tightly back, her face without makeup. “Listen, lady, this ain't a retirement home for old ballerinas. This is Fitzhugh's Dance Hall!” She said it with fierce pride, and Zoya felt a sudden surge of fury.
“I'm twenty-five,” she lied, “and I used to be very good.”
“Yeah? At what? You ain't done nothing like this before, I'll bet.” That much was true, but