Gypsy (20 page)

Ira thought this wise, not because she didn’t approve of Jack, in fact she liked him, but she felt Beth was too young to be serious about anyone.

‘There are so many hundreds of nice young men out there,’ she would say with a roguish twinkle in her eye. ‘Enjoy your youth, it doesn’t last very long.’

But Ira wasn’t happy about Beth playing at Heaney’s. ‘He’s rotten to the core,’ she’d say emphatically. ‘You must never be alone with him, and make sure your brother never lets him do any favours for him, otherwise when he calls them in, Sam will be in deep trouble.’

Beth
was
always careful to keep her distance from Heaney, for he made her flesh crawl. He looked at her as if he was mentally stripping her clothes away, and she felt his eyes on her all the time she was playing. But though she wished she could leave his bar and go to work for someone she liked and felt comfortable with, she knew he would make her regret it.

By all accounts Pat Heaney took slights very seriously. It was rumoured that he had killed several men, and crippled many more, just for talking about him behind his back or refusing to obey his orders.

He had no real friends, only lackeys who supported him because they were afraid to do otherwise. According to Jack, he controlled dozens of prostitutes, taking at least half of what they earned. He owned two of the most dilapidated tenements in the Canal Street area and he charged such exorbitant rents that his tenants had to sublet again and again to be able to pay him. He had a hand in the thriving opium dens, dog-fighting and bare-knuckle fights. Even if only half the stories about his revenge attacks on people who had fallen foul of him were true, he was an exceptionally dangerous man. Beth was certain that if she left to work somewhere else in New York some ‘accident’ would befall her. He would never let her be a success anywhere but in his saloon.

Sam thought she was allowing her imagination to get the better of her. He not only didn’t believe the man was dangerous, he felt he was Heaney’s right-hand man because he let him run the bar without interference.

But Beth could see why this was. Despicable as Heaney was, he wasn’t a fool. He knew Sam was honest and capable, and just as big an attraction to the chorus girls from the local theatres as Beth was to the male customers. She would often peep through the door during her rest period before the last set, and there were always three or four of these girls flirting with Sam. And of course Sam loved the attention.

But then Beth knew she was guilty too of loving the attention she got. There was no bigger thrill than to have an audience in her thrall, to know she was desired by most of the men who cheered her rapturously. It was good to put on a pretty dress, to know she could afford to buy another any time she wanted to. She was doing something most women could only dream of.

Soon after starting at Heaney’s, she and Sam had found a room on the top floor in a tenement on Houston Street, sharing the kitchen with an Italian couple who had the other room in the apartment. To almost everyone they knew, a room for just two was luxury, and although Beth often complained because there was never any peace and quiet in the building with its five floors, each with four apartments and an average of eight to ten people in each, she thanked her lucky stars that it was only noise she had to put up with, not a room full of people.

The room wasn’t much, with its stained old wallpaper, and it was like an oven during the heat of summer, but Beth had made it homely. She begged some theatre posters to cover up the stained walls, found a few sticks of furniture among the many second-hand shops in the neighbourhood, and Ira had let her run up some curtains on her sewing machine and given her an old bedspread to string up between their two beds to give them a little privacy.

Houston Street was a poor area, with lines of washing hanging from every window, scrawny, grubby children playing in the street, a grog shop on the corner, and she often saw women trudging up the street with huge bundles of clothing on their backs that they’d sewn at home. But it was a lively, cheerful neighbourhood. On hot evenings people sat out on the front steps and chatted, the women shared child-care duties with one another, and helped the Italians and Germans with their English. Everyone she spoke to was glad they’d come to America and believed that by working hard they would achieve all their goals.

The worst thing about the tenement was that there were only two privies out the back for them all, stinking, horrible places that made Beth shudder and cover her nose when she entered. But Sam always emptied the slops pail each morning before he went to work, and their room overlooked the street, so the smell from the privies didn’t come through their windows. The apartment was also so high up that they weren’t troubled by rats, as many of those on the first and second floors were.

On days when she felt irritated by the noise and smells of cooking in the tenement, or daydreamed of the luxury of having a real bathroom with hot and cold running water like the one in Falkner Square, she reminded herself that these things weren’t really important, and how much better her life had become since she’d been in America.

It would’ve been unthinkable for her to play her fiddle in a saloon back home, where there was none of the freedom for young women like there was here. She could meet Jack alone for a couple of hours in the evening or on his day off without anyone raising an eyebrow. She had more money than she could ever have dreamed of back in England, and no one knew about how her father died either. Then there was the huge variety of food available here. She rarely cooked anything herself for it was just as cheap to buy something out. She loved the hot dogs, baked potatoes, doughnuts, pancakes and waffles. A Chinese man had a stall selling noodles which she adored, and she liked the big bowls of spaghetti with a tomato and meat sauce at the cafe´ owned by Italians. Hardly a day went by without Ira introducing her to something new: pretzels, pastrami, salt beef, fish balls or some kind of German sausage.

The only thing from England she really missed was Molly, and that was like a dull ache inside her all the time. She couldn’t walk past a mother with a plump, dark-haired little girl without stopping to speak, and in those brief moments she felt acute envy.

‘I could give you a baby of your own,’ Jack said once when they had been together and he’d watched her talk to a child. It was said light-heartedly, for every time they kissed he said he dreamed of making love to her.

Beth had laughed, for only a couple of days earlier she’d been talking to Amy and Kate, the two young women who lived in the apartment beneath her. They were a few years older than her, and appeared to have a great deal more experience with men than she did, but they were both funny and lively and Beth was very glad she had made two new friends.

The conversation that day had been about lines men used to get their way with girls. Amy recalled that her first sweetheart had said, ‘I won’t get you in the family way,’ and Kate said hers had tried to blackmail her with ‘You would if you really loved me.’

Beth thought Amy would find it very funny that Jack had turned the old line around.

But then Jack was a real treasure. He never complained about anything, not about his work, his living conditions, or her holding him at arm’s length. Always an optimist, he could see the funny side of everything. He made Beth laugh, she could tell him anything, and she trusted him implicitly. During the summer they had often taken a walk on hot evenings down to the East River to try to get some cooler air. Neither of them had been prepared for how hot New York could be; in Liverpool there had always been a breeze from the sea, even on the hottest days.

They’d watch gangs of young boys diving into the murky water, probably the only bath they ever had, for these boys lived on the streets — they were known as street Arabs — sleeping in doorways and foraging for food.

With an ice cream each from a stall, they would talk about how cold it had been on deck on the ship coming over from England.

‘In the winter we’ll talk about how hot it was this summer just to warm ourselves up,’ Jack would say.

It was an easy, uncomplicated relationship, for they were the very best of friends, but Beth always felt a little nervous when Jack began kissing her. She liked the tingly feeling she got in her belly, the way she seemed to melt into his arms and want to stay there for ever, but she was afraid where it might lead.

Amy had asked her once if she loved him, and Beth hadn’t known how to reply. She looked forward to seeing him and was always glad when he came to Heaney’s on Saturday night to watch her play. But she wasn’t sure that was what people called love. He didn’t make her heart beat any faster, nor had she gone off her food, the way it was in romantic books.

Jack was in the bar when Beth came out of the back room to play her final set on Saturday night. It was raining outside and he must have only just come in, for even across the big room she could see how wet his hair was. She waved before she jumped up on the stage to join the pianist.

She always enjoyed the last set on Saturday night. The crowd were mellow with drink, they hadn’t got to work the next day, and they showed their appreciation with loud clapping and stamping. She’d also come to love having Amos playing with her. He was a negro from Louisiana, and he could play the piano like no one else she’d ever heard. Once they got going they fed off each other and took the tunes to new realms.

That night was even better than usual. The audience cheered, clapped and hollered at every number, and Beth felt she had them eating out of her hand. She had difficulty ending it, for they kept calling for an encore. She did one, then another, before they finally let her go.

As she elbowed her way through the crowd towards the door to the back room where she’d left her coat, someone caught hold of her elbow.

To her astonishment it was the handsome man from the ship who had been with the married woman.

‘Miss Discretion didn’t tell me she was a fiddle player,’ he said.

In the first week or so after arriving in New York, Beth had wondered what happened between him and Clarissa, but she certainly hadn’t expected ever to see him again. But there he was, his English voice a reminder of home, and his appearance even more striking than it had been on their first meeting. He was wearing a sharply tailored dark green jacket and beneath it a fancy embroidered waistcoat.

‘What on earth’s brought you here?’ she asked.

‘I’m on business,’ he said, but the way he glanced towards the back room, where she knew Heaney held card games, suggested what his business was. ‘How did you come to be working for Heaney?’

‘My brother and I just came in here and asked for work,’ she replied, and pointed out Sam behind the bar. ‘We’ve been here for six months now.’

All at once Jack was pushing his way through the crowd. ‘Sam asked me to take you home tonight,’ he said with a wide smile. ‘He’s got to work late.’

‘Fine.’ Beth acknowledged him with a nod, but looked back at the man from the boat. ‘What happened with Clarissa?’

He shrugged. ‘It sort of fizzled out once we landed.’

Beth could see Jack was growing edgy and she really didn’t know why she wanted to hold this man’s attention a little longer anyway. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘Mr Heaney doesn’t like me talking to his customers.’

‘It was good to see you again,’ he said holding out his hand. ‘Especially to find you were so talented.’

She put her hand in his and the touch of his skin on hers sent a shiver down her spine. ‘And to see you. Good luck at the game tonight.’

‘Who was that man?’ Jack asked as they walked to Houston Street. The heavy rain had emptied the streets of people and their footsteps sounded very loud.

‘Just a man who was on the ship.’

‘I never saw him.’

‘He was in first class. We spoke once when I was on deck,’ she replied.

‘So what would a toff be going in Heaney’s for?’

Beth stopped short and pulled on Jack’s arm till he was facing her. ‘Gambling?’ she suggested sarcastically. ‘But he was as surprised to see me again as I was to see him. I don’t know anything about him, not even his name, so don’t get jealous.’

‘I wasn’t,’ he retorted indignantly. ‘It just looked as if there was something between you.’

‘Nothing more than surprise,’ she said shortly.

‘Can I come in for a little while?’ Jack asked as they got to her house.

‘No, it’s too late,’ Beth said, taking her fiddle case from him.

‘I’d be really quiet,’ he said.

He had that boyish, eager look which usually made her smile, but for some reason it made her cross this time.

‘It isn’t that I’m afraid of you making a noise,’ she said impatiently. ‘It’s how it looks after one in the morning. And Sam not being around.’

Sam still didn’t entirely approve of her friendship with Jack, but it suited him to tolerate it, for Jack walking Beth home at night meant he didn’t have to worry about her. He wouldn’t even know if Jack came up for a while because he often stayed out all night himself.

‘I only wanted to cuddle and kiss you,’ Jack said dejectedly. ‘It’s too cold and wet to do that out here. You must know I’d never try to make you do anything you weren’t happy about.’

Beth moved closer to him and kissed him on the lips. The gas street light made his face seem even more angular, his scar more livid, and gave his skin a sinister yellow tinge. She felt no desire for him at all and that made her feel bad about herself. ‘I know that, I’m just tired and a bit grumpy, and you’re very wet, so go on home.’

‘I love you, Beth,’ he said, catching hold of her face between his two hands. ‘I think I fell for you the moment I first saw you. Don’t you feel the same?’

He couldn’t have picked a worse moment to tell her he loved her, and instead of being touched, she felt irritated. If she said no he’d be deeply hurt, but if she said yes she might be starting something she was likely to regret.

‘This isn’t the time, Jack,’ she said wearily.

He took a step back. Rain was shining on his face and hair and his mouth was set in a hurt, straight line. ‘There isn’t going to be a time for us, is there?’