Modern Girls (13 page)

LYING in bed, I could hear Ma bustling in the kitchen. I stared at the ceiling, the cracks in the plaster in the shape of a spiderweb, weaving its way from wall to wall. Each mark branched into yet more: one line becoming six; twelve lines making seventy-two.

I closed my eyes. Math wasn’t going to soothe me now.

My body longed to rest, but my mind wouldn’t allow it. I was embarrassed, humiliated, scared. But at the same time, a new sensation took hold: relief. Ma knew. If anyone could fix things, it was Ma. While I knew it was irrational, the fact that Ma knew alleviated much of my fear.

But not my shame.

Last May. How long ago last May seemed now. Last May when I was still young and innocent.

What a fight Abe and I had had. Over those damn Krauses.

I replayed the incident in my mind. We left the theater on a Wednesday night and were wandering the streets, holding hands. Spring gentled its way into New York, and a rain had left large puddles in the road that reflected the streetlamps, giving a holiday twinkle to the cool evening.

I felt light and airy. A night like that was as glamorous as any in the movies. “What do you say?” I asked. “You and I go to Camp Eden this weekend?” I gave him a little squeeze. Just the idea of me and Abe up in Cold Spring was a thrill. In magazines, I read of
folks who escaped the city for an
entire
summer. Even if I could leave only for a weekend, it made me feel worldly.
I’m going to the country this weekend,
I’d tell the girls in the office. “It’s opening weekend, and it would be so lovely to go away, you and me.”

Every summer all our friends would escape to Camp Eden at some point. At the small socialist camp, run by the Yiddish Farband, tents could be rented for a few dollars a night. The chores, in theory, were equally divvied up—preparing meals, carrying water from the well, collecting firewood, keeping the grounds clean—but in practice, the roles at camp weren’t so different from the ones at home, with the women doing more of the domestic chores, while the men built fires and repaired tents. At night, we’d sit around the campfire, singing the songs of our childhood—the protest songs, the work songs, the songs we heard our parents sing as we marched in the streets and cheered at rallies. Talk of politics sprinkled the air. Comedies—proletarian, of course—were put on, lectures frequently given, baseball games a must. All the socialist talk I could live without. But the freedom of Camp Eden? I’d take that any day, thank you.

“Cold Spring? This coming weekend?” Abe said. “It’ll be freezing.”

“So?” I shrugged. “It’ll be cold here, too. But at least there the spring flowers will be emerging and the nights will be perfect for strolls in the meadows.” I leaned into him, letting go of his hand to hold him by the crook of his arm.

Abe shook his head.

I changed to a more practical approach. “They need people to ready the camp for the season.” I didn’t mind the camp chores. Anything to be outside, alone with Abe. Camp Eden was the only place we weren’t smothered by people. In Cold Spring, I was free to slide my hands beneath Abe’s shirt, feel the knotty muscles running along his back, lose myself in his solid arms. Abe still maintained utter propriety, keeping me at arm’s length, but somehow, his arms never stretched as far in the open-aired freedom of the country.

“Even if it weren’t too cold, I’m afraid I can’t. The Krauses are coming to town.”

That stopped me short. “The Krauses!” I snorted. “All the more reason to go to Cold Spring.”

Abe laughed. “Ah, always charming, my Dottala.” He turned and wrapped his arm around me, warming me as the temperature dropped.

“Oh, and Sadie Kraus is so dignified? I’ve seen the way she looks at the boys when we all go to the café.”

Abe stiffened, dropped his arms, and started walking again. “Don’t be ungenerous, darling. It doesn’t become you.”

Not for the first time I wondered about Sadie and Abe. Was Abe jealous of the way Sadie flirted with other boys? Or merely angry that I was insulting an old friend?

“Ungenerous?” I said. “Nathan Kraus has made it perfectly clear he intends you for his sister. He actually said it in so many words.”
Don’t Abe and Sadie look natural together?
If that’s not
beshert
, I don’t know what is.

“Who cares what Nathan Kraus wants? What matters is what
I
want.”

“And what
I
want. We’ll go to Cold Spring this weekend,” I said. “Play some baseball, maybe take a rowboat on the lake, relax by the fire.”

“Nonsense,” Abe said. “It’s too early. And even if it weren’t too early, I won’t be rude to my friends.”

My pace quickened. “Oh, so you’re rude to me instead?”

“Dottie.” His tone was quickly becoming exasperated. “Don’t be like that.”

“Fine!” My arms were practically pumping at my side, I was walking so quickly. “I’ll go without you.”

“That’s crazy.” Abe’s shorter stride kept him a pace behind me. “We’ll go in a few weeks, when it’s warmer. This weekend, you’ll come out with me, Nathan, and Sadie.”

Any thoughts of giving in were immediately dashed. “You will not have me and Sadie at the same time.”

“Dottie,” Abe said, his voice lowering as it did when he was angry. “That is absurd. You are my girl. Nathan and Sadie are old friends. You will come with me when we all go out, and we will have a lovely time.”

I stopped suddenly and spun around so quickly that Abe ran into me, practically knocking us both down. “Abe Rabinowitz, you will
not
tell me what to do. You can stay. Sadie can have you, for all I care!
I’m
going to Camp Eden.”

“You’re being foolish, Dottie.”

“Foolish to think I could count on you to stand by my side.”

With that, I turned and ran back to my apartment without him, fueled by my anger toward him and my hatred of Sadie.

•   •   •

AND so it was I arrived alone at the Cold Spring train station at 7:33 p.m. on Friday, May 24. At several points over the previous two days I’d thought to cancel my trip—it
was
awfully early in the season; it
would
be cold up there—but I refused to give Abe the satisfaction.

When I got off the train, I looked at the other passengers. No one seemed to be going to Camp Eden. A businessman with a valise appeared to have returned from a sales call in the city. A mother and a babe detrained. But I was the only young person with a suitcase, so with a sigh, I turned to head out to the camp. If Abe were there, he’d talk me into walking the three miles. But he wasn’t, was he? So I hailed a cab from the front of the station, where they lined up for the city folk like me who wanted to get away for the weekend. But on that night—so early in the season—there was one lone cab.

Climbing in the back, I hauled my bag in next to me, plopping it on the seat Abe should have been occupying. My bag was
small. I didn’t need much for the weekend. It was still too cold for swimming, so no towels, no suits. Just shorts for playing sports and a clean pair of slacks for the next day.

The drive was quick, and when we arrived, the driver put out his hand. The meter read “.20.” Reluctantly I handed over two dimes and a couple of pennies, sorry I hadn’t saved the money by making the hour walk. This only revived my anger toward Abe.

It was late enough that I’d missed dinner, but an old friend from my grammar school days, Beverly, was there, and she scrounged up a snack of black bread and herring for me. After settling my belongings in the tent and eating, I joined the others at the campfire. The turnout was small. Only those especially committed to getting the camp up and running—like Beverly—and those who wanted to escape watchful eyes for a little fun in the country—like me. And Willie Klein.

We all huddled close to the fire, trying to keep warm. The temperatures in the city were starting to rise, but here, under crystal clear skies, the nip was enough to make me shiver if I moved too far from the flames. Damn that Abe. Leaving me cold and alone.

A metal flask made its way around the circle, eventually reaching Beverly on my left. A teetotaler, Beverly simply passed it to me with a “Help yourself.”

Even through my thin gloves, I could feel the chill of the metal. The fire did little to warm me. Abe was right in not coming up; it was too early in the year to enjoy a weekend in Cold Spring. My fury grew. What was he doing right then? Had he and Sadie found a quiet corner in a cellar?

Bringing the flask to my mouth, I savored the feel of the liquid sliding down and the burn on the back of my throat. A warm flush rose in my cheeks. I noticed a few of the boys on the other side of the fire eyeing me, waiting to see if I choked on the fiery liquid. But I wasn’t as naive as the others thought; I’d drunk before, liked the taste of the amber liquid, the way my insides became toasty.
To my right, Willie raised an eyebrow as I brought the flask to my lips for a second—and a third—swallow before passing it to him.

Willie Klein was as handsome as a movie star, with wavy black hair and high cheekbones. His nose was prominent without being too large, and his eyes were a violent shade of green. His appearance was slightly ambiguous; one could look at him and not know for sure if he was Jewish or Spanish or Italian, a handy trait for a writer in New York. In the city, I didn’t see Willie too often. His parents had distanced themselves from the lower East Side, taken to their Park Avenue address with full body and soul. His mother, Molly, was Zelda’s aunt, her father’s sister, so sometimes Willie visited Zelda. But mostly he stayed in his own world except to partake every now and then in the
Yiddishe
nightlife. His parents thought the cramped and crowded lower East Side—the
shaddachan
making marriages, the peddlers on the street—an embarrassment, a throwback to life in the Old Country, even though neither had experienced it. His mother had been an infant when she came to the States, and his father was American-born. Willie’s family was thoroughly modern. No arranged marriages for him.

The thought of arranged marriages made me think of Abe, and what he was doing with Sadie. Was his arm casually thrown about her shoulders? Did her hand rest gently upon his thigh? I thought of the way Lefty’s hands, callused and hard, had touched me beneath my clothes all those years ago, how they’d stirred in me feelings of dizziness, but an exhilarating kind, a dizziness that filled me with the sensation of wanting until my body shook with fervor. I knew Abe had no intention of marrying Sadie. Which was exactly why it would be easy for him to act freely with her. No man wants an impure wife; but if she wasn’t going to be
his
wife . . . A burst of anger tightened my muscles, made my jaw clench. But when I saw Willie looking at me queerly, I forced a smile. And when the flask came back around to me, my pull was extra long.

One of the girls brought a stack of blankets from a tent and passed them out. They were large scratchy coverings, and I shared
one with Beverly and Willie. I tried to relax. The hooting of owls filled the night sky, and stars taunted from behind the clouds, playing peekaboo with the gazers below. Beverly was arguing politics with some of the men, who wanted to express their opinions even more loudly. The voices rose and rose, reaching for the sky. I was desperate for quiet, desperate for peace. No one noticed how silent I was. No one felt my fury. No one noticed the extra pulls I took from the flask, although now I wonder—perhaps I was noticed? Perhaps the man on my right was keeping careful track. But the night was intoxicating. The anger that fueled me, the bourbon on my near empty stomach, the crisp night, the crackle of the fire, the scent of Willie, who somehow seemed a tad closer than he’d been when I sat down. Did he think I didn’t notice the way his eyes kept steadfastly returning to my face? A heat infused me, a heat that prickled. I felt beautiful sitting there, light-headed and delightful, admired by a handsome man. I was seductive and sultry. The hell with Abe, I decided. Sadie could have Abe.

No one could see the way Willie inched closer to me beneath the blanket. I observed Beverly from the corner of my eye, but she suddenly stood, moving closer to the boy with whom she was arguing, leaving Willie and me all alone under our cover. I kept my eyes on the fire, pretending I couldn’t see him, not until his thigh grazed mine. I was entranced by the flicker of the flame. The fire heated my face to a near burn, but left my backside icy and raw. I settled slightly into Willie, the power overwhelming me. When the flask made its final round, I unabashedly tilted it up, finishing off the contents. Willie slipped his hand around to the small of my back. No one could see, though, when I removed it, enjoying first the consternation on his face, and then the surprised joy when I placed it on my leg.

No one noticed when I stood up. I didn’t bother to excuse myself. I didn’t glance at Willie, but retreated to my tent, which I didn’t have to share, since it was so early in the season. I assumed no one noticed when Willie stood five minutes after.

Later, I lay alone in my tent, listening to the sounds around me, not quite believing what I had done, not quite understanding when it had gotten out of hand.
Were the sleeping bags always so flimsy? Why are the cots so stiff?
I thought, pulling the standard-issue, threadbare cotton sack farther up, trying to bury my chin underneath. May was too early, too early by a long shot. I shifted, rubbing my legs together, trying to ignore the unfamiliar stickiness on my inner thighs. A trip to the outhouse was called for, but it was so cold I didn’t want to get up.