Modern Girls (17 page)

“Dottie,” he said more gently, hiding his body in the shadows so I couldn’t see his humiliation. “We’ve been through this before. You know why it is not right.”

My body screamed for him, begged for him. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you understand,” Abe said. “You simply choose not to.” His voice lost its distress and took on a more patronizing tone. “What we’ve done tonight is a sin. An act against God.”

Looking around, I spotted other couples, far off, in various stages of necking and petting. Nothing was truly visible in the night but the movement of bodies, and the low murmur of sweet nothings carried on the evening winds. “Abe. This is 1935. New York. It’s not 1880 in the Old Country.”

Abe took another step back and looked at me condescendingly. “Virtue is not dictated by time and place. Dottie, I do not wish to be with the woman I am going to marry before our wedding night.”

That stopped me cold. “What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?” Abe asked. His confusion sounded genuine.

“Does that mean you’ve been with a woman you
don’t
intend to marry?” I asked.

“Of course not,” Abe said.

Was I reading too much into his words? But how else could he stay so pure? He
had
to be
shtuping
someone. “Have you been with Sadie?”

“I am horrified that you would even accuse me of that,” Abe said.

His tone told me I was pushing things too far, but now that I had started, I couldn’t stop. “That wasn’t a no,” I said.

“Dottie, I won’t entertain such a disrespectful accusation.”

“Is this why you won’t be with me? Won’t marry me? Because you’d have to give up Sadie?”

Abe’s voice was strained with fury. “We will marry when I have the money for us to have our own apartment. I don’t want to be one of those couples who move in with their parents. We need to stand on our own two feet.” He looked upward and took
a deep breath. Clearly he no longer wished to argue. “Or rather four feet,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

Or six feet, I thought.

“I suppose I should be flattered by your jealousy,” he said, rubbing my arm gently, but keeping his body away. “Dottala, I promise, there is no one but you, and there has
never
been anyone but you. Our wedding night will be so very special.” He placed his hands on my arms, turning me so I was looking him in the eye. “For both of us.”

I stood there, too confused to cry. I had completely misread the situation. Sadie meant nothing to him. Which made my tryst all the more of a betrayal. My entire body was hot and angry, but I was as angry with myself as I was with him. I desperately wondered what Ma would do in this situation. Ma, who always managed to bend
Tateh
to her will, without him even being aware of it.

I batted my eyes, as if pushing away tears, when really I was trying to dispel my anger. “I’m sorry, Abe. I want so much to be married.” A thought occurred to me that had flitted through my mind before: “You work for your parents. Why can’t they give you a raise?”

He pulled his hands down and smiled at me. “My parents are generous with my wages. By spring,” Abe said. “By spring I’ll have enough money.”

“I have money saved,” I said.

“But not enough.”

“But I do! My mother has saved ninety dollars that’s just for me. We will use that. That’s four months’ rent.”

Shaking his head, Abe said, “We can’t take handouts from your mother. Not when spring isn’t so far away.”

I placed a hand on his chest. “Abe, I don’t want to wait until spring. I want this.” I stroked him and crept closer. “Now.” I leaned in to kiss him.

“Dottie. No,” he said, moving definitively away. “You’ll feel better about this in the morning. When the bourbon has worn off,” he teased.

“Abe—,” I tried again, but Abe merely leaned in and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Good night, Dottie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He left me standing there; I watched him walk off to his tent. For a desperate moment, I forgot about the baby and thought only of my own desire, my own longing, my own fury, my own desperation. I hungered for the feel of his body and wanted to scream at him for his refusal to take me. I knew I was attractive; I knew I was desirable. Willie made that abundantly clear.

The thought of Willie instantly sobered me. Willie. My condition. No solution. It was all over.

The next day, Abe kept a distance, emotionally, physically, as if afraid of repeating the night before. Clearly he’d meant what he said.

I tried to get close, but he kept his smile frozen and our normally easy way was stiff and formal. When everyone went swimming, I pretended I’d simply forgotten to pack my swimsuit. My body was too round at this point to put on such a display.

On the train home, Abe thawed, knowing he was safe from my advances. He tried to cuddle, but what was the point? No future existed for me and Abe. Not unless . . . Ma’s logic was inviolable as always.

Looking out the window at the scenery that at one time had so enthralled me, I saw only emptiness, nothingness. Maybe the country didn’t hold the answers. Maybe getting lost in the city was the only way to truly survive, to disappear among the masses.

Only one answer remained. I wondered if the blackness settling over me would be with me for good.

•   •   •

WHEN I walked into the apartment, Ma looked at me expectantly. I pushed past her, suitcase in hand.

“Make the appointment,” I said as I stepped into Ma’s bedroom and shut the door behind me, falling into sobs upon the bed.

Monday, August 26

MONDAY morning, Dottie left early for work. She spent extra time making herself look pretty, I imagine to distract herself from what was coming. I knew my pitying looks were only pushing her away, but I couldn’t stop myself. My poor baby.

Izzy and Ben left for work and I shooed Eugene and Alfie out the door. I put on my
Shabbes
dress. Seemed I was wearing that thing daily, and I was starting to see Dottie’s point that a new dress wouldn’t hurt, not that I could buy any clothing when I was about to blossom. Even now the buttons strained and I had only a couple more weeks I’d be able to put it on.

From my bosom, I fished out the piece of paper with the address Bayla had given me. I’d kept the scrap on me—God forbid I lost it or that Eugene made a paper airplane out of it. From my top drawer, I removed the tin can. Opening the lid, I looked at the money it had taken me nineteen years to save. Nineteen years. And what was I buying with it? I choked back a sob as I fished out a wad of bills. Slowly I counted out fifty dollars. Such a price! Of all the things I’d dreamed about for this money, this was not one of them. Never. Couldn’t have even imagined it. Ah, but such thoughts would get me nowhere. I tucked the money into my purse and steeled myself for the day ahead.

The walk was a long one, farther down on the lower East Side
than I usually went. Would I ever be allowed to return to my morning paper?

The heat was sweltering, and sweat streamed down my back in rivulets; my limp made the going slow. Heading south, I was greeted by street peddlers and hawkers. The aroma of baked goods mingled with the stink of the fishmongers’ wares, the stench of the rubbish in the streets, the gassy exhaust of the automobiles.

“
Knishes!
Bagels!” called the food men. Other carts held kitchenwares and trinkets. Good thing I had already eaten. The smells of the freshly baked items were tempting, but I didn’t trust the food in this unfamiliar neighborhood.

Crossing Delancey, I looked at the strangers around me and held my purse tightly against my chest. Carrying so much money made me eye everyone with wariness. In my neighborhood were the Jews from Russia, the ones who spoke Yiddish with the same accent as mine. Here the Jews were from other lands: Germany, Romania, Poland. Spotting the greenhorns was easy; they still dressed as if they were in the Old World. They weren’t acclimated as I was, with my modern style, wearing dresses that stopped at the knees, shirts that didn’t reach much past my elbows. My head was topped by a hat and not one of those ragged scarves worn back home. I stood a smidgen taller knowing I was a real American.

The streets were crowded with people. When a car came through, the horn would sound continuously, but the masses rarely moved out of the way, slowing the car’s progress, eliciting ugly oaths from the driver.

Eventually, I reached my destination. I compared the address on the paper to that on the stoop. No name on the door. The building looked like any other. The number matched the one on the basement apartment, so I went down the side stairs, where I knocked loudly on the plain wooden door. No answer.

I peered through the window, but if anyone was there, it was too dark to tell. Returning to the door, I knocked more. Louder. Harder. If this address was wrong, if there was no doctor . . .
Soon it would be too late for Dottie. Panic rose in my chest until I was pounding on the door.

Finally it swung open. “What are you trying to do, bring the whole neighborhood in here?” a young woman asked, her tone menacing.

Using English, I said, “Sorry, I am. I didn’t know if you were here.”

Blocking the entrance, the girl looked from my feet, up my body, all the way to my eyes. Her own narrowed. “What do you want?”

“I—I—” How to explain what I needed? “I need to make an appointment.”

The young woman grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me inside, shutting the door behind me. I nearly lost my footing and stumbled. Such cheek. And yet, it appeared I was beholden to her.

A small front room, with a couch and a desk, greeted me. The young woman went to the desk and opened a bound book. “How far along are you?” she asked without looking up.

“Far along? What does that mean?”

“How pregnant are you? When are you due?”

“It’s not—” I tripped on my words. The girl looked at me without moving a muscle on her face. “It’s not for me.”

She nodded. “Of course not,” she said. “How far along is she?”

“I am not sure. It is important?”

“If she’s more than three months, it costs more. Sixty bucks if it’s early. Seventy if more than three months.”

“Sixty dollars!” My hand involuntarily went to my throat. “I thought it was fifty. I only have fifty.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “You were misinformed.”

Was I misinformed or was she skimming money off the top for herself? I was in no position to negotiate. The woman rapped her nails on the book, brightly polished crimson nails that
tap tap tapped
in an irritating way. The girl, probably the same age as Dottie, was the kind of girl Dottie would have befriended if they worked in the same office.
What did her life give her that this is the
work she does?
I shuddered, all the more convinced we were doing the right thing for Dottala.

“So,” she asked again, “is it less than three months?”

“Yes, yes, less than three months,” although I suspected it was longer.

The young woman eyed me carefully, trying to detect the truth. I stood straight and looked her in the eye. Finally she peered at the book. “Thursday. Be here at one.”

I shook my head. “Friday. It must be a Friday evening.”

“No,” she said. “Thursday at one.”

How could Dottie miss so much work? A Friday night, she could recuperate on the weekend and be back in the office on Monday. A Thursday at one meant a day and a half’s loss of work.

The young woman grew impatient. “Listen, do you want it or not?”

“Yes, I want it.” We would create a story for her boss.

“Don’t eat before. We don’t want you—I mean your friend—vomiting on us. Bring extra rags. You’ll need to help her get home. You should meet her on the street four hours after the appointment. Make sure you don’t come to
this
street, though. Meet her a few blocks away. She’ll be sore and cramped.”

I nodded.

“I need the money up front.”

I hesitated before saying, “I thought it was only fifty.”

“It’s sixty.”

“But I only brought fifty.”

She slammed the book shut. “Then come back when you have sixty.”

“No! Please. We can’t wait.”

She looked at me expectantly.

“Please. I give you fifty now. Bring ten more on Thursday.”

My desperation must have been clear—although who came here who wasn’t desperate?—because she said, “I’m not supposed to do that. But okay. Make sure you bring the extra ten.”

That I was grateful to her showed how low I’d sunk. I reached into my purse and pulled out all those bills. The woman grabbed them.

“Do I get a receipt?” I asked.

“A receipt? Of course not!”

“But how will you know I paid?”

“Because everyone pays first. And I’ve marked it in the book.”

It was a lot of money to be handing over without a record, but I didn’t have a choice. The woman counted the bills.

A thought occurred to me. “It is a doctor, no? A doctor who does the procedure.”

She looked up suspiciously. Her eyes were a shade of green that would have been lovely in any other setting. “You from the health department?”

“No, no. Make sure, I want, that it is safe.”

She went back to the money, starting to count again. “It’s safe. Don’t worry.”

But how could I not? The girl didn’t glance up again, so I showed myself out.