The Ladies of Garrison Gardens (11 page)

Once again, for a moment, Iva Claire was tempted. It would be so easy to just spill it all. And it might feel better if someone else knew. But what if Tassie didn't understand?

“Like I said, we take what we can get.”

She could see from the look on Tassie's face that Tassie didn't believe her, and she held her breath. If Tassie pushed her, Iva Claire would have to cut off what her instincts told her could be the best friend she ever had. Suddenly she realized she'd hate that. Tassie seemed to realize the same thing, because she backed off. She got to her feet and picked up the sheet music. “I'll put this down in the pit. You better get up to the rehearsal room. Your ma will be waiting for you.” She started for the wings, but she turned. “Maybe someday you'll tell me,” she said, before she left.

Iva Claire sat alone on the stage. She closed her eyes and tried to make her mind a blank. But the memories of New York and the awful thing she'd done came flooding back. It had all started when she and Mama were rehearsing the Stephen Foster act.

Chapter Nineteen

B
EAUTIFUL DREAMER,
queen of my song,” Mama sang a cappella, her light soprano filling the small room she and Iva Claire rented in Big Hannah O'Brien's boardinghouse. They were going through the blocking—the moves and gestures—of their new act. Mama held her left hand up in the air near her head as if she was listening. Without knowing she was doing it, she tilted her head slightly to the left too. Iva Claire watched the little gesture and filed it away to be used when they did the performance.

“Iva Claire, sing!” Mama said. “We're opening in a week.”

Iva Claire felt something twist in her stomach. She didn't want to open in a week. The new act was going to be awful. Of course, that was nothing new.

There had been a time when she'd hoped that Mama would realize they didn't have what it took to make it and let them quit. They'd stop going on the road, stop renting rooms, get out of Hell's Kitchen, and settle down in a little town somewhere. Iva Claire would go to school full time, not just for a few months whenever they were laid off. She knew she'd be good at school, much better than she was at performing, because—and this was something she could never tell Mama—she was too smart to be an actor.

She was already surprisingly well educated. After spending so much dead time on trains and backstage, she'd already read more than most adults, and geography was a natural for her. Languages came easily too. Since many of the vaudeville performers they knew came from other countries, she'd already picked up a smattering of Italian and Yiddish and an Irish brogue that Big Hannah said sounded like she'd been born in the Old Country.

“Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea, Mermaids are chaunting the wild Lorelei;” Mama sang, her eyes glowing happily. Iva Claire felt her stomach twist again. Somehow Mama had wangled a booking out in Brooklyn. It was the closest the Sunshine Sisters had ever gotten to playing Manhattan, where audiences prided themselves on being tough. She and Mama were going to be killed. And Mama had no idea.

“All the booking agents for the Big Time circuits go out to Brooklyn to see the talent at the Chevalier,” Mama had said when she announced the news. Ziegfeld sends his scouts there to find new acts for the Follies. “The manager of the Chevalier—his name is Lenny—swore to me.”

Iva Claire knew important booking agents went to demonstration theaters like the Jefferson in Manhattan, where they could catch up-and-comers like Bob Hope, but she wasn't sure they schlepped all the way out to Brooklyn. However, Mama had been giving this Lenny an awful lot of what she called “special attention”—which probably explained how they got the gig—and Mama was no fool when it came to men.

“Beautiful dreamer awake unto me!” Mama finished the song, and her face was radiant. When Iva Claire was little she used to try to win that look for herself. Now that she was older, she knew only Mama's dream could bring it on.

“Oh, Lordy!” Mama said, holding her hand to her chest and plopping down on the sofa. “That's enough rehearsing for now. Let me catch my breath!” Mama always had to catch her breath when she got excited. Iva Claire waited until she'd calmed down. There was something she and Mama had to talk about, and Mama wasn't going to like it.

Finally, her mother looked at her. “Such a serious face! What's wrong with my little Claire de Lune?”

Iva Claire braced herself. “Mama, I saw the roses for the costumes when they came yesterday,” she began.

For a second, Mama looked nervous, but then she spotted the window across the room. “Did you close that?” she demanded.

“Those roses were made of
silk
.”

“What are you trying to do, Iva Claire, asphyxiate us?” Mama leaped to the window, opened it, and said, “That's better!” She turned and smiled, but the nervousness was still there.

“I guess it was a mistake—the roses being silk—because we can't afford them.”

Her mother didn't answer.

“If you want me to, I'll take them back to the shop.”

“Silk really isn't that much more expensive.”

“Mama, those roses cost
three times
what you said you were going to pay.”

“You have to spend money to make it.”

“You promised you'd be careful!”

“This one time I want everything to be perfect. Just this once we're going to have the best. We deserve it, Claire de Lune.”

She said it defiantly, but she couldn't meet her daughter's eye and Iva Claire felt herself shiver. She knew money had been going out—when you were doing a new act you had to have new pictures, costumes, and musical arrangements—but every time she asked Mama what it was costing, Mama swore she was sticking to their budget. “Trust me, Claire de Lune,” she'd said. And because Mama was so happy and Iva Claire hated to fight, she had trusted her. But now her mother couldn't meet her eye.

Before she could force Mama to say how much she had spent, there was a knock at the door. Glad for the interruption, Mama said, “I'll get it.” Big Hannah was standing outside.

“There's someone calling for you on the telephone,” the landlady said. There was one telephone in the boardinghouse, in the downstairs hall. Iva Claire and Mama lived on the top floor. “It's probably important,” Big Hannah added needlessly. In their world, a phone call always was. Mama left quickly. Iva Claire could hear her running down the stairs. She noticed the landlady hadn't moved.

Iva Claire admired Big Hannah almost more than anyone she knew. Unlike most show folk, Big Hannah hadn't blown the money she'd made. When she retired from her dancing act, she'd bought this boardinghouse, where she gave tenants like Iva Claire and her mother a clean place to live for the lowest rent in the city. It was known throughout the neighborhood that Big Hannah could always lend you a few bucks if you needed it, and any performer who was down on his luck could get a hot meal from her and a place to sleep on her parlor sofa.

The big woman was giving Iva Claire a worried look as she squinted through the smoke from the cigarette tucked in the side of her mouth. Iva Claire had practiced that squint—and the way Big Hannah talked around her cigarettes—until her imitation was perfect. Mimicking people was fun as long as you didn't have to do it onstage.

“You and your ma been rehearsing?” Big Hannah asked. Her worried look was probably because everyone in the boardinghouse had heard about the new act, and they all knew it was going to be a stinker.

Iva Claire nodded.

“How's it going?”

Iva Claire smiled brightly. “Good,” she said. The performers' code said you didn't show doubt—not even to someone as nice as Big Hannah. Big Hannah smiled back just as brightly because she knew the rules too. But Iva Claire could tell there was something on her mind.

“Iva Claire, is your ma planning to move after you open the act?”

At first, Iva Claire thought she was joking. Except there was nothing funny about the possibility of losing their rooms at the boardinghouse.

“We wouldn't go anywhere. We love it here, Big Hannah. Why?”

The big woman looked uncomfortable. “You know I'll carry my people for as long as I can, but—” She stopped short. “Never mind. It's got nothing to do with you, child.” She started for the door, but Iva Claire stopped her.

“How long has it been since Mama paid the rent, Big Hannah?” she asked quietly.

Big Hannah hesitated. Then she said, “Don't you worry your head about it. I'll talk to your ma,” and let herself out.

Iva Claire and Mama had two rooms, a bedroom for Mama, and the sitting room where Iva Claire slept on the sofa. Mama kept their money in a wooden box in the top drawer of her dresser under her clothes. Normally Iva Claire wouldn't have dreamed of going into Mama's dresser, but now she ran into Mama's bedroom, got the box, and started counting. They had eleven dollars and forty-six cents. She counted again, thinking she'd made a mistake. She hadn't. Frantic, she went through the rest of the drawer, feeling in the corners for bills or change. Nothing. She pulled the other drawers open, searching through Mama's clothes. There were stockings, blouses, sweaters, and underwear all jumbled together, but no money. Mama had done the unthinkable—she'd spent all their money on the new act. And they weren't due to get another check for four months.

Chapter Twenty

T
HE CHECKS WERE
what Mama and Iva Claire lived on. Mama liked to think they supported themselves, but the Sunshine Sisters didn't work enough. The checks came in the mail every spring and fall in long white envelopes; their arrival was one of the few dependable things in Iva Claire's life. If she and Mama were on the road, a check would be waiting for them at General Delivery in whatever town they were playing. If they were laid off and staying in New York, it would show up at Big Hannah's.

The checks were one of the many taboo subjects Mama refused to talk about. Iva Claire knew the envelopes always bore the same return address in Georgia but she didn't know who sent the allowance or how much it was. What she did know was, the money was the only safety net they had, and even Mama, who spent their pay as soon as she got it, was careful with the check money. Until now.

A floorboard behind her creaked, and she turned fast. Her mother was staring at her. “What are you doing in my room?” she demanded.

“Mama, I didn't hear you.” Her mother's eyes were wild and black. Something was wrong, something more serious than finding Iva Claire in her bedroom. “Who called you?” Iva Claire asked. “Is everything all right?”

“You were spying on me.”

“Big Hannah said we haven't paid the rent. . . .”

Mama moved to the dresser so fast Iva Claire didn't know it had happened. “You want to know how much I spent?” she screamed. She yanked open the top drawer. Her clothes spilled out as she grabbed the box and threw it against the wall. Bills and coins scattered on the floor. “Are you happy now? There's your precious money! That's all we have left! Get down on your knees and pick it up, since you love it so much.”

“Mama, don't—”

“I wanted this to be a good time for us, but you take the joy out of everything!”

“Mama, please don't cry—”

But Mama had already started. “You've ruined my life from the day you were born! I had a career. I was on my way. But I couldn't work with a baby. For five long years I couldn't work because of you. Do you know what that does to an actress?”

Iva Claire knew. She'd heard it before. She wished it didn't still hurt.

“I could have given you up. That's what I was told to do. But I kept you!”

“Mama, I didn't mean to upset you. . . .”

Mama was sobbing now. The tears were pouring down her face. Soon she'd start having trouble breathing. “I was young and pretty, and there were plenty of men too. But no man wants a girl with a baby. Do you know how boring it is to be locked up with a three-year-old child night after night? Do you know how it feels to watch everyone get ahead of you? Girls who don't have half your talent are working, and you're trapped?”

“Mama, please. . . .”

“And now you're blaming me? After you took everything?”

“I never said—”

“Well, damn you, I won't let you break me. Do you hear me? You will not do it!” She ran through the apartment to the front door; then she turned. “I could have gotten rid of you, you know,” she gasped. “There are ways to do it.”

That was something she'd never said before. Mama left, slamming the door behind her.

Over the years, Iva Claire had learned that there was no point in crying. But there were times when it was hard to keep from doing it. The best way was to stay very still with your eyes closed tight so no tears got out. And it was important to make your mind a blank. So she stood in the middle of the room without moving, squeezed her eyes shut, made her hands into fists, and tried to make her mind behave.

Don't think about it
, she told herself.

I could have gotten rid of you
, Mama's voice said in her brain.

Don't think.

There are ways,
said the voice.

Don't think, don't think, don't think!

Chapter Twenty-one

I
VA CLAIRE WAITED
until she was sure she wasn't going to cry. Then she opened her eyes, went into Mama's bedroom, and started putting the clothes back in the drawer. She was folding a blouse when she heard a knock on the door. Mama hadn't taken her key when she ran out.

She thought about not opening it, but sometimes after her mother had been really mad, she got dizzy and had to lie down. Iva Claire walked slowly to the door.

Mama wasn't there. No one was. Thinking she'd been imagining things, Iva Claire was about to close the door when a little growl at her feet made her look down. A small white dog stood on her hind legs in the doorway. She was dressed in a red velvet hat and a matching red jacket, both trimmed with gold braid, like a bellhop in a fancy hotel. In her mouth she was holding, by a string, a box from Pozo's bakery down on Ninth Avenue. After a second, she dropped to all fours and let the box go. Then she sat back up, showing off the most dazzling part of her costume, the collar around her neck. It was a band, about two inches wide, that Iva Claire happened to know was made of eighteen-carat gold and had come from Tiffany's jewelry store. It was because of her collar that the dog had been billed as
FRITZIE, THE THOUSAND-DOLLAR DOG
during her performing days.

“Hey, doll, Fritzie and me just got some fresh cannolis and we thought you'd like one.” A little man appeared from behind the door where he'd been hiding so Fritzie's entrance would have its full effect. Pete Massoni lived in a single room next door to Mama and Iva Claire. For years he'd had an animal act with his wife, Sally, but after she died, he and their last dog, Fritzie, had retired. Now he was another of Big Hannah's tenants, an old man living off his small savings supplemented by her low rents and kindness.

Iva Claire knew Pete had heard Mama yelling—the wall between Mama's bedroom and Pete's single was thin—and he'd dressed his little dog in her costume and put on her special show collar just to cheer up Iva Claire. Pete believed nothing in the world was so bad that watching Fritzie wouldn't help. But he was wrong this time. Iva Claire was trying to think of a nice way to get rid of him when he got down on his knees next to the dog.

“She wants to do her whammo finish for you,” he said. He held the little dog's face close to his. The two of them were looking at Iva Claire, Pete with his anxious smile and Fritzie with her sweet tired old eyes. Iva Claire gave up and got down on the floor next to them.

“Let me see you do the finish, Fritzie,” she said.

Frtizie was fourteen, and Pete had to stay close to her when she did her tricks these days to make sure she didn't fall. But she was still a trouper. She got up on her hind legs, put her two front paws out in front of her in a way that was part begging and part saying
I love you
to an imaginary crowd, and turned slowly to the left and then to the right. Then she turned around once, sat back on her haunches, lowered her head as far as it could go, and bowed. Iva Claire clapped loudly.

“You shoulda seen her do that on the stage,” Pete said, as he scooped up the little dog and gave her a kiss. “Every night she found the light so it bounced off her collar.” He got to his feet, picked up the cannoli box, and held it out to Iva Claire. “My wife Sally always used to say she liked something sweet when she was feeling blue,” he said.

She couldn't take the box because she'd start crying. But she couldn't say no to Pete either. She stood there staring at him.

“Your ma didn't mean it, doll,” he said gently. “She just wants”—he searched for the right words—“someone to see her. That's all.”

“I see her,” Iva Claire said. “I see Mama all the time.”

“She needs an audience. I ain't saying it's right, it's just what we all want,” Pete looked down at Fritzie in his arms. “Maybe it's because we don't want to be who we are. Look at me, doll. Not smart, nothing to look at, no matter what my Sally used to say. But when I was on that stage, I was Rudolph Valentino! If it hadn't been for show business, I'da been just another schlub, working at the clock factory like my old man and my brothers.”

“You're not a schlub—” Iva Claire started to say, but Pete cut her off.

“All I'm saying, you don't know what your ma doesn't want to be.”

“Big Hannah's happy being who she is.”

Pete nodded. “But not everyone is a tough cookie like Big Hannah. Or you, you're one of the strong ones too, kiddo. Just remember that. Now, how about that cannoli?”

She took the box. “Thank you,” she said.

He nodded happily and went back inside his room.

Iva Claire dropped the cannolis on the sofa and returned to the hallway. She hurried down the narrow passage to the black metal door at the end. In spite of a sign that said
DO NOT ENTER
, she opened the door and began climbing a steep staircase to a second metal door, which she also opened and stepped out onto the roof of the boardinghouse. Behind her, the door slammed shut with a clang.

The roof was flat with a rim around it that was about a foot high, like a low wall. Mama was nestled against the rim with her face buried in her hands. She must have heard the door slam shut but she didn't look up. Iva Claire moved to her.

“It's getting dark, Mama. You need to come inside.”

In the beginning darkness, Iva Claire could see she was still crying. Iva Claire sat down next to her and put her arms around her mother's little body, knowing it was the only way to stop the shaking that would come next.

“It's all right, Mama,” she crooned. “It's all right.”

“You're all I have, Claire de Lune. There's no one without you.”

“I know.” Iva Claire stroked the curly black hair. And then, even though it wasn't fair, she said, “I'm sorry I made you mad, Mama.” After all, she was the strong one. “Now, get up,” she added cheerfully. “We have to go downstairs and finish rehearsing. We open in a week!”

Mama cried harder.

“Mama, you're going to make yourself sick. I'm sorry I looked in the money box.” She meant it now; she really was sorry. “Mama, you're scaring me.”

Mama gulped back sobs until she was finally quiet. Then she stood up so she was facing her daughter.

“You should be scared,” she said. “Things are worse than you thought.”

They'd been canceled. That was what the phone call had been about. They were going to lose the fifty bucks they would have been paid, and they weren't going to be seen by any booking agents. Whatever small chance they'd had of getting a longer run in Manhattan was gone. Mama's gamble hadn't paid off and the dream act was finished.

What had done them in was the Gerry Society. That was what show-biz people called the New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, after its founder, Elbridge Gerry. In New York, children could appear onstage as long as they were out of the theater by 9:05
P.M.
, but they couldn't sing or dance unless they had a special permit from the Gerry Society. When Lenny realized that the younger of the two Sunshine Sisters was only twelve, it didn't matter what kind of promises he'd made to Mama, he wouldn't let them go on. He'd had run-ins with the Gerry Society before.

“And the worst part is, there's an inspector at the Gerry Society who will look the other way for fifteen dollars a day,” Mama said.

Thirty bucks—that meant they'd have twenty left over. It wasn't much, but if they put it together with what they had, and if Big Hannah would carry them awhile longer, they might be able to hang on until they could scrape something else together. There was always the chance that their lousy act would get a booking.

“Tell the inspector we'll give him the money as soon as we get paid,” Iva Claire said.

“He wants it before we go on.”

“I'll lie about my age. I get away with it in the act—”

“Lenny already knows you're too young, and he won't take the chance unless we bribe the inspector.” Mama took in a deep shuddery breath. “I'm sorry, Iva Claire.”

It was the scariest thing she could have done. Mama never apologized. “I spent every dime we have.” Mama's mouth made a funny, twisted little smile. “My father always said I couldn't do anything right.” This was even worse than apologizing. Mama never mentioned her family. It was like she'd suddenly become someone Iva Claire didn't know. “Daddy used to say I was stupid,” Mama went on. “Looks like he was right. He always was.”

Iva Claire couldn't stand it anymore. “We're going to do the act,” she said. “We will, Mama.” Anything to get rid of this calm sad stranger who sounded so beaten and bring back her mother.

“You don't even like the act.”

“Yes, I do! It's beautiful. There's nothing else like it. We'll knock 'em dead.”

Mama shook her head, but she was starting to smile. Iva Claire rushed on, grabbing at words, not knowing where they came from.

“We can't quit show business, Mama. What would we do? We're not civilians.”

And if there was a small voice inside her saying this was her chance for a real home and a real life, a much bigger voice commanded,
Don't think about it
.

“I want to do the act.” She was lying as hard as she could.

And finally, Mama showed signs of life. “You do?” she said eagerly. “Really, Claire de Lune?”

“More than anything.”

Mama started pacing. “We need money.” she said. “We have to find some money.”

That was when they heard Fritzie barking in Pete's room below them.