Judy Blundell - Strings Attached

New York City
October 1950

The second act curtain was one chorus away when I spotted him. Third row on the aisle, smack in my sight line. I missed the beat and almost sent Shirley into the orchestra pit with my hip.

To get me back, Shirley gave me a pinch underneath the frothy short skirt, so hard it made my eyes water. Brush step, kick, shoulder roll. Mascara stung and my vision blurred. Ball change, pirouette, as he swam in and out of focus.

I could feel my heartbeat slam, even though the routine wasnt hard. Hold the note, arm up, finger pointed at Millicent March, the star, small and delicate with a thin soprano in constant quest of pitch.

Applause trickled over the footlights. Dust spiraled and settled. I saw his palms hit a few times, then stop. The question of why he was here made my nerves jangle.

Shirley turned on me in the wings as Millicent brushed by, drained of light and energy and comedy, just a thirty-eight-year-old beaten down by the effort of appearing as a coed onstage in a terrible musical with a half-empty house.

What do you think youre doing out there, leadfoot? Shirley spat the question at me like a wad of chewed gum.

There could have been a Hollywood scout out there, you know!

Shirley thought there could be a Hollywood scout out there every night. As if theyd be cruising the chorus line of That Girl From Scranton! instead of the Copa Girls or the Lido Dolls. Shirley paid me a dollar a week to wash out her dance clothes and tights in the sink, because she didnt want the imaginary Hollywood scout to see chapped hands when he took her out to El Morocco after the show. They wont be looking at your hands, Shirley, I wanted to tell her. But I kept my mouth shut, because I was currently sleeping on her mothers couch. Ten bucks a week she charged me.

Even though I talked back to Shirley in my head, I envied her, too. Faith seems to grab people and not let go, but hope is a double-crosser. It can beat it on you anytime; its your job to dig in your heels and hang on. Must be nice to have hope in your pocket, like loose change you could jingle through your fingers. Christ, I found myself jealous of everyone nowadays, even dimwits like Shirley.

The roses arrived as we all started in with the cold cream and tissues. The assistant stage manager stuck his arm in with the bouquet. Newly married, he wasnt allowed to peek. The girls loved that and razzed him every chance they got.

George, hand me my brassiere, will ya?

Georgie, zip me up, be a honey!

Come on in, were decent we just aint dressed! Nancy, the quiet one with the fianc, handed me the flowers. Pretty, she said. He didnt buy these in the subway.

No flattery, no snow job on the card.

Id like to take you to dinner. Nate Benedict

No pleases or thank-yous, either. I tossed the card on the counter and bent over to fasten my stockings. I didnt want them to see my face. Id get enough teasing as it was. My fingers were shaking and I couldnt manage the garter.

Ooooh, Kits got a hot one, June said.

What about that boy youre still sweet on? The one in the army? Edie asked. There was a hard edge to the question. Edie stared at herself in the mirror, leaning forward to reapply her lipstick. She was older than all of us, probably thirty, some of the girls whispered, but she would only admit to twenty-four. I was seventeen and told everyone I was twenty-one.

Anybody got a pen? Shirley trilled. Kits got to write a Dear John to the poor sucker.

Id only been slapped in the face once in my life, but I still remembered the shock of it. If only I couldve passed on that feeling to Shirley, special delivery. On one long cold ride home to the Bronx, Id mentioned Billy to Shirley, and had regretted it every minute since. Shirley had blabbed to the rest about my sweetheart in the service. Most of the girls respected that you didnt razz a girl if she had a guy in uniform. They knew hed be shipped to Korea after basic training. But Shirley didnt believe there was a topic you couldnt poke at. It could be the day of your mothers funeral, and shed tell you to change your hat.

Nah, I dropped him for your boyfriend, I said. He says that when he turns on the light he gets spooked, because you look just like his mother.

Shirleys face got red as the girls laughed and catcalled Oooh, good one, Kit.

Dumb move. There went Mrs. Krapanskys couch.

I grabbed my jacket and on the way out tossed the roses at George to take home to his pregnant wife. If only Id learned to save my scene-stealing for the stage, maybe I wouldve actually been going somewhere.

Nate waited by the stage door. I couldnt tell by his face what he was thinking. Id known Billys mood before he said hello, if he was happy or sulky or crazy to see me. Nates face was as clean as if hed just scrubbed his feelings off with a washcloth. He was nothing like his son.

Why was he here? I sucked air into my lungs and stood with my chin up, braced for the hit.

Billy? I asked.

No word, he said. He hasnt shipped out yet.

I blew out a breath while I slowly pulled on my gloves. The pull of fear eased. I could talk now.

Nate waited while I adjusted each finger. I dressed older now, trying to look mature. Nylons and heels and my hair still pinned up the way I wore it in the show. All dolled up, Aunt Delia wouldve said in a disapproving way. I did feel like a doll, painted and false, under his gaze.

He turned and we started walking east down Forty-fifth Street. It was almost eleven oclock and the streets were still crowded. Every once in a while we had to separate to let a group of happy theatergoers through, then come back together again, like a dance. When Id arrived at the theater it had been a warm October evening, but now I could feel the chill through my jacket. Id given my old winter coat to my sister before I left Providence. Muddie had probably already replaced the buttons and sewn velvet on the collar. Unlike me, she planned ahead.

Lousy play, he said. For this you left home?

Yeah, I said. The bright lights of Broadway.

Broadway wasnt looking so good just then. A drunk across the way chose this moment to blow his nose in the gutter.

I wondered what the plan was. A steak on a big white plate would be grand, even if I had to make conversation for an hour or so. If I could get down a couple of bites, it would be worth it.

So where are we going, Mr. Benedict? I asked finally, because the silence was driving me nuts.

Here you are, all grown up in New York. I think you can call me Nate.

We kept walking, all the way crosstown, passing one restaurant after another. COCKTAILS AND SPAGHETTI blinked in cheerful, lipstick-red neon at me from a window. A man held the door open for a woman, and I heard her laugh as she walked in, her chin buried in a fur collar. I felt a blast of heat and noise. We kept on walking.

I sneaked a look at him. Back in Providence he was called Nate the Nose because his nose had been smashed in a fight when he was younger. It should have wrecked his looks, but it hadnt. Sometimes the papers called him dapper gangster Nate the Nose Benedict, but he wasnt in the papers much. Im just an attorney, he always told the press. Im in business, not rackets. I wondered if any gangster called himself a gangster. Maybe even a famous mobster like Frank Costello called himself a businessman, for all I knew.