From Time to Time (34 page)

Abruptly-spoken down here on the dark auditorium floor-a man's voice, impressively deep. "Mad-am Zell-da! As he spoke, a spotlight picked him out, standing in an aisle: tall, broad, tan suit, white shirt and dark tie. "Are you ready?

A pause just long enough so that maybe she wasn't going to reply. Then, "Yessss, holding the hiss, "Madam Zelda . . . is ready!

The spotlight broadened to include the member of the audience seated beside the big man standing in the aisle. The seated man looking up at the other, smiling, waiting. "I have here, a lett-ter be-longing to a gentleman, and addressed to him. What. . . is his name?

"His name . . . is Robert . . . Lederer.

"And what is the address below it?

"The address is . . . One-eleven West Eighth Street, City!

"Is that correct, sir? -handing the envelope back, the man nodding, smiling, looking sheepish. "Quite correct! The big man moved quickly up the aisle, ignoring several letters or cards or whatever held out to him, and stopped to lean into an aisle and pick up the hand of a young woman. "This young lady, Madam Zelda! Is wearing a ring! Tell us, Madam Zelda, what is the ring like?

"The ring . . . the ring .

"Yes! Describe it please!

"It holds a diamond, a beautiful diamond, and on each side of this magnificent stone is . . . a lustrous pearl! How was she doing this? Code, I supposed, an elaborate code buried in whatever the tall man called to her.

"Correct! he shouted, the girl looking pleased and abashed, the tall man stalking swiftly up the aisle, moving on behind me so that I couldn't see him without twisting around, but I listened. "A gentleman here, Madam Z! Tell me, tell me now, the name . . . the name . . . of this man's sister! Code or not, how could he know that?

"Her name is . . . Clara!

"Is that correct, sir? Yes! The gentleman says you are entirely correct! And now, Madam, I am holding this man's watch! Tell me, concentrate, think, think! What is the number . . . of this man's watch?

"The number of his watch is two . . . one-eight-seven . . . six nine-no, seven-nine . . . She paused, hesitating, the man in the aisle insistent: "Yes!? Yes!? and I sat bewildered because I-not quite, but almost-recognized the numbers as he spoke them. I- almost-knew them too. Triumphantly Madam Zelda finished. "Seven! The number of this man's watch is two-one-eight-seven- seven-nine-seven-one!

"Is that correct, sir? I was twisting around in my seat to see. "Is that the number of your watch? and I sat staring as Archie nodded, smiling at the Jotta Girl beside him. "Yes, Archie said, slipping his watch back into a vest pocket, "that is quite correct.

"Archie is Z, I said to myself stupidly. His watch number was the number I'd seen in Alice Longworth's letter. The tall man in the aisle turning away toward someone else, the Jotta Girl looked up to see me staring back at them. She spoke to Archie, who looked up, then gestured, indicating a vacant seat beside them. And I stood, edged out into the aisle, walked back a half-dozen rows, and.. . Rube, Rube, look: I'm sitting down next to Z. Now what? What do I do now?

What I did was . . . sit there. Talking a bit to Archie, to the Jotta Girl. And all I could think of to do was.., stick with Archie now, as best I could. Become his buddy. It sounded empty, vague, but . . . what else?

We sat applauding Madam Zelda as the curtain went down, Archie delighted with her. C lighted up on the proscenium, and a moment later the heavy green curtain was bumped from behind, wavering its long velvet folds, drawing our attention. Then a movement at the very bottom of the curtain, lifting it slightly into an inverted V. A face appeared there, just over the stage floor, tipped sideways, peeking out, the eyes widening at sight of us, mouth opening in comic dismay, to a rustle of laughter. "Joe Cook, Archie said happily, and the audience sat waiting, murmuring expectantly.

I think Joe Cook was funny. The audience thought so. FIe came out, moving fast, in funny hat and costume, heading for a cottage at center stage. Rapped loudly on the door, the landlord demanding rent. Did it again, then simply picked up the whole cottage-of canvas and light wood frame-and walked offstage with it. He had w'hatever it takes to make that hilarious, generally explained by talk about "timing. And the audience howled. And I sat, not actually howling-but yes, I did know . . . that Tessie and Ted were standing in the wings watching Joe Cook too. Watching, laughing genuinely, and-oh yes-grinning and nodding at him as he came off, maybe actually speaking to him, one vaudevillian to another.

Almost immediately Joe Cook was onstage again, staggering across it with three men on his back, each with his feet on the shoulders of the man beneath him. It looked genuine, their clothes real and fluttering, and he staggered so realistically under their weight, but-the "timing again-now he somehow let us see they were papier-mâché just exactly as he entered the opposite wings. And as we exploded in laughter I knew-knew-who stood grinning backstage, looking at each other to nod in the joy of actually knowing Joe Cook, a vaudeville "headliner.

We sat watching Joe Cook's act. Watched as this vaudeville aristocrat came out, sat down in a chair facing us, and waited, looking benignly out at us till the house became quiet. Then entirely silent as he waited some more. Finally, not a cough or stir; I could hear the faint sound of Archie's breathing. How did Joe Cook do that? If I'd been up there facing the audience like that, waiting, smiling, my nerve would have broken, and I'd have had to run off the stage.

Then, speaking into our utter silence, he said in a quiet conversational way as though to a friend, "I will now give you an imitation of four Hawaiians, and began what may be vaudeville's most famous monologue. I sat smiling. Not at Joe Cook but at the pair I knew must be standing just out of sight, listening, happy with each other in their "week, the famous three-day "week on Broadway in the most illustrious company of their world. I hope the great man speaks to you, I said silently. I hope he has troubled to know your names and uses them at least once in this famous time which will have to last you for the downhill rest of your lives.

Z. Well, he would get to Europe; Rube and I knew that. He was okay here in New York. So-find out where he was going, because I'd have to go along, it looked like. Who was Z? Z was Archie, but w'ho was Archie? In the cab back to the hotel I said, "Would you two join me this evening? For. . . cocktails? Dinner. A night out. I'm in a celebratory mood; maybe ou'd guide us around, Arch.

"Very kind of you, Simon. I'll be happy to.

The Jotta Girl, seated between us, said, "Me too. Then turned to murmur in my ear, "Found your man, haven't you, and I nodded.

In the lobby I bought an £vening Mail, and we rode up, Archie getting off at four. On up to ten; then I walked on right past the J otta Girl's room, but as I stood unlocking my door she was beside me. "Oh, I should have bought a paper too; there's a sale at Wanamaker's. Do you mind if I tear out a little teeny bit of their ad?

Yes, I minded: I minded her coming in with me. But in my room I just stood waiting as she found the Wanamaker ad, carefully tore out a little section on a shoe sale, which I didn't believe for a moment she would ever attend. Then I walked to the door, opened it, saying, "See you at six, then. Downstairs.

"Oh, yes; downstairs, of course. Where else? And she left, moving past me in the doorway, facing me and grinning, and I just rolled my eyes upward, shaking my head.

CHAPTER 23

THIS IS THE ENORMOUS 1912 face which will always mean the Great White Way for me. Archie, an out-of-town New Yorker, had planned this; sent our cab west on Thirty-second Street so that as it turned up Broadway, there it was. And as I hung out the cab window staring up at the immense face, the Jotta Girl's head beside mine staring too, that great big electric left eye winked at us. I clipped this photo from a New York Times story on Broadway's spectacular new light-bulb signs that seemed to move; the chariot race with revolving wheels, flying hoofs, and cracking whips up ahead on the roof of the Normandie was another. "New York is crazy about them, Archie said, and I nodded and grinned. "So am I.

Nighttime Broadway lay ahead, so different from the almost quiet daytime street I'd walked down. Now sidewalks and street were jammed and glittering whitely: this was the Great White Way because it was white, no neon, ever\ automobile and streetcar headlight, every street-level shop window and theater marquee blazingly lighted by clear, spike-ended white bulbs. And Archie sat grinning: this was his town; he'd personally screwed in every shining bulb around us.

Then he disappointed me. The driver swung left, across the street to park heading the wrong way in front of-the Astor Hotel? I didn't want to go here, into a place still existing in my own time, in which I'd often been, and the Jotta Girl, glancing at me, didn't either. But in we went, to the elevators, where Archie-Mr. Manhattan-simply nodded at the elevator boy, forefinger pointing straight up. And then we stepped out into this, the Astor Roof

Garden; I didn't know it existed. Roof gardens all over town, Arch said as we were led to a table overlooking Broadway; on hotels and even theater roofs, the plays moving out and up under the sky when the weather was right. Now as we sat down, we could feel the great gas heaters, all around the perimeter. And then, under the glitter of the night sky, we had-what else?-champagne. And talked. Or Archie did; I mostly questioned. This tall, pleasant, red- haired, red-mustached, freckled man was a major in the U.S. Army and-I wasn't surprised-chief aide to President Taft, as he had been to the preceding President, Theodore Roosevelt. And nodded, impressed, thinking of their nighttime meeting beside the Flatiron Building. But now Arch had a six-week leave; he needed a rest, though he didn't look tired to me. First, some time in New York, which he loved. "Then a few weeks in Europe.

"Oh? When are you going?

And it was this easy: "Wednesday, this coming Wednesday; on the Cam pania. She's small and a bit slow, but I like that, and she's a Cunarder, so I expect I'll enjoy the sea voyage; I am never seasick. I have a friend, Francis Millet, the well-known painter -a little pride in his voice- who is off on the midnight sailing of the Mauretania tonight. Wouldn't wait for me; doesn't like New York, if you can imagine that.

"Midnight sailing? The Jotta Girl sounded interested.

"Oh yes. They're enormous fun, you know. Come along, why don't you. Both of you. You'll enjoy it, they're like an enormous party.

Rube . . are you sure this is Z?

Champagne up there in the sky; then we walked catercorner across Broadway, Archie not saying where we were going. But- not running across the street, hardly even looking, just walking between the few slow-moving cars trundling along-when I saw the huge stone griffin over the entrance, I knew; this was Rector's.

Inside, it was big, lavish, crystal-chandeliered, luxurious, and crowded. We had to wait, but they knew Archie, and we didn't wait long.

At our table-more champagne on the way-the Jotta Girl and I looked at our napkins, embroidered with the griffin; at the tablecloth marked with the same, at our glasses and silverware engraved with the Rector griffin. And part-time New Yorker Archie watched us, delighted.