Kane & Abel (1979) (43 page)

‘I may have more news for you by Monday,’ said Fenton, ‘so if you happen to be passing by—’

‘Happen to be passing by?’ said Abel. ‘You’re talking about my whole future.’

‘Then perhaps we should make a firm appointment for ten o’clock on Monday morning.’

Abel whistled ‘Stardust’ as he walked down Michigan Avenue on his way back to the Stevens. He took the elevator up to his room and called William Kane to ask for an extension until the following Monday, telling him he might have found a buyer. Kane agreed without comment.

‘You win either way, don’t you?’ Abel said as he put the receiver back on its cradle.

Abel sat on the bed, his fingers tapping the footboard, and wondered how he could pass the time until Monday. He wandered down into the hotel lobby. There she was again, the waitress who had served him at lunch, now on tea duty in the Tropical Garden. Abel’s curiosity got the better of him. He walked over and took a seat at the far end of the room.

‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said. ‘Would you like some tea?’ The same familiar smile again.

‘We know each other, don’t we?’

‘Yes, we do, Wladek.’

Abel cringed at the sound of the name, and reddened slightly, remembering how the short, fair hair had once been long and curly, and the lips so inviting. ‘Zaphia. We came to America together on the
Black Arrow.
Of course, you went to Chicago. What are you doing here?’

‘I work here, as you can see. Would you like some tea, sir?’ Her Polish accent warmed him.

‘Have dinner with me tonight.’

‘I can’t, Wladek. We’re not allowed to go out with the customers. If we do, we automatically lose our jobs.’

‘I’m not a customer,’ said Abel. ‘I’m an old friend.’

‘An old friend who was going to come and visit me in Chicago as soon as he had settled down in New York,’ said Zaphia. ‘And when he finally did come, he didn’t even remember I was here.’

‘I know, I know. Forgive me. Zaphia, please have dinner with me tonight. Just this once.’

‘Just this once,’ she repeated.

‘Meet me at Brundage’s at seven o’clock. Would that suit you?’

Zaphia flushed at the name. It was the classiest restaurant in town, and she would have been out of her depth there as a waitress, let alone as a customer.

‘No, let’s go somewhere less grand, Wladek.’

‘Where?’

‘Do you know the Sausage, on the corner of Forty-Third?’

‘No, but I’ll find it. Seven o’clock.’

‘Seven o’clock, Wladek. By the way, do you want any tea?’

‘No, I think I’ll skip it.’

She smiled and walked away. She was much prettier than he remembered. Perhaps killing time until Monday wasn’t going to be quite so difficult after all.

The Sausage brought back all of Abel’s worst memories of his first days in America. He sipped a cold ginger beer while he waited for Zaphia and watched with professional disapproval as the waiters went about their work. He was unable to decide which was worse - the service or the food.

Abel swivelled round and saw Zaphia standing in the doorway looking nervous and unsure. She was wearing a long yellow dress that looked as if it had recently been let down a few inches to conform to the latest fashion, but still revealed how shapely her figure was. She searched the tables for a moment, and her cheeks reddened as she became aware that the eyes of several men suggested that she wasn’t a customer but looking for a customer.

She walked quickly over to Abel. ‘Good evening, Wladek,’ she said in Polish as she took the seat beside him.

‘I’m so glad you could make it,’ Abel said in English.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she replied in English after a moment’s hesitation.

‘It’s not important. Would you like something to drink, Zaphia?’

‘Just a coke, please.’

Neither of them spoke for a moment, then they both started to talk at once.

‘I’d forgotten how pretty …’ said Abel.

‘How have you … ?’ said Zaphia.

She smiled shyly. Abel found himself wanting to touch her. He remembered experiencing the same feeling the first time he had seen her, more than eight years ago.

‘How’s George?’ she asked.

‘I haven’t seen him for a couple of years,’ admitted Abel, feeling guilty. ‘I’ve been working at a hotel here in Chicago, and then—’

‘I know,’ said Zaphia. ‘Somebody burned it down.’

‘Why didn’t you ever come over and say hello?’

‘I didn’t think you’d remember, Wladek. And I was right.’

‘How did you recognize me?’ said Abel. ‘I’ve put on so much weight.’

‘The silver band,’ she said simply.

Abel looked down at his wrist and laughed. ‘I already have a lot to thank this band for, and now I can add that it’s brought us together again.’

She avoided his eyes. ‘What are you doing now you no longer have a hotel to run?’

‘I’m looking for a job,’ said Abel, not wanting to intimidate her with the possibility that he might be her boss in a few weeks’ time.

‘There’s a big job coming up at the Stevens. My boyfriend told me.’

‘Your boyfriend?’ said Abel, repeating the unwelcome word.

‘Yes. The hotel will soon be looking for a new assistant manager. Why don’t you apply for it? I’m sure you’d have a good chance of getting it, Wladek. I always knew you would be a success in America.’

‘I might,’ Abel said. ‘It was kind of you to let me know. Will your boyfriend be applying?’

‘Oh, no, he’s far too junior to be considered - he’s only a waiter in the dining room.’

Abel smiled. ‘Shall we have dinner?’ he said.

‘I’m not used to eating out,’ Zaphia admitted, gazing helplessly at the menu. Abel wondered if she still couldn’t read English, and ordered for both of them.

She ate everything put in front of her, and kept saying thank you, even when a waiter spilled gravy on her dress. Abel found her uncritical enthusiasm a tonic after Melanie’s bored sophistication. They exchanged stories of what had happened to them since they arrived in America. Zaphia had found a job in domestic service and progressed to being a waitress at the Stevens, where she had been working for the past six years. Abel continued to talk of his own experiences, until finally she glanced at her watch.

‘Look at the time, Wladek. It’s past eleven, and I’m on first breakfast call at six tomorrow.’

Abel had not noticed the hours slip by. He would happily have sat there talking to Zaphia for the rest of the night, soothed by her admiration, which she expressed so artlessly.

‘Can we see each other again, Zaphia?’ he asked as they walked back to the Stevens arm in arm.

‘If you’d like to, Wladek.’

They stopped at the servants’ entrance at the back of the hotel.

‘This is where I have to leave you,’ she said. ‘If you were to become the assistant manager, Wladek, you’d be allowed to go in by the front entrance.’

‘Would you mind calling me Abel?’ he asked her.

‘Abel?’ she said as if she were trying the name on like a new glove. ‘But your name is Wladek.’

‘It was, but it isn’t any longer. My name is Abel Rosnovski.’

‘Abel,’ she repeated, and seemed to hesitate. ‘I can’t remember if it was Abel who killed Cain, or Cain who killed Abel.’

Abel could remember.

‘Thank you for dinner. It was lovely to see you again. Good night … Abel.’

‘Good night, Zaphia,’ he said, and she was gone.

Abel walked slowly around the block and into the hotel by the front entrance.

He spent the weekend thinking about Zaphia and the memories associated with her - the stench of the steerage quarters, the confused queues of immigrants on Ellis Island and, above all, their brief but passionate encounter in the lifeboat. He began to take all his meals in the hotel dining room to be near her while keeping an eye on the boyfriend, who, he concluded, must be the young, pimply one. He thought he had pimples. He hoped he had pimples. Yes, he did have pimples. He was also, Abel had to admit the best looking of all the waiters, with or without pimples.

Abel asked Zaphia to come out with him again on Saturday night, but she was working the evening shift. However, he managed to accompany her to church on Sunday morning, and listened with mingled nostalgia and exasperation to the Polish priest intoning the unforgettable words of the Mass and delivering a sermon on chastity. It was the first time Abel had been in a church since his days at the castle. At that time he had yet to experience the cruelty that now made it impossible for him to believe in a benevolent deity. His reward for attending church came when Zaphia allowed him to hold her hand as they walked back to the hotel.

‘Have you thought any more about the position at the Stevens?’ she asked.

‘I have a meeting that will decide things tomorrow.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad, Abel. I’m sure you’d make a very good assistant manager.’

‘Thank you,’ said Abel, realizing they had been talking about different things.

‘Would you like to have supper with me and my cousins tonight?’ Zaphia asked. ‘I always spend Sunday evening with them.’

‘Yes, I’d like that very much.’

Zaphia’s cousins lived in the heart of the Polish community. They were very impressed when she arrived accompanied by a friend who drove a new Buick. The family, as Zaphia called them, consisted of two sisters, Katya and Janina, and Katya’s husband, Janek. Abel presented the sisters with a bunch of roses, and answered all their questions about his future prospects in fluent Polish. Zaphia was obviously embarrassed, but Abel knew the same would be required of any young man who visited a Polish-American household for the first time. Aware of the envy in Janek’s eyes, he made an effort to play down his progress since his early days at the meat packers’. Katya served a simple Polish meal of
pierogi
and
bigos
, which Abel would have eaten with a good deal more relish fifteen years ago. He ignored Janek, and concentrated on the sisters. Perhaps they approved of the pimply youth.

On their way back to the Stevens Zaphia asked, with a flash of the coquettishness he remembered, if it was considered safe to drive a motor car and hold a lady’s hand at the same time. Abel laughed and put his hand back on the steering wheel.

‘Will you have time to see me tomorrow?’ he asked.

‘I hope so, Abel,’ she said. ‘Perhaps by then you’ll be my boss.’

He smiled to himself as he watched her go through the back door, wondering how Zaphia would feel if she knew the real consequences of tomorrow’s meeting. He did not move until she had disappeared through the service entrance.

Assistant manager,’ he mused, laughing out loud as he climbed into bed and threw his pillow on the floor.

Abel woke a few minutes before five the following morning. It was still dark outside when he called for an early edition of the
Tribune.
He went through the motions of reading the financial section before getting dressed, and strolled into the breakfast room when it opened at seven o’clock. Zaphia was not on duty that morning, but the pimply boyfriend was, which Abel took to be a bad omen. After breakfast he returned to his room and paced around as he waited for the minutes to pass. He checked his tie in the mirror for the twentieth time, and once again looked at his watch. He estimated that if he walked very slowly, he would arrive at the bank as its doors were opening. In fact he was five minutes early, and had to walk once around the block, looking pointlessly into store windows at expensive jewellery, radios and hand-tailored suits. Would he ever be able to afford a hand-tailored suit, he wondered. He arrived back at the bank at four minutes past ten.