No More Lonely Nights (21 page)

“What about the Egyptian embassy?” Danielle asked anxiously.

“No! French citizens are their enemies now. It would be dangerous to draw attention to Mother.” She paused.
Think. Think.
There had to be other avenues. “If the first two don’t work, try the U.S. State Department.”

“All right. This may take all morning. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Danielle sounded better now that she had a mission.

“Danielle… I… I can’t wait here. I have to go out to look for a job.” It was agony to think that she would have to be in suspense all day. “Will you call me tonight?”

“Yes, of course.” Danielle was silent for a moment. “Oh, Dominique, I’m worried!” she cried.

Dominique closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. “I am too.”

“Well… I’d better get started,” Danielle said. Dominique heard her stifle a sob. “I love you, Dominique,” she choked.

“I love you, too,” Dominique whispered.

Dominique hung up slowly. She walked back to her room on shaky legs.

Dominique knew she had done badly on her interviews. She had been so preoccupied by the news from Egypt that she’d barely been able to focus on questions put to her. She had interviewed at a real estate company, a bank, and a dime store.

The real estate company and the bank had given her short shrift, maybe because of her accent. Her rejection at the dime store had been for an altogether different reason. The personnel manager, a no-nonsense man in his forties, had coolly assessed her from head to toe, then thrown out the verdict that she looked too “highbrow” for his store.

“My customers wouldn’t feel comfortable asking you for help. Try Saks.”

Now Dominique sat in a Chock Full O’Nuts coffee shop resting her foot and nursing a bowl of soup. As she ate, she pored over the classified ads. She had already responded to most of the job notices for which she was qualified. No matter how many times she studied the page, new ads refused to appear, she reflected with black humor.

She put down the classified section in disgust and picked up the front page. Her eyes went automatically to the article about the Suez Canal. She’d read it so many times that she knew it by heart. Trying to stop herself from compulsively reading it once more, she folded it and put it aside. Instead, she picked up the society page and scanned the pictures of glamorous parties. They reminded her so much of home! She closed her eyes and sank back in her booth. Impossible to remember the good times without thinking of Stephen. It struck her like a blow, her loneliness for him. Had she done the right thing in refusing to marry him? At the moment, it seemed like a huge mistake. She sighed as her memory took her back to the Christmas party when he had proposed to her. Their conversation replayed itself in her mind. Her reasons for refusing him had been sound—she’d done the right thing. But why did it have to hurt so much?

She shook her head impatiently. What good did it do to dwell on the past? There were enough problems to cope with now. She sat up and tried to focus on the newspaper. The front of the society section was devoted to coverage of a fashion show organized for charity by the ultra-elegant Saks Fifth Avenue. An ironic snicker escaped her as she recognized the name mentioned by the dime store’s personnel manager a bare half hour before. As she read the article, she noticed that the menu, touted as the last word in stylishness, seemed awfully dull compared to those served in her mother’s home. And the crowd in the photographs was undeniably well dressed, but in a staid sort of way. It occurred to Dominique that anyone attending that party would surely be dazzled by an evening at Solange’s.

Dominique couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Solange. She shook her head. Solange would be all right, she tried to reassure herself. Now it was time to concentrate on looking for a job. She turned back to the newspaper. What had she been thinking about? Oh yes, Solange’s parties.

Solange’s style of entertainment required a lot of hard work, even with a houseful of servants. Just the right atmosphere had to be created with flowers, candlelight, wines, seating, and music. One had to check the work of each person to whom a task was delegated. Solange always said that a large party was like a complex puzzle. If an element was omitted, the whole could be ruined.

Dominique wondered who handled the logistics for events she read about in the newspaper. In Egypt, individuals sponsored charity events; here, it seemed that commercial establishments were largely responsible. She scanned the article. No one was credited with organizing the event. She speculated, therefore, that the store’s staff must have done it.

Abruptly, she folded the newspaper and stared into space.
Why can’t I do that!
She had helped Solange a thousand times with parties bigger than the one at Saks. Bigger and more extravagant! She was perfectly qualified for that sort of job. Adrenaline pumped through Dominique as she thought of the possibilities. How better to use her languages and her knowledge of protocol? She knew all about hired help and proper food service, the correct height for centerpieces and the intricacies of place settings. She knew which wines went with which foods, the differences among the world’s best caviars, the proper format for engraved invitations. She knew to order soft music for dinner and more energetic tunes for after the meal. She knew about party favors and decorations.

Instead of settling for a routine job, she could have an interesting career using the skills that had been drummed into her from adolescence. It gave Dominique a charge to think of relying on her own resources. All at once, she realized that she had never before done so. She thought of her time at the RAF. How independent of Solange she had wanted to be! But the independence had been short-lived. In the end, she had returned to her mother’s home. And she had allowed herself to be pushed into marriage with a man she didn’t love. Why? Because it had been the safest, easiest course. Even now—though she lived alone—she counted on Danielle for financial help and food.

Dominique was tired of feeling like a beggar, tired of reacting instead of acting. She needed a goal, not just a means of getting by from day to day. And her new plan gave her that. It made her feel she could succeed.

She threw down a few coins and gathered up her raincoat and purse. Enough of being turned down for mundane jobs! It was time to go after something at which she would truly excel. But first, she had to devise a strategy. She would get started that very afternoon. She was glad, anyhow, for an excuse to go home and wait for Danielle’s call. It was hard to concentrate on anything when she was so anxious for news of her mother.

A half hour later, Dominique scooted up the stairs of her building as fast as her sore foot permitted. As soon as she opened the door leading into the vestibule, she heard the phone ring. Maybe it was Danielle!

She hobbled up the four flights of stairs as the phone shrilled insistently. Dominique was afraid it would stop before she arrived. Danielle, though, knew to let it ring many times. Finally grasping the phone, Dominique cried, “Hello?”

“I got through to her,” Danielle said at once. “I called and called and finally I got through.”

“What did she say?” Dominique asked breathlessly. Her heart drummed against her ribs.

“It’s worse than we thought. We’ll probably see it in tomorrow’s papers.” Danielle’s voice had the staccato tone of a person in shock. “England and France have bombed Egypt. They may invade. The Egyptians have been arresting foreigners all day. They’ve told Mother she has to leave. Immediately. She’s coming here to live with us. They’ve taken the business, the houses, the car—everything. She’s allowed to bring clothes. But no jewelry. No furs. Nothing valuable.”

“But”—Dominique was aghast—“what about everything in the house? All the family things?” She heard Danielle take a deep breath, as though bracing herself.

“She has to leave it all. She’s allowed to take the clothes she can fit in a few suitcases. That’s it.”

“Oh, my God!” Dominique slumped to the floor as she tried to digest her sister’s news. She was too stunned to take in the full import of it.

Danielle was silent. Then she began haltingly. “Dominique, I know I’m awful… I know I should be grateful that Mother’s getting out alive—and I am—but how are we all going to live in this little place?” she cried. “You know how Ronald was with you. And that was only temporary. Now he’s going to have Mother on his hands. He’s going to hate it. He’s going to make my life—”

“Where is he now?” Dominique asked urgently.

“He was so angry at me, he just stormed out of here. And he blames you, too. He says that if you had stayed in San Francisco where you belong, Mother could go to you!”

Dominique felt like she’d been kicked. “Ron’s being a brute!” she shouted. “Why do you put up with it?”

Danielle’s own temper, as hot and edgy as Dominique’s, erupted. “So I should leave and end up like
you?”
she shot back.

“Dominique was struck dumb. Danielle’s words echoed the thoughts Dominique had had in the coffee shop, but they hurt coming from her own sister. How could Danielle say such a thing to her? She felt humiliated and furious at the same time. Before she could respond, her sister cried, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that! You were brave to leave Anton. You were!”

The apology did nothing to ease Dominique’s hurt. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

“Dominique!” Danielle’s voice was almost hysterical. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean what I said!”

In a small, distant voice, Dominique said, “I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden. I thought it would be easier.”

“I know. And I know Ron’s being unfair. But, Dominique…” Danielle beseeched her to understand. “I still love him. He’s great with the girls and he… he loves me. He really does.”

Dominique was embarrassed by her sister’s abject defensiveness. She looked up at the naked light bulb that provided the only illumination in the hall. A few steps away was her dingy little room. Her home. Hunger was a daily burden. And, most of all, loneliness was chiseling away at her. Who was she to judge her sister?

“If you still love him,” Dominique said raggedly, “then that’s all that matters.” She sighed. “Anyhow, don’t worry. It’ll all work out with Mother.”

“I suppose.” Danielle sounded hopeless.

“Well…” Dominique didn’t know what more to say. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Uh… Dominique,” Danielle sounded uneasy.

“Yes?”

“Ronald’s furious over this. Maybe it would be better if we skipped this week.”

Dominique’s heart plummeted. She wanted desperately to see her sister. And then there was the meal. If she didn’t eat at Danielle’s, she wouldn’t eat at all. But she couldn’t force herself on Ronald. She couldn’t force Danielle to defy him.

“That’s no problem, Danielle,” she said in a cold, even voice. “I’ll see you… another time.”

“Thanks for understanding.” Danielle sounded guilty. “I love you.”

“Good-bye,” Dominique replied.

Dominique didn’t move from her spot for several minutes. It was hard for her to fathom the changes that were crashing down on her. Her own circumstances were difficult enough, but she had been prepared for some hardship when she left Anton. Now, though, she had to worry about Solange. Her stomach knotted as she envisioned her mother’s flight from Egypt. Suppose she were stopped at customs again? Now that the French were at war with Egypt, Solange would never escape! She could be beaten or, worse, arrested.

Dominique knew she would not stop fretting until Solange was safe in the United States. But then what? The proud matriarch would have to deal with a resentful son-in-law. How would she accept the change in circumstances? Or would Ron be kinder to Solange than he had been to Dominique? Maybe. After all, Solange was not running away from a husband. Dominique tried to reassure herself that Ron would reconcile himself to Solange’s presence in his household. After all, what alternative did Solange have? She would have no money, no one else to turn to.

Dominique sighed and folded her arms across her chest as though huddling against the cold. Her reflections brought her back to the harsh reality of her own situation. She had no job, but worse, she had no food.

The gold watch that had been her grandmother’s gleamed mellow and rich in the dim light. Dominique knew she couldn’t put off pawning it any longer. She thought about the shop on the corner that she passed each day. It closed at eight o’clock. She could still make it.

Dominique gathered her purse, then pushed herself to her feet. With a firm pull, she cinched the belt of her raincoat. For a second, she hesitated at the top of the stairs. Then she squared her shoulders and limped down the stairs to the pawnshop.

Saks said no to Dominique. No positions available at all.

But it was only ten-thirty and Dominique had several more stores on her list. She’d spent hours at the library on Saturday researching the list. Her goal had first been to discover which stores sponsored the most events. That done, she had looked up articles about each retailer.

Finally, she had used one of the publicly available typewriters to redo her résumé so that it reflected her background in organizing events.

Now Dominique stood on the sidewalk gazing at Saks’ inviting display of fur coats and tried to decide where to go next. It was cold and sunny, with the nip of winter in the air. Dominique shivered in her raincoat and stared longingly at the furs.

She moved out of the shade of Saks’ awning and crossed the street to the broad sidewalk in front of St. Patrick’s cathedral. Sun flooded the busy thoroughfare, warming Dominique. Her walk slowed as she watched the tourists sitting on the stairs, maps spread on their laps. She thought with amusement that a few weeks before, she, too would have been unable to find her way around New York. Now she knew it intimately, thanks to her job search.

All at once, she was filled with hope. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was the bright sun. Or maybe it was that her foot felt so much better after the weekend’s rest. Maybe it was the busy, diverse crowd pushing her along. But, suddenly, Dominique felt like part of the vibrant life of the city. She smiled and nodded at the pretzel vendor on the corner. Near him, a man in a business suit lovingly smeared bright yellow mustard on a pretzel. Dominique could almost taste the tang of mustard and salt, the warm dough, crusty on the outside, chewy on the inside. Her stomach growled and she put her hand self-consciously on it. If she bought a pretzel now, she would have to forgo lunch. She turned her head away and quickened her step so that she would not be tempted.