Saint Mazie: A Novel (9 page)

I understand from an intellectual perspective why he had such fond memories of her. They met at a moment in time where everything was perfect. He looked at her and told her she was gorgeous and then sailed off on his boat. They were both allowed to be perfect for each other forever.

Rosie’s home now, came back late last night, angry and weary from her travels. Jeanie and I wrapped ourselves up under a quilt on the couch. Then Rosie said our mother’s brain was slowly bleeding. We found each other’s hand under the quilt.

She said: I barely recognized her. Her face doesn’t look the same anymore. It’s all mashed up.

Rosie was holding on to the arms of the chair. Claws into fabric. She was tough and grim, and she was breaking my heart with her pain.

I said: Do you think he did it to her?

Rosie said: Of course he did! Of course he did. He said she fell, the liar. Fell a hundred times, more like it. She’ll die for sure and then he’ll be a murderer too. And he’ll never be held responsible for his actions.

Jeanie said: I don’t even remember her. I wish I could remember her.

I was thinking about when Rosie came to get us, when she brought us to New York. I could see it, still, even though it had been at night, and late. Jeanie had been a toddler, what did she know? But I could close my eyes and see it. The house had dirty floors…or made of dirt, maybe. We’d lived somewhere nicer once, closer to the city. He drank us into the country, that’s what Rosie said once. Maybe the floors were made of dirt after all.

There was Rosie picking me up whole from my bed, blanket and all. She shushed me, took me through the kitchen, and it was light and I opened my eyes. I saw Louis and my father standing there. Louis was counting out cash. The trees in front of the house bent with the wind, and there was a rushing noise in the leaves. Then we were all in the car, and then we were driving. All night we drove. I wasn’t scared, because I was with Rosie.

My mother was nowhere in all of this. I don’t think she said good-bye. I can’t remember it if she did. I can’t remember what she looked like either. Except maybe like the rest of us girls. A hazy, dark-haired lady. I can see her eating quietly by herself in the kitchen. A dark head hunched over a bowl. I don’t remember her smiling. A mother is supposed to smile at her babies.

We don’t even have any pictures of her here. Rosie walked out with us, and that was it. She didn’t want nothing from them but us girls.

I said: I wonder what would have happened if we had stayed.

Rosie said: I would never have let that happen.

Jeanie said: How did you know when it was time to leave? When you left the first time?

Rosie didn’t want to answer any more questions. She just sent us off to bed. Told us she’d be tightening the screws again now that she was back.

Nothing but drinking and working for days and days. Not a letter for the Proprietress, not a one. The drinking’s making me sick I think. I’m waking up queasy. But I can’t seem to stand a second of my lonesome life without it.

Last night Jeanie and Rosie got into it. Oh boy did they ever. I can’t say I enjoyed the yelling but at least it wasn’t me causing a fuss for a change.

Jeanie wants to work for Belle Baker. She doesn’t like traveling to the track, it’s too long a journey, she’s bored on the train, bored when she gets there. Belle’s got a new show on the Bowery. She’s a headliner now. She’s the queen of the Thalia Theater. She needs a lady-in-waiting, says Jeanie.

Rosie said: You’ve got a job.

Jeanie said: A job you picked for me, not a job I picked for myself. Why do you get to pick everything all the time?

Rosie said: Maybe because I know what’s best.

Jeanie said: Please let me do this one thing. Please, Rosie. I’m always on time, I’m always where I say I’ll be. I’m always pretty, I’m always sweet, I don’t drink, I don’t stay out all night, I’m a good girl. Please, Rosie.

She got down on her hands and knees on the kitchen floor. I saw it with my own eyes. She put her hands in Rosie’s lap. She was begging her.

I said: Go on, let her have some fun.

Jeanie started to wail. This is the end of your childhood, I was thinking. You are using it up right now. Rosie reached out to her, put her hands on her head. Promised she would talk to Louis.

I know I’ll be jealous of Jeanie, doing what she likes. But at least she knows what she wants. I can’t begrudge a soul their desires.

I was a little queasy this morning. I’m a sturdy wench, strong as an ox. I keep hoping the whiskey will kill whatever germ is inside me.

Rudy told me this morning about this influenza, it’s been spreading across the country and it’s hit New York. He’s got his entire family wearing surgical masks, and he handed one to me too. He told me there were too many strangers in our midst, and I was handling all their money, breathing all their air. I told him I’d look a fool if I wore it. In my mind I was thinking that maybe I already did have it. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud.

There’s new rules now for theaters, courtesy of our public health department. They’re closing us down during the day and staggering our openings at nights. Rumor is they’ll start shutting us down if we’re not up to snuff. More and more people on the streets in surgeons’ masks.

I retched again a few times. They’re quarantining people all over the place. I might offer myself up for it. I don’t want to, but I’ll do it.

Rudy came to the cage this morning, just to tip his hat to me. We were making our pleasantries and then the sickness in my stomach started up again and I retched in front of him. Just once, it was violent and it was over. I had time enough to make it out of my cage.

I said: It comes and goes. Just for a few weeks now.

He said: Is it in the mornings?

I didn’t say anything and then he didn’t say anything. I watched him control his mouth until he couldn’t anymore.

He said: I got four kids at home. Four times I’ve seen my wife have morning sickness. I don’t want to make any assumptions or assertions of course.

I said: Of course you don’t.

He said: I’m just telling you. Sometimes when women get sick in the morning it means something.

I didn’t say a goddamn thing after that. He told me he’d send someone to clean up my mess. I just wanted him to leave and then he finally did.

More rules for the theaters. We’re to leave our doors open during the day, and the building must be well ventilated and clean. We have to instruct all our patrons not to cough, sneeze, or smoke. Good luck with all of that.

Rudy saw me retching again. Told me if I had the influenza I’d be dead by now.

He said: All I’m saying is, maybe it’s something else.

I said: Shut up, Rudy.

The other reason why my family was so enamored with Mazie was her scandalous existence. This was a group of people in love with the drama of the cinematic experience. They loved a good show. And, from what I heard, Mazie put on a really good show for a while there.

It ain’t the flu. Well at least I ain’t dying. At least there’s that.

There are two kinds of doctors for babies. I asked around. I got names of both kinds. I could walk out my front door and walk five blocks one way or ten blocks another. One way I got a baby for life, the other way I got nothing in my belly but room for the next drink.

I’m a fiend for cigarettes right now. I can’t take a lick of booze so the cigarettes are the only thing keeping me calm. Rosie doesn’t like the cigarettes in the house.

She said: You’re a chimney these days! Your teeth’ll turn yellow before their time. You’ll be a young woman with an old woman’s smile. Think about that before you light another one.

I try to steer clear of her when I can. I don’t want her to know. I don’t want to hear it from her. I can’t bear to hear it from her.

Goddamn that captain. Goddamn him to hell for showing up and screwing me and leaving. His postcards don’t mean a thing to me.

She knows. They all do.

I came home tonight, hoping to hide. There’s a chill out there now, a fall chill, but still I was drenched through and through. I’m a mess lately, nothing to be done about it. But they were all sitting around the living room, Louis and Rosie and Ethan and Jeanie, playing cards. Louis was showing them some sleight-of-hand tricks. A bottle of something or other was open. The two happy couples coupling. I had someone once too, I wanted to say. But I didn’t even know if that was true. It was only for a night. Rosie called to me, told me to come sit with them.

I said: I’m tired.

Rosie said: Come on now, we’re having a good time.

Jeanie said: We never see you anymore.

I sat down next to Ethan on the couch. He and Jeanie were holding hands, and she had her head on his shoulder. Aren’t they sweet, I was thinking, but I was being sour in my mind. Ethan grinned at me. He has so many teeth in that mouth of his, and he’s so eager with his smiles. He’s like a giant child. Sometimes friendly is too friendly if you ask me.

Then I smelled him. I wasn’t trying to, but the scent came right off him. Earth from a stable. I don’t mind that smell usually, but tonight it seemed like death, like a dead body was sitting right next to me on my own couch. I started to gag. Somehow I kept it down. But when I looked up, everyone was looking at me.

Rosie said: Are you sick?

I said: I’m not sick.

Rosie looked me up and down. Oh that woman is so sharp! Why does she have to be so sharp?

She said: You look fat.

I said: No, you’re fat.

She said: Even if I am fat, I am the exact same fat as always. You, however, are not the same as always, Miss Mazie.

I said: Why don’t you mind your own weight and leave mine out of it?

She said: I’ve heard you retching too, not just now. You think I don’t hear what’s going on in my own home?

Ethan pulled back and stared at me, and Jeanie too. Louis was just shuffling and cutting the cards, not looking at a thing. I was not holding up my end of the argument.

Rosie said: I never knew anyone who liked her pretty dresses as much as you, Mazie. What happens when you can’t fit in them anymore?

I said: I suppose I’ll be buying some new dresses then.

Rosie said: Why are you getting fat, Mazie?

And then we came to the end, I thought.

Louis said: Ethan, did I ever tell you about the time I met Rosie?

Ethan said: Not as far as I can recall, Louis.

Louis said: It was a beautiful day at the track.

Rosie said: We’re talking about Mazie here.

Louis ignored her. He was having his say.

He said: It was a beautiful day at the track. Rosie was seventeen years old, and she had her hair up in braids around her head and a dress that fit just so.

Louis outlined the shape of Rosie’s body with his hands.

He said: I could not have ignored her if I tried. Girls didn’t wear makeup then like they do now, but she had her face on. You were like a young tigress is what you were, Rosie Phillips.

He said this in such a passionate way it was like his desire for her became physically present in the room. Maybe it was my heat and maybe it was my hormones but I swore I saw little heart-shaped arrows darting from his eyes in her direction. Oh lord, he’s a sweaty, bald, fat man, but I would have melted for him too. All anyone ever wants is to be desired, but especially girls like us, the ones with the meanest father in the world.

He said: You were a beer wench. I was there on business.

Rosie said: I was the boss of all the other beer wenches.

He said: You were the boss of me is what you were. A bossy bitch. And I loved you from the start.

Rosie said: You did. You chased me the whole season.

He said: I did, and I caught you. And do you remember what I told you when I finally caught you? When you finally agreed to be my bride? I said that your family was my family, and your joys were my joys, and your problems were my problems. And that I would take care of you.

Rosie said: I remember that.

Louis said: And you liked that about me.

Rosie said: I loved that about you.

Louis said: Everybody hear that?

We all said we heard it.

Louis said: So, Mazie, you sick?

I said: No, I’m not sick. I’m pregnant.

Louis said: Mazel tov. A new member of the family. What a blessing. Now let’s let her get to bed. She’s tired.

It’s not as simple as that, though. And we all know it. I hear Rosie in the other room right now talking about how I don’t want a baby, how I’ve never wanted a baby, how there’s no mother in me. And why her and not me. And why is life this way and not the other.

And she’s right.

Louis says: Sometimes blessings are indiscriminate.

I whisper: Good night.

Rosie brought me lunch today at the cage, between the first and second shows. It was a bowl of beef stew. She walked it all the way from our home. Brought me a spoon and a napkin and everything. That spoon was shined up nice. And she nearly tucked that napkin right into my blouse till I slapped her hand away.

I said: What do you want?

She said: We need to talk about it.

I said: Can’t you see I’m working here?

She said: I know you don’t want it.

She doesn’t know anything. I don’t want it, it’s true. But sometimes I think about the Captain and then I do. I never wanted anything to love before. It’s all mashed up in my head. All I’m doing is crying when no one’s looking.

She said: But I do want it. I want this baby. Have this baby for me, Mazie. For me and Louis. Give us the baby. We can all live together and be one family.

How desperate was my Rosie? I was thinking about that time she took us to the gypsy, all those months she spent on the couch all clutched up in pain. Today she looked just as desperate, but now there was an extra layer of fire. She was nearly murderous.

I said: You can have it.

She was looking at me so steadily I thought she might break in two, two Rosies collapsing before me on Park Row.

She said: Are you sure?

I said that I was. She finally gasped. And then I did, too. I guess I’ve been holding it in for months and months, what was happening, what I’ve been thinking. What was I going to do, I didn’t know that whole time. But now I know. One kind of choice over another, it didn’t matter. But at least with this one I please someone else.