Charred, p.7
Charred, page 7
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“For starters, his wife knows my voice. She calls the office all the time, and since I’m his secretary, I always answer his phone.” Carolyn pounded her cigarette into the ashtray after her usual two puffs. Her eyes darted to the bedroom door again. “You’re sure your mother can’t hear us?”
“I told you, she’s busy baking a cake for Dad’s birthday party tonight. Believe me, that will take all her attention for the next couple of hours. Plus, she has the radio on.” Rosemary paused and watched Carolyn pull another cigarette out from the half-smoked pack. “We could always go for a walk if you’re so worried about Mom.”
“No, I guess it’s fine. I’m just... I don’t know, just... Oh, Rosemary, what am I going to do?” Her hand trembled as she lit her cigarette, the eighth one in the hour she’d been there.
Rosemary put her arm around Carolyn’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. She sympathized with her best friend, but didn’t know what she could do to help. She had warned Carolyn that this affair could backfire in her face, but, as usual, Carolyn wouldn’t listen to any opinions that differed from hers. Over the years, everyone who knew her had told her that her headstrong attitude would get her into trouble one day, and now it had.
“Can’t you just apologize to your dad? Maybe he’ll forgive you and let you stay? Of course, you’d have to stop seeing ‘Mr. Boss’.”
“No. It wouldn’t work this time, I’m sure. Besides, I don’t want to stop seeing J.P. He’s terrific. And he treats me like a queen.”
“So you’ve said. A queen he can only take places where he won’t run into people he knows.”
“You don’t understand.” Carolyn smashed her cigarette into the overflowing ashtray.
The two women jumped when the downstairs doorbell rang with an insistent buzz, like someone was holding their finger on it.
“Rosemary,” her mother called from the kitchen, “could you answer that? I’m up to my elbows in icing.”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Who could that be?” Carolyn asked. “Are your relatives coming over for your dad’s birthday?”
“Not that I know of.” Rosemary left the bedroom to buzz in whoever was at the downstairs front door. She went onto the landing to look over the banister and down the staircase. When she saw who was coming, she ran back into her apartment.
“It’s your sisters.”
“What? What are they doing here?”
“Probably looking for you. What do you want me to tell them?”
“Nothing.” She marched to the apartment door and opened it. Helen and Peggy stood there. Helen’s fist raised to knock on the door.
“What do you two want?” Carolyn asked.
“Can we talk to you?” Helen asked.
“Mom sent us to find you,” Peggy said. “She’s worried about you.”
“Really? She seemed pretty glad to be rid of me.”
“Carolyn,” Rosemary said, “maybe they should come in before— ”
“Oh, hello girls,” Rosemary’s mother said. “Are you all going somewhere together today?”
“Yeah, Mom, and we’re just leaving.”
“Have fun. Don’t forget to come back early, Rosemary. I’ll need some help with the big celebration.”
“Sure, Mom.”
Rosemary grabbed her and Carolyn’s hats and purses and shooed everyone out and down the stairs. Before they knew it, they were on the sidewalk walking towards Fifth Avenue.
“Hold it,” Helen said, stopping the procession. “Where are we going?”
“Who cares,” Rosemary said. “We couldn’t stay in my apartment. My mom would smell a rat and you don’t want that, I’m sure.”
“You’re right. Okay. Let’s go to Madison Square Park. We can sit there and talk things out with some privacy.”
The four women walked the few blocks to the park in silence. No one wanted to shout their conversation over the traffic noise, terrified that one of their neighbors would pop out of a store or building and overhear them. News of Carolyn’s moving out would be enough to keep tongues wagging for a while. They didn’t need to add to it by having a shouting match in the street.
The park was busy when they got there. The warmer weather brought everyone outside and kids ran all over the place. Helen spotted a fairly secluded table, one with a painted checkerboard set up for a game of chess or checkers and benches on either side. Men usually filled all these tables, playing games that lasted the entire day. But today, the women lucked out. As soon as they sat down, Carolyn pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it. Her hands were steady now, and a hardness had crept across her face.
“Well, what do you want?” she asked.
“Carolyn, can’t you even try to be pleasant?” Peggy asked. “We’re not the ones who crucified you. You did that all by yourself.”
“I don’t have to sit here and be criticized by my little sister. I’m leaving.” Carolyn threw her cigarette on the ground, crushed it beneath her heel, and stood.
“Sit down, Carolyn,” Helen said. “We’re not here to fight. Mom wanted us to find you to see what your plans are. She’s worried about you.”
“Ha. I bet.” Carolyn sat back down. “Not worried enough to stand up to Dad though, is she?”
“You know that’s not going to happen,” Helen said. “But he did give you till the end of the month, so maybe we can help you find something. Something respectable so Mom won’t be so worried.”
“Oh, sure, let’s make sure no one’s uncomfortable or feeling guilty about their part in this whole fiasco. No one but me, that is.”
“Carolyn,” Peggy said, “we’re trying to help you, not fight with you, or blame you. It’s not our fault that Mom heard you and Helen fighting, or that you snuck in the window last night. But what’s done is done, so let’s try to solve the problem.”
Carolyn looked past them and watched the children play tag. “I don’t see how the problem can be solved,” she said, tears brimming her eyes.
“There’s always a solution,” Peggy said. “We just have to find it. Helen, give Carolyn the list we made.”
“What list?” Carolyn asked.
“A list of women’s residential hotels,” Helen said, pulling it out of her purse and handing it to Carolyn. “I’ve heard of some of them at work.”
“Oh great,” Carolyn said, “So these are places women go and wait to have their bastards?”
“Carolyn, really,” Peggy said. “We’re trying to help, remember?”
“And no, it’s not like that,” Helen said. “Sometimes women from out of town need a place to stay for a while until they can find a job, or an apartment they can share with roommates. Lots of actresses stay in these hotels while they’re on Broadway. That way, they don’t have to worry about men pestering them or following them home, and most of these places provide breakfast and dinner. So, you wouldn’t even have to cook for yourself.”
“They don’t sound too bad,” Rosemary said, who until then hadn’t said a word.
“Well... maybe,” Carolyn looked down the list. “I have heard of some of them, like the Barbizon.”
“Oh, sure,” Rosemary said. “That place is famous. Maybe if you stayed there, you’d get to meet some movie stars.”
Carolyn grimaced and shook her head. “You read too many of those movie magazines.”
“Well, I think that would be exciting,” Rosemary mumbled.
“That’s neither here nor there,” Peggy said. “The point is, you could move into one of these without worrying about the first month’s rent and security deposit. Or spend time trying to find a respectable place that would rent to a single woman. There’s not many of them, you know.”
“I’d have to pay something up front, I’m sure. And I don’t have any money.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Who knows? And if they do require some advance, maybe we could scrape something together for you. Anyway, you could call them and find out how it works. It’s worth a try.”
The three women waited while Carolyn fidgeted with the list and lit another cigarette. “Anyone have some dimes I can borrow to call these places?”
Of the nine residential hotels on Helen’s list, Carolyn decided to call four of them.
“Why these four?” Peggy asked.
“A couple of reasons. I don’t want to be too close to home, so, Jeanne D’Arc is out. It’s right on 24th Street, practically next door. Besides, I think it’s mostly for French women.”
“That’s true,” Rosemary said. “I see groups of them leaving for work in the morning and they’re always speaking French, or at least it sounds like French.”
“Same with the Markle Evangeline Residence. Too close to home.”
“What’s so bad about being close to home?” Peggy asked.
Carolyn’s eyebrows shot up and she shook her head. “You’re such a child.”
“I am not. I just don’t understand why you practically have to move to another borough.”
“I think Carolyn doesn’t want everyone in the neighborhood, including us, knowing what she’s doing,” Helen said. “Isn’t that right, Carolyn?”
“Something like that.”
“Oh, I get it,” Peggy said. “This way you can date all the married men you want, and Mom and Dad will never know.”
“Why don’t you go home,” Carolyn said, through gritted teeth.
“Girls, let’s pull the claws in, shall we?” Rosemary said. “We’re all here to find a solution, not fight with each other.”
Carolyn let out a deep sigh. “All right, but tell her,” she pointed at Peggy, “to shut up if she can’t say something useful.”
“I’m sitting right here,” Peggy said. “You can tell me yourself.”
“This is getting us nowhere,” Helen said. “The two of you need to stop acting like spoiled brats, and you need to stop right now.”
Peggy sat, arms folded across her chest, and glared at Helen. Carolyn tapped her pencil on the table so hard she broke off the tip.
“Damn,” she said. “How am I supposed to write anything down now?”
“It’s your own fault,” Peggy said.
“Enough you two,” Helen slammed her fist down. “I’ve had it. I’m going home.” She stood and rummaged through her purse. “Here’s another pencil. Try not to break this one too.” She slapped it onto the table in front of Carolyn.
“Wait,” Carolyn said, “I’m sorry. I’m just upset. I never thought I’d get kicked out of my own home.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “I feel lost. Please, don’t go, Helen. I need your help.”
Helen stood, wavering between believing Carolyn meant what she said or knowing it was simply another ploy in her arsenal of tricks to wheedle her way out of messes.
“I’m sorry too,” Peggy said.
Helen sat, not thoroughly convinced either sister was telling the truth, but couldn’t abandon Carolyn when she looked so defeated.
“All right, which four places did you choose?”
Carolyn decided to call The Allerton Hotel for Women, The Barbizon, The Webster, and the Brandon Residence for Women. The Martha Washington Hotel was too close to work. Co-workers might spot her going in or out, and she didn’t want them to know her business. The St. Agnes Residence, the St. Mary’s Residence, and the Sacred Heart Residence sounded too much like convents to suit her. Having decided on her choices, Carolyn left to call them. The three women waited for her to return with either good or bad news.
“It’s like waiting for the results of an exam.” Peggy stood and paced in front of the table.
Rosemary checked her watch every few minutes and Helen vacillated between clutching the cross that hung around her neck and twisting the Claddagh ring on her finger.
“Here she comes,” Peggy said, looking across the park.
“Okay.” Carolyn sat at the table. “I have appointments at the Webster and the Brandon for tomorrow afternoon.”
“What about the Barbizon and the Allerton?” Helen asked.
“They’re too expensive and the rent doesn’t include any meals. The other two do, so they’d work out better for me. So, who wants to come with me tomorrow?”
All three women said they wanted to. They fixed a time for Rosemary to come to their apartment, then the four of them would leave together.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning, the four women left to visit the Webster Apartments. Since the residence was on West 34th Street, they saved the subway fare and walked the ten blocks.
Once they arrived there, the administrator on duty took them on a tour of the residence. She explained they allowed no men above the first floor, but there were “beau parlors.” These rooms, or cubbies, had no doors, but residents could entertain visitors in them with some privacy. The rent included a hot breakfast and dinner, maid service with linens changed once a week, and use of a large walled-in garden, and a roof deck with views of the Empire State Building. There were 24-hour security guards as well. Each tenant’s rent was determined on a sliding scale based on their income.
The private room she showed them was small with a single bed, dresser, chair, and sink. Everyone shared the bathroom at the end of the hall.
Carolyn thanked her and said she’d decide by the end of the day. Then the group hopped on the subway and made their way up to the Brandon Residence for Women on West 85th Street.
Once again, the administrator gave them a tour of the building. The rules here were the same as the Webster. While the Brandon didn’t have “beau parlors,” there was a large room on the first floor with floor to ceiling windows and groupings of easy chairs and sofas where residents could entertain guests. The administrator said they often held performances there since some residents were music or dance students at the Juilliard School. During these performances, the casual furniture was put off to the side and replaced by rows of folding chairs. There were also some fledgling actresses who performed in Broadway plays and on TV.
There was also a TV/library room and a small room set up for piano practice.
Both the private room Carolyn would occupy, and the other amenities, were the same as the Webster. Located a block off Riverside Park, access to the North River and cool shaded areas would be a bonus during the hot summer months.
As the women toured the building, they noticed the residents ran the gamut in both age and fashion. Some dressed conservatively while others were more bohemian, but they were all friendly. Almost everyone stopped to say hello and tell Carolyn how welcoming and safe they felt living there. The room rate here was fixed, but within Carolyn’s budget.
The tour finished, Carolyn told their guide she would be in touch later that day. Then they left and wandered over to Riverside Park.
“Well, what do you think?” Helen asked.
“I’m torn. I like the Webster, but it’s awfully close to home.”
“It’s ten blocks away,” Peggy said. “How many of our neighbors do you think you’ll run into up there?”
“Peggy’s right,” Rosemary said. “If it was closer to Macy’s or Gimbel’s, then maybe. But all the way over on 9th Avenue? There’s no reason for anyone to be that far west.”
“You’re probably right,” Carolyn said, “but I think I like the Brandon better anyway. There are so many different types of women living there, and being able to walk to the park is a bonus.”
“You can walk to Central Park from there too,” Helen said, “but there’s not much else around here. It’s real residential. No stores or coffee shops or anything.”
“I can shop downtown, and I don’t need a coffee shop since they include breakfast in my rent. Besides, we really haven’t looked around the neighborhood much. Maybe there are places on Broadway, or Columbus, or Amsterdam.”
“You’re right,” Rosemary said. “Why don’t we go exploring before you make a final decision?”
“Good idea,” Peggy said. “And I’m getting hungry, so maybe we can find a place for lunch.”
“Okay, moneybags.” Helen threw her arm around her little sister’s shoulder. “Is this your treat?”
Peggy opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it shut when she realized she didn’t even have enough money to pay for her own lunch. Her face turned rosy, and she looked down at her shoes. “Never mind,” she said.
“I’m only teasing,” Helen said. “I’ll treat. Now, let’s go find someplace to eat.”
The women walked east to Broadway, found a luncheonette, and settled in to discuss the merits of the two residences they had visited that morning.
After making a list of pros and cons, Carolyn decided to move into the Brandon. Even though it meant taking two trains to get to work every day, one downtown and one across town, she liked the eclectic mix of women who lived there, as opposed to the solid “working girl” roster of the Webster.
“Helen,” Carolyn said, “you’re awfully quiet. What gives? You’re usually more than willing to put your two cents into anyone’s opinion of anything.”
“I’m just thinking that maybe you’re jumping the gun.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look, Dad was angry yesterday and rightfully so.”
Carolyn rolled her eyes and lit another cigarette.
“He probably didn’t sleep very well Friday night, waiting to hear you sneak in. So, he wasn’t in the best of moods. I think you should give him time to reconsider everything. If you move out, he’ll never come around and our family will be split up forever. Why don’t you wait a week or two, keep your nose clean, come home right after work—”
“Really? Why don’t I just enter a convent?”
“Let me finish.” Helen crossed her arms and leaned back in the booth. “If not every night, at least most nights. I’m only asking for a week, maybe two, not the rest of your life. Then maybe you can have an intelligent, adult conversation with him about his expectations and your rights as an adult living in his home. Maybe even offer to pay some rent, you know, to establish yourself as a responsible person.”
