Read Last Night at the Blue Angel Online
Authors: Rebecca Rotert
I
t was a beautiful party full of beautiful people. Rita whispered to me,
They need to be taken away. Take them away
,
Naomi
.
When the pianist asked me to sing, I acted shy at first, but then I pushed my whole body and heart into the notes. I sang like it was my home, all that beauty, and they were my people.
Take them away
,
Naomi
. On their faces was love and longing and want. Something started to burn in me right then, a very particular hunger. For this, to be here at the hot center of all these people, holding them with my voice. I'd never sung better in my life. I felt like I'd been standing at the edge of my old life all this time and all I had to do to find myselfâmy voice, the power in meâwas to jump. So I jumped. Even Rita was taken aback.
It has begun
, she said when we left.
We walked all the way home, faster and faster as Rita outlined her plans for me. She never once mentioned my condition, like it was a problem that had left on its own. We walked as fast as my shoes would allow, and as the cold wind numbed our faces, I felt myself divide into two. One of me was going to become a singer, to be famous, known, loved, at all costs. The other me was not going to get rid of you, planned to have you, love you, be loved by you, and it was as though these two sides stood back to back, not knowing the other existed at all.
Could you feel how much they loved you?
said Rita.
Do you see how loved you will be?
I nodded and smiled.
I see
, I told her.
T
he next day a man called Rita, wanting me to sing that Thursday at his little bar, a restaurant lounge in downtown Chicago. I opened for an opening act, which amounted to four songs.
Under the lights, in the gaze of the little crowd, I felt I was exactly where I was meant to be and everything that led to that point suddenly became right, each moment the correct variable in a long equation. I felt large on the stage, by myself, too large to be hurt, and I suspected that if I were ever going to have any certainty in my life, it would be located there, on the stage.
Rita and Sister were there. Jim was there. The manager paid me by letting us eat for free. Jim reached over the table, took my pickle, and ate it. I said to him,
I'm going to have a baby
.
The women looked at me.
What do you know?
said Jim, looking at his plate.
I'm going to need help
, I said.
All right
, said Jim.
What do you hope to gain by this?
asked Rita.
The others looked at her like this was an ugly question. But I thought about it honestly.
I believe it will make me a better person
.
As we left the club, the women walked ahead and Jim walked beside me. He looked puzzled.
What is it
,
Jim?
I have to ask. Is it mine? Is the baby mine?
We stopped walking and looked at each other.
I wish it was
, I said.
He breathed and nodded.
Come on
,
then
, he said, walking.
You've had a long night
.
I
n the
Chicago Sun-Times
the next day was a little sentence about me. They said I was someone to watch, they said I was
a real pearl
.
You made me glow. You made me big, full. You pushed my voice, you gave me a woman's voice.
A real pearl
. Before I even knew your name, you lit me up.
I think I'll keep you
, I said, holding the paper and looking down,
whoever you are
.
I keep you.
Do Nothin' Till You Hear from Me
CHICAGO, 1965
I
T IS MORNING
and now I am eleven. I kick off my blanket, get out of bed, and look at myself in the mirror, wondering if I look different because of what I've seen, the grown-ups at the party. How everything goes wrong. Mother and Jim wrapped around each other in her room last night. I don't, though. Somehow I look the same. I rearrange the little ceramic raccoon family on my dresser so that the baby raccoons are all lined up on the edge about to jump. Then I lay the mother raccoon on her side. She is asleep and doesn't know about the babies. I look in the mirror again. Nothing has changed so far as I can tell.
My dress hangs over the chair. The hole in my skirt is larger than I thought and it still smells like something burned. I sit on the floor, take the lid off my record player, and put on Skeeter Davis, keeping the volume low so they don't know I'm up.
My notebook is on the floor next to my record player. I stare at it. Finally I turn to the list in the back. Under
David
, I write
Jim
. And in the characteristics column I write:
my friend. my dad
(
kind of
). I look at all the names on the list. All the people who loved her are gone now, except for Jim. All you have to do is look at my list to see what's going to happen.
I hide my notebook way under my bed, not wanting to look at that list of names ever again.
My stomach growls. I go into the kitchen.
Morning, kitten
, says Mother. I wave.
Jim pulls out a chair for me.
Whatcha doin'?
Jim asks.
Getting something to eat
.
You still sore at me about last night?
says Mother.
I stare at the toaster, the coils brightening.
It's okay if you are
, she says.
I ignore them both.
How about we make some pancakes?
says Jim.
Don't have the ingredients
.
I'll go get the makings
, he says.
Okay?
I shrug.
I'm off, then
.
I look at Mother and then run after Jim.
Wait
.
I'm coming with you
.
A
t Clanton's, Jim opens a container of eggs to make sure none is broken.
How are they?
I say.
All good
.
I open the lid for myself while he's still holding it.
Yup
. Then I pick up one of the eggs, study it, hold it out in front of me, and let it drop on the floor.
Jim looks at me, then at the egg mess.
What the hell?
What?
I ask.
You could photograph it
.
Jim stares at me for a long time.
Fine
.
Sit right there
.
I sit on the edge of the cooler. He photographs me there, my shoes very close to the egg, which looks like a planet exploded.
Do we need flour?
he asks.
Probably
.
We get flour and syrup and put them on the counter next to the register.
There's an egg on the floor back there
, Jim says to Mr. Clanton.
As we head home, I take a deep breath and tell him,
I saw you last night
.
What do you mean?
With Mother. In her bed
.
He stops, frowns, moves the bag of groceries to his other arm.
Oh
,
doll
. He shakes his head.
You gotta stop sneaking around. There are things kids just aren't meant to see
.
Too late
.
You want to talk about it?
he says.
What am I supposed to say?
I don't know. How you feel?
Mad
.
Okay
, he says.
Becauseâ
You're stupid
.
Why am I stupid?
I stop walking and face him.
You ruined it! We were fine! The way it was! Now you're on the list!
Sophia
,
everything is fine. This isn't going to change anything
.
Everything's always changing
, I tell him.
Nothing sticks. Ever
.
Let's hold on a second
. We sit down on a curb. I put my head on my knees and cry a little into my jeans. Jim rests his hand on my back.
What's different about me
,
what I don't think you understand
,
is that I'm not going anywhere
,
whether your mother loves me or not
.
He lifts my face up, holds it in his hands, and peers down at me over the top of his glasses.
You want me to be your dad?
I nod.
Then it's settled. My love for you is separate from her. You understand? You taught me that. End of story. Anyway
,
we gotta stick together
,
you and me
.
He puts his arms around me and holds me really tight. It feels like he's going to hold me forever. Some people can hold you forever and some people can't. That's all of it, I think.
Let's go up and make pancakes and have a good day
,
okay?
he says.
I take his hand and we walk toward home. We pass a fire hydrant and I stop to look at it. How did I forget to put fire hydrants on the list? Where does the water even come from?
T
HE REST OF
the day feels like maybe the most normal day I've ever had. We make pancakes and eat them. Mother and Jim read the paper while I study my new nuclear-fallout book. They teach me gin rummy and it turns out I'm pretty good at it. They smoke cigarettes and sip drinks while I have a bottle of Coke. We change the sheets on our beds, sweep, and do the dishes. We have cheese sandwiches in the afternoon. Then Jim helps me get ready for my spelling quiz. Meanwhile, the phone rings all day, so often that Mother and Jim don't even look at each other when it does.
I call Elizabeth and her mother answers. I almost hang up.
Thank you for bringing Elizabeth to the party last night
, I tell her.
That is very polite of you
,
Sophia. I hope you had an enjoyable evening
.
I don't say anything about that.
Anything else?
she says.
May I please speak to Elizabeth?
For a moment
.
Then there is Elizabeth's voice.
Have you seen your new house yet?
I don't think we're going to move now
.
What?
I think everything has changed
, I tell her.
Elizabeth sighs.
Nothing ever changes in my lif
e. Then she calls out,
Coming! I have to go
.
I'm going to the library with Dad. I wish you could come
.
See you at school tomorrow
, I say.
W
hen I come back Jim is sitting on the floor in the living room, bent over the coffee table. He's moved a lamp so that it's next to him, lighting a photograph of Mother and me. I sit on the floor opposite him. In the photo, Mother is squatting in front of me holding my hands in hers, and we're smiling at each other. There are other people in the picture but it's like they're not really there. The picture seems to be about how much she loves me. You'd never know by looking at her that she ever loved anyone else.
Jim is dipping a little paintbrush into a tiny vial of black liquid and touching the brush lightly on some white spots and squiggles on the picture.
What are those?
It's from dust on the negative
.
What are you going to do with that picture?
I ask.
Mother comes in for a drink.
I'm going to send it to
Look
magazine. The editor says he wants more pictures of your mother
,
surprise
,
surprise. I reminded him that this was ORIGINALLY going to be a story about Chicago
,
its beautiful architecture, and how it's getting destroyed before our eyes
.
Progress
, I said.
Yeah
,
progress. And he says he wants the buildings
,
sure
,
but he also wants the singer
,
says he wants to create a whole picture: the rising star in a city that's falling down, or something to that effect
.
It sounds terrific to me
, Mother says.
Well
,
it would
, Jim says, shaking his head and grinning at her.
I would like to have that picture
,
too
, I say.
While it dries, he looks through his stack of photos. Church, theater, tall building, Mother, Mother and me, Mother and our friends, grand entrance, archway, column, staircase, Mother onstage, Mother backstage.
Jim thinks, takes a deep breath, then he sets them in an old photo-paper box and puts the lid on. A small piece of paper with
Look
magazine and an address is taped to the lid. He taps it with his finger.
I think they look pretty good
, I tell him.
I don't know. There's something missing
. He faces me.
I don't think these give you a true sense of the destruction. It's altogether too romantic
,
don't you think?
God forbid
, says Mother, laughing and wandering back out of the room.
T
hat night Mother tucks me in. She's changed into a long caftan, something Jim likes. She sits down on my bed.
Let's talk
.
About what?
I'll start
.
I said some awful things to you last night
.
I stare at the dead bugs in the fixture on the ceiling.
I also want to tell you that I think I've made a mistake with you. I always think you're all right. Because you're so smart and self-sufficient. So I guess I leave you alone. I don't worry. But maybe I should
.
I'm fine
.
Well
,
I'm going to try to think of you more
.
Okay
.
I really like Elizabeth
.
I think she's a very good friend
.
I nod.
Is there anything else you want to talk about?