The Whiskey Sea (15 page)

Frieda had never seen such determination in her sister’s eyes. It was as if overnight they’d traded roles in personality, too, and Bea was full of resolve, while Frieda was close to defenseless. “You won’t know anyone. And it’s so big . . . I’ve been there. I know.”

“But I like new things, and I make friends easily. I can’t wait to get started. Please, Frieda . . . please . . .” She squeezed harder and then didn’t let go.

Bea, leaving now? She looked away and let loss ache throughout her body. She had known it was coming, but she’d believed she had at least two more months. “Silver will miss you. So will I.”

Bea said, “You know I can’t do it without your blessing.”

“If you’re sure it’s what you want . . .”

“I’m sure.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Three days later they went to the ferry dock in Highlands and waited for the steamboat to the city. They had packed Bea’s most prized possessions in two borrowed and scarred old suitcases. The cases held her favorite dresses, some skirts and blouses, and her favorite books, along with personal items she couldn’t part with.

While they waited, Frieda looked about for Charles. She hadn’t seen him since he had dropped her off three mornings before. Not a note or a message. She’d walked the docks and done the required maintenance on Dutch’s boat, always listening for the sound of his footsteps coming down the pier, or the lilt of his voice as he called her name. Each time she came up from the engine room and took a glance around, pretending as if she were looking for something else, she was really looking for him, but all she saw were the flat stares of the other runners and fishermen, and the first star fell from her shining new sky.

The days were sunny and warm, the nights cool and damp. It was turning out to be a lovely summer. Along with Bea’s leaving, Charles’s absence left her aching. She closed her eyes and kept seeing dead fish, a dying dolphin that had washed up on the shore, and piles of empty oyster and clamshells.

The night before at home she had heard heavy footsteps on the porch, and her heart leapt into her throat. But it was only Hicks coming by to say good-bye to Bea and wish her luck.

He gave Bea a perfect sand dollar that he’d kept for years and placed into a little cardboard gift box so that it wouldn’t break. Years spent in the sun and salty air were beginning to show on his face; squint lines bloomed from the corners of both eyes.

“Don’t forget where you came from,” he said to Bea, and then he looked at Frieda as if the message was intended for her instead. But his look contained no anger. His face was the same concerned face she’d always known, and the way he said things with shrugs of his broad shoulders and movements of his eyes was so familiar. She couldn’t lose his friendship now. With the pain in her heart, there was no room for anything but fond feelings for others these days.

Frieda wished she could thank him for his friendship and for accepting her the way she was for all these years, but if she spoke anything that came straight from her heart, it would release all the other feelings she was working so hard to contain. Bea’s leaving, and Charles . . . There was an awful urge to tell him, her dear old friend, all of it. It was as if Bea had already abandoned her and she had no one else to tell, no one to turn to. Hicks must have realized she was torn up over Bea’s leaving, but did he have any idea how she ached over Charles? She couldn’t burden Hicks when he obviously still had feelings for her. But his gaze said that he already knew, that he somehow understood.

They stood quietly for a few moments, but the silence was filled with a conversation they could not have.

Word had gotten around that Bea was leaving, and other people had also come by the house with well wishes and little gifts. Bea had friends from school, from the docks, and even the hills. Everyone thought so highly of her sister and so little of Frieda, she realized. Of course she had known this all along and had done nothing to prevent her isolation before, but it came with a new edge. Who would she turn to now?

The hardest part for Bea was leaving Silver. She had sat with him for hours during the nights before she left, holding his hand, telling him her dreams and plans, pulling out her course book, and going over things with him as any child would do with his or her parent. Once he smiled on the working side of his face. Frieda tried telling herself she had done the right thing by releasing her sister. But Bea’s absence would mean leaving Silver more often in the care of Polly and the other nurses who relieved her from time to time. Silver was fond of Polly, Frieda could tell, but she wasn’t family. Frieda would have no choice, however, as she couldn’t leave him on his own, not even for brief periods of time. And someone would have to stay the night when Frieda went out on runs. She’d have to find a second nurse who was willing to work nights. No problem; she had the money.

Everything was falling into place for Bea. And yet for Frieda every day passed like the movement of mud in the flats, slow and heavy. Each hour Charles didn’t show up made the dreadful empty ache inside drive deeper and bloom bigger. Her heart was so heavy that she didn’t know how it could go on beating. Where was he?

She and Bea made the ferry crossing accompanied by rosy-cheeked tourists with sea-brightened faces. Once in the city, Frieda was immediately lost, as if she’d never come here before. She wore another of Bea’s dresses, but this time she felt uncomfortable. And the rolls of bills she carried in her handbag, retrieved from her hidden jars, were heavy, precious stones. Bea had even talked her into the lipstick and rouge again, but Frieda wiped her lips on a handkerchief after the city soot began to stick to her lips. The girls stood on the sidewalk in a near daze, the battered, borrowed suitcases a clear giveaway about their humble roots, despite the decent dresses they wore. Frieda decided then and there that she would buy some new luggage for Bea. Her sister would come home from time to time and deserved to have a nice suitcase when she traveled.

Frieda held her handbag close to her side as some streetwise, Italian-looking boys chased each other down the sidewalk. Cars whizzed past, and Bea coughed on the thick exhaust. They stared up at street signs and asked for directions, bought a newspaper at one passerby’s suggestion, and sat in a café until they could get their bearings. The suitcases had become cumbersome and heavy. She and Bea tried to keep them out of others’ paths. Their waiter, a man who seemed nice despite his hurried movements, advised them to check for postings in the Village, as summer vacancies could often be found there with immediate occupancy.

Bea had been accepted into the NYU School of Education. Student housing would be available to her in the fall, but she had already expressed a desire for a place of her own, and Frieda had agreed. Bea could live and merge with any of her peers, even bubbly college students dropped off by well-off parents, but having her own place meant that Frieda could visit her sister from time to time. Since Silver would have around-the-clock care now, Frieda might be able to spend some nights in the city with Bea. So an apartment fit their needs best.

After looking around at postings and Bea chatting with some people who seemed local, they were able to find a small apartment in the Village near the campus in an ugly, dark brick, four-story building, but the apartment was rented with solid, basic furnishings, safely tucked up three flights of stairs from the street, and had tall windows and high ceilings that let in the light.

Bea proclaimed, “It’s perfect. I’ll be happy in this place.”

This was so Bea—positive to a fault and already fantasizing about her life in the city. Did she really know what she was getting into? Was she prepared? Frieda said, “Maybe we should look at others.”

“No, this feels just right. Besides, I can move in right now. No need to go to a hotel tonight. That’ll save some money.”

Frieda looked around, tried the windows, and ran the water. She could find no reason to refuse, although she had the strange urge to glom on to her sister and beg her not to leave her just when she needed her so desperately. But instead she said, “If you say so.”

Bea pulled her sister into an embrace. “Thank you. You won’t be sorry. I’ll make you proud.”

And so Frieda paid the landlord for the first two months’ rent, Bea obtained her key, and they left her bags in the room.

They went into some chic boutiques, where Bea insisted that Frieda pay an exorbitant amount of money for both of them to indulge in a pair of ankle-strapped, Cuban-heeled shoes. Frieda also purchased a long Oriental-style fringed scarf as a going-away gift for her sister, and Bea picked out a new frock for Frieda. As evening was by then coming on, Frieda sought to take Bea to some of the places Charles had taken her on their night on the town. But as people flowed and shoved past them on the streets, she became disoriented. She’d made a wrong turn somewhere, and so she changed direction. But that wasn’t it, either. It didn’t help that most of the speakeasies had hidden entries.

“I’m sorry. I thought I’d learned my way around somewhat. Silly me.”

Bea said, “It’s OK. I’m learning the names of the streets.”

Relax,
Frieda told herself. Bea followed her in the purple light of the city’s shadows, while along the avenues the yellow lights of streetlamps attracted insects and brightened the facades of stubborn old buildings, shiny new shops, and cobbled streets that were unknown to her. She shook herself, focused, and changed direction again. She and Bea stumbled around for an hour or so, lost in the maze of streets. What a fine chaperone Frieda had turned out to be.

At last Frieda located the hidden “Garden Door” to Chumley’s; she was in the right area. She and Charles had passed by this place, and he had pointed out the location to her, but they hadn’t entered, instead going on to another bar. She took Bea by the hand and they entered and found a table. But everything tasted different about this night, as if a sour ingredient had been accidentally baked into something that was supposed to be sweet. The air was stale with smoke, drunken men leered at them, and women looked at them with contempt—or was it pity? The animated conversations, raucous laughter, and clinking of glasses had taken on a sinister tone that Frieda had not heard before. The drinks were weak and expensive, and they couldn’t hear each other talk over the sound of the music. There was no one with whom to dance, as the place was filled primarily with couples.

So they simply sat. Bea appeared to bask in the dreams of her life to come and sipped on her drink. But Frieda’s mind drifted away on a darker current. Without a partner, the city was a cruel and confusing maze. This and everything else was changing too fast. Even back in Highlands things were changing. Runners were getting edgy and arming themselves. People who seemed more like lifelong criminals, rather than those like herself, were getting in on the action. Lately, in Highlands’s hotels one could see automatics and revolvers sitting on the tables during dinner, and the day before on the beach she’d seen some strange men wearing fedora hats, nicely tailored suits with flaring lapels, and polished shoes. From a distance it seemed as if they were having an animated, agitated conversation. The atmosphere in Highlands was changing, and this was her last night with Bea.

Involuntarily, her thoughts drifted to Charles. Frieda relived the night with him—the music, the lights, the dancing, the food, the wine, his touch, the lovemaking—and when she looked around it only then dawned on her that the city and all its offerings had not made the night so wonderful. She had thought she might recreate the magic of that night in a different way with her sister. Now it felt ridiculous. She didn’t fit in here; she never had.

She said over the sounds of the crowd, “I can’t believe you’ll be staying tonight without me. It’s just now hitting me. We’ve always been together.”

“You go out on the ocean so many nights without
me
. I’ve always worried, you know.” Bea took another sip of her drink and looked around like someone seeing lovely paintings for the first time. “I’ll be fine; in fact, it’s going to be wonderful.”

As each day had gone by, taking them closer to this night, a knot of fear inside Frieda had been tightening and pushing against her organs. Now it had grown even larger. How would she manage without Bea?

She thought she saw Toby, Charles’s thoroughbred friend, in the crowd. Peering around some people waiting for a table, she caught his eye, then instantly regretted it. What if he was here with Charles, and worse yet, they were with other women? But Toby appeared to be alone again, and she gave him a little wave. He hesitated for a moment, then worked his way toward their table.

“Small world. Nice to see you again, Frieda.” He gave them a toothy grin, and Frieda introduced Bea. His eyes roamed over her appraisingly, and Frieda wondered what he saw: a pretty young thing who might interest him, or a pretty young thing from the wrong side of the tracks?

Bea perked up at the prospect of spending some time with a new acquaintance. “Would you like to join us?” she asked, although she and Frieda had taken the only chairs at their tiny table.

Toby glanced around. “I doubt I could find a chair.”

Frieda sensed that it was a convenient excuse; perhaps he had come over only because it was the polite thing to do. She could see a wariness in his eyes, as if he wouldn’t want to get stuck with them.

“It’s mobbed in here,” Bea stated.

“You think this is a mob?” Toby said. “Just you wait. You won’t be able to move in here later.”

“I love the energy of the city,” said Bea. “I just moved here today all in one day.”

His eyebrows rocketed up. “One day?”

Bea beamed. “Yep, found an apartment, dropped off my suitcases, and here I am.”

A tiny amused smile. “Congratulations.”

Bea said, “Thank you,” but uncharacteristically, she had no other comment.

Toby held a drink in one hand and slipped his other hand into his pocket and jingled some change, as if he had found himself at something of a loss. He glanced about furtively and asked Frieda, “Is Charles around?”

After she shook her head, the most awful, desperate urge entered her. “In fact, I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him for a few days.”

Toby took a sip of his drink, a bit of discomfort on his face, as if he’d read this situation as clearly as a book: that Charles had spent a night out with a lower-class girl for some fun and then dumped her. He pitied her; Frieda could feel this, and she flooded with shame. She shouldn’t have mentioned Charles, much less admitted that she didn’t know where he was. She had humiliated herself, but she couldn’t take her words back now. The things she was doing baffled her. How had she so quickly slipped out of her familiar self? It was infuriating, this powerlessness, this relinquishment, this falling away of all her old shields, but for the first time ever she could not find a way to build them back up.