The Chelsea Girls(50)
“What’s so funny?” Maxine looked like a fiery angel in the candlelight, the copper hues glowing around her white skin.
Hazel didn’t reply, just smiled and turned back to her meal.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Maxine
July 4, 1950
I waited for Arthur outside of the hotel, looking my summery best. I’d been asked to judge the strongman contest at Coney Island—another of Canby’s ploys to get some press for the play—and had picked out a pretty pink-and-green floral dress and a straw hat with a wide brim for the day’s outfit.
Arthur finally pulled up in a green Chevy and honked. I leaned through the open window and gave him a wide smile. “Looking for a date?”
He told me to jump in. For a moment, I considered telling him to get out and open my door like a gentleman, but I wanted our outing to get off on the right foot.
As I settled in, he snarled that I looked like his mother-in-law’s couch.
So that’s the way he was going to play it. Why was I surprised? Life with Arthur was a series of dips and rises, and right now we seemed to be headed into a dip. He’d be nasty or cut me down, and then the guilt would kick in and he’d fall over himself to right the wrong and make me feel safe and good again. We’d been through this before.
The first time Arthur lost his temper, I was completely unprepared.
We were returning to my very first room at the Chelsea—he was visiting from California for a few days—and his arms were full of wine and groceries that we’d picked up. The plan was to spend all weekend in bed together. As I fumbled with the lock, his patience ran thin, and after two exasperated sighs, he shoved his elbow into my back and bellowed, “Open the goddamn door!”
Shaking, I tried again and much to my relief the dead bolt slid away. I held the door open for him.
Once we were inside, his temper disappeared, and he actually hummed to himself as he put away the groceries.
I figured he was just stressed about work. After all, Arthur had never spoken to me like that before. He’d delighted in me, he’d said, over and over. Told me that I made him believe that anything was possible. And it wasn’t a big deal, really. I got better at sensing when he neared his breaking point, and did what I could to distract him: make him laugh, seduce him. Only recently had I started to call him out on his bad behavior.
* * *
In the car, I threw Arthur a hard look. “I thought we were done with the cutting remarks, now that you no longer drink.”
“It was a joke.” He leaned over to give me a kiss, but I turned my head. “Sorry, love. I was out of order. Thought I was being funny. Please forgive me.” He ran his fingers up my bare arm and I shivered.
I kissed him back, taking his prompt apology as a sign of progress.
“Hey, isn’t that Hazel?” He called out to her, practically blowing out my eardrum.
Hazel walked over. “Hey, guys. Where are you off to?”
“Coney Island,” he said. “You should come. Our movie star here is judging the strongman contest.”
Arthur’s invitation threw me. I thought we were supposed to be spending the day together. I glanced over at him, and Hazel probably picked up my hesitancy.
“No, I’m just heading back upstairs.” She took off her sunglasses and smiled. “Now, don’t get a sunburn today, Max. We don’t want you all pink onstage.”
Previews began next week. I was nervous, and I knew Hazel was, also. She could probably use some diversion. “You have to come along. It’ll be fun.”
Hazel looked me in the eye. “Really?”
“Please.”
She jumped in the back seat and we were off. Arthur kept Hazel laughing the entire time, talking about the food packaging business, of all things. By the time we hit the Ocean Parkway, I had relaxed, partly from hearing Hazel’s laughter from the back seat and also because that bitter edge had disappeared from Arthur’s voice. He’d reached over and rubbed my hand a couple of times, as a way of asking additional forgiveness.
The boardwalk was packed with families loaded down with blankets, chairs, and beach toys, the heat shimmering off the planks. I considered heading down to the beach and putting my feet in the surf to cool off, but one look out to the ocean put me right off that idea. Every inch of sand was taken up by sunbathers—it was as if a herd of flesh-colored seals had flopped out of the ocean to loll in the bright sunshine, braying every so often when stepped upon.
The contest was silly. I basically clapped and gave the winner of the contest a smooch on the cheek, but the announcer mentioned the play twice and had us take photos for the newspapers. After, Hazel, Arthur, and I walked by the entrance to the freak show, where a sign touted a peek at Anita, the elephant-faced girl, and Olga, the headless one.
“Wanna go in?” asked Arthur. I noticed him checking out décolletage on the drawing of the elephant-faced girl. Men.
“I doubt it’s cooler inside than out here.” Hazel fanned her face with her hat. “Maybe we should get something to drink?”
“Let’s head to Nathan’s.” Arthur took each of our arms in his. “You’ll love Nathan’s, it’s a New York institution. If we’re lucky, we can catch the hot dog eating contest.” He pointed to a huge booth set up across the boardwalk for the occasion.