The Dollhouse(31)

CHAPTER TEN



New York City, 1952


Darby’s heart soared when she received the envelope with Mother’s familiar, elegant handwriting. She’d stifled memories of home ever since she’d arrived, afraid to think too much about her room, her beloved old house, and the screened-in patio where she’d sat with her dogs and read. Mother wrote with her usual reserve, making no mention of Mr. Saunders, and encouraged Darby to work hard and do well. However, at the bottom she’d drawn a detailed picture of the two dogs lolling in the grass. Darby knew this was Mother’s way of saying she was missed, and she carefully taped the letter on the wall above her small desk.

She’d apply herself and make Mother very proud, and go home for Christmas break with perfect marks. With a sigh, she returned to her homework for her secretarial accounting class, a soporific mess of figures and columns. Her favorite class so far, and the one in which her scores were consistently above average, was typing. While she typed, she remembered how Stick’s fingers had flown along the keyboard, as if they were independent of the rest of his body. He wasn’t thinking about the individual notes but the whole phrase. And Darby found when she looked at sentences, the whole thoughts, of the practice test, she made fewer mistakes than when she focused on the individual letters. Her fingers were becoming more nimble.

A knock at the door broke her concentration. Esme poked her head in, then quickly came in and closed the door behind her.

“I don’t have much time. Eustis is after me. How about we head downtown again?”

Darby hadn’t seen Esme much the past week, and part of her had been relieved. She proved to be a strong distraction, one that Mother would definitely not condone.

“I can’t, too much work to do.”

“The other girls giving you any more trouble? I’ve been stuck in the laundry room all week, couldn’t get away.”

“No, they ignore me completely now, which is fine with me. It’s a relief not to have to pretend to be polite.”

“So come downtown. You owe me, right?”

The strange phrase surprised her, but she held firm. “Sorry, not tonight.”

“Sam asked about you the other night.”

“Sam?” Darby knew exactly who he was.

“The owner’s son, cooks the food.”

“What did he ask?”

“Why I brought you down there. He seemed protective. Don’t you think that’s sweet?”

Darby imagined he was more scornful than sweet, after her silly reaction to the music. “I really shouldn’t.”

“That’s too bad.” Esme dropped her chin to her chest and shrugged one shoulder. “Because I’d love to have someone to celebrate with. But I guess not.”

Darby jumped out of her chair. “You got into acting school?”

Esme nodded and Darby gave her a hug. “Congratulations! I knew you’d get in.”

“But that’s not all.” Esme glowed just like the Ford girls, even in her maid’s uniform with its dull black dress, black stockings, and silly white cap.

“What’s going on?”

“I am. The owner of the club, Mr. Buckley, said I could go on before the headliner tonight.”

Darby grabbed Esme’s hands. “That’s wonderful. How did you manage it?”

“He was holding auditions the other afternoon, right before my shift. I asked if I could give it a shot, like a real singer, and he said fine. You could say I blew his socks off. I’ll have a full band behind me and even a backup singer.”

Her excitement was infectious. How could Darby resist?

As they walked from the train to the club, Esme took Darby’s hand in her own and swung it merrily. They got off at Union Square and headed south down Fourth Avenue, past a cluster of used bookstores, their wares spilling out onto the street in uneven stacks. New York was a town of surprises.

Darby gave her hand a quick squeeze. “So now you’ll be going to acting school, working at the Barbizon and at the club. How will you manage?” Darby thought of her own schedule of classes, which seemed paltry in comparison.

“Mrs. Eustis said she’d arrange my schedule around my classes. She’s not all bad.”

“How did you find the job at the club in the first place?” Darby asked.

“My aunt knows the owner.”

“Did your aunt come with you from Puerto Rico?”

“No. She was here already. I wanted to come. Santurce was too small a barrio to hold me.”

“Santurce?” Darby rolled the word around her in mouth.

“My father had a store there. Sold all kinds of things, candy, plantain balls, and when I was really young, my father had money and we were treated with respect. But things got worse quick. The store kept being robbed and my father lost it, lost everything eventually.” Esme dropped Darby’s hand. “There was no other work, so we all came to America, to live with my aunt.”

“How old were you when you moved?”

“I came here five years ago, when I was fifteen. Now I live in the same building with the people who worked in the fields, the jíbaros. All filthy.”

So Esme was a member of the privileged class in Puerto Rico. That explained her brashness. She wasn’t like any of the other maids at the Barbizon, who avoided eye contact and scuttled down the halls. “What does your father do now?”