The Whiskey Sea Page 16

  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.

  Toby said, “I haven’t seen him, either.” A moment of uncomfortable silence. “He essentially disappeared this summer.”

  She was struck with a needling of hope that maybe she’d run into Charles in the city. How crazy that she’d stumbled upon Toby, the only person she’d met before in New York. But then again she was on his stomping grounds.

  “Do you think he’s in the city?” Frieda asked.

  “I have no idea. As I said before, he’s been out of the picture lately.” He took a tiny step back, and Frieda felt the divide between them widen. “Frieda, it was nice to see you again,” he said to her, and his look conveyed charm but revealed nothing; then he turned to Bea. “Welcome to New York. I hope you enjoy it.”

  Frieda managed a smile, and Bea said, “Thank you.”

  “Well, have a nice evening, ladies.” He tipped his hat and wheeled away.

  When Frieda turned back to Bea, her sister’s face registered a pale new awareness. “You don’t know where Charles is?” she gasped. “I had no idea. Obviously he hasn’t been around town lately—I haven’t seen him—but I thought you knew where he was.”

  Frieda shook her head.

  “My God, Frieda. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Wrapping her hands around her tumbler, Frieda stared into it. Then she looked up, letting the pain—finally—show to someone. “I-I didn’t want to ruin this for you. This is your time, Bea.”

  “You’re my sister and best friend. I can’t believe you kept this inside.”

  Frieda looked down. How had she come to this?

  “So he took you away for a night, ruined your virtue, and then disappeared?” Bea asked with rising anger in her voice.

  “He’s not like that,” Frieda said just loud enough to be heard. “There has to be an explanation. He’s not mean. He’s not.”

  “But he simply vanished . . . without a word?”

  “Sort of. But he’s not a bad man, Bea.”

  Bea blinked a few times. “O-K,” she said. “But I feel terrible leaving you now. I didn’t know . . .”

  “He’s coming back,” Frieda said, and gulped.

  Bea looked at her with an empathy only a sister could feel, and Frieda had to ward off tears. It had always been the two of them, but now each was heading out alone into uncharted seas. Bea would happily float away, but how would Frieda keep her head above water? Her sister was the one who had always kept her centered and focused, anchored to an old familiar shore.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Keeping occupied was the only relief Frieda could find. She scrubbed the boat while it lifted and lowered on the tides like a big shiny beast, breathing. She worked on the engine even though nothing needed doing. Then she went to Bahrs and poked around for extra work. These things provided a temporary reprieve.

  One of Silver’s old friends told her that another of his old friends, a man called Dingbat—Frieda never understood why; he seemed perfectly sensible to her—needed some work done on his boat. She found him down the most rickety pier, where many of the old fishing boats gathered together like half-dead insects floating on the sea. These were the boats of the men who’d played it straight through these five years of running.

  On the way there she passed gleaming new running boats docked next to old battered fishing craft that needed painting. The haves and have-nots had always existed in Highlands, but now they sat side by side, rubbing shoulders in a harbor crammed to capacity. Today there were more strangers about, and they reminded Frieda of gangsters.

  Dingbat, a phlegmatic gaffer, hat pulled down over a bald head compensated by a bushy steel beard, told her he needed a new water pump, a repair that in the past he would have done for himself, but arthritis had made it too difficult. “I’m wondering if you could put this work on credit. Just till I make my next good haul. Then I’ll be paying you back.”

  Dingbat had been one of Silver’s favorites, meaning that Silver would spend some time with the man. He had always spoken highly of Dingbat and his wife. But even if Silver hadn’t liked the man, Frieda did, and he was just scraping by, while she was storing cash as if she’d live to eternity. Frieda looked around, and a cloak of comfort fell around her. She was home. The docks, this part of the docks, her refuge. She wasn’t a wealthy boat owner or a struggling clammer or fisherman, but she breathed to the rhythm of this place.

  “No need to pay me,” Frieda said.

  Dingbat pushed back his stooped shoulders. “I ain’t no charity case.”

  Proud, always proud. “Do as you like, but you’re doing me a favor. I’m bored on the days I’m not working. Bored out of my mind in fact. Need to keep busy.”

  “Bored, huh?” He eyed her warily.

  A thought hit her. “You know, if yo
u ever need help out on the water, I’d love to go out with you sometime . . . that is, when I’m not out with Dutch or working on his boat.” She paused. “I’m sure you know what I’m doing.”

  He chewed on something inside his cheek. “Yeah, I know what you’re doing.” He spat into the water, but his face revealed nothing about his feelings on the matter, and Frieda didn’t ask. On the docks people stayed out of other people’s business.

  “I’d love to go out sometime just to . . . fish and clam.” Frieda had often wanted to go out on the water for something other than rumrunning, and Hicks would’ve been the obvious one to take her. But time around her wasn’t good for him, she reasoned, so she had never asked.

  Dingbat said with a gleam in his eye, “My wife might get jealous.” And he laughed.

  Frieda smiled. “I’ll promise her to mind myself.”

  After she fetched her tools and was walking back to Dingbat’s slip, she nearly collided with Hawkeye. She smelled his rancid breath before he spoke. “Whatcha doing down here on the wrong side of the tracks?” he asked with a penetrating stare.

  She sidestepped him. “Get out of my way.”

  “I thought you only took to them fancy boats now.”

  She shoved past him and kept walking. It was a tough day to have to listen to that old bastard. As she strode on, she shook herself, trying to rid herself of him.

  Catching a glimpse of the road, she thought she saw Charles’s Renault. In the lane across from her, on the other side of the road. She started to wave, but the car sped by without giving her time to see who was driving. Was it Charles? He drove an unusual car, but with all the tourists streaming in and out of town, it wasn’t impossible that someone else had driven a car like his down here. But if it was Charles, why hadn’t he come down to the docks?