Saturday morning, July 12, 1947
The next morning I awoke to a pounding, persistent headache and a parched mouth. I felt like I had swallowed a glass of sand. I opened my right eye and slowly surveyed my surroundings. I was in my bedroom; that was a good thing. I reached behind me and felt the rest of my double bed. Empty. That wasn’t as good a thing, or maybe it was. I closed my right eye again, pulled the covers over my head, and wished I hadn’t drunk so much at the party. I suspected a lot of people were feeling this way today.
Dave Bergstrom had driven me home sometime after one in the morning, though I wasn’t entirely sure it was Dave, and I wasn’t entirely sure about the time. I lowered the covers once more, opened both eyes halfway, and glanced about. Through the roller shade on my bedroom window, I could see the shadows of the treetops outside, swaying in the wind, beckoning me to get up. I opened my eyes all the way, swung my feet to the cool wood floor, then sat up and stretched.
All my clothes were in a pile next to the bed, including my underwear and someone else’s tie. Hmmm. I was indeed naked. Oh my, it had been a night. A good scratch, and I stood up, hanging on to my head to keep it from falling off. I stretched again, then walked cautiously to the window and put up the shade, squinting as the bright sunshine flooded the room.
I pulled the shade down again and considered crawling back into bed. Unfortunately, it was twenty after eight, and I needed to be up. I hit the bathroom and took two aspirin with several glasses of water. I followed that with a hot shower before heading to the kitchen, clad only in a towel, to brew some coffee on the stove. From the kitchen vent, I could hear Mrs. Murphy in the apartment below.
“Herbert, do you want your eggs poached or over medium?”
I couldn’t hear his response, but her voice boomed up again shortly. “I know you always have them over medium, but it wouldn’t hurt you to change things up a bit now and then, you know. I’m going to do them scrambled, and you can eat them or not.”
I smiled to myself as I took the pot off the stove and filled my cup, the steam rising up to my nose. I inhaled deeply, but it hurt my head. I vowed never to drink that much again, a vow I vaguely remember making once or twice before.
Cup in hand, I padded over to the telephone in the hall by the door and dialed Alan’s number while I glanced at myself in the mirror. Yikes, I looked ghastly. He picked up on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mr. Thespian.”
“Hi, Heath. Good morning,” he said cheerfully.
I winced as his voice boomed in my ear and echoed around my head. “Morning,” I said in a voice just above a hoarse whisper. “Not sure how good it is yet. My head is pounding and someone turned the sunshine on high. Keep the volume low, if you don’t mind.”
“Ouch. Right. Sorry to hear it. You sound terrible,” he said, this time softly.
“Thanks. I don’t look so good either right now. My own fault. How are you?”
“I’m feeling pretty good, but I didn’t drink as much as you did. And I slept soundly, all things considered.”
“Well, that makes one of us. You slept alone?”
Silence for a moment. “What kind of a question is that?”
“Henry drove you home, I presume.” He didn’t answer my previous question, I noted.
“Yes.” I could hear the irritation in his voice. “We all left at the same time, or don’t you remember?”
“Parts of the evening are a bit hazy, I will admit.”
“Hank wanted to leave. I asked him if he’d drop you home, but you live in the opposite direction. Dave Bergstrom was heading your way and offered to take you home.”
“I see. What about the private house party?”
“I didn’t go, and neither did he.”
“Smart decision. So, what did you do?”
“Went to bed.”
“Huh.” I decided that line of questioning was going nowhere. “Did you really never mention me to Henry?”
A brief bit of silence. “I don’t remember. I mean, you probably just never came up in conversation. We’re trying to keep things quiet, remember?”
“Right, quiet.”
“Are you jealous of Hank? Or jealous that he likes me and ignores you?”
“Truthfully, maybe a little bit of both. But mostly jealous of Hank. He’s awfully good looking.”
“True, he is that, and he’s really smart. He told me he practically runs Lempke’s. Hank says Mr. Lempke leaves him in charge a lot.”
“I’m sure he says a lot of things. So did Charles Ponzi.” I stuck out my tongue and examined it in the mirror. It felt fuzzy. “What time do you have to be at the theater?”
“Five. Hank’s picking me up.”
I shook my head and it hurt. “Of course he is.” My eyes looked like two puffy red cardinals.
“You should get there by six thirty or so. Curtain goes up at seven.”
“I’ll be there, but I make no promises as to how I’ll look or feel. What about dinner?”
“Mr. Crane is bringing in some takeout Chinese for us.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll probably grab something at the diner before I pick up Verbina.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her. I haven’t met any of your family yet.”
“She’s one of a kind,” I said, “but you’ll like her, and she’ll like you.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
“Yeah. So, you ready?”
“For opening night or for meeting your aunt?”
“Wise guy. Both, since you mention it.”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Alan said. “Though I’m anxious to see what the mood at the theater will be today after what all happened last night at the party.”
“You and me both. I expect a full report.”
“The tension is going to be thick as molasses in January, as they say. Perhaps thicker.”
“Well, we’ll be in the audience cheering you on, buddy.”
“Thanks, Detective. Maybe after the show, the three of us can go get a drink together. You, your aunt, and me, I mean.”
“Ugh, don’t say ‘drink’ right now, Alan.”
His laugh hurt my head again.
“Sorry. Did you take some aspirin?”
“Two. They haven’t helped yet.”
“Just takes time. And drink plenty of water. But, yeah, it would be nice if the three of us could go somewhere, even if just for coffee.”
“What about Henry? Don’t you have a get-together with the cast?”
“Jazz is hosting something at the Pfister Hotel, but Mr. Berkett won’t be there, and I think I’ve had enough socializing with those folks after last night.”
“Including Henry Hawthorne?”
“Heath…”
“Sorry, sorry. But how do I compete with an actor? With a potential movie star?”
“Hank told me he’s taking Patty Perlman to Jazz’s party.”
“Oliver mentioned her, I believe.”
“Yeah, she’s a pretty girl. She works the front end.”
“So, is that why you don’t want to go to Jazz’s get-together?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. I’m just done with parties for a while.”
“Interesting.”
“No, not really. So, do you want to go somewhere after the show or not? You, me, and your aunt? If not, maybe I’ll go to the party after all.” He sounded annoyed.
“I’ll ask Verbina. I’m sure she’ll be up for something.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice louder again.
I winced. “I should let you go. I still need to get dressed.”
“I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“Right.” I waited until I heard him disconnect, and then I hung up the receiver and took my empty cup back to the kitchen for a refill. I ate an overripe banana and drank a glass of orange juice, then headed to the bedroom to dress and pick up the mess from last night. No sooner had I put the notch in my black leather belt than the phone rang. Figuring Alan had forgotten to tell me something, I hurried back into the hall and picked up. The ringing was echoing in my ears.
“Hello?”
“Heath?”
“Oh, hi, Mom. Yes, it’s me. Who did you expect?”
“You, of course, but you don’t sound like yourself at all.”
“I’m kinda tired, not feeling the greatest.” I wasn’t about to tell her I had too much to drink last night. Mom was a teetotaler from way back.
“Oh, dear. In the middle of summer? How odd. It certainly isn’t cold and flu season. Would you like me to bring you some soup?”
“No, Mom. I’m fine, really. I didn’t sleep that well.”
“I see. Were you out painting the town with a young lady?”
“No, I was at a party. And there were lots of young ladies there.”
“Oh, how nice. I’m so glad you’re getting out and about, Heath. You spend too much time with that friend of yours.”
“Alan.”
“What?”
“My friend’s name is Alan.”
She made the clicking sound with her teeth again that meant she was annoyed. “Yes, well, anyway, you spend too much time with him, is all I’m saying. I’m glad you got out. Did you meet a nice girl?”
“Yes, Mother. Her name’s Eve. A beautiful blonde.”
“Oh, how nice. You’ll have to bring her to supper.” I could tell she was pleased. “Not too soon, of course. You don’t want to rush. But after a while. Your father and I would love to get to know her.”
“Sure, Mom. Can her husband come, too?”
“Her what?”
“Her husband. She’s married.”
“What are you talking about? I thought you said you met a nice girl.” Click, click, click.
“Can’t married women be nice?”
More teeth clicking. “Honestly, Heath, I don’t understand you.”
“Clearly, you don’t,” I said, annoyed myself. “Did you want something in particular this morning, Mom?”
“Hmmm? Oh, yes. I heard you’re taking Verbina to the theater tonight.”
I grimaced. I was hoping she wouldn’t hear about that. Verbina wasn’t supposed to say anything. “That’s right. A new play. Alan is in it.”
“I like to go to the theater, you know. I’m your mother.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. At least that’s what you tell me. I was going to ask you if you wanted to go to the matinee tomorrow afternoon. I could only get two tickets for tonight’s show.”
“If you could only get two tickets, why didn’t you take me tonight and Verbina tomorrow?”
“Because opening night is never all that good. They’re still working out the kinks, everyone has opening night jitters, and things go wrong. I figured you’d much rather go the second day.” Boy, I was getting good at this lying stuff.
“Well, when were you planning on asking me?”
“I was just about to call you when the phone rang. So, is it a date?”
“You want to go to the same play two days in a row?”
“Why not? It’s supposed to be good. I’ve read the script. The matinee starts at one.”
“Well, I’d have to get lunch early for your father, right after church. You know he hates eating early.”
“So, you don’t want to go?”
“I didn’t say that. But you’ll have to explain it to your father. Pick me up at noon. You can come in and say hello to him.”
“Fine, Mom.”
“What should I wear? My blue dress has gotten a bit snug, but I suppose I could let it out a bit.”
“Great idea, Mom. You look good in blue. It suits you.”
There was a noise on the line, then I heard a familiar woman’s voice. “Is that you, Mrs. Barrington?”
“Hello, Mrs. Farrell. Yes, I’m just talking to Heath.”
“Oh, hello, Heath. How have you been?”
“Fine, Mrs. Farrell. How’s your son?”
“He’s good. He’s taken up photography, you know.”
“How interesting. Do you need the line, Mrs. Farrell?”
“Yes, I was going to call my sister to see if she could take me shopping. Are you through?”
“Yes, I think so. I have to run, Mom, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“All right, Heath. I hope you feel better.”
“Aren’t you feeling well, Heath?”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Farrell, just a little tired today. Say hello to Mr. F. and to your son. Bye, and bye, Mom.”
I hung up the phone. Party lines could be annoying, but sometimes they made it easier to end a conversation with my mother. I glanced at myself in the mirror one last time, straightened my tie, grabbed my hat, and headed out the door.