KATIE GAVE HER AUNT Lottie strict orders: If Paddy Kelleher was to telephone and ask for her, she wasn’t at home. No ifs, ands, or buts.
“Lyin’s a sin,” Lottie protested. “What’ll I be tellin’ Father Doyle in confession on Satiddy?”
“Tell him I made you do it. He knows me. He’ll believe you.”
It was a knife in Katie’s heart, not seeing Paddy, not talking to him, thinking of him with Belle. But she wasn’t about to swallow her pride. Mary said, “Why don’t you telephone him and ask him to explain it all, then? You’re hangin’ him without givin’ him a trial. That ain’t fair.”
“It wasn’t fair, him takin’ Belle to our special place.”
On Sunday, she deeply regretted her invitation to John to go to the movies. But he was so excited about it, she would have felt lower than the bottom porch step, backing out. And if she left the house, Lottie wouldn’t be lyin’ when she told Paddy, if he called, that Katie wasn’t home. ’Twould be the truth. No sin there.
The movie, with the strange title of Quo Vadis seemed long to Katie, although she did enjoy the exciting chariot race. John seemed to like the film. After the movie, they bought ice cream and ate it during the walk home, which Katie enjoyed more than the movie because they talked only of Ireland.
“I’ll take you there, Katie, if you want,” John offered when they reached the steps of their roominghouse. “I know how you feel about getting on board a ship. But maybe it would be easier if someone was with you.”
It was so sweet of him. He really was kind and thoughtful. In some ways, he reminded her of Brian. Not near as good-looking, but easy to be with. And he’d be faithful as the day was long, too, Katie was certain of that.
“We’ll see,” was all she would say.
Paddy called, and Lottie said, “It ain’t right, tellin’ him fibs. Why can’t you just talk to him?”
Katie couldn’t.
And then he stopped calling.
She cried herself to sleep more nights than she could count. Just as many times, she went to the telephone in the hall and picked up the receiver. But her pride, still intact, took the phone away from her and put it back before she could make the call. When she wasn’t with Bridget or talking with John, Flo kept her so busy she had little time to think about her broken heart. And it was broken, just as she had always known it would be if Paddy left her.
But her pride was intact.
Over the next few months, it became easier and easier to sit with John on a Sunday afternoon, talking, or walk with him to a movie or lend him a book from the library that she’d read and liked. When the weather turned cold and winter arrived in Brooklyn, they sat inside, in the front parlor. They talked of things other than Ireland… music, books, movies. Eventually, they went nearly every Saturday afternoon, and when it got too cold for ice cream, they stopped at a nearby delicatessen for coffee and blintzes.
By Thanksgiving, which Katie had spent the year before in Edmund Tyree’s luxurious Fifth Avenue home with the Tyrees and Paddy, everyone in her Brooklyn neighborhood believed that she and John Donnelly were courting. Katie herself thought of John only as a very good friend who shared her desire to return to Ireland.
But she made no effort to explain that to anyone.
Not even John.
Her heart slowly began to heal, though it still ached. And her pride was doing quite nicely, what with Flo keeping her booked solid through the upcoming holidays. It made her feel good, all the praise she was getting, and it was comforting to know she hadn’t been fooling herself when she’d set out to have a singing career.
On bad days, when she couldn’t get Paddy out of her mind, she told herself that if he’d really loved her, he’d have jumped into a taxi-cab and come to see her in Brooklyn. He knew where she lived. He knew how to get there from Manhattan. If he’d cared that she wouldn’t talk to him on the telephone, he’d have done something about it. And he hadn’t. So how much could he have cared?
Such thinking usually worked, and Katie went on about her business until the next bad day when she had to go through the same thought process again.
Eventually, the bad days came less often. Soon they would disappear entirely. Until then, all she had to do was keep herself busy with Bridget and John and her singing. Easy as pie.
But she couldn’t help wondering if Paddy was making any progress with his book.
He wasn’t.
Paddy believed that he knew why Katie wouldn’t take his telephone calls, why she didn’t want to see him. It was, he was certain, because he’d not been attentive lately. Even when he was with her, which wasn’t often, he was fidgety and out of sorts. And that was because he was getting nowhere with his book. Had barely started it, in fact. Anyways, Katie was doing so well on her own, what did she need with him? Bri would have finished the book by now and been the toast of New York. Maybe that was what Katie was thinking, that Bri would have done better in America than his younger brother. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to him on the telephone because she feared she would say that aloud. She wasn’t mean-spirited enough to want to do that, but it might slip out.
Still, every day he had to fight the urge to hail a taxicab and travel to Brooklyn to face her. He could talk her into coming back to him. He knew that much. He’d promise to finish the book, even ask her to help him, as she had in the past. She’d seemed to like doing that. He could get her back, was he to try.
But he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t what she needed. She needed someone steadier, more reliable, someone with a promising future. She had thought he had a promising future, after the magazine article sold. He’d thought so, too. Now they both knew better. Edmund was still holding out hope, still encouraging, as was Belle. But they’d give up, too, soon enough, just as Katie had.
He’d never told her how desperate he was, how impossible it had become to write so much as one sentence about that last night on the Titanic. He couldn’t let himself relive it. Near frantic, he had gone to Belle instead, explained how he wasn’t having any luck writing the book. “If you’ll take me to Coney Island tonight,” she’d said, “I’ll help you with the book all day tomorrow. I love it there, and I hardly ever get to go. I’ll bring David, the young man I’ve been seeing Telephone Katie, see if she’ll come with us.” He’d explained that Katie had a singing engagement that night, and when Belle asked why he wasn’t going, he’d said, “She don’t need me there.” He didn’t tell her he’d made up a fictitious meeting to avoid watching Katie being fawned over by so many people. Belle wouldn’t approve. She didn’t hold with lying.
They had gone to Coney Island, which Paddy fretted about some, knowing it was Katie’s favorite place. She’d be wounded if she knew he’d gone with Belle. Or mad. But he needed Belle’s help. They’d sat on a bench while he explained how the words just wouldn’t come. Belle’s beau, David, had gone off to get them something to eat and drink and also, Paddy thought, to give them privacy.
It was a waste of time, though. Belle was too excited to be at the park to concentrate on Paddy’s problems. But she had kept her promise about Sunday. That, too, was a waste of time. She had tried her best to help him make a good start on the book. Nothing she said did any good. When she’d gone, and he sat at the wooden table beside the window in his small apartment, pencil in hand, the hand refused to move, the head refused to think, the words refused to come.
It was hopeless.
That evening, when he telephoned the house in Brooklyn, Lottie said, “Katie ain’t here. She had some fancy shindig to go to.” He’d phoned every night that week. The message was always the same. But he knew Katie didn’t have singing engagements every night of the week. And the last time he’d called, he distinctly heard Katie’s voice in the background, talking to someone. Most likely that boarder, John, the bank clerk. A fine, sensible lad.
Paddy knew then that Katie wasn’t wanting to talk to him.
’Twas a cruel way to end things between them. So sudden like that, with no explaining. That wasn’t like the old Katie at all. But he couldn’t speak for the new, successful Kathleen Hanrahan. Still, hadn’t he done the same thing himself, more than once, back in County Cork? Ended a flirtation without saying why or good-bye? And not felt a shred of remorse over some girl’s broken heart?
She didn’t want to talk to him. That much was clear as the water in the Shannon. And though it made him feel like he was falling into a deep, black hole darker than the subway tunnels, he knew he was going to let it lie. He wasn’t going to go out to Brooklyn and persuade her to change her mind. He didn’t have anything to offer her, and that was the truth.
He didn’t telephone the house in Brooklyn again.
As autumn arrived, cooling off the days and nights, Elizabeth began to dread the oncoming winter. So cold…
Nola didn’t seem to mind. The change of season always appealed to her as it provided an excuse for more shopping. Her stamina amazed Elizabeth as they joined the other ladies moving from store to store, their chauffeurs waiting at the curb to receive the packages and store them in the car. Later, they went for tea at Sherry’s, where Elizabeth sat silently, sipping hot chocolate while the women discussed the newest fabrics, the silver fox stole Betsy Winslow had ordered, the holiday parties taking shape. Occasionally someone Elizabeth’s age, a friend from school, came in to say hello. But with one or two exceptions, they were all engaged and talked of nothing but their upcoming weddings in June. Elizabeth felt totally removed from them and though she listened politely, she was actually thinking of Max.
She thought about Max often. It was the only thing that kept her going. Throughout the autumn months and into early winter he telephoned every night, and once a week Elizabeth left Nola in Esther’s capable hands and went to a movie or a play or concert with Max. Nola disapproved, but she said nothing. “I think she knows,” Elizabeth told Max as they walked along Madison Avenue holding hands one evening in early December, “that if it weren’t for you, I’d jump out of the attic window. She knows how much I hate this life and how desperately I want to leave. Seeing you helps and she knows that. She’s not stupid.”
“She seems so healthy,” Max commented. “I know it makes you mad when I say this, but I really think you should get a second opinion, Elizabeth. Perhaps Dr. Cooper was wrong. Doctors do make mistakes. They’re not infallible.”
“I did suggest that. A month or so ago. She’s determined to have a holiday party. I said it would be too much for her, and she argued that she was feeling fine. So I said, maybe she didn’t have anything wrong with her heart after all and why didn’t we consult another cardiologist. Well, you’d have thought I’d suggested skinny-dipping in the Hudson. She threw such a fit! Defending Dr. Cooper, accusing me of accusing him of lying, and on and on. Esther came rushing in with smelling salts, worried that Mother was going to have another attack. It was awful. I doubt that I’ll be bringing it up again in the near future.”
Max had no response to that. They had reached the front steps of Elizabeth’s house. “Listen,” he said, putting his hands on her arms as she turned to tell him good night, “I’m having a party, too. I think I’ll be ready for the unveiling of my new work soon, and I thought I’d make a celebration of it. The night before Christmas Eve. I’m inviting everyone who’s been nagging me about showing my work. Say you’ll come. I suppose you’ll have to fib to your mother about where you’re going. Maybe she’ll be invited out that evening by friends.”
“The night before Christmas Eve? Oh, Max, you didn’t pick that night! Nola’s not going to be out that evening. She’s going to be right here. So am I. That’s the night of her party. She’s already sent out the invitations. Can’t you have it some other night?”
Max drew away from her, just a bit. “I’m going to have to scramble as it is to finish by then. Can’t do it any sooner. In fact, I probably won’t be seeing you until then, because it’s going to take every spare moment.”
Elizabeth was disappointed, but she knew that as the holidays grew closer, the shopping trips as well as the evening engagements would increase. Getting out of the house to spend time with Max would become impossible.
“Your mother doesn’t need you at her party, does she? She’s got Esther, and the staff. This might be good, Elizabeth, now that I think about it. The house will be so full of people, she won’t even notice that you’re gone.”
Elizabeth mulled that over. Maybe he was right. She would help Nola prepare for the party, right up until the last minute, then she’d slip out as soon as the festivities were well under way. With the house full of people, Nola wouldn’t miss a daughter, would she? As long as that daughter returned before the guests left.
But … “It would never work.” Elizabeth sagged against the stone wall lining the steps. “I just remembered, my mother makes a toast at the holiday party, about halfway through the evening. To the new year. Then my father made one. With him gone, she’ll expect me to do it. She’ll be looking for me. She’ll get upset when she doesn’t find me, and if she gets upset…”
“You think she’ll have another attack.” Max fell silent for a moment, then said heavily, “So does that mean you’re not coming to my unveiling?”
Elizabeth hesitated. Max had been the only bright spot in her life during all these boring, dutiful months since Nola’s collapse. If it hadn’t been for him…. “I’ll try, Max, I promise I will. I want to be there. Maybe I can slip out right after the toast.”
That seemed to be enough for him. His good night kiss was warm and sweet and if Elizabeth stayed in his arms much longer than was proper, it was because she knew that once she went inside, the warmth would leave her. And it wouldn’t come back until she was with him again.