I FOLLOWED SOLLY through the open door into a big room filled with grown-ups but no furniture, just some chairs pushed against the wall. Most of the people were colored, but a few were white. The redheaded man who’d come in the Pierce-Arrow was standing near me.
I stood still, staring.
The air was full of perfume. If I stuck out my tongue, I’d taste it. Everyone was dressed up. Some of the men’s suits were surprising colors, like light blue or dark yellow. And some of their trousers were crazily wide. You could make two pairs of pants out of that much cloth. The women’s dresses were the opposite—not enough cloth. They only covered the ladies’ legs down to their knees.
The lady closest to me had a fox fur wrapped around her shoulders, even though it was hot in here. I knew it was fox because the head was right there, under her chin, and the little feet hung down on her chest.
Everybody seemed happy. They reminded me of Papa and his brothers and sisters when they used to get together.
“Nice, isn’t it, boychik?” Solly had to shout for me to hear him. Everybody else was yelling, and underneath the voices was the hum of music coming from somewhere deeper in the apartment.
I nodded.
“I wish my grandfather took me to a rent party when I was your age. Not that there were any.”
“What’s a rent party?”
“In Harlem if you can’t pay the rent you have a party. The quarter everybody paid to get in, that will be the rent.”
If only Ida had known!
“What did you mean before when you said I had ‘the power’?”
He ignored the question. “First a little pleasure, then a little business. You’ll eat and I’ll listen to the music. Then we’ll work.”
I didn’t ask about the dollar. I didn’t want to remind him of it.
He grabbed my arm. “Boychik, are you a landsman?”
“What’s a lontsmon, Mr. Gruber?”
“Call me Grandpa. If you don’t know, you aren’t.” He paused. “Dave Rubino. . . . Could be Sephardic. A landsman is a fellow Jew.”
“I’m Sephardic.”
“Then don’t eat the meat. It might be pork. If you’re kosher, don’t eat anything.” He patted my cheek. “Have fun, boychik.” He pushed his way through the crowd to a doorway at the end of the room.
All around me people were eating and talking. The food was on a table against the wall. I pushed through the crowd. At home, we weren’t kosher. But even if I was, I might have eaten anyway. This was food that smelled like food. I loaded my plate with chicken, potato salad, cole slaw, rice and beans, and bread.
I ate standing up, facing the wall across the table. The wallpaper was pale green leaves with big pale violet flowers. I stared at it, my mind on what was in my mouth. The chicken was the best—peppery and juicy. When I finished eating two loaded plates, I poured myself a glass of water from a white china pitcher.
“Don’t drink that, pajama boy, if you want to live.”
I turned around. A colored girl about my age smiled at me like I was the newest thing in the world. New, and she was glad I’d come along.
“Uhhh,” I said.
She laughed. “Don’t drink it. They pretend it’s gin, but they put in kerosene and a lot of other junk.”
Kerosene! I put the glass down. “I thought it was water.” Without thinking, I added, “You look like a flower.” It was the way she stood—straight with her head tilted up, a skinny stem holding up a beautiful face.
“A flower would wear a green dress. This is blue.” She laughed again.
I shrugged, embarrassed at what I’d said.
“Do you want some water?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Come with me.” She took my hand. “Bring your glass.” I picked the glass up with my other hand, and she pulled me through the crowd.
Her hand was smaller than mine. I didn’t want to crush it, but I didn’t want to hold it so loosely that we got separated. Was I holding it too hard or too soft? I tried to keep the pressure steady, and my hand ached from the effort.
As we moved through the room, people kept calling out to her.
“That young Irma Lee sure looks pretty.”
“I swear that child is going to break some hearts.”
“Hey, Irma Lee! Where’s your mama, girl?”
She answered the last one. “Somewhere, gabbing.”
We entered a long, narrow hall that was also crowded. This was the biggest apartment I’d ever seen. We passed a closed door. Irma Lee cocked her head at it. “Poker. Craps.”
As we went farther along, the music got louder. The drum played by itself for a minute. I found myself walking to the beat. We turned into a short hall with doors on the right and the left. Irma Lee pulled me into the left-hand door and then let go of my hand.
We were in the kitchen. Two women sat at the table. I smiled at them, wishing again that I wasn’t in pajamas. Irma Lee ignored them. I heard her mutter, “Darn!” She rinsed my glass, and I noticed there were two faucets. This apartment got hot water, not just cold. I looked around. There was a gas stove, not coal, and the icebox was three times the size of ours at home. No wonder they had to throw a party to pay the rent. It was probably ten times what Papa used to pay.
Outside the kitchen, the drum got softer and the other instruments joined in.
“Baby girl!” one of the ladies said. “Come to your mama.”
Irma Lee looked at me for a second, and there was a message in the look, but I didn’t know what it was. She filled my glass and gave it to me. Then she took my hand again and tugged me along to the table. “Yes, ma’am. Here I am.”
Irma Lee’s mama gathered her into a hug—except Irma Lee’s arm stuck out, because her hand still held mine. “Having a fine time, baby girl?” her mama murmured into Irma Lee’s hair.
I watched them while I drank the water. They didn’t look alike. Irma Lee was delicate. Her mother was tall, with a broad face and large features. She was colored too, but she was lighter than Irma Lee.
“I’m not a baby, Mama.” Irma Lee’s voice was muffled against her mother’s chest. “Let me go.”
“I know you’re not, baby girl.” Her mama released Irma Lee, who gave herself a little shake. “Say hello to your cousin, baby—Irma Lee, and introduce us to your young friend . . .” Her eyebrows went up. “. . . in the outlandish duds.”
“Mama! They’re not outlandish. They’re . . . uh . . . swell.”
She was swell!
Irma Lee went on. “Hello, Cousin Emmie, ma’am. Thank you for inviting me to your party.”
“Hello, honey,” the cousin said. She was a plump woman with short hair, held away from her face by two silver barrettes.
Irma Lee couldn’t introduce me because she didn’t know my name. “I’m Dave Caros.” Oops! I should have said Rubino, the name I’d given Solly. Or I should have said Gruber. “I’m Solly Gruber’s grandson.”
“Solly!” Irma Lee’s mama said. “Is that old gonif here? Tell him to come say hi to Odelia.”
“Yes, missus,” I said.
“I’m Mrs. Packer, Irma Lee’s mama.”
“Can I be excused, Mama?” Irma Lee said. “I was showing Dave around.”
“Go on, baby. I won’t keep you,” Mrs. Packer said. Then she called after us, “Don’t tell him every idea that pops into your head, honey. Keep something to yourself.”
“Mama!” Irma Lee pulled me out of the room. Outside, she spun around. She whispered in a rush, “She acts like I’m six. I hate when she does that. I wish she wouldn’t say a single word. Not a single word.” She calmed down. “Do you need to find your granddaddy?”
I shook my head. “The old gonif will find me.”
“Come on then.” She led me back through the apartment and out the door to the stairs next to the elevator. We sat on the steps going up to the next floor.
“She’s not my real mama,” Irma Lee said. “She’s my real mama’s cousin. She adopted me when my real mama and my daddy died.”
Irma Lee was an orphan too.
“I—” I stopped. I had almost told her I was an orphan. But I couldn’t, because Solly’s alrightniks—whatever they were—were supposed to be my parents. “Um, I’m sorry about your mother and father.”
She shook her head and her two braids danced. “I don’t remember them. I was only two. Odelia’s my mama, except when she hugs me in front of people and talks too much, and some other times.” She giggled. “Now how come your mama let you out of her house in your pajamas?”
I couldn’t tell the truth, but I didn’t want to lie either. “She doesn’t know.” The words were true, but I was fooling her, so it was really a lie. “Sol—Grandpa and I snuck out together. He gave me his tie to wear.”
“It’s . . .” She laughed. “. . . swell, like I told Mama.” Then she took both my hands. “Dave Caros, don’t lie to me.” I stopped breathing. Did she know about the dollar? “Will you be my friend?”