The house on Marlborough Road in Flatbush, Brooklyn, was painted a cool mint with pink and dark green trim around the eaves and windows. All the houses on Marlborough Road were new, lined up in different hues with wraparound porches and picket fences. My parents had been sold on the location because it was desirable for families who wanted to be close to Manhattan but had an appetite for a more suburban life.
It made sense for my mother, who wouldn’t have lasted five minutes cooped up in a city apartment, and for my father, who planned to commute into Manhattan each day but would want to return home to dinner in a proper dining room and retire to the backyard for a beer after. My brothers settled in fairly well. George had started Brooklyn College in the fall and had already joined the men’s basketball team, and Junior, though he missed his buddies back home at first, soon made plenty of friends at his new school. My oldest brother, Erwin, had been out of the house for four years already. He’d joined the navy the minute he turned seventeen—after watching so many young men go off to war when he was in his early teens, he’d vowed to do his part as soon as they’d take him, so he hadn’t even seen the new house.
The first few days after arriving in Brooklyn, I tried to quell my eagerness to bolt out the door and head into the city. I knew if I was too eager, it would backfire.
I helped my mother around the house; she’d made new curtains and wanted me to help her replace the ones she’d hung in the living room. She didn’t speak of the baby, the birth, or my time with Aunt May, so I didn’t speak of it either. It was as if the whole thing had never happened.
“What do you think?” my mother asked. “Will you look for a job in a little clothing store, like before? Maybe you’d meet some nice girls, make some friends in the neighborhood?”
“I don’t think so, Mother, being a shopgirl is very dull.”
“I don’t think it would be dull if you worked somewhere like Lord and Taylor, that gorgeous department store on Fifth Avenue.”
I rolled my eyes. The thought of selling perfume just about sent me to sleep.
“Your father’s heading into the city tomorrow morning, why don’t you see if you can ride in with him.”
“I could do that,” I said, perking up. “I mean, I suppose I could keep him company, take a look around while he’s at work.”
“Wonderful. I’d come along with you, but I’ve got some neighborhood ladies coming for tea tomorrow, and I need to bake a sponge cake in the morning.”
The next day, while my brothers were still sleeping and my mother was cooking breakfast for my father, I slipped on a yellow georgette crepe blouse and my shepherd check skirt with the big pockets. I’d been eating like a bird for the past month, anticipating meeting Mr. Ziegfeld at some point in the near future, and the skirt even felt a little loose around my waist, thank God! I buttoned up my boots, quickly removed the pins from my hair, arranged my curls and slipped into the kitchen holding my father’s briefcase.
“Good morning, Papa,” I said, sitting with him at the kitchen table. “I was thinking I might accompany you into the city today. I’m going to inquire about finding work, too.”
“You don’t have to do that. Your mother probably needs you here.” He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth and washed it down with coffee. “I don’t know if you should wander around Manhattan unescorted.”
“Actually, it was Mother’s idea, and now that I’m finally here in New York City I’d better catch up and learn how to get around, don’t you think?”
The truth was I hadn’t a clue how to get around Manhattan, but there were streetcars and taxicabs and I had a feeling I would know exactly where I needed to go.
It was a cool March day and the energy of the city was pulsating. My father’s office was on Wall Street, so I asked the driver to drop me near Lord & Taylor.
Men in blue serge suits and charcoal pinstripes walked past me in a hurry, everyone tipping their hats against the chilled spring air. The men in this town were well dressed and handsome. Fifth Avenue was dominated by streetcars, which shared the road with the occasional horse-drawn carriage. I looked up at the enormous ten-story building, which took up an entire city block from West Thirty-eighth Street to West Thirty-ninth. I’d never seen a store so large. When the wind calmed for a moment, I felt the rays of the sun shining between the buildings that sprouted up from the concrete sidewalks. A warm summer wasn’t too far off; I could feel it.
Walking through the glass doors, I was amazed to see that people were already browsing and shopping. A dazzling selection of beaded evening purses, sequined headbands, tiaras and hair clips sparkled up at me, and I felt a thrill as I pictured the costumes and headpieces of the stage. I could feel it, the pressure of the headpiece, the contracted abdomen, the pinch of the dance shoes, as I walked toward the audience, arms outstretched, receiving the applause.
“Welcome to Lord and Taylor.” A lithe young woman startled me. “Can I assist you with the accessories, miss?”
“Oh no,” I said, “I was just passing through, I’m not here to shop.”
“Of course. Luncheon will be served on the tenth floor at eleven A.M. in the Wedgewood Room, and afternoon tea will be served at two P.M. in the Mandarin Room.”
“I’m not here for that either, actually. I’m heading to Times Square,” I said, suddenly feeling the urgent need to get out of the store. She pointed me in the right direction, and I walked, faster now that I knew I was close to the New Amsterdam Theatre.