Madame Lowbeer, of course, was thrilled to learn that the engagement had been called off, and shortly after, in an ironic twist, she took a new liking to Addy. Apparently with the prospect of having him as a son-in-law officially erased, the Grande Dame was capable of socializing with a Pole. She’d begun inviting Addy to her apartment on the weekends to play the piano and requesting his handyman help when her radio malfunctioned. She’d even offered to put him in touch with a contact at General Electric in the States, should he ever decide to emigrate north.
Addy spent the months following the breakup focusing on his work, on his weekly trips to the post office, and on the radio broadcasts and periodicals that brought him news of the war. None of it was encouraging. The constant battling in Anzio and Monte Cassino, Italy; the bombs dropped in the South Pacific and over Germany—Addy was sickened by all of it. The only auspicious bit of information he stumbled across was that of American president Franklin Roosevelt issuing an executive order to create a War Refugee Board, which would be responsible for “rescuing victims of enemy oppression in imminent danger of death,” as the article phrased it. At least someone somewhere was helping, Addy thought, wondering what the chances were of his parents, brothers, and sisters being among the rescued.
Addy’s spirits were particularly low when his friend Jonathan knocked on the door to his apartment in Copacabana. “I’m throwing a party next weekend,” Jonathan said in his smart British accent. “You’re coming. If I recall, your birthday is right around the corner. You’ve been hibernating long enough.” Addy waved his hand in protest, but before he could decline the invitation, Jonathan added, “I’ve invited the embassy girls,” flashing a smile that said, You could use a date, brother. Addy had heard plenty about the American embassy girls—amid Rio’s small circle of expats they were rather famous for their good looks and adventurous spirits—but he’d never met any of them. “I mean it. You should come,” Jonathan pressed. “Just for a drink. It’ll be fun.”
—
On Saturday evening Addy stands in the corner of Jonathan’s Ipanema flat nursing a cacha?a and water, slipping in and out of conversation. He’s distracted by thoughts of home. In two days, he will turn thirty-one. Halina, wherever she is, will be twenty-seven. It will have been six years since they celebrated together. Addy recalls how, for that last birthday, his twenty-fifth, he and Halina had spent the evening at one of Radom’s new clubs, where they’d drunk too much champagne and danced until their feet hurt. He’s sifted through the details of the night a thousand times, rolling them over in his mind to keep them sharp: the tangy aftertaste of the lemon chiffon cake they’d shared; the way his sister’s hands had felt in his as they danced; the thrilling pop of their second bottle of Ruinart being uncorked, how the bubbles had burned his throat and, a few sips later, made his tongue go numb. Pesach had been the night before. The family had celebrated in the usual boisterous fashion, gathered first at the dining table and then around the piano in the living room on Warszawska Street.
Addy swirls his drink, watching a single ice cube orbit the glass, wondering if Halina is somewhere thinking about him, too.
When he looks up his eyes are drawn to a figure across the room. A brunette. She stands by the window with a wineglass in hand, listening to a friend—a single point of calm amid the cacophony. An embassy girl? Must be. Suddenly everyone else in the room is invisible. Addy studies the young woman’s tall, slender frame, the graceful slope of her cheekbones, her easy smile. She wears a pale green cotton halter dress that buttons down the front and ties at the waist, a watch with a simple band, brown leather sandals with thin straps that wrap loosely around the fine bones of her ankles. Her eyes are soft, her expression open, as if she has nothing to hide. She is beautiful—strikingly so—but in an unassuming way. Even from afar he can sense her modesty.
What the hell, he decides. Maybe Jonathan was right. With a disconcerting jitter in his gut, Addy sets his glass down and makes his way across the room. As he approaches, the girl turns. He offers her his hand.
“Addy,” he says, and then in the same breath, “Please excuse my English.”
The brunette smiles. “Pleasure to meet you,” she says, taking his hand. Addy was right—she is definitely American. “I’m Caroline. Don’t apologize, your English is lovely.” She speaks slowly, and the way she pronounces her words, soft and round so he can’t quite tell where one ends and the next begins, makes Addy feel at home beside her. This woman, Addy realizes, emanates an air of acceptance and ease—she is perfectly content, it seems, to simply be. Something stirs in Addy’s heart as he realizes he was once that way.
Caroline is patient with Addy’s broken English. When he stumbles over a word, she waits for him to gather his thoughts, to try again, and Addy is reminded that it’s okay to slow down, to take his time. When he asks where in the States she is from, she tells him about the town in South Carolina where she was born. “I loved growing up there,” Caroline says. “Clinton was a close-knit community, and we were always very involved with the schools and the church . . . but I think I always knew I wouldn’t stay. I just—I had to get out. It started to feel so small. My poor mother.” Caroline sighs, describing her mother’s shock upon hearing that she and her best friend, Virginia, had made plans to travel to South America. “She thought we were crazy to up and leave our lives in South Carolina.”
Addy nods, smiling. “You are—how do you say . . . you have no fear.”
“I suppose you could say we were brave for coming here. I think, though, we were just after an adventure.”
“My father leave his home in Poland, too,” he says. “For America. For adventure. When he was young man. No children. He always tell me how much I will love New York City.”
“Why did he return?” Caroline asks.
“For helping his mother,” Addy says. “After his father die, she care for five children in the home, all alone. My father want to help.”
Caroline smiles. “He sounds like a good man, your father.”
Their conversation ends when a friend Caroline introduces as Virginia, who goes by Ginna, finally pulls her away. They are headed to another party, Ginna says, winking a blue eye at Addy as she links elbows with Caroline. Addy watches the backs of the women’s heads as they bob toward the door, wishing the conversation hadn’t ended so quickly.
He leaves shortly after, offering Jonathan a friendly slap on the back on his way out. “Thank you, amigo,” he says. “I’m glad I came.”
He thinks of Caroline on his walk home, and nearly every minute for the next week. There was something about her that made him want, badly, to get to know her better. And so, after tracking down her address in Leme, he musters the courage to leave a note under her door, written with the help of a newly purchased French/English dictionary.
Dear Caroline,
I enjoyed to speak with you last weekend. If you will be so obliged it would please me to take you to dine at the restaurant Belmond, near Hotel Copacabana Palace. I proposition we meet at the Palace for an aperitif at eight o’clock this Saturday, April the 29th—I hope to see you there.
Yours,
Addy Kurc
A few days later, wearing a freshly pressed shirt and carrying a purple orchid he’d picked up at a flower stand along the way, Addy arrives at the Copacabana Palace, the same flutter tickling at his insides that he’d felt when he and Caroline first met. He’s checking the time—eight o’clock to the minute—when Caroline steps through the lobby’s revolving glass door. She waves when she sees him, and in an instant Addy forgets to be nervous.
At the hotel bar, they talk about their days and the things they love about Rio. Addy’s English has improved—never before has he been so motivated to learn—but it is still rough. Caroline, though, doesn’t seem to notice.
“The first time I ate at a churrascaria,” she blushes, “I ate myself sick. I felt so awful leaving any meat on the plate, so I’d force it down, and then they’d bring me more!”