Strings Attached

Ten



New York City

November 1950



Ten o’clock in the morning and the knock was at the door to the street, not the door off the kitchen that led to the lobby. I was barely awake, and I yawned my way to the door. I peeked through and saw Nate looking over his shoulder. He was carrying a load of shopping bags.

I opened the door and he stepped in right away.

“I took the liberty,” he said.

“What’s this?”

He went into the living room and put down the shopping bags. He began to take out boxes and dump them on the couch and the floor, flipping the lids off and taking some of the items out of the tissue paper quickly as he talked.

“I have a client, someone I’ve known for years. Last year he sent his daughter off to college with a trunkful of clothes. Only she lived in jeans and sweatshirts and ran off with some poet. Dropped out of Smith.” The beautiful clothes were tossed against the cushions and the carpets now, and I could hardly speak, they were so perfect. Skirts and dresses, several pairs of high-heeled pumps, a green cocktail dress, a beautiful camel coat with pearl buttons. “So they go into her room, and they see that she didn’t wear one single thing they’d bought for her. You should have seen the parents — they came into my office, practically crying. Begged me to take the clothes — find someone who could use them. If I didn’t take them, they were going to throw them away. I was coming down to New York — so I thought of you.”

He held out the camel coat. “Try it. I don’t know anything about sizes, but it looked like it would fit. I hope it’s not out of date.”

“They could take the clothes back to the stores.”

“They’re a year old! They can’t take them back. That’s the point. Come on — I saw how cold you were in that jacket you have.”

The shapeless navy jacket I’d worn for two years already, a schoolgirl’s jacket. I gingerly slipped my arms into the thick sleeves of the coat, lined in satin. I’d never felt something so luxurious.

“Nothing but the best for a Smith girl. There you go.” He wasn’t even looking at me, he was checking his watch, like he’d done his good deed for the day and he was congratulating himself on how he’d managed to fit it in.

The green silk cocktail dress was just my color. I checked the size on the black suede pumps. Perfect. And the tailored sleeveless black wool dress — it was just like the ones I saw on the other girls, a sophisticated dress, a New York dress. There was even a pair of fawn-colored slacks and a matching cardigan. New York style, all spread out on my couch. As I stared at a white tailored blouse I realized I didn’t just want these clothes, I hungered for them. It was like eating honey from a spoon.

“Have you heard from Billy?”

“He called. He might get leave around Thanksgiving.”

His gaze became sharp, focused. “When did he call?”

“The other morning. I didn’t tell you because he didn’t know when he could get here.” I wanted to bite my tongue. I hated the way I sounded, rushing to explain things. Was I supposed to report everything right away?

He nodded and pulled on his gloves. He pointed to another box. “In there are… some other things.”

I peeked inside the box. I saw bras and panties and girdles and slips, lace-edged, satin, white and black and cream. I blushed and quickly looked away.

Nate was heading toward the foyer. I didn’t think he’d seen me looking.

“I have an appointment. You let me know when you hear when Billy’s coming. Right?”

“I told you I would.”

“One other thing.” I noticed now that there was a small suitcase by the door. “I want to leave this here for today. Someone will pick it up at six o’clock, before you leave for the club.”

“But —” I stopped and looked at the suitcase. I wanted to refuse, but I wasn’t sure why. And how could I, standing here in my new coat? “All right.”

“Enjoy the clothes.”

I couldn’t wait until he was out the door. Having him here spoiled the pretty apartment, the beautiful clothes.

He paused and looked back at me, his hand on the knob. There was something in his eyes. I was suddenly embarrassed, caught doing something wrong, like a cat lapping milk out of the creamer instead of its own bowl.

“It looks like it’s made for you,” he said.

I opened my mouth to say something, but he put on his hat and went out.

I hurried to the suitcase and hefted it. I flicked the latch. It was locked.



Was it the clothes? In the next week, New York became everything I wanted, as I lost my fear and learned how to navigate the city streets outside my own neighborhood. I figured out the subway. I heard about the best dance classes and signed up, and I learned the twisting narrow streets of the Village and that if I sat in a café and asked for coffee it would be the most delicious I’d ever tasted and no one would bother me.

In the dance classes I was up against girls who were just as pretty, just as talented, some taller, some curvier, some more supple, and all of them more stylish. There was a look I didn’t have, but the clothes were helping. The girls helped, too; in class we were all just working hard to be better, and after class I swapped stories and tips on how to pad dance shoes and the cheapest places to buy them.

I had to work twice as hard as the others. I had to not rush in but hang back and pick up whatever I could. It was a crash course in how to be a New York girl — how to eat lunch at the Automat, how to avoid snagging your stockings on the subway, how to ignore wolf whistles and catcalls, how to keep yourself close and not give out your smiles to passersby, how to carve out your privacy and never, ever feel lonely.

I wasn’t going to feel lonely. I was clear on that. If on a wet afternoon I started to think of Muddie and Da and Jamie and get teary, I put on my coat and went out. If I thought of Billy, I told myself I would see him and then I’d know if we could be together again. Until then, I wouldn’t let missing him stop me from taking what the city held out. I was in the middle of living my dream, and what kind of a fool would I be if I didn’t roll around in it like a puppy in fresh grass?

I told myself all these things as I buttoned my camel coat and adjusted my hat in the mirror. I didn’t look at my eyes. It would be too hard to keep my cheerfulness going. The truth was, I was used to having a companion. I was a triplet. There was always somebody in line for the bathroom, sure, but there was always somebody to go to the movies with. “Better quarreling than lonesome,” Delia used to tell us, and now I knew what she meant.

Jamie had been by my side since I was born. Nobody had replaced him, not the gigglers at school, not the other dancers at Madame Flo’s. We could, just with a look, know exactly what the other was thinking. He could lift one eyebrow at a situation and send me into howls of laughter. We’d gone through every first together, from first teeth to first dance, when he’d been my escort.

I missed him. I knew how much he would love this city. I wanted him here with me to get lost in the crazy streets of the Village, where West Fourth Street could cross West Tenth and no New Yorker even blinked. I’d never gone on a journey before without him. Even falling in love — I’d had Jamie by my side the whole way. He had been Billy’s best friend, and mine, too.

If somebody had told me six months ago that I wouldn’t be in contact with my brother, I would have laughed at such a notion. But what would Da have done, years ago, if someone had told him that his sister would break his heart and then just disappear?

And so there were the nights, falling into bed exhausted but awake, still with the noise and heat of the club in my head, when I looked at my slippers lined up ready for my feet, my robe at the end of the bed, and it was like I saw my future as an old maid. I told myself I was ridiculous, but I couldn’t shake it. I would end up like Aunt Delia.



I don’t remember exactly when I noticed him first, because he looked like every other man in a dark overcoat and a hat. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes he was with one other man. They walked down the other side of the street, and sometimes they’d stop in front of the building across the street, underneath the awning.

I was peeking out at them from the lobby door when Hank walked up behind me.

“It’s the Feds,” he said. “They’re there for my parents.” He shrugged. “We’re used to it — they photograph the teachers’ rallies, too.”

“So why do you keep going to them?”

“Because my dad has lots of friends in the union,” Hank said. “They tried to help him when he got fired. He wouldn’t abandon them just because he’s scared.”

“Your dad is scared?”

“Sure. He just doesn’t talk about it.” He looked at his feet, then up at me. “You know, I get up really early to help my dad do the deliveries. I could meet you and walk you home sometimes and still be back in time.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m fine. And what would your parents say?”

Suddenly, he looked older, not the schoolboy I thought he was. “I don’t care what they say. I’m coming.”



After the show Ted came in to give us pointers. I’d been a Lido Doll for over two weeks now, and I still wasn’t used to being in my bra and tights when he came in. I quickly dived behind the wardrobe rack. A couple of the girls — Darla and Mickey, I think — snickered at me. I guess I was more modest than they were. They walked around practically naked without a second thought.

Ted popped out again and Mickey said, “Honey, he’s a fairy. He couldn’t care less. He’s in love with Arthur Frye.”

“The actor?” I squeaked. “In all those Westerns?”

She laughed again and patted my shoulder. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.”

“What are you telling the kid, Mickey?” Darla asked as she handed her costume to Sonia. “Who’s Horatio? Did Ted break up with Artie? What’s the news?”

Mickey rolled her eyes. “Just because I’m a chorus girl, I can’t know Shakespeare? I’m an actress.”

“Who’s talking Shakespeare?”

“I am. That’s the point. It’s Hamlet. Oh, never mind. I was telling the kid from Rhode Island that she now lives in Manhattan, U.S.A., and to keep her eyes open. There’s lots of ways to live, and she’s going to see them all.”

“Well, sure.” Edna stepped into her pumps. “You see all types. Just the other day on the subway…”

Edna went on with her story, and with a raise of arched eyebrows from Mickey, I realized I didn’t have to listen.

I slipped into the robe I kept at the club just before Ted popped his head back in. When he headed for me, I retied it nervously, afraid I’d done something wrong.

“Mr. D wants to see you up in the lounge,” he murmured.

I looked at him in the mirror and saw my own apprehension. The lounge was upstairs, the private part of the club, where celebrities and the best customers went if they wanted a quiet table away from the crowd, or to keep the party going after hours.

I got my first smile from Ted. “Don’t worry, beautiful, you did fine. All you have to do is have a drink — a soft drink. Then you can go home.”

Ted moved away, dispensing compliments as he went.

“It’s all right, sweetie,” Barb said. “Mr. D likes to meet the new girls.”

Darla frowned. “Did you wear a good dress to work? If you go up to the lounge, you should look like a glamour-puss.”

I shook my head.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got a few numbers stashed here for cases like this.”

Within a few minutes, I’d squeezed into a flame-colored brocade cocktail dress.

“Sonia, don’t we have matching shoes for these somewhere?” Pat called, searching on the shelves. “Kit, what size are you?”

“Seven,” Sonia answered, giving me a pair of matching shoes. “Mr. Benedict asked your size just the other day.”

“I hope he went to I. Miller,” Darla said. She handed me the shoes.

Why had Nate asked my shoe size? And why did he feel so free to talk to Sonia? Was he that much of an insider at the club? I thought uneasily of the clothes and shoes Nate had brought. Had he told me the truth about them?

“Don’t look so nervous.” Polly grinned at me. Without her makeup on, she looked freckled and young, her hair swept back and tucked behind her ears. “Mr. D’s not a wolf, he’s a family man, so you don’t have to worry about that. Just have a club soda. It’ll take ten minutes, tops. He’ll slip you a ten spot for the cab home, too.”

Darla and Mickey and Polly patted and primped me and sent me up the back stairs with a gentle push. They watched like a trio of aunts as I hesitated on the landing, then made shooing motions with their hands until I kept going, up the last flight, down the threadbare green carpet, straight to the lounge.



Cigarette smoke swirled in the dim light. A trio softly played “What Did I Do.”

Mr. D was across the room at a small table, bald spot shining, one hand waving a cigar held down low in the V of his thick short fingers. There was a dapper man sitting with him, his hair combed straight back, smoking a cigarette. I saw the singer Johnnie Ray sitting with the comedian Jerry Temple. Other famous faces were sprinkled around, people I knew from reading the gossip columns — debutantes and society folks. It was Manhattan Merry-Go-Round come to life, and I had a fierce wish that Muddie were here with me. I felt unsteady in the unfamiliar heels and my own nervousness.

A hand grazed my arm, then pressed it. I turned and saw Nate.

“I saw the show tonight,” he told me. “You were good.”

“Thanks.”

“Now there are just a few things I need you to do.”

Not again. I had handed off the suitcase a week ago, and Nate had dropped off a package last week that I had to give to a large man with a nose like a sweet potato. I didn’t know what had happened to his promise to leave me alone.

“I’m supposed to sit with Mr. D —”

“Don’t worry about Mr. D.”

Nate said it with such authority that it took me aback for a moment, and I realized that I didn’t know who was really in charge here.

He gestured to my right, at a table well away from the band. I instantly recognized the man sitting there — Dex Hamilton, the columnist. There was a microphone on a stand on his table, and he was talking to the singer Dinah Shore. He ran a radio show right from this room, three nights a week, called Nightlife After Dark. Dinah Shore moved away, Mr. D nodded at him, and Dex beckoned me.

I pointed to my chest, as if to say, Who, me? Yes, me.

He beckoned more frantically while he spoke into the microphone, and I quickly moved through the tables. I’d been on the radio plenty of times in Providence, but this was New York, and it was Dex Hamilton, who was almost as big as Walter Winchell when it came to selling papers.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, here’s the newest Lido Doll, Miss Kit Corrigan. Miss Corrigan is five feet five inches of sheer redheaded pulchritude. She just walked in the room and three guests here at the Lido Lounge had to check their blood pressure. Heh. Heh. How are you tonight, Miss Corrigan?”

He had a certain way of talking, somewhere between New Yorkese and trying to sound like a swell. How’re yautawnight, Miss Carrigawn?

I leaned over the mike. I knew exactly what to say, which was a whole lot of nothing. “I’m just fine, Mr. Hamilton.”

“And how are you enjoying the Lido?”

“I’m having such a good time. All the girls are so sweet, and I love the routines.”

“Keeping the wolves at bay?”

“Oh, that’s easy enough,” I said. “Most of them don’t have teeth.”

“Well, hehhehheh. Watch out, gentlemen of New York, Miss Kit Corrigan’s got moxie. Ladies and gentlemen, that was the newest Lido Doll, Miss Kit Corrigan, and I see Jerry Temple heading over….”

He winked at me, and I gave him a big smile. He’d mentioned my name five times in less than thirty seconds. That was a true professional.

Nate led me away with a hand at my elbow. The man sitting at Mr. D’s table rose and moved away. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“Who is that?” I asked Nate as we moved through the crowd.

“Frank Costello,” he said.

“The gangster?”

“Well, that’s what the papers say.”

As Frank Costello passed, he put his hand on Nate’s shoulder for a moment and whispered something in his ear. He moved so fluidly that people at the tables probably didn’t see it; they thought he was just trying to get around us.

“You know him?” I asked.

“We’ve met, yes. Come on, Kit. Don’t look so shocked. This is New York. All kinds of people come to the Lido. Now you just have to say hello to Mr. Dawber. He expects a few minutes.”

I looked behind me, but Frank Costello was just walking out the door. The most famous gangster in America didn’t look at Dex Hamilton, and Dex pretended to look down at his notes. If you’re a gossip columnist, you don’t write about Costello, I guessed. I’d heard rumors from the girls that the gangster was a partner in the club. I just hadn’t believed them. And Nate knew him.

We approached the table, and Mr. D halfway raised up and then crashed back down on his chair even as he signaled for another drink. He wasn’t interested in me a bit, I could see that right away. He looked around the room, waved at a customer, then twisted his chair to talk to someone at the next table. Nate pulled out a chair for me.

“What will you have?” he asked.

I had to lean in to hear him. “Club soda will be fine.” A flashbulb popped, and I recognized Gloria DeHaven at the next table. Across the room, Jimmy Durante lifted his glass to her. Stars. I was in the middle of it. This was exactly what I’d dreamed of back in Providence, lying on my bed with a movie magazine, dreaming over pictures. Why did I just want to go home?

I sipped at the club soda. Mr. D wasn’t even trying to talk to me. He was completely turned around, talking to someone behind him. I was just here to decorate the table for a few minutes.

I suddenly remembered that Hank had said he might come by to walk me home. I wondered if he’d wait. I wondered if it was too soon to leave.

The band swung into an easy, jazzy version of “It’s Been a Long, Long Time,” and a few couples were on the tiny dance floor.

“Dance with me,” Nate said, leaning over.

“I’ve been dancing all night,” I said. I tried to stall by taking out my compact, the silver one I’d found. I’d gone to the drugstore for fresh powder for it.

To my surprise, Nate took it from my hand. He turned it over. “Pretty.”

“I found it in the apartment. The girl who lived there before… during the war. The Warwicks.”

“The mirror’s cracked.” He snapped it shut but didn’t give it back. “I can get it fixed for you.”

“No, thanks.” I took it from his hand. “I thought I might send it back to her. Did she leave a forwarding address?”

“No. It was the war years. People came and went. How about that dance?” He stood.

I wanted to say no. But he was standing, his hand was out, and I was sitting at the table with my boss. I had to do it.

“Go ahead, doll, Nate is a classy guy,” Mr. D said, his first words to me since I’d sat down. “Then you can head home and lap up a nice glass of warm milk like a good kitty.”

Nate put his hand on the small of my back. His touch was barely there. The back of the dress was low, and if he moved his thumb an inch he’d feel bare skin. But he kept his hand where it was. I didn’t think I could stand it if he did. I thought of dancing with Billy, how he’d run his finger along the line of my dress, sometimes insinuating a finger between the fabric and my skin, and rubbing gently.

His voice was close to my ear.

“I like your hair that way. How come you didn’t wear the dress I brought you? The black one?”

“I had to borrow a dress from one of the girls.”

“I’d like to see you in that black dress.”

We were dancing to a song for sweethearts. It had been a hit right after the war, with all the soldiers coming home to their girlfriends and wives. I could see the other couple leaning into each other, the woman’s eyes closed as she breathed in the scent of her love. I knew what that was like. It’s been a long, long time, Billy, I thought, and I had to close my eyes because thinking of him made me feel as though my insides were scooped out of me. I felt hollow, a girl in heels moving to music she didn’t feel, dancing with a man she didn’t want to dance with.

“You see that man, the one in the gray suit and red tie, at the table next to ours?”

He moved me around so I could look over his shoulder. “Yes.”

“Name is Ray Mirto. He’s a regular. You should start getting to know the regulars. See the men with him?”

“I see them.” They looked all the same to me, like Ray Mirto, men with too much weight on them and red-flushed faces.

His hand tightened on mine. “Pay attention. The guy with his back to you? That’s Joe Adonis.”

I knew that name; he was almost as notorious as Frank Costello. I looked at Ray Mirto as he lit a cigarette. He was laughing, leaning over to light his companion’s cigarette. He put his arms across the back of the booth as if he owned it. I could see that he was talking loudly. One of the men leaned forward as if speaking to him in a low tone, and he waved him off. He looked like he thought he was the life of the party, but he was the only one who thought so.

Mr. D had left our table. The waiter had already put down an ashtray and a fresh drink for Nate. I watched as he unfurled a napkin and quickly polished the table. I worked in nightclubs, I knew that waiters didn’t move that fast and mop up a dry table for just anybody. Nate seemed to know everyone, from Mr. D to Dex Hamilton to Frank Costello. How could he know who the regulars were if he wasn’t one himself?

I felt sick and dizzy, and the noise and the smoke felt as though they were swirling inside my head. I didn’t understand any of this. Why had Frank Costello stopped to talk to Nate? He was a Providence lawyer. Why would Frank Costello even know him? What wasn’t Nate telling me? Plenty, that was for sure.

What had he said when he came to the apartment? I was coming to New York — I have a new client here….

Who was his new client? One of the “regulars”? Or Frank Costello?

“I have to go,” I said. “It’s been a long night.”

“I’ll see you home.”

“No, I like walking.” I couldn’t wait to get away. I stepped away from him and started across the dance floor. I heard someone call his name, and I took the lapse in his attention to make my way to the door. I ran down the carpeted stairs. The girls had left my camel coat right on the rack by the private door to the street, the one only celebrities and regulars knew about. I threw it on and ran out.

The cold night air hit me hard.

“Kit!”

I turned. Hank was walking toward me. He looked cold, his hands in his pockets.

“You’re still here,” I said. I was so grateful I could have kissed him.

“I thought I’d missed you.” He pointed to the unmarked door. “What’s that?”

“The private door to the lounge. I had to go see the boss. I can’t believe you’re here. You’ll fall asleep in class tomorrow.”

“I have study hall first period. I can sleep.”

We began to walk, and I nudged him with my shoulder. “Hanging around with chorus girls, at your age,” I teased. “Young man, you are running wild.”

“What are you talking about?” He nudged me back. “I’m with the girl next door.”

We swung into step together, our hands in our pockets. The cold air and Hank’s presence chased away my apprehension about what had happened in the lounge. We reached the corner. The light was red, and we stopped as a taxi glided by. It was so quiet — quiet enough that I was able to hear the door open behind us. I looked back. Nate was standing in the doorway. He looked one way, then the other. Then he saw me.

He held my gaze and nodded. I couldn’t look away. Then the light changed, Hank stepped off the curb, and I snapped my head away and kept on going.