Strings Attached

Twenty-eight



New York City

November 1950



When the phone rang, I ran for it and then stood over it, hesitating. In my deluded brain the ring sounded like Billy’s. That’s how much I needed to talk to him.

I picked it up and just listened.

“Kit? Are you there?” It was Nate. “The newspaper, did you see it?”

“I saw it,” I said. “Do you know if…”

“He saw it.” Suddenly, I wanted to hurt him the way he’d hurt me and Billy. I wanted him to know what he’d done to us. “He spent the night here. He saw the headline. He left. He’s gone. He’s gone for good.”

“Didn’t you explain that —”

“He wouldn’t listen. He hates me. He hates you.”

“Now, wait a minute, I can —”

“No, you can’t. You’ve lost him. Don’t you get it? All the lies you’ve told him? Why would he believe you now? He’ll never believe you.”

The silence was so long over the buzz of the phone. I could hear him breathing, absorbing what I said, then dismissing it.

“This will be fixed.”

“It can’t be fixed! You’ve lost!”

“He’ll cool off and listen to reason. Give him a day or two. Just don’t talk to reporters tonight at the club —”

“I got fired today.”

“Well, that might not be so bad. You can disappear for a while and people will forget. The Providence papers haven’t picked it up yet, so you won’t have to worry about that.”

I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. I felt weak. I hadn’t even thought this through. I’d been cringing, thinking of strangers in New York. What about people who knew me? What about Da? Of course the Providence and Boston papers would pick this up. Nate was news. And the Providence papers would jump on it. Reporters there would remember the Corrigan Three. Shame flooded me, brought heat to my face.

“It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow,” Nate said. “Billy could be on his way to Providence.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“He won’t disappoint his mother. Are you coming up?”

I shook my head, then said, “No.” Thanksgiving was for families. I couldn’t face Da and Muddie once this came out.

“I think that’s best. I can’t imagine what Mac would say. He doesn’t have what you’d call an open mind, does he?”

The words stung. But I was alert suddenly, jolted to the bone. There was something in Nate’s voice….

He hates Da. He’s not his friend, after all. He hates him.

“Look,” he went on, “it’s only a matter of time before the reporters find you. Don’t answer the phone, don’t go out. I’m leaving for Providence tomorrow morning. I’ll give Billy a day to cool off, talk to him up there. I can fix this. I’ll make it all go away.”

“Sure,” I said. “'No Witnesses Benedict,’ right? You make things disappear. Even people, sometimes.”

There was a pause. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“So let’s go over this again,” he said slowly. “You lay low —”

“Sure. But what if I need to go out for something? I’ve got to leave sometime. So these reporters, they’ll ask me questions, and I’ll say… what? Because I don’t want to slip and say something I shouldn’t. I need you to tell me what to say. Just like you’ve told me what to do. Every dancer needs a choreographer, right?”

“That’s right,” he repeated. He still wasn’t sure if I was taunting him. “I know how to handle these things. And if you’re smart, you’ll listen.”

“But I’m just a dumb kid,” I said. “Remember? A dumb kid who doesn’t know how to listen.”

“That’s enough,” Nate said sharply. “I didn’t say that you —”

“Just a chorus girl, dancing in a line,” I said. “What do I know? My job is to show off my legs.”

“Stop it.” His voice was low. “Say what you mean.”

“I’m not saying anything, I’m just talking. But I’m not supposed to talk, right? You see how dumb I am? I keep forgetting.”

Another pause. “We’re on the same side. Aren’t we, Kit?”

“Sure we are. You call the shots. You have from the beginning. I was just too dumb to know it.”

“I can see you’re upset,” Nate said. “Who wouldn’t be? I’m telling you, I’ll take care of this. Here’s all you have to do. Sit tight. Give it the weekend. Don’t talk to a reporter, whatever you do. Don’t answer the phone. I’ll find a way to get to you.”

Quietly, I replaced the receiver.

Of course he would tell me what to do.

That was over.

I’ll find a way to get to you….

Sweat had soaked through my nightgown. I hadn’t been able to help myself. Scared as I was, I couldn’t stop myself from taunting him. Risking his anger was a dumb thing to do, but for the first time I felt almost free.

Almost. And afraid. Still afraid. More afraid than I’d ever been.

I buried my face in my hands. That’s when I heard the first knock at the door.



Trapped. All day, the reporters kept trying. Knocking at the door. Ringing the phone. Calling through the door.

“C’mon, Kit, doncha want to tell your side of the story?”

“You’ll be on the front page!”

And then someone smarter, saying through the door, “I’m sure your family wants to know what really went on. You’re a good girl, right?”

The super locked the lobby door and stood guard, so they couldn’t get in that way. I stayed in the back of the apartment, in the kitchen, all afternoon. I tried to think. I had to act smart for once.

I had a little bit of time. Not much. Nate wouldn’t come by with the reporters here. He’d head for Providence in the morning. I had a day or two to figure out my next move.

I’d have to find a new place to live, pack my old suitcase, and get out of here. I had enough money for a month, maybe two if I went back to eating apples for dinner. If I was lucky, Daisy would believe me about Nate. Or else she’d think having a mobster boyfriend wouldn’t be a drawback in a roommate.

Then I could write Billy a letter, give him my new address. And hope.

Is this what Delia had done? Had she sat here, making plans to get away from Nate? Had he caught her before she’d had a chance to run?