“But we made the best of things. You have to. I went out and got a job. A sales position at Saks. You know Saks? On Fifth Avenue? Oh, a wonderful job. Elegant people, rich people. Ladies who bought beautiful clothes, jewelry. Luggage as soft as skin. They carried little dogs, little curly dogs with jeweled collars, and they had beautiful expensive handbags and shoes. They charged hundreds of dollars to their husbands’ accounts the way I would buy milk at the corner store. No one believed me when I told them. Paul laughed and made jokes about having a charge account at the bodega, but no one believed me when I told them how much these ladies would spend.
“I would stand behind the counter and they would give me the things they wished to buy: lipsticks, bracelets, wallets. The bigger things would be delivered or they would send a car to fetch them. I would wrap their cosmetics and their jewelry in pretty tissue paper and they would reach out to take them from me, and I would think—I remember thinking—that even their arms were beautiful. Gold wristwatches and silk blouses. The wool—thick. Like silk. I have forgotten . . . ah yes, cashmere. The cashmere coats. So soft. Everything so soft. They all had long polished nails, diamond rings, emeralds, rubies. Beautiful. Their hands were . . . oh, the skin was like satin. They used hand cream and when I picked up the pen they had used to sign the receipts, I would smell it. Roses or violets. Lilies. Can you imagine a life that smells of roses and lilies, Mr. Wonicke?
“And it was funny, all the time that I was working there and helping these ladies to buy things, I knew I did not belong behind that counter. I came to this country when I was fourteen years old and I know well how it is here. This is the Land of the Free. Opportunities. Work hard, get ahead. I worked hard, and I know I could have been just like those women. But I had bad luck. Such bad luck. God called our babies to Him before they even opened their eyes. Five babies, in nine years. And so I lost my figure, of course. And if I had kept it, I could have been just like those ladies. People always tell me I could have been pretty.
“But I had to give up my job. All those pregnancies made me ill. And I would get terrible headaches. Terrible. So I left in 1960 and now I spend my afternoons with my family—my niece had twins last year, two boys and now another on the way—and at the movie theater. I like the old films best—Clark Gable and Lana Turner, or . . . I saw last week, Gene Tierney and George Sanders. Beautiful. Magical. And so sad.
“And living in New York, I sometimes see the movie stars in real life. When we came here, it wasn’t like this—the film people all lived in California. In Los Angeles. But now they begin to move here, to New York. I saw a man on the subway last month—he looked familiar, I went closer—Gary Cooper! Gary Cooper, getting on at Canal Street on a Tuesday morning. But my sister wouldn’t believe me when I told her!
“Oh, New York . . . things are always happening in New York. I write to my cousin Sonja in Frombork—a small town, very small—and I tell her all my news. I was in the bakery last month and a man came in and demanded all the money in the register! I was so frightened, I had to sit with my friend Mrs. Roberts who lives nearby before I could go home. Good neighbors are so important, are they not?
“Yes, I know Mrs. Malone. Of course. I know all my neighbors. But I know her well. We met when I was behind her in the checkout line. I remember Mrs. Malone because of her hair. She has beautiful hair—red with that golden shine. I told my friend about it afterward and she said it was called strawberry blonde. Did you ever hear of such a thing! Everyone knows strawberries are not blonde! I think that Edith is having a joke with me.
“So yes, she had red hair with gold. She was very small. Skinny. No meat on her! Men always prefer a woman with a real figure, do they not?
“I remember the day I first saw her, she was wearing a blouse and trousers with white heels. Tight trousers. She was humming to herself, tapping her foot.
“And the next week I saw her in the street and of course I nodded when I recognized her, but she kept walking. At first I was a little shocked—people can be rude—but then I saw her going into Dolly’s Beauty Parlor and I realized she must be thinking about her appointment and so she did not see me. Then I remembered I need to get my own hair cut and so I went in, and there she was, with her hand flat on the table and her nails being filed and sharpened. She was laughing and talking with a fat lady who sat in the next chair.
“And so it was easy to ask Dolly, the owner, to make my hair the same color. I think she used the wrong dye because it is not quite the same, but it is pretty, yes? Cheerful.
“And then I noticed Mrs. Malone often. We passed on the street and I would smile and nod but she never spoke to me. We went to the same supermarket sometimes.
“I don’t like to say it, but I began to notice other things. Not nice things. Her blouses—always open a little too far. Her trousers, very tight. A lot of makeup. And no ring on this finger. No husband.