My father stood, still staring at the fire. “This is a disgrace,” he said, turning to glare at my mother and then at me. “You’re a disgrace to this family,” he said quietly, and he walked out of the room.
That night I lay in bed devastated, sobbing, biting the sheets so no one would hear. My own child was miraculously back in my life, but I was too much of a failure to be a mother to her. They were right, there was no way I could give her a good life—a single woman working in a nightclub. She wouldn’t have a fighting chance. What was I thinking? It was heartbreaking to lose her all over again. How I wished I could turn back the clocks and start over.
The next morning, I picked up the small knitted doll sitting on the windowsill and held it to my cheek. Then I left before the sun came up and caught the train back to New York City, alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
My first night back at the club I put on a show. One of the perks of the 300 was that we could change course at a moment’s notice. I could tell Bones, the pianist, what I wanted to sing, and he could improvise on just about anything.
“I don’t know about you, Bones, but I’m feeling a little blue tonight,” I said as I walked onstage and the applause subsided. He played a few notes, as if the piano itself were responding to me.
“I sure do hope that getting up here and singing a few songs with this beautiful crowd will help cheer me up.” He played another melody and then paused for me to sing the first few lines of “It Had to Be You” before he joined in. From there I went on to sing a few belters, where I really let the patrons hear my pipes. In theFollieswe rarely had the chance to sing with such abandon, everything was so choreographed and rehearsed, done with restraint. Looking back, I might have even called it tame. TheMidnight Frolicwas where I’d really come to life, the place where I was allowed to be myself. Buteven then there was a limitation: Ziegfeld’s eyes were always on us. Here at the 300 Club, as long as patrons were buying drinks, Texas let me sing what I was in the mood for, and tonight I was in the mood for the blues. I ended with Bessie Smith’s latest—“Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out.” I sang it slow and soulful, sitting on the stool, with just Bones accompanying me. I forgot the audience was even there. I was singing for myself.
I took a bow and told them I’d be back. I sidled up to the bar and let some stranger buy me a drink, then another and another. I hadn’t had a drink since I’d moved into Saint Agnes, so it hit me hard and burned my throat as it went down. I performed another set, all slow, solemn blues this time, and then I ended up at the bar again, letting someone buy me another drink. I didn’t know if it was the same guy or a different one. It didn’t matter.
“I’m unfit,” I told him. I could hear myself slurring, but I didn’t care. “That’s what they say, unfit to be anything, really. A daughter, a sister, amother.” I said it as if it were a bad word. “I’m unfit to be a mother,” I said it again.
“I think you’re the berries,” the young guy next to me said cheerfully. “A beauty, and that voice of yours, you could be anything you want to be.”
“I used to believe that,” I said. He kept talking, but I wasn’t listening. I was staring into my glass. They were right, of course. Who leaves a baby with strangers to find other strangers to look after her? She was days old. I should have known that my aunt would go back for her; she had a heart. I was a shell of a woman. Selfish, so focused on getting to New York and getting my chance on that big stage that I almost managed to force that whole part of my life out of myhead. I charged on ahead with my days, not even trying to locate her. Not even having regrets, not really, not until I met Archie and everything changed.
Archie.
“I’ll take another,” I said to the barkeep. He wiped down the bar and leaned on it, toward me.
“You okay there, Olive?”
“Good.” I gave him two thumbs-up. “Another round, please,” I said.
“Maybe it’s best you call it a night,” he said in a low voice. “Texas won’t like to see you hanging around too long like this.”
“I’ve got some good stuff back at my place,” the fella next to me offered enthusiastically. “Scotch from Scotland, smooth as a whistle.”
“Well, off we go, then,” I said, standing and almost knocking over my barstool.
At that moment I didn’t care what anyone thought of me, I just wanted the hooch to bring on that numbing feeling. I was close, I could feel it, but I wasn’t there yet.
“You should stay, head backstage for a bit,” the barkeep said. I knew him by name, but I couldn’t for the life of me think what it was.
“Thanks for the tip, Fred, or Billy or Jimmy, or Joe.” I rolled my eyes. “Come on.…” I linked my arm through the arm of the gent next to me. “What’s your name, anyway?” He told me, but I immediately let myself forget it. “Lead the way.”
I woke up on top of the covers, fully dressed in my fringe dress, my sequin headband pushing my left eye shut. I could hear theopenmouthed breathing of a man next to me, but I didn’t look his way. Instead I groaned as I rolled over and put my feet on the floor. I still had on my T-straps. With no recollection of what transpired after we’d left the club and no interest in finding out, I tiptoed to the door and left without so much as a glance in his direction. What did it matter who he was or what went on? I had to get out of there.
On the street in the bright sunlight my eyes burned, and I realized, when people were staring at my attire, that I’d left my fake nursing outfit back at the club. I couldn’t very well show up at the boardinghouse dressed like this. I hailed a taxi and banged on the back door at the 300, praying that someone would be there. Eddie, the doorman, let me in. He looked as though he’d been fast asleep, and I wondered if maybe he slept there during the day.
“Thanks, Eddie, I left some things in the dressing room. Can I go back there and get them?”
He stood aside and let me pass. “Five minutes,” he grunted.
I tried to keep my head down as I walked up the front stairs and into Saint Agnes. Sister Theresa was in the lobby dusting, humming cheerfully.
“Good morning, Olive,” she said. “Long shift?”
I nodded.
“Goodness,” Sister Theresa said. “You look terribly tired.” She looked concerned, trying to get a better look at me. I’d hastily washed my face in the dressing room but was sure there were remnants of last night around my eyes.
“Better get some rest,” she said. “Oh, and you received a telegram.” She rushed to the office, came back and handed it to me.
