Whispering Hearts Read online

  I thanked him and went up to wait for Clara. I prepared some dinner, a pasta and cheese dish and some salad, and waited to see if she would arrive in time to eat with me. We didn’t alert each other to our schedules; however, what I did notice about Clara was that she didn’t have that many close friends. She rarely mentioned anyone beyond someone else who worked at her company. Some weekends she went home to visit with her family in Islip, Long Island. As I anticipated, however, she was very responsible when it came to taking care of the apartment, even addressing some of the issues like the need for better lighting in both her room and the living room.

  She didn’t come home in time for dinner. I put what was left over in the refrigerator and went into my room to read. When I heard her enter the apartment hours later, I quickly rose to greet her.

  “Oh, hi,” she said, like someone who had been caught sneaking in.

  “I don’t know if you ate, but I made some pasta and cheese, and there’s some salad and—”

  “Oh, I had dinner, thank you. How are you?”

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I had a surprise waiting for me today.”

  “Oh?” She took off her grape-colored above-knee-length quilted coat with its furry dark-blue collar and hung it on the hook by the door next to the raincoat I had been using. “What was it?”

  “This,” I said, showing her the gloves.

  She took them and looked at them. “Beautiful. Who gave them to you?”

  “I don’t know. Only my name was on the package.”

  She handed them back and smiled and then stopped smiling. “You thought it might have been me?”

  “I thought… I didn’t know what to think.”

  “Someone’s trying to say hello in a very nice way,” she said. She looked wistful. “It’s nice to have someone care.” She started toward her room. “Anyway, perfect timing. I hear we’re getting near-freezing temperatures next week.” She nodded at my raincoat. “That won’t be enough.”

  “I know. I’m going to do some shopping.”

  I waited to see if she would offer to go with me, but she simply smiled and entered her bedroom.

  The next day, I did manage to get a warmer coat, in a thrift shop one of the other waitresses had mentioned. I suspected the gloves might have come from Jon Morales, but he didn’t call right before I found them, and he didn’t call afterward, either. For a while, I thought it might have been Buck, but he didn’t do anything to indicate it, nor did he show any special interest in me. Nevertheless, I seriously considered him and even wondered if it might have been Donald Manning, who very well could have told Mr. Wollard how desperate I seemed to be. Mr. Wollard might have sent them. No one came forward to claim giving the gift, and after a while, I stopped wondering about it.

  The reason was simple. It was painful to realize that nothing like it, nothing loving and full of concern, had come from my parents and Julia. Perhaps my father had declared, “Let her suffer and therefore learn how wrong she was.” Maybe Mummy especially was hoping he was right, and I’d be forced to come running home. They called it “tough love” here. However, as far as I knew, they had little information, if any, about me and how I was really doing. Nothing I would say would be believed if they could hear or read me say it, anyway, I thought.

  You’re as good as an orphan, Emma Corey, I told myself. I could blame my father to help myself feel better about it, but in the end, there was no other conclusion, nothing that would make the realization land softly.

  In February, there was another open audition. This one was for a musical that would start in the spring. It was to have a sizable chorus, so I thought that it could be a real possibility for me. Since it was so cold, I didn’t anticipate as many candidates would attend, but once again, by the time I had arrived, the line was out the door and nearly a city block up the sidewalk. Girls were getting one another hot drinks. Many were wearing hats with earmuffs. When anyone spoke, her breath looked like a little puff of smoke. The line of us resembled an old steam engine barely moving. I thought I might very well get frostbitten toes, but no one left the line because of the weather. By the time I got in, I thought my teeth were chattering too much for me to sing. Nevertheless, I gave it all I could.

  I didn’t even make the chorus.

  Shortly afterward, I finally did have a conversation with Mummy. She didn’t cry when she heard my voice, as I had anticipated she would. A part of me wanted her to cry. I wanted to be terribly missed, but I felt like I was talking with someone who had begun to get over the loss of a loved one. Time had diminished sadness. She seemed resolved to face the reality that I wasn’t going to come running back. True, with Clara’s contribution and my steady work, I was able to make ends meet, but I was able to do little more.

  She didn’t mention my father; perhaps he had forbidden her to do so. She told me Julia had been dating another teacher at the school, a man seven years older, which was about how much older my father was than my mother. She didn’t ask me a single question about my effort to develop a singing career or what my life was like in New York. Instead, she ended the conversation by telling me she had to prepare tea, even though it wasn’t very late in the day there. Tea for us meant the evening meal. I was depressed about my conversation or lack of it with Mummy for days afterward but kept myself as busy as I could so as not to think about it.

  And then, one night when I had dragged myself home after a particularly grueling ten straight hours on my feet, made more stressful by the failure of two of the other waiters to show up for work, I entered the apartment later than usual and was surprised to find Clara sitting up and waiting for me. Usually, she went to sleep at ten like clockwork, because she was up at six to prepare herself for work, have a good breakfast, and leave. She had told me she was closing in on being the top candidate for the private secretary position, and by doing extra work, coming in earlier than necessary, she thought she was becoming just that.

  Until now, we had talked surprisingly little about our love lives or, more accurately, the absence of any. Thanks to Buck again, I had worked two gigs at two different clubs, but neither was interested in making me a regular. Twice I had gone to dinner with Buck, mostly because I felt indebted to him, but he realized that I didn’t have any romantic interest and stopped asking me out. He was still quite friendly and concerned enough about me to keep looking for other singing opportunities.

  Jon hadn’t called me or returned to the restaurant since that last phone call. From time to time, I was tempted to call him but quickly snuffed out the spark. To some of the other waitresses and even Marge, I seemed to be an all-around failure when it came to men, not that a romance had become any sort of priority for me. I still believed that any serious relationship would only hinder my pursuit of any sort of singing career, not that I could claim an iota of real progress. No one had discovered me.

  Except for managing to keep up an apartment, with Clara’s help, of course, I had little to show for my adventurous and determined effort to become the next Barbra Streisand. Julia’s mocking of my dreams was becoming less something to hate her for and more something to thank her for. And I loathed just the thought of my being forced to come to that conclusion.

  Clara was in her robe and slippers, obviously sitting there and waiting for me.

  “Hi,” I said, entering the living room.

  “I couldn’t remember your schedule today. For some reason, though, I thought you were coming home earlier.”

  “That was my intention, but Doug Martin, the head waiter, didn’t show up and didn’t even call to say he wasn’t coming in. Mr. Manning is going to fire him if he hasn’t already found a different job, which is what he suspects. Very deceitful. Also, Terry Longstreet called in sick with the flu. She and I share half the left side of the restaurant. Marge had to leave early because her mother wasn’t feeling well, so I agreed to stay longer and take on three more tables than my usual load. For some reason, we got busier than ever, too.”

  I plopped on
to the small sofa, took off my socks, and began rubbing my feet.

  “I think I need thicker socks.”

  “I bet you wish we had a fireplace,” Clara said, smiling. “Once, when I was in England, in Salisbury, I stayed in a quaint bed-and-breakfast that had a wonderful fireplace. It was only September, but the nights were already that cool.”

  “Somehow, to me, it seems colder in New York than in England.”

  “I imagine where you don’t have the ocean air, you don’t feel winter as much as we do here.”

  “So how are things with you?” I asked. I was really looking forward to some hot ginger tea and curling up in bed, but I also sensed she had something important to tell me.

  “Well, I think overall quite improved,” she said.

  “I can sense you’re happy about something,” I said. I really didn’t. If anything, I was feeling just the opposite. “What’s new?”

  She took a deep breath and said, “Today I learned that I’m getting the private secretary position.”

  A big smile filled my face. “Cheers, Clara. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you. There’s more,” she said. She sat forward. “I haven’t been totally forthcoming, but we haven’t seen each other that much, especially to sit and have a long conversation.”

  “Forthcoming? About what?”

  “The past four weekends, I didn’t go to visit my family. I’ve been seeing Curtis on and off. Yesterday, he met me for lunch and gave me this,” she said, and extended her left arm to show me the engagement ring on her finger. She had kept her hand tucked against her thigh until she was ready to display her ring.

  For a moment, all the air in my lungs evaporated. I could recall my father saying, “The future has a way of surprising you no matter how prepared you think you are. And remember, there are never enough parachutes to go around.”

  “Oh. Well, congratulations, Clara. That’s a beautiful ring.”

  “It’s a full carat petite solitaire. More than I wanted him to spend, but he’s determined to show me how committed to our relationship he is now to make up for our splitting up.”

  “If it’s what you want, I’m very happy for you.”

  She sat back, her smile sinking back into her face. “Maybe you won’t be. I’m moving back in with him until the wedding.”

  My smile sank away, too. “I see. Well, that’s not unexpected. When, exactly?”

  “I’ve paid for our new month’s rent here.”

  “Yes,” I said slowly.

  Was she going to ask for the money back?

  “And I’ve discussed the situation with Curtis. He thinks it would be fair for me to leave the half deposit, since I’m moving out so quickly and you have to find another roommate so quickly. Although I can’t imagine your having difficulty finding someone new.”

  Finding someone wasn’t the problem, I wanted to say. Finding someone suitable was the problem.

  “When are you moving out?” I asked again.

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “There would be no point to my putting it off, and I would be staying at Curtis’s apartment every night, anyway. He’s a little farther from the company, but these days I’m getting there earlier, and now I won’t have to.”

  When I didn’t say anything, she added, “I’m sorry.”

  “No, no,” I said. I hadn’t even realized I’d gone so silent. “You have your life to live any way you choose. I was lucky to have you share expenses this long. You have no reason to feel sorry.”

  She rose. “You’re a very sweet person, Emma. I don’t mean to hurt you in any way, and I’m cheering for your success.”

  My success, I thought. Suddenly, what I was doing seemed so fantastical, especially compared to what she was doing. Where would I be six years from now? How settled, how successful, how happy?

  “Thank you,” I said. “I might have bitten off more than I can chew, as you Americans say.”

  “Stay here much longer, and you’ll be saying and doing more American things than you dreamed.” The way she said it made it sound like a terrible danger, something infectious.

  “I’m not leaving,” I said firmly. She nodded. “I once told someone that ‘failure’ wasn’t in my vocabulary. It still isn’t.”

  She smiled. “One way or another, you’ll find satisfaction, I’m sure,” she said.

  I thought it was quite the political thing to say, satisfaction. That could mean almost anything. She had found satisfaction in her romantic life and her job. I had neither yet and wondered if one would overtake the other. I could end up becoming a professional waitress like Marge. That might be all that came out of my coming to America. I could have been that back home.

  “Oh,” she said, turning back on her way to her bedroom. “I’m leaving one hundred dollars to cover any utility bills for the month. It’s run about that for everything. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Someday in the near future, I’ll let you know our wedding date. Love you to attend,” she said.

  “Me, too.”

  “ ’Night.”

  “Good night, Clara, and once again, congratulations on all the wonderful things happening in your life.”

  She smiled and went into her room.

  I sat there for a while. I wasn’t sure if I was more exhausted or more stunned. Despite how long I had been here, whenever I turned a street corner in New York, I anticipated some surprise. Were there more of them here than in any other city? There were certainly way more than there were back in Guildford. Was I a small-town girl after all? Had I put on a pair of shoes too big?

  More than once, I had dreamed the same nightmare. I was going home, desperate and defeated, and when I got to the door, my father opened it before I could and stood there looking out at me with an expression of cold satisfaction, that biting wry smile of his.

  “You can come in,” he would say, “but you will be who I said you would be and nothing else, nothing more. No more pipe dreams. No more balloons.”

  Behind me, the tinkle of the piano at the Three Bears stopped. The silence was like a crown of thorns. He stepped back, and I entered, my head low, cowering like a frightened child.

  I anticipated a repeat of the dream this evening, but I think I was simply too tired to dream. Clara was already gone by the time I had awoken in the morning. She often was, but the silence this morning was sharper, pounding in the reality. I rose, dressed, and had some breakfast even though I had no appetite. I didn’t have to leave yet, but suddenly, I couldn’t stand being there. Keeping an apartment was always going to be a burden, a lead chain around my neck, demanding and sucking up all my energy and meager finances. I never foresaw how much of a slave to rent I’d be in New York City. My father’s smiling I told you so face was flashing on every wall, even the windows.

  On my way out of the apartment building, I stopped to inform Mr. Abbot about Clara’s engagement and departure.

  “So you’re at it again,” he said. “Come in. Let’s have a chat. I don’t admit it much, but I often have what you call a cuppa.”

  I was hesitant. In my heart of hearts, I was afraid of the older, wiser man’s or woman’s advice right now. I didn’t want to hear logic and good reasoning. The conclusion would be obvious. This is too hard for you. You’re all alone in the world here. You’re trying to climb a mountain barefoot. Rethink what you are doing.

  “Thank you, Leo, but I have to get to work. I’ll have Mr. Manning post a new advertisement for someone to share the rent. I’m sure my fellow employees will keep me in mind and recommend that anyone they know coming to the city or anyone looking for a new place to live get in touch with me. I’ll be fine,” I said. “I will,” I added, just as much for my benefit as his.

  He nodded, his face awash in skepticism. “Okay, Emma. You come see me if anything changes and you’re in any sort of difficulty.”

  “I will,” I promised, and left.

  I didn’t really have to get to work yet. Instead, I did s
omething I rarely did. I walked aimlessly about the city. I didn’t even notice the cold. It was nearly totally overcast, and the air smelled like snow. People rushed by me with more speed in their steps. They all looked more like people being chased. I felt like I was moving in another dimension, slowly, looking at everything through a wall of haze, almost a true London fog.

  Marge once told me that it was dangerous to look directly into the face of another pedestrian here, anyway. New Yorkers were generally suspicious of someone’s sudden interest in them. The person who did that was usually someone looking for a sucker to sell something to or a panhandler.

  “They read you like a billboard. For that reason, you’ll notice that people rarely give each other a friendly smile, something I’m sure you are used to seeing back in your smaller city. Terrible that hello has become dangerous, but it is especially true for a young girl like you, Emma. Be cautious, always cautious.”

  I knew she wanted to give me this advice because of what had happened to me the first night here. I often overheard her describe me as a “sweet, innocent thing,” despite how long I had been here and how streetwise I had become. The person she was speaking to either said it loudly enough for me to hear or said it with his or her facial expression when he or she gazed at me: “New York devours sweet, innocent things.”

  Was there anything left of the original me?

  My whole rhythm was off at the restaurant when I went into work later. I couldn’t get myself to tell anyone that I once again needed a roommate. I thought I had time for that. I’d look too pathetic asking for everyone’s help so soon again. I had been so confident in Clara. She was supposed to be a long-term solution that would make my continual pursuit of singing credible.

  Because my mind wasn’t on my work, I made mistakes, brought the wrong food, forgot to go back to my customers to see if they needed any refills, and even made two errors with the billing that so angered my customers that they stiffed me. Soon after that, I fumbled a bowl of soup, rushing to get it served and on to another table. It shattered, the soup splattering onto the trousers of a man in a gray suit. I could have dropped a bomb and had less of an effect. Mr. Manning rushed to the scene and immediately offered to pay for the man’s dry cleaning. I was practically in tears, apologizing. I was also at a disadvantage not having Marge there to help defend me. It was her day off.