Whispering Hearts Read online

  “Thank you, si—Donald.”

  “Billy Wollard,” he said, nodding at me. “He was a dreamer, too, but got a case of realism faster than I did. He’s got the instincts, but New York is full of very talented people.”

  If I heard that one more time, I thought I’d scream. I think he saw it in my face.

  “Anyway, good luck, Emma Corey.”

  He walked toward the counter, and I headed for the kitchen door, my legs trembling with every step. I found a uniform that looked like it would fit. It was a bit shorter and tighter around my bosom than I had anticipated, but as my father often said, “Beggars can’t be choosers.” I wasn’t a beggar, but I was close enough to it. I put my things in a locker and took the key. Then I sucked in my nervousness and stepped back into the restaurant. Marge Arnold was at the counter talking to one of the short-order cooks. She beckoned to me, and I hurried over.

  “Emma, is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Marge, and this is Ralph Buckner, one of the day cooks. We call him Buck.”

  “How ya doin’?” he said.

  “Fine, thank you for asking.”

  He laughed. “See?” he said to Marge. “There are people who give you a nice answer and not ‘What’s it to you?’ ”

  “She’ll learn,” Marge said.

  “With you as a teacher, she will.”

  He went to put on a hamburger, and she turned to me.

  “End of the day, after you start taking orders, it’s wise to give him a five. He’ll make sure to treat your orders quickly, even before some of the others here who don’t tip him. Word to the wise, tip well, live well. That’s New York, sister.”

  “Works well in England, too,” I said.

  She laughed. I was going to quote Samuel Johnson in Boswell’s Life of Johnson, but I doubted she’d read it. Johnson said he got a better, bigger cut of meat by giving the waiter an extra penny.

  “Okay. I got a new table. We’re doing the first five booths from right to left and three of those tables across from them. You don’t let anyone slip over one of your tables. Some of these birds will peck away your customer if they see a chance. Never neglect one. If you’re busy, you tell him or her you’ll be right with them. You don’t let people think you’re too overwhelmed to give them good service, get it?”

  “Yes, I do. Thank you. I appreciate what you are doing for me.”

  “I like your accent. Work it right, and it will get you bigger tips. That, along with a good smile,” she said. “Let’s get you familiar with the menus, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You’ll taste everything over the next week, so if a customer asks about a choice, you can respond without sounding like a phony. You should know what’s in everything, too. People come here with allergies, salt restrictions, whatever.”

  “The ingredients? Of everything?”

  “Yes. What’s the matter?” she asked, seeing the expression on my face. She smiled. “The job’s more than you thought it would be?”

  “A little,” I admitted.

  “I know. Anyone who doesn’t do this kind of work thinks we just jot down a few words, tell the chef, and make sure the customer gets what he or she ordered, always with a fat smile. Then they write us a big tip. Not always big. By the way, you can get stiffed here, especially here. It’s New York, the place that made ‘Charity begins at home’ famous.”

  “Stiffed?”

  “They’ll leave you nothing if they have some complaint about the food, the chair, where they’re sitting, your attitude, how long it took to get the food… on and on. And remember: the customer is always right, even when he’s a big idiot, or she is. Women are often the worst tippers. Another thing: we get lots of Europeans here, and they’re used to the tip being included. I usually underline ‘gratuity’ before I give them the check.”

  She smiled. “All right, relax, Em. You’re turning pale enough to ruin someone’s appetite. Just follow me around for a while and listen,” she said, and headed for a table.

  Em, I thought. Only my girlfriends in school called me that. Julia never would, and Mummy certainly wouldn’t, especially in front of my father.

  Marge paused and tilted her head. I hurried to catch up to her.

  Treat it all like a part in a play, I told myself. Memorize and perform. Every time I heard how difficult something was here, I could envision my father’s face, full of I told you so.

  By the time my day ended, Donald Manning’s prediction had been hammered home to my feet and ankles. Marge, on the other hand, seemed energetic to the end, even getting stronger as the day wore on. The restaurant was always busy, and she barely took a break. She never lost her smile, even though a few of the customers were demanding and nasty. She raised her eyebrows and nodded at me.

  However, many of the regulars who came into the Last Diner made sure to sit at her tables. No matter what work you do, I thought, you could become an expert at it. My father wouldn’t consider her profession something to pursue, but he would be fair enough to recognize she was good at it.

  When we had a chance to talk, I told her about my ambitions. Donald Manning had already told her about Mr. Wollard and their history together. She listened with a strange, thoughtful smile on her face as I told her about my singing history and accomplishments. It was a strange smile because she didn’t look that pleased for me. She looked like someone who had heard a similar story so many times that it had become just another sack of nonsense, and by this time at the end of the day, her opinion had become important to me.

  “I have to give it a try,” I said. It was as if I was underlining it all and following that with a herd of firm exclamation points, but I wanted her to see I was different, more determined than anyone who had worked here to support his or her ambition.

  She shrugged. “What do I know about show business? But I don’t discourage anybody from doing anything,” she said. “All I’ll tell you is it’s not the end of the world to have to do something else. In the end, most of us do something else.”

  She looked at my feet and then at her watch. “C’mon. The shoe store that has the best price for the ones I’m wearing is on my way to my subway station.”

  “You don’t live nearby?” I asked, surprised. If I was lucky enough to get a place that was within walking distance, why couldn’t she?

  “I live in the Bronx,” she said. “With my mother and my four-year-old daughter, Jodi. Saves on rent. Jodi’s in a preschool. It ain’t cheap. Before you ask, Jodi’s father’s a deadbeat. I don’t even know where he is these days.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Marge.”

  “Yeah, well, some mistakes you pay for, and some you never stop paying for. Got a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Good. You know the joke about taking an aspirin on a date, if you should go on one?”

  “No.”

  “Keep it between your legs until you get home.”

  “What?” I started to laugh.

  “Let’s go. Your innocence is bringing me to tears.”

  We went back to change our clothes, and then I followed along to the shoe store. I studied how she walked and how she avoided people, or, I should say, how she got people to avoid her. She didn’t bump into anyone who was oblivious and in her way, either. She could part the Red Sea, I thought, and told her so.

  “Always look like you know where you’re going, even though you don’t. The babe-in-the-woods look attracts the mosquitoes.”

  I revealed my dreadful experience after I had arrived in New York. It brought her to a complete stop.

  “Baptized hours after you arrived?” She shook her head and then smiled and said, “Good.”

  “Good? Why good?”

  “It won’t happen to you again. You have been forced to wise up quickly. Trust no one, even if they sign a promise in blood.”

  I was beginning to miss Guildford in more ways than I thought possible within forty-eight hours of arriving here.

  “Let me do the talking in here,�
�� she said when we reached the shoe store.

  Perhaps because she pitied me because of what had happened to me, she went into the store with me and bickered with the sales manager, moaning about how we were hardworking girls surviving on a few dollars just like him. She went back and forth with him until he dropped the price another four dollars.

  “Think of every dollar you save as a tip, and you’ll be a better consumer,” she said as we left. It was something my father would certainly say. “Know your way back?”

  “I… yes,” I said quickly. I wasn’t positive, but I felt relatively sure, and by now, I didn’t want to show any more hesitation or indecision, especially to her. I was afraid she’d pounce and declare I wasn’t ready for New York and tell Donald Manning to send me back like a fish too small. Even though she admittedly knew nothing of show business, I sensed that the opinion of someone like her, someone battling to survive here, was more important than anyone else’s when it came to predicting my future. I was determined to prove to her that I had what it took to turn all this into what we called a doddle, a cinch.

  “That’s it, honey. You’re set as far as your feet go, at least.”

  “Thank you, Marge.”

  “Welcome to America. See you tomorrow,” she said, and gave me a quick hug. I didn’t even have time to raise my arms to hug her back. Now I would call it an American hug.

  She hurried off more like someone making an escape. I smiled, watching her a moment, and then I walked back to the apartment building in my new walking shoes. My feet were feeling better already. When I entered, Leo came out of his apartment as if he had been listening for me at his door.

  “There’s a woman coming here in ten minutes,” he said, looking at his watch. He looked at a slip of paper. “A Miss Piper Hurley. She was here earlier, but I didn’t want to let her in to look over the place until you were back.”

  “Oh, right. She saw the advert at the restaurant this morning. I was supposed to call her, but I forgot to stop at a pay phone. Thank you, Leo.”

  “You have a phone of your own now. It was hooked up. The bill will come this week or so. Your number,” he said, handing me a slip of paper, “is written there.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “You don’t need to call this Piper Hurley. She’ll be here. Looked anxious to find a place. How’d the first day go? Better than yesterday?”

  I smiled and nodded. “Harder, but yes, much better. I think anything would be.”

  “That’s the spirit,” he said. “Come get me if you need any information for her,” he said, and returned to his apartment.

  I went up quickly and did what I could to make the apartment more presentable. I imagined it was a good sign that this Piper Hurley was so anxious to see it. And it was good that she was trying to be in show business, too. We would have a lot in common. Perhaps she had just arrived in New York as well.

  A little over ten minutes later, I heard the buzzer at the outside door and pressed the button to open it. Then I waited, listening for her footsteps. I didn’t even wait for her to knock. I hoped I’d like her, but right now that wasn’t a priority. She was, as my father would say, “as good as money in the bank.”

  “Hey,” she said when I opened the door. She was a tall strawberry redhead, very pretty, with a body that looked sixty percent legs in her tight black pants and green jacket with a hood. She wore black leather shoe boots and, from what I could see, no makeup to cover the patches of freckles on the crests of her cheeks, nor did she add any lipstick to enhance her naturally orange-red lips. Her hair was pinned back. With her small features and kelly-green eyes, she had the face for it.

  “Hi.” For a moment, I wasn’t certain she was the person seeking to share the apartment. Perhaps she was a neighbor stopping to say hello. My look of confusion widened her eyes.

  “I’m Piper Hurley. Your grandfather wouldn’t let me see the place without you.”

  I laughed. “He’s not my grandfather.”

  “Yeah, well, if he’s not, he should try out next audition for grandfathers.” When I didn’t move, she lifted her hands palms up. “You’re looking for someone to share the place with you, right?”

  “Oh, right, sorry,” I said.

  I stepped back, and she entered and began to look around. I smelled the scent of Chanel N° 5.

  “How did you get this location? Who do you know?” she asked.

  “A friend of my music teacher in Guildford, England, arranged things for me.”

  She looked at me and smirked. “It’s always who you know in this world, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it doesn’t hurt,” I said.

  My father would say it’s forty percent, “and you’d better have that sixty percent when the door’s opened for you.”

  “You just came from England?” she asked.

  “Last night.”

  “So how old are you?”

  “Eighteen. Just,” I added. “What about you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Nineteen, twenty?”

  She nodded and smiled. “I’ll take it.”

  “The age?” How much older could she be?

  “No. I’ll share the cost of the pad with you.”

  “Pad?”

  “Apartment. What do you call it in England?”

  “A flat. But you haven’t seen your bedroom yet.”

  “What’s to see?” she said. She went farther in, glanced at the kitchen, and then looked at what would be her bedroom. “You should see where I just left,” she muttered. “So I know the rent. We’ll split the utilities. The phone work?”

  “Yes. Just today. Mr. Abbot arranged it for me. Here’s the number,” I said, handing her the slip of paper with it. I had already copied it and pinned it to the wall.

  “Great. All right if I move in today? I’m staying with a friend who wants her sofa back.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She looked at me again, this time really looking at me. “You want to be a singer?”

  “I am a singer. I came to develop my career on Broadway.”

  “No kidding.” She thought a moment. “You don’t have an agent, too, do you? Your powerful friend of your music teacher get you one?”

  “Oh, no. What about you? I think you’re a dancer, right?”

  “I’m a dancer. I have an agent, but he’s not worth more than a subway token. So you have a job at the Last Diner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Another friend of your music teacher?”

  “He’s the friend, period,” I said. “The manager.”

  “Yeah? I freelance at a burger joint. Maybe you’ll help me get some part-time work there if I need it.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I couldn’t promise that. He’s doing me so many favors as it is.”

  “Don’t worry about it. When’s your first audition?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t get a copy of Playbill yet. I thought I’d settle in first and then—”

  “I have one. I’ll bring it when I return, and I’ll give you my share of the rent.”

  “Okay.”

  She had a way of looking at me that made me feel I wasn’t authentic.

  “You just decided to come here and be on Broadway, huh? Just like that?”

  “To try. You never know what you can and can’t do until you try. I sang in pubs back home, and I was very popular.”

  “Pubs. Not exactly training for Broadway, you know.”

  “Oh, I’ve been in shows back home.”

  “I’m Irish, but I’ve never been to Ireland. I’ve never been out of New York unless you want to count stepping into Jersey for a party. Don’t ask me anything about the Irish, either. I haven’t spoken to any relatives there. We can go shopping for some grub when I return.”

  Like everyone else I had met here, she spoke so quickly, barely taking a breath between sentences.

  “Grub?”

  “Food. What do you call that in Guildford, England?”

>   “Food.”

  She laughed and went to the door. “Teach me some proper English, and I’ll teach you some basic steps. Broadway singers have to dance, too.”

  “Really?”

  She raised her eyes the way my father often did when I said something he thought dumb. I didn’t mean I didn’t know that. I meant really, she’d teach me something? She shook her head like I was someone to be pitied and left.

  Not only did most people here speak so quickly, I thought, they did everything so quickly, impulsively. I wished I had spent a little more time getting to know her, even though I was predisposed to say yes simply because I was worried about my funds. She didn’t exactly have a letter of reference when she came to my door. Should I have hesitated, done some sort of checking? Had I made another mistake to place at the foot of my innocence? How many mistakes could I make before I’d be sent home?

  Then again, Piper Hurley didn’t seem to care to know much about me, either, before she had decided to move in with me. I could be some sort of young serial killer or something. Did I look that desperate and innocent? It hadn’t taken me long to realize that if I did, it wasn’t a good thing here.

  “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,” my father would warn. But I was fleeing from all that reasonableness and logic, wasn’t I?

  Just get used to it all. Get used to the speed. The world could easily pass you by if you are too cautious, I told myself, and returned to cleaning the kitchen to at least get it vaguely to my mother’s standards.

  Living up to the pace of things here, Piper returned in a little less than an hour. She saw the surprise on my face when I heard her at the door.

  “Didn’t think I’d come back?” she asked.

  “No. I’m just surprised at how quickly you did. Your friend lives close by?”

  “No, but I shot a wad on a taxi,” she said. She had two suitcases and a large sack of bedding and other linen.

  “Wad?”

  “Forget it.”

  I reached for one of her suitcases, and we brought her things to the second bedroom.

  “Have you been in shows?” I asked.