After You've Gone Read online

  “Sure you are. You play that guitar like a wild thing, like you’ve got a soul full of fire. I’ve never heard anybody play like that before. But then when it comes to everything else, you’re very quiet, very serious. Like when you kissed me that night.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant. “You didn’t like it?”

  He smiled. “I did like it. Very much. But it was over so soon.”

  “That’s why it was over so soon. I liked it, too. Maybe too much.”

  We didn’t say anything else for a minute. But he had his arm around my waist now, and I could hear his breathing. “Lita. Look at me.”

  I did. He leaned over and put his lips on mine. A voice in the back of my mind tried to get my attention. Something about this being dangerous, being a mistake. I decided to switch the voice off and go with what my body told me. Kissing Bill felt too good to stop.

  Six

  Lita

  July 1935

  HOW DID THIS HAPPEN, I WONDERED? One moment Bill was a peripheral figure in my life. Suddenly, it was all different, the line between before and after razor-thin and deadly sharp. Could this be right? Wouldn’t it be more reasonable to think that I’d taken notice of him in a romantic way from the beginning? I had to think that, because the idea that you could suddenly feel this way without warning was too frightening. I seemed to have no choice in it, and it scared the hell out of me.

  Also, I knew it was inevitable that one day Bill would ask about my family. I had no idea what to tell him. I almost told him they were all dead. That seemed like the easiest solution. But then I realized he might meet Steve at some point. I thought about telling him I’d decided to go out and work at fourteen just for a lark, for fun. I could have been one of those madcap heiresses like you saw in the movies, like Carole Lombard or Katharine Hepburn, running around doing crazy things because I had nothing better to do. Not because my family had to skip the rent again. The thing was, leaving home and all that seemed like such a long time ago by then, almost four years later. At that age, four years is an eternity. I just didn’t want to dredge it up again, especially not with him.

  I didn’t want Bill to find out anything about me that might drive him away. I wanted him to think I was perfect. He lived with his mother in a nice house on College Avenue. He’d lived there all his life. That alone seemed so completely foreign to me, I couldn’t begin to imagine how to tell him about my family. The longest we’d ever lived anywhere was about a year. How could I tell him I’d had to leave home to work when I was fourteen? Looking back, I don’t know why I should have felt ashamed about that. It’s not as if it was my fault. But I was ashamed.

  One night the two of us hung around the Quonset after the others left. We did that after most practices. It was Otto’s uncle’s workshop during the week, so it wasn’t exactly a comfortable or romantic spot. But we could be alone there. We sat behind the drum kit and passed a flask of rum that he’d brought back and forth. I took small sips. It was pretty harsh stuff, and I wasn’t used to it.

  “So you’ve been working for Darlene’s dad for four years, now?”

  “That’s right.” I could see what was coming, tried to think on my feet.

  “Ever since you were fourteen.”

  “That’s right. My family was pretty hard up.”

  “Was? They’re not anymore?”

  “I just mean they were. I’m sure they still are.”

  “Don’t you know?”

  Damn. How’d that happen? “I keep in touch with my older brother, Steve. But I don’t hear much from the rest of my family.”

  “Oh. That’s too bad.”

  I shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. Guess things are a little different in your family.” I tried to change the conversation but he wouldn’t fall for it.

  “I’m interested, you know. Really.”

  “In what?” I tried to stall, scrabbled in my mind for what to say, how to say it, what to leave in and leave out.

  “In your family. In you. I’m interested in you. So tell me what happened.”

  “I left home. We were poor, and there were four of us kids. After my Pop died my Ma had a hard time providing for us. It was just easier if I moved out.”

  “But at fourteen? That’s kind of harsh. Did you already have this job lined up?”

  “Well, I got it right away. I’ve known Darlene for quite a while.”

  “Your mom just let you go?”

  God Almighty. Stop asking me all these blasted questions. “She was pretty . . . well, Ma kind of asked me to leave.”

  “Oh. Sorry if I was prying.”

  “No, no. Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t so much that she wanted me to leave as that she felt she couldn’t support me any longer. My family is very poor.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. That’s a tough thing. You know I only want to know because I care.”

  He cared? I had no idea he cared. And now I didn’t know what to think. He cared, he wanted to know about me and my family. And I had these powerful feelings about him. The whole thing was a little overwhelming, frightening, even. How could I be independent if I was completely crazy about him? How could I be sure I trusted him? The only thing I could think of at that slightly drunken moment was to try change the subject again.

  “Otto tells me the ladies in the crowd think you’re like Rudy Vallée.”

  The look of disgust on his face surprised me. Though I would have been disgusted if someone had compared me to Rudy Vallée, I thought he would be pleased by it, a little, anyway.

  “Did he really say that?”

  “Well, he said that you’re the closest thing to him they’ll ever see.”

  “That’s just about Otto’s speed. I mean, Rudy Vallée would have been hot about ten years ago. Russ Columbo would be tops with me if he hadn’t accidentally offed himself. Now Bing Crosby, there’s a singer for you. Don’t you think so?”

  “Sure. I guess so.” I really didn’t want to get into this discussion. Singers, well, I was more into the Billie Holiday side of things, there. Vocals only interested me to a certain degree, and then only if they were exceptional, different somehow. Billie Holiday’s voice was more like an instrument. Most of the time I preferred to listen to guitarists, like Django, Lonnie Johnson, Tampa Red, or Memphis Minnie. I liked Memphis Minnie a lot, felt I could relate to her. For one thing, she ran away from home at age thirteen, even younger than I’d been. And she played a National. But Bing Crosby rubbed me the wrong way. I thought he was a smarmy little Hollywood average talent aimed at the females. I knew, though, that Bill was fond of him. The band already did “Thanks” and “Love in Bloom” and he’d said he wanted to do “If I Had You” as well. The rest of us tried to ignore him.

  “I’m glad you think so,” he said. “Not only is he a talented singer, he’s also a really admirable person. Kind of man I’d like to be someday, you know?”

  “I think you’re already as good a man as Bing Crosby is. Maybe even better.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I do.”

  “Gee, Lita. I don’t know what to say.”

  Seven

  Lita

  July 1935

  THOUGH IT MAY HAVE TAKEN ME a while to figure out that I was in love, it didn’t take Darlene long, perhaps because she was such an expert in that field. She confronted me one day at work after she heard me singing as I made up the rooms.

  “Hey. You never sing.”

  “What?”

  “You’re singing. What’s up?”

  I hadn’t even really been aware that I was doing it. “I dunno. I’m just in a good mood, I guess.”

  “So, which one is it? The drummer, right? He’s a good-looking fella. I like drummers myself. You know,” she said, and elbowed me.

  “Henry? No. I mean, he’s nice and all, but —”

  “Don’t tell me it’s that gawky Bill? All legs and feet, that guy. Imagine it’s your wedding day, and there he is waiting for you.” She shuddere
d.

  What was a person supposed to say to something like that? “As a matter of fact, it is Bill.”

  “Oh. Well, listen, I’m sorry. I was kidding. I didn’t mean anything.”

  “That’s all right. I should get down to the main floor, now, though.”

  I was overcome with regret as soon as Darlene left. Why had I told her anything?

  Bill and I found some shade on a bench in Wascana Park one evening. The day had been hot and humid.

  “So, I got this letter today,” he said and handed me an envelope. I couldn’t imagine what it might be. He sounded so grim. Bad news of some kind, I guessed. I took out a folded letter and a 3 x 5 inch photo of Bing Crosby.

  I knew how he felt about Bing. “Hey, look at this,” I said. “That’s pretty nice.”

  “Ha. Look at it. It’s a form letter. Not even really from him, or signed by him, either, I bet. The autograph on the picture is a stamp, you can tell.”

  He was right, it was a stamp. The whole letter was probably hastily slapped together by some secretary who’d probably never even met Bing Crosby, someone they hired to fend off the mountains of fan mail they dealt with every day. I looked at it, and looked at him, tried to think what to say, tried to understand why this upset him. “So how did this all come about? Did you write him a letter?”

  “Yeah. I wrote and told him how I thought he was one of the finest singers around, and I told him a little bit about being a singer myself and how we did some of his songs. And this is what I get in return.”

  “Well, I guess he’s a pretty busy guy. Imagine the mail he must get.”

  “Sure. But if it wasn’t for individual fans like me, he’d still be a struggling nobody. Like me.”

  “You aren’t a nobody.”

  “Maybe not. But do I have what it takes to be him?” He shoved the picture into his pocket. “I don’t think so. I’ll never get there.”

  “You don’t want to be him. Some big-headed movie star, too big to answer his own fan mail. You’re better than that.”

  He just looked at me and laughed, shook his head. I don’t think he believed me.

  A few nights later, I was filing my nails in my room, in my slippers and nightgown and robe, after a bath. I kept my nails short, otherwise they got in the way of playing too much, you know how it is. Inwardly I scoffed a little at other women’s long talons, which it seemed to me must make their hands almost useless for any tasks. I did covet the red polish many of them wore, though. I tried it once, but I looked like a six-year old who’d got into my mother’s cosmetics, with my stubby red nails.

  Darlene knocked on the door. She waved a bottle of wine at me and held two coffee mugs. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  “Listen, about the other day . . . I didn’t mean anything. I didn’t know what I was saying. You know me, I just get carried away talking and pretty soon — ”

  “Never mind. Forget it.”

  “And Bill. Well, you know, I never really imagined him being the one-girl type.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, he’s said things. Doesn’t want to tie himself to one woman, that kind of thing. But I guess he’s changed.”

  When would he have said things like that to Darlene? I didn’t want to believe her, couldn’t imagine him saying things like that. On the other hand, how well did I really know him? I decided to say nothing.

  We talked a bit about beauty school. Darlene had quit high school, at Gus’s urging, and was now enrolled in Miss Marcelle’s Beauty School down on Pasqua Street. I wondered if Gus wanted to give his daughter a career or keep her away from the boys at school. Probably both. Darlene enjoyed learning about cutting, colouring, and setting, but she missed the boys fiercely, and soon we got to talking about them.

  After a while she poured us another mug of wine. “So. Has my Dad been giving you any trouble?”

  “Trouble? No. He mostly ignores me.”

  “That’s good. Can I have one of your smokes?”

  I handed her the pack. “You gotta watch out for him, though,” she continued. Something in me knew what she was getting at, but didn’t want to know.

  “So he’s . . . ” I began to ask and then couldn’t find the words.

  “Sure, he has. With me, you mean?”

  I nodded, again half wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “Yeah. Not as much lately as he used to, though. Maybe he’s scared of some of the boys I bring around, I don’t know. But I still don’t trust him, and neither should you.”

  “I don’t,” I assured her.

  She sighed. “He wasn’t always like this, you know. It was when my mom died . . . that almost finished him off. He started to drink a lot. And eat a lot, too. He gained a lot of weight. Grief bacon, my grandma called it. So when he started to do this to me, in a way I could understand it. He lost his mind, you know. He’s not really himself anymore.”

  “But, still, Darlene. He can’t. I mean, he shouldn’t do that . . . especially to you.”

  “No. No, he shouldn’t. But he does. And I’m just trying to understand it.”

  “How can you be so strong?” I asked, and shuddered.

  Darlene shrugged. “I don’t really have a choice.”

  Last night of the month I was getting ready for a date with Bill. The band had planned to practise, but Henry was sick and we all decided to take the night off and meet again later in the week. So Bill and I decided to go out to the late show of After the Thin Man. We didn’t have that many actual dates, even though we saw each other most days. The band practised two or three times a week. We were waiting for our next gig, and then we all had day jobs. It didn’t leave a lot of time for romance, and Bill grumbled about it some. Anyway, when the opportunity came along, we tried to do normal couple things like going to movies and all that.

  My basement window was at the front of the hotel. I could see him pull up from there, and be out the door and he wouldn’t even have to get out of the Packard. That way, we didn’t waste any time, and I didn’t get any guff from Gus. I had a feeling he’d give me trouble over Bill.

  I’d bathed upstairs, as usual, put on my makeup and was dressing when I heard a knock at the door. I didn’t want to peek through the curtains to check for the Packard because I was in my slip. Why was Bill early, I wondered as I slipped my robe on. It wasn’t like him. If anything, he was usually late.

  I opened the door, and there stood Gus. He smiled, and I felt his eyes move up and down my body.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Hi, Gus. Something you wanted to talk about?”

  “Yes. Yes, there is. May I come in?”

  I smelled fumes on his breath, felt my insides knot up and my shoulders tense. “Well, I’m just getting ready to go out, actually. Can we talk about it later?”

  He shoved past me and closed the door behind him. “Funny thing. That was what I wanted to talk about. What’s this I hear about you having a boyfriend?”

  My mouth went dry. “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “Nothing at all. Fact, I’m glad to hear it. Always thought there was something wrong with you, like you might be frigid or something.”

  I backed away from him to the other side of the little table in one end of the room. Maybe I shouldn’t have let him know I was afraid. Maybe I was sending out the wrong signals doing that, but I was scared. Damn it all to hell. In all the time I’d worked for him, he’d never tried anything funny. I’d wondered if Darlene hadn’t made things up about him, or exaggerated.

  “Aw, c’mon now. You can relax. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  “Bill will be here any minute.”

  “Bill, eh? Darlene tells me he’s the singer in your band. Good-looking fellow, is he?”

  “Gus, I think you should leave now.”

  He moved around back of the table toward me and I edged away from him, closer to the door. With my luck, I thought, Bill would be late. And I knew Darlene wasn’t around, alth
ough I wasn’t sure how much help she would have been, anyway. Then I heard knocking on the door, slipped past Gus to answer it.

  “Hi, Lita,” said Bill. “You aren’t ready yet.” He pulled me up for a kiss before I could answer. “Hey, is something wrong? You’re shaking.”

  With his arms around me, I could breathe again. I felt like I’d forgotten to for a long time. I stood back. “Bill, this is Gus Klein, Darlene’s dad. Gus, this is Bill MacInnes. Gus was just about to leave, weren’t you?”

  He slipped past us without saying a word.

  Bill looked at me for a minute. “What was that all about?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Of course I do.”

  We ended up not going to the movies and instead drove the Packard out to Wascana Park again. Only this time, we parked and talked the whole time. I was afraid, so afraid, that he might misunderstand. But he let me tell the whole story, didn’t interrupt much, mostly nodded and shook his head.

  “We have to get you out of there,” he said after I finished. “You can’t stay there anymore.”

  “But my job . . . ”

  “You don’t need a job that bad.”

  “Well, maybe I don’t. But where will I stay?”

  “My mum’s gone to Toronto to visit her sister for the rest of the summer. She left on the train yesterday. She won’t be back until after Labour Day.”

  “So?”

  “So, there’s no reason you couldn’t come and stay with me for a while.”

  I swallowed. No reason, eh? No, not unless you counted that we weren’t married, that there were neighbours. I looked at him.

  “Well, you know what I mean.”

  “Not really, Bill.”

  “I mean, this is an emergency. You can’t stay at the hotel. It’s too dangerous. We’ll be sharing the place. Strictly. It’s a big old house, lots of room for the two of us to bounce around in. You can sleep in my brother Ian’s old room, on the main floor, and I’ll be in my room upstairs. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”