Stay, Girl

Chapter One

May 1953

Sacramento

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I lowered my binoculars and rubbed my eyes before stifling a yawn. Watching from above the card tables always gave me a headache, but thankfully my shift would end soon. This tiny booth, high on a wall behind one-way glass, was my refuge from the club’s chaos. Even the other employees didn’t bother me here. They all knew distracting me could cost my stepfather money, and he’d take it out of their paychecks—if not their hides.

The door opened behind me, letting in light from the hallway, and I hissed at Bruno to hurry and come in. He quickly shut the door, and the observation room dimmed once again; if it was brighter in here than the room below, anyone looking could see straight in. Smart money would bet that there was someone always watching the players—and staff—in any club, but no one had to know it was me.

Anything to report? Bruno asked, reaching for my radio. Hank Williams’s voice cut off with a crackle and pop.

Hey, I protested, I was listening to that.

He grinned. And now you’re not. It’s my shift and I work in silence. Aren’t you supposed to be heading home?

I nodded and stood up to stretch, stopping myself when I felt the fabric under my arms threaten to split. This old dress was on its last threads, but the frills and ribbons still did their job of making me look young and harmless. None of the card players gave me a second look when I roamed among the tables, not guessing that I was my stepfather’s secret weapon. It fooled some of them enough that they asked why I wasn’t in school or outside running with other kids. I felt bad for the guys who worried about me, instead of themselves and the trouble they could get into at the card tables.

I realized I hadn’t answered Bruno’s question yet, so I picked up my logbook and read aloud. Some card counting earlier, and a really clumsy attempt at trying to mark corners. I sent word to open new decks, and that took care of it. The guy in the pinstripes on table five is good, though—I barely spotted him dropping a card into his lap and pulling one from his sleeve. I was just about to call it in. Felix might even want to recruit him.

I’ll call down, Bruno said. You get your stuff together and get out of here. I know you want to get home to your mother.

I yawned again and grabbed my logbook, ready to hit the locker room to change back into my regular clothes. Instead, I nearly ran into someone as I came out into the hallway. The sharp scent of cologne and cigars hit me, and I instinctively reeled back from my stepfather.

There she is, Felix said brightly. Tony, this is my daughter. Bet, we’re setting up an exhibition game for you at his club in San Francisco.

The man had already reached out to shake my hand, but his smile wobbled and then he frowned. What is this, Felix? She’s a little kid. You’re out here peddling an infant? No way. His accent told me he’d spent more years in New Jersey than San Francisco.

Felix laughed, though it sounded phony and loud in the hallway. She’s older than she looks. My wife always says she’s thirteen going on thirty! But seriously, this girl is talented. Dress her up a little, put her in some makeup, and the poor saps will never know how old she is. Everybody bets against her, and then it’s a big payout for us.

Tony was shaking his head before Felix even finished. Look, Felix, even I have a line I won’t cross. Call me up when I don’t have to worry if she’s working on a school night.

Felix called after Tony as he walked away, cajoling, but the other man waved him off. My stepfather’s smile dropped as he glared at me. Why are you still wearing that dress, instead of the new one I had made for you? I’m trying to get your career started, and you’re defying me at every turn.

Never mind that I hadn’t said a defiant word to Tony or Felix, my stepfather would be punishing me later for ruining his plans. I didn’t bother defending myself and said simply, I was on my way out. Mama is expecting me.

He sneered, but he let me pass. You go straight home. No stops.

I know, I answered wearily. Where would I go anyway? He made sure I didn’t have friends who I could blab his business to.

In the women’s locker room, the cocktail waitresses and cigarette girls were also changing shifts. They jockeyed for space as they each tried to put on, or take off, their makeup and outfits. Their dresses—uniforms—showed off generous cleavage and long stretches of leg under the short skirts.

My stepfather had ordered a uniform in my size, with added ruffles to look like I had curves and budding cleavage. My new dress still hung in my locker and swayed as I pulled open the door. I pushed it aside and reached for the pedal pushers and blouse I’d arrived in earlier that day. As I changed, one of the newer girls, Trudy, came to sit by me on the bench.

That blouse is so cute on you, she gushed. Makes you look so much more grownup. Why do you wear that dress at work? It looks like you’re going to your Confirmation.

That’s why I wear it. It means fewer bruises on my rear after I’ve been working on the floor.

She laughed and then launched into the real reason she’d come over.

Are you having supper with your daddy tonight? Trudy asked sweetly. I’d love to come along if you are. Wouldn’t that be fun, just us two friends and the boss?

I didn’t have friends at the club, mainly because Trudy wasn’t the first girl who had tried to get on the boss’s good side through me. If I tried to act like a real friend and warn them off Felix, they just thought I was jealous and found some other way to get his attention. If they succeeded, they hid the black eyes and bruises under makeup and pretended it was all worth the presents he threw their way.

I said, wouldn’t that be fun? Trudy slung an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze.

I suddenly felt older than her nineteen years and envied how bright and hopeful she seemed. I’d grown too cautious of making mistakes, and too tired from juggling all my responsibilities. Thank goodness school had just ended for the year, so now I only had to split my time between the club and Mama.

Sorry, I’m eating at home with my mother tonight, I said. Why don’t you see what Jerome is doing? I think he’s sweet on you, and he’s a good man.

She frowned. Jerome, the bouncer? Sure, he’s good looking, but I can do better.

I shrugged; if the reminder that Felix had a wife hadn’t put Trudy off him, none of my warnings or matchmaking would either. I nodded when she said, maybe another time and left me alone. I finished getting dressed and headed to the kitchen.

Did the pinstripes on table five order anything? I asked a passing waiter.

He checked the tickets and said, Yeah, a steak dinner, with baked potato. Why? Is he not going to need it?

Yeah, I caught him cheating, but Felix might want to see him before they chuck him out. Either way, he won’t be eating that steak, so you can pack it up for me. But can I get mashed potatoes instead of baked?

Of course, anything for the boss’s daughter, he said with a wink.

Actually, it’s better if Felix doesn’t know I’m taking food home, I confided. I’ll owe you a favor if you keep this between us.

He didn’t ask any questions, just handed me the foil-wrapped dinner and got back to work. But I knew he’d call in that favor someday, if he worked here long enough.

Stepping out the back door of the club and into the heat of the alley was a shock. I rushed through the gloomy stink to the sunlight on the street. The poker club always felt like midnight inside, no matter what time of day it was, and the bustling daylight crowds swept me up. I turned down J Street, walking until I could hop the bus to take me near Broadway. Then I still had to walk a few blocks to our house, and I entered through the alley gate since we only had the bottom floor of the old Victorian.

Felix wasn’t there to scold me for acting common, so I hollered, Mama, I’m home, as I came through the back door and into the kitchen. There was no answer, but she was probably still sleeping. I hummed as I plated up my steak and vegetables, and spooned the mashed potatoes into a bowl. Then I added a scarlet nasturtium flower I’d picked on the way home to brighten up the white goo.

I carried it all to Mama’s room on a tray, and she stirred a little in bed as I sat in the bedside chair and chattered about my day. I left space for her to chime in, but she didn’t, of course. Even though I always tried to be cheerful for her, sometimes it was hard to maintain in the face of her dying. My voice petered out, and I swallowed a bite of steak around a lump in my throat. Only the sound of her hands rustling against the sheets broke the silence.

When the doctor had told us she was dying a few months ago, I was so caught up in the thought of losing her, I didn’t think about how hard it was going to be watching her lose herself. And how long it might take.

Hollywood films had fooled me into thinking these final moments would be a peaceful time: Mama looking pale but hauntingly beautiful, drifting into a gentle passing as I held her hand. A tranquil choir in the background singing her on her way. Instead, Mama’s rosy cheeks gave way to a yellow wasting, and now her hands, brittle as butterfly wings, rarely settled long enough to hold on to. You’d think a body so worn out would have given up sooner.

For weeks, my mother had been floating in her bed, carried on a current of morphine provided by Felix. I could no longer tell if my stepfather was trying to keep Mama alive because he couldn’t bear losing her, or if it was a punishment—to himself, to Mama, or even to me. But it was like she was cursed with an unending death, and I was caught in the curse too.

I finished eating, chewing without tasting anything, and stood to take my dishes into the kitchen. I left the congealing potatoes on Mama’s bedside table, like an offering, and tidied the house as I listened to the radio. It was a few hours before I switched off the music, and I paused as I thought I heard a faint voice.

Bet! it called again. My potatoes are cold. Bring me an egg sandwich, would you?

I ran to Mama’s room and my jaw dropped at the sight of her propped up in bed, poking her bowl of mashed potatoes with a suspicious spoon. She smiled at me and new, bleeding cracks opened on her lips.

Where have you been, girl? She asked. Are you going to make me a sandwich?

I hadn’t moved from the doorway, afraid this was some kind of mirage. I would, but there’s no bread in the house. No eggs either. We might have mayo, but nothing to put it on.

She nodded. Ah, he’s up to his old tricks again, is he? What’d you do to rile him up this time?

And then I knew this was real. If this had been some fantasy of mine, some miraculous event, Mama would never have taken Felix’s side. But in reality, she blamed me for his mistreatment. Just like he did.

Don’t look at me like that, she said. Come sit next to me and tell me about your day. 

I didn’t know how long this clarity would last, so I did as she asked. She laughed when I hammed it up and made all the boring parts of my workday sound funny, but she shook her head when I told her about Tony.

You’ve been training for things like an exhibition game your whole life. That was a missed opportunity, Bet. Your father is only looking out for you.

She’d said things like this before, too, and I couldn’t help shooting back my usual response. Felix is not my father. He’s the Devil.

Mama waved away my protest. The Devil you know is always better odds. You just gotta learn to play him.

My lips thinned at her glib answer, but then I thought about how just an hour ago I would have given anything to have a conversation with her again. I had no way of knowing whether this was the terminal lucidity the doctor had mentioned could happen in the hours or days before death, but I didn’t want our last words to be bitter.

Yes, Mama. I took her hand.

But her eyes narrowed. You can’t fool me. I taught you that poker face, child. I know you’re thinking of leaving your father, but twelve is too young to be on your own.

I’m thirteen now, Mama.

Her brow knitted before she squeezed my hand. Never mind that. This is important. Have I ever told you I have a brother?

She had told me about him during other clear-headed moments. But I shook my head, so she’d keep talking.

Promise me that if you leave your daddy like you’re planning, you’ll go to your uncle Earl’s. He’s up in Amberfields, last I heard. You should tell him in person I’ve cashed in my chips. Stay with him. Promise, now.

I linked our pinkies and said, I promise I’ll go to Uncle Earl’s.

My words seemed to lift some weight from her, and she sagged back into her mattress. I sang a few lines of Keep on the Sunny Side to distract her from noticing I hadn’t promised to stay at her brother’s. She drifted back to sleep and looking at her now, I would never have known she’d been able to sit up and talk, however briefly. My sniffles brought her awake again, and she looked at me with some tenderness.

Have I done right by you, little Lizabet? she rasped. I’ve tried so hard to make you into a strong woman, so you’d have an easier time in the world than I did. I should have remembered you need to be a girl first.

A flash of anger rolled over me, and I wanted to blurt, "Now you think of that? When it’s maybe too late?"

But Mama’s breathing was interrupted by a rattling noise, and then it was like in a Hollywood movie. Her face turned away and her fluttering hands stilled on the sheets. I called her, but she was gone. I sat with her empty shell until the sun went down, crying so much that I was empty, too.

Chapter Two

Then I made the call to the poker club, leaving a message for Felix with the news. He didn’t come home himself, but after a while, a pair of his flunkies came to collect the body. My mute self at the bedside, sitting in the dim wash of moonlight through the window, gave them a start. They took off their hats and stood for a few moments with us. But when I stayed silent, they switched on the light and bundled my mother’s slight form into the sheets.

One man returned and pressed some coins into my hand. For flowers, he whispered. A girl shouldn’t have to bury her mother so young.

Whether or not it should have happened, a few days later I found myself wearing a borrowed dress at Mama’s graveside as a barely sober Reverend Green said a few words. It was hot and sunny for May and a rivulet of sweat ran down my back, making me want to squirm. Felix kept me close to his side, but it felt more like he was staking a claim than offering comfort. I knew better than to cause a scene in front of his cronies, so I kept my eyes on the marble stone engraved with Lizabet Carter—Beloved Wife of Felix. No mention of her daughter, beloved or otherwise.

I stayed after everyone else wandered away from the fresh mound of earth. Pulling a nail from a nearby picket fence, I scratched out Wife of Felix and wrote Mother above it. On my way home, I peered into the windows of the corner bar to make sure Felix was already deep in a glass of whiskey. His friends would keep him in drinks all night, in honor of the departed, if I was lucky.

Hurrying now, I flew home to change out of the horrible black dress and to fetch a sack of belongings from my room. I left nearly all my clothes behind, so Felix would think I’d just holed up nearby to grieve, instead of actually running. Next, I climbed into the garage rafters to empty the old clay jug where Felix kept his emergency cash. I would be long gone before he realized I’d replaced the fold of bills with strips of newspaper and a five-dollar bill facing out.

While Felix was still drinking around the corner, I made my escape. My reason to stay in Sacramento had departed with Mama’s soul. Now I fled too, with a bag slung over my shoulder and dust puffing under my worn shoes. I followed the railroad tracks north, staying out of sight of other people as much as possible.

Hopefully, if anyone looked for me (and only one person might), no witnesses could point him in the right direction. I didn’t want to risk someone remembering me in a store or diner, so I ate only a handful of nuts somebody had set out in their yard for the squirrels. Then I washed them down with a gulp of water from a garden hose left stretched under some rosebushes. My bed that night was in a sycamore tree, with my knees braced in a crotch of branches to keep from tumbling onto the summer-dry thistles below.

After over a day of traveling, I heaved a grateful sigh to see Amberfields, pop 581 on a sign at the town’s border. The farmland, with neat rows of green crops or fruit trees, gave way to houses and businesses. Waves of heat rose from the asphalt and concrete, and a sprinkler on someone’s lawn called to me. But the sooner I got to my destination, the sooner I could leave again.

Just in case she would let it slip to Felix, I’d never told Mama I had a plan already. I wasn’t just running from my stepfather, I was running to someone. After I’d done my duty at Uncle Earl’s, I would be joining my friend Nina at a lumber camp in Oregon. Nina had left months ago and begged me to come along then, since Nina’s Aunt Kaja needed two girls to help her cook for the men. At sixteen, Nina would be cookie and assist her aunt, and I would be the chore boy while I learned to do more.

But the weeks-old letter now crumpled in my pocket had delivered the bad news from Nina: Aunt Kaja couldn’t wait any longer and had hired someone else. Nina had tried to delay it as long as possible, since surely my mother couldn’t last long in her state, but they’d needed help to keep the big camp running smoothly. She’d told me to come anyway when I could, and I agreed it was worth trying. Even if I just worked for meals, it would be better than the future Felix had in mind for me.

My feet were dragging by the time I turned down the driveway to Uncle Earl’s place. It seemed like the midday heat had stifled even the sounds from the air, until a staccato of hoarse barks made me hesitate. I’d always liked dogs, but hadn’t spent much time around them. Some dogs took their job of guarding too seriously. Was this one going to come after me? When the barking didn’t come any closer, I traced the sound to a makeshift pen in the shabby stable beside the house. In the dim recesses, it was hard to see much more than a pair of hanging ears and sad eyes. The smell was easier to sort out: sickness and neglect, so much like Mama’s last days that I fell back a few steps.

I nearly tripped over a pail, its depths as dry and dusty as the yard itself, lying outside the wire fence where the dog would never reach it. A pump handle beckoned in the shade of a shivering cottonwood tree; I doused my head in cold water first and gasped as the welcome shock cleared some of the hunger-fog. The nearby house lay undisturbed, even with the barking and the sound of the creaking water pump, so Uncle Earl must be away.

His dog raised its head when I deposited the half-full pail over the side of the pen, but it didn’t get up until I put some distance between myself and the offering. I nodded to show I recognized the wisdom of not falling for wheedling words when grabbing hands were in reach, and it seemed it nodded