Read Online This Dame for Hire by Sandra Scoppettone - Free Book Online
Authors: Sandra Scoppettone
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When I was a kid, before dinner I played Casino with my old man, and he didn’t like losing. Same as with any game he played, and he played them all. Frank was a gambler, and that’s why we always kept moving.
One time he scored big and he bought us a cute little house in a nice neighborhood and I had my own bedroom, but within six months he lost the place. I don’t know whether that was the straw for my old lady or if my brother’s death had done it, but she started on the morphine heavy around then. She’d had the flu as well as Frank Jr., and often cried and screamed at God, who she said shoulda taken her instead of my brother.
Not that she believed in God. She didn’t believe in anything and always said to me I should expect the worst from life and then I’d never be disappointed.
These days she was pretty much in her morphine fog all the time, and my father had a job at the downtown Newark Paradise, taking tickets. When I first heard this, I figured he’d fallen pretty far.
I knew what the lay of the land was through my aunt Dolly, who I’d lived with those four years. Anyway, nowadays my aunt gave me the skinny about my parents when I asked, but never brought them up unless I did. I asked a few months back, and that’s when I learned what they were doing, how things were.
One time I put on a disguise, blonde wig, dark glasses, and went to the Paradise in Newark when the old man was working. I almost started bawling right there in the big lobby with the marble stairways and sculpture, velvet draperies, and crystal chandeliers.
There was my pop in his scarlet tunic piped in gold and looped across the front with more gold and tassels. He looked older than his forty-eight years, but he also looked happy. Especially when a kid would come up holding out his ticket. Frank Quick never failed to say something to them, though I couldn’t hear what it was. The kid always laughed, and my old man patted whoever it was on their little shoulder.
I had to leave after a while cause he kept looking at me, and I was afraid he might come over and ask if I was okay or something. I sure as hell didn’t want him to know it was me.
After that I wasn’t ashamed of him cause I could see he wasn’t. He liked the job much as he could like any job. I think he felt special in his uniform. All that gold. That would be like Frank Quick.
I almost missed my stop, but got up just in time before the doors closed.
Out on Eighty-sixth Street I packed away my family thoughts and crossed Broadway to walk over to Central Park West. In the middle of the street there was an island with benches, and some old folks sat there, watching the world go by. I wondered what it was like to be that old and if every night ya wondered if you’d see another day.
The weather was good, and I unbuttoned my coat, let it flap around me. I was a fast walker, so I made it to CPW in no time at all.
In minutes I found the Wests’ swanky building, awning and doorman in place. I wasn’t worried about getting in cause West would wanna see me. And then I realized what a dummy I was. He wouldn’t be there; he’d be at work. I’d been so fit to be tied about feeling I’d been hoodwinked by the Wests that I’d forgotten. Then I thought maybe it was okay after all. I might do better with the missus alone.
The doorman made me think of Ebenezer Scrooge.
“May I help you?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m here to see Mrs. Porter West.”
“Who should I say is calling?”
I told him, and he picked up the receiver end of a black contraption and pushed a button.
“A Miss Faye Quick is here to see Madam. Yes, I’ll wait.”
I figured some maid was tellin the missus. It felt like a long wait, but I knew it wasn’t when the doorman spoke into the blower again.
“All right, I’ll send her up.”
He directed me to the elevator but not before he gave me the once-over and showed me a kisser that said I didn’t pass muster.
The elevator operator was
When I was a kid, before dinner I played Casino with my old man, and he didn’t like losing. Same as with any game he played, and he played them all. Frank was a gambler, and that’s why we always kept moving.
One time he scored big and he bought us a cute little house in a nice neighborhood and I had my own bedroom, but within six months he lost the place. I don’t know whether that was the straw for my old lady or if my brother’s death had done it, but she started on the morphine heavy around then. She’d had the flu as well as Frank Jr., and often cried and screamed at God, who she said shoulda taken her instead of my brother.
Not that she believed in God. She didn’t believe in anything and always said to me I should expect the worst from life and then I’d never be disappointed.
These days she was pretty much in her morphine fog all the time, and my father had a job at the downtown Newark Paradise, taking tickets. When I first heard this, I figured he’d fallen pretty far.
I knew what the lay of the land was through my aunt Dolly, who I’d lived with those four years. Anyway, nowadays my aunt gave me the skinny about my parents when I asked, but never brought them up unless I did. I asked a few months back, and that’s when I learned what they were doing, how things were.
One time I put on a disguise, blonde wig, dark glasses, and went to the Paradise in Newark when the old man was working. I almost started bawling right there in the big lobby with the marble stairways and sculpture, velvet draperies, and crystal chandeliers.
There was my pop in his scarlet tunic piped in gold and looped across the front with more gold and tassels. He looked older than his forty-eight years, but he also looked happy. Especially when a kid would come up holding out his ticket. Frank Quick never failed to say something to them, though I couldn’t hear what it was. The kid always laughed, and my old man patted whoever it was on their little shoulder.
I had to leave after a while cause he kept looking at me, and I was afraid he might come over and ask if I was okay or something. I sure as hell didn’t want him to know it was me.
After that I wasn’t ashamed of him cause I could see he wasn’t. He liked the job much as he could like any job. I think he felt special in his uniform. All that gold. That would be like Frank Quick.
I almost missed my stop, but got up just in time before the doors closed.
Out on Eighty-sixth Street I packed away my family thoughts and crossed Broadway to walk over to Central Park West. In the middle of the street there was an island with benches, and some old folks sat there, watching the world go by. I wondered what it was like to be that old and if every night ya wondered if you’d see another day.
The weather was good, and I unbuttoned my coat, let it flap around me. I was a fast walker, so I made it to CPW in no time at all.
In minutes I found the Wests’ swanky building, awning and doorman in place. I wasn’t worried about getting in cause West would wanna see me. And then I realized what a dummy I was. He wouldn’t be there; he’d be at work. I’d been so fit to be tied about feeling I’d been hoodwinked by the Wests that I’d forgotten. Then I thought maybe it was okay after all. I might do better with the missus alone.
The doorman made me think of Ebenezer Scrooge.
“May I help you?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m here to see Mrs. Porter West.”
“Who should I say is calling?”
I told him, and he picked up the receiver end of a black contraption and pushed a button.
“A Miss Faye Quick is here to see Madam. Yes, I’ll wait.”
I figured some maid was tellin the missus. It felt like a long wait, but I knew it wasn’t when the doorman spoke into the blower again.
“All right, I’ll send her up.”
He directed me to the elevator but not before he gave me the once-over and showed me a kisser that said I didn’t pass muster.
The elevator operator was
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