Beyond the Carousel Read online

  The other three nodded and agreed such a situation was indeed tough. When the fifteen-minute buzzer sounded, the ladies hurried back to the training room.

  Before lunch Eleanor crossed two cords and connected Herbert Green, who was calling Porky’s Plumbing, to the maternity ward of Rosewood Hospital. Having also forgotten to close the talk key, she realized her mistake and disconnected them both. Herbert called back sputtering, stammering and complaining that she was the worst telephone operator he’d ever had the misfortune to work with. That’s when Eleanor decided the job was definitely not for her. She unplugged her headset, handed it back to Florence and walked off.

  Shortly after that the noon buzzer sounded, and Christine asked Florence how long they had for lunch.

  “A total of one hour,” she replied primly. “That means you are to be back at your station and ready to plug in your headset in sixty minutes.”

  Christine glanced at her watch then returned to the locker room along with the two remaining trainees. They all collected their purses and headed for the door.

  “There’s a coffee shop down the block,” Angie said. “You gals wanna join me for lunch?”

  Christine nodded, but Barbara Ann claimed she had something to do. Having overheard Herbert Green yelling at Eleanor had obviously unnerved her, and several tightly knotted ridges were stretched across her forehead. At a quarter of one, Barbara Ann called in and left a message that she wouldn’t be returning.

  “This job is much too stressful for a person like me,” she said.

  That left just Angie and Christine. With only the two of them working the board the practice session picked up pace, and before the day was out Christine felt fairly good about her progress.

  By Thursday, both girls knew they were ready. When a light flashed they were waiting with the plug in their hand.

  “Number, please,” they’d say smartly, and in a scant few seconds the front cord would be plugged into the appropriate jack.

  Every day they went to lunch together, and when Angie talked about her two toddlers and Kenny, her brick-laying husband with the broken leg, Christine talked about Missus Feeney and the five gentlemen boarders.

  “They’re like uncles,” she said. “Always giving advice and looking out for me.”

  “Maybe so,” Angie replied, “but Bailey Street’s a long commute when you’re working split shift.”

  “Oh, I won’t be going back there during the day. I plan to spend the afternoons looking for an apartment somewhere close by.”

  “What kind of apartment?”

  “Something small.” She hesitated a second then added, “It’s just me. Alone.”

  Angie grinned. “You mind a loft for sleeping?”

  “What do you mean?” Christine asked.

  “An apartment. A studio actually, but you go up six or so steps to the loft, and there’s a platform big enough for a bed and maybe one nightstand.”

  Christine’s eyes brightened. “That sounds perfect!”

  “It’s Kenny’s sister’s place. She just got married and is looking to sublet it.”

  “How much?”

  “That’s the thing…” Angie grimaced. “She wants thirty-eight dollars a month, but she’s willing to leave everything: furniture, linens, dishes, the whole kit and caboodle.”

  Christine chewed the last remaining crust of her toasted cheese sandwich and pondered the thought.

  “That’s almost two weeks’ salary,” she said. “More than I was planning on, but I guess if I don’t have to buy any furniture…”

  “It’s ten minutes from here on the crosstown,” Angie added. “You could walk to work if you wanted to.”

  Christine ran a bunch of numbers through her head, factoring in the interest on the savings account she’d opened and the fact that she could walk to work once or twice a day instead of spending money for the bus. In the end she decided it might be a stretch, but it was definitely worth looking into.

  Friday afternoon when they finished their last day of training, Angie took Christine to see the apartment. They walked from the office to the apartment building then climbed the single flight of stairs. Angie unlocked the door, and they stepped inside.

  Christine could see the entire apartment, including the doorway that led to the bathroom. It was a tiny place but beautifully decorated. She gave a sigh of delight then walked deeper into the room. Trailing her fingers along the smooth maple surface of the coffee table, she smiled and dropped down onto the nubby plaid sofa.

  She leaned into the cushions and said, “Comfy.”

  “I thought you was gonna like it,” Angie replied. “Kenny’s sister is a real pill, but one thing I gotta give her is that she keeps a nice house. You ain’t gonna find a speck of dirt in this place.”

  “I can see that.”

  Christine had been set to try and negotiate a somewhat lower price, but she’d already fallen in love with the place.

  “How soon will it be available?” she asked.

  “Right now. Anne Marie and Wayne were married last Sunday.”

  Christine crossed the room, climbed the few steps and peered into the sleeping loft. She could already imagine the picture of her mama and daddy sitting atop the maple nightstand.

  “I’ll take it,” she said.

  “Anne Marie told me whoever rents it has gotta pay one month’s rent and one month’s security up front,” Angie warned.

  Christine sat in the small desk chair with her purse on her lap and opened her wallet. She counted the bills then said, “I’ve only got fifty-eight dollars. Can I give you fifty now and the other twenty-six when we get paid next Wednesday?”

  Angie nodded. “I guess that’ll be okay. Anne Marie and Wayne don’t get back from their honeymoon until Friday.”

  She pulled three keys off of her key ring and handed them to Christine. “This is the downstairs entry door. This one’s the mailbox, and this is the apartment door.”

  “Can I move in this weekend?”

  Angie shrugged. “Sure, if you want to.”

  That evening Christine was late to supper, and when she arrived back at the boarding house Missus Feeney was wearing a frown.

  “Supper is supposed to be at eight.” She glanced over at the clock and stated the obvious. “It’s twenty past.”

  “I’m sorry,” Christine said apologetically. “But you’ll be glad to know I’ve finally found an apartment.”

  “An apartment?” Missus Feeney repeated. Her voice had the sound of disappointment threaded through the words. “I rather thought you might decide to stay.”

  “But you said this is basically a gentleman’s boarding house.”

  “Well, yes. But that was before you came. Since you’ve been here the men have been on their best behavior, so if you want to stay…”

  Christine moved closer to Missus Feeney and wrapped her arms around the chubby little woman.

  “How can I ever thank you?” she said. “I love it here and I do hate to leave, but with working a split shift the commute would be impossible.”

  “I understand,” Missus Feeney said sadly. “But if you’d like to come for dinner on Saturday or Sunday, there’d be no charge.

  “I’d love to come for dinner,” Christine replied.

  That evening the conversation around the supper table was all about Christine’s new apartment. She glowingly described the ecru-colored drapes, the lacquered desk, the sleeping loft and a dozen other features.

  “Of course I’ll miss everyone.”

  She gave a saddened sigh; then her voice brightened when she added that she would be coming back for dinner every so often.

  “It’s not like I’m moving to the other end of the earth,” she said. “The apartment is just across town.”

  Momentarily allowing his eyes to look directly into hers, Stick said, “Would it be okay for some of us to stop by if we’re ever on that side of town?”

  “Well, of course it would,” Christine answered, but by then Sti
ck had already lowered his eyes and was back to looking down at his plate.

  Christine

  Oh, what I wouldn’t give for Mama to see my new apartment. She’d love it, I know she would.

  This evening after I finished telling the boarders about the sleeping loft and how nicely everything was decorated, I started thinking about my last trip with Mama. When we passed by those little apartment buildings, I remember how she looked back at them so longingly. At the time I thought maybe she was wishing she could live there, but after all that’s happened I’ve come to understand it was what she wanted for me. Day by day I’m finding little bits of happiness here in Richmond; it’s not the magic Mama spoke of but an easier peace of mind.

  When Mister Barkley first read her will, I couldn’t see myself ever being happy here. I even asked Granddaddy if perhaps I shouldn’t just stay in Wyattsville. I told him I could cook for him and keep house, but he shook his head and said no.

  “Your mama always had a way of knowing what was right for you,” he said, “and I’ve got to believe this situation is no different.”

  Of course I disagreed and argued him seven ways ’til Sunday, but he stood firm. In a way, I’m glad he did.

  I’d like to say I’m one hundred percent happy, but I’m not. Missus Feeney and the fellows here at the boarding house have been wonderful to me, but I still miss Mama more than you’d believe possible. When I walk by a place where we’ve been together, my heart aches with wishing she were here with me.

  When something good happens—like finding a job or that cute little apartment—I keep wishing I could tell Mama about it. Having good stuff happen when you have nobody to share it with is kind of sad. It’s like opening up a beautifully wrapped present and discovering the box is empty.

  Times when I feel like that, I remember Mama saying, “Just wait, and one day you’ll find the magic meant for you.”

  I’m starting to think maybe she was right.

  The Strike

  On Saturday morning Christine left Missus Feeney’s Boarding House and moved into the small studio apartment. She spent the afternoon unpacking her clothes, smoothing the wrinkles from her dresses and hanging them in the closet. She set shoes side by side in a row along the floor of the closet, shoved a small box of heavy sweaters onto the top shelf and then filled the drawers of the highboy.

  Once everything was put away and arranged to her liking, she dropped down on the sofa and sat there looking around. Already the place felt like home. Christine felt confident that despite the rent being more than she’d planned on spending, she’d made the right decision.

  That afternoon she pulled on a lightweight jacket and began exploring the neighborhood. She walked up and down the crooked little streets, looking in shop windows and nodding amicably to passersby. Four blocks east of the building she happened upon a Friendly’s Grocery Store and went in. With only eight dollars to last until payday, she held back on buying anything extravagant and stuck to the necessities: eggs, milk, bread, bologna and one small bag of chocolate chip cookies.

  That evening for supper Christine fixed herself a scrambled egg sandwich. Oddly enough, it tasted almost as good as Missus Feeney’s homemade stew.

  On Monday morning, Christine woke a half hour earlier than necessary. She dressed quickly and was out the door with plenty of time for walking to work. Retracing the path she and Angie had taken on Friday, she walked with a bounce in her step and her handbag swinging back and forth.

  The walk took twenty minutes, and when she passed the shoemaker on Clinton Street she caught sight of her reflection in the store window. For a moment it seemed not to be her. The girl in the glass had squared-back shoulders and a broad grin. The girl in the glass was who Christine wanted to be, not who she was. As she passed by the Laundromat, she sneaked a second glance and saw it was indeed her. The new her.

  She had somehow become a person who could discover the magic her mama spoke of.

  Christine’s first week of actually working the switchboard flew by, and with each day she became more adept and faster at answering callers. In addition to saying “Number, please” and “Thank you,” she took to adding an occasional “Have a lovely day.”

  She had hoped to be working side by side with Angie as she had in training. But Angie had children who needed care and a husband with a still-broken leg, so she’d been excused from the split shift and temporarily assigned days.

  On Wednesday after Christine cashed her paycheck and took a bit extra from the savings account, she met Angie in the break room and handed her the remainder of the rent.

  “I’m loving the apartment,” she said and smiled.

  It was true. Not only did she love the apartment, she also loved the neighborhood, the friendly shopkeepers, the invigorating walks back and forth to work, and the newfound independence she was growing into. By the time Friday rolled around she had made three new friends and joined the bowling league. On Saturday she telephoned Emory and told him the good news.

  “I’ve got a terrific job,” she said, “and a lovely apartment.”

  “That’s great,” he replied. “Tell me all about it.”

  She did, explaining how she’d met Angie and through Angie sublet the apartment.

  “It’s a whole new feeling,” she added. “I wake up in the morning and can’t wait to jump out of bed.”

  Saying nothing about how empty the house felt without her or how a dinner alone was something he’d come to dread, Emory said, “Your mama would be proud of you. She believed you could do it, and it looks like you’re proving her right.”

  There was a brief moment of silence; then he added, “Just remember, if you ever need anything I’m here for you. You have only to call.”

  “Thank you, Granddaddy, but you don’t have to worry. I’m doing great. And it makes me feel good to know I’m doing what Mama wanted.”

  * * *

  The second week of working at the Southern Atlantic Telephone Company started out just fine. On Wednesday Christine went in, worked the morning shift as she always did, then walked back to the apartment and tidied up. That afternoon she carried a load of clothes to the Laundromat, washed, dried and folded them, then returned home. After a quick sandwich, she applied a fresh coat of lipstick and headed back to the telephone company for the second half of her shift.

  When she arrived at the building, there was a large group of women milling around outside. They were waving signs and chanting, “No raise, no work!” The women were pushed up against one another and standing five deep. Angie was smack in the middle of the crowd. Christine eased past two girls with their fists in the air and tugged on Angie’s shoulder.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “It’s a strike. Nobody works unless they agree to our demands.”

  Christine wrinkled her brow. “What demands?”

  “Haven’t you been going to the union meetings?” Angie said. “They’re trying to get us better pay, more vacation and pension benefits. The company is playing hardball, so the union called a strike.”

  “Fine for you,” Christine said, “but I’ve got to go in. I’m working split shift.”

  Angie turned and gave a warning glare. “Are you crazy? Do you know what will happen if you try to cross the line?”

  Christine shook her head.

  “They’ll crucify you! You won’t have a friend left in the entire company!”

  “Oh, dear.” A look of dismay settled on Christine’s face. “I really can’t afford to get fired because I didn’t show up for work.”

  A middle-aged woman with a gray bun pinned atop her head turned.

  “That’s what the union is for. Stick with us, and you can’t get fired.” She handed Christine a sign. “Here, move up front to where those policemen are and start waving this.”

  “I don’t feel comfortable doing that,” Christine replied apprehensively. “Can’t I do something else? Something less conspicuous?”

  “Okay.” The woman yanke
d the sign back and handed Christine a five-dollar bill. “Run down to the A&P and get ten cartons of eggs.”

  “Ten cartons? But what—”

  “I don’t have time for questions, just go!”

  Angie nudged Christine’s back and whispered, “Go. Gertrude’s our union rep. She knows what she’s doing.”

  Feeling more than a little bit intimidated, Christine turned and started toward the grocery store. Eggs didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but maybe the union was planning to feed the strikers.

  It took almost twenty minutes to walk to the A&P and return with the two sacks of eggs. When Christine approached the crowd, she saw Angie but couldn’t find Gertrude.

  The crowd was thicker now and louder. Christine tried to maneuver her way through to Angie, but it was impossible. She was trying to squeeze past the brunette waving a sign that read “Unfair Wages” when Gertrude spotted her.

  “Hey, kid, over here!”

  Gertrude raised her arm and motioned to the crowd. “Let the kid through.”

  The strikers pushed back to make an opening wide enough for Christine to move through to the front of the line where Gertrude was standing. As soon as she squeezed by, the crowd closed up and went back to waving signs and hollering.

  Christine handed over both bags. Gertrude grabbed them and started passing out cartons of eggs to everybody on the front line.

  “Give it to ’em!” she yelled.

  The eggs began flying through the air, hitting the glass entrance of the Southern Atlantic Telephone Company, splattering the front of the building and ultimately bombarding the handful of policemen who rushed the crowd trying to stop the melee. A beefy looking sergeant raised his arm and waggled a finger in Christine’s direction.

  “Get the girl with the ponytail! She’s the troublemaker who brought the eggs!”

  Christine turned and tried to disappear back into the crowd, but it was impenetrable. Seconds later a strong hand latched onto her elbow and lead her away.