The American Lady(39)

“And I’ll ask Marie to write something as well when she comes back today. She’s been here nearly two months now and hasn’t dropped them a line—it’s simply shocking!” Ruth said emphatically.

Wanda stood up hurriedly. Her mother could quite easily work herself into a rage and end up forbidding Wanda to do this, that, or the other.

“I’m very sorry, but my dance class begins in thirty minutes. If I don’t get moving, I’ll miss the start!” She gathered her skirts and was halfway out the door before Ruth could protest. “Perhaps I will even see Marie at Pandora’s studio! If I do, I’ll remind her about the party tomorrow.”



“What didn’t you do?” Wanda was almost shrieking.

“Pay the rent. I just forgot.” Pandora waved away Wanda’s fury. “You might say I had a minor cash-flow problem. These things happen! Not to you, of course, you have Daddy for that sort of trifling detail, don’t you?”

Wanda did her best to ignore the jab. She pointed to the huge bundle of luggage that was piled up in the courtyard of the building where Pandora used to have her dance studio. “Now what?”

The dancer simply shrugged.

When Pandora had announced that the class would take place outside that day, Wanda hadn’t suspected anything was wrong. It was one of Pandora’s exercises, she thought; perhaps they were going to watch the children playing in the streets and then include that in their dance. She only had her doubts at the end of the lesson—which had been much more conventional than Pandora’s usual style—when she and the others wanted to freshen up in the restroom, and Pandora told them that it was closed for repairs. Repairs¸ Wanda wondered, in that fleapit?

While the others had trotted off without washing, Wanda had taken out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from her brow as best she could.

Now Pandora was sitting on the pile of luggage that was all she had left in the world, her shoulders drawn up in misery. Her haughtiness had vanished as though in a puff of smoke.

“Something’s always turned up at the last minute, until now,” she said in a weak voice. “I have so many friends!”

Wanda nodded. And when the moment came, none of them were there to help her!

She turned away and opened the clasp of her handbag discreetly to see how much money she had in her purse. Then she went over to Pandora.

“Get up, you lame duck! I may be just a little rich girl, but let me tell you what happens next! You need a three-stage plan, nothing else will do.”

A faint flicker of hope gleamed in Pandora’s eyes.

“The first thing we need to do is take everything back inside. It won’t do your reputation any good to be seen out here looking like a common beggar.” Wanda had already picked up a bundle.

“Don’t you think I’ve already thought of that? I know how all these law-abiding citizens’ minds work. They’re wondering right now why they should take me seriously as a dancer if I can’t even pay my rent! They simply don’t understand that an artist lives at least partly in another world, so to speak,” Pandora said as she gathered up a stack of hatboxes.

Wanda made a face. That sounded like the old Pandora!

“The next thing I’ll do is talk to your landlord and give him the rent for this month and for August.”

“I can’t accept that!” Pandora protested, although she was already putting the hatboxes down on the first landing.

Wanda felt a flash of anger. She couldn’t help but feel that Pandora had just been waiting for some well-meaning chump like her to turn up. Well, maybe so. Somebody had to take charge of this scatterbrained woman.

“And the third thing . . .” She paused dramatically. Pandora put down the leather suitcase she had in her hand and looked at her. “The third thing we’ll do is organize a dance recital for you, so that you can put a little money back in your cashbox.”





11

It was oppressively hot. The air shimmered in the streets and by midday the housefronts were as hot as a stovetop. The trees were in such dire need of water that they had begun losing their leaves early, as though fall had already come.

On a day like this there was only one place that held out even a hope of relief, Franco declared—the waterfront. And so he took Marie to Coney Island.

Just as he had hoped, Marie was enchanted from the moment she set foot in the Luna Park amusement park, which had its own special atmosphere. They spent hours there, riding the carousels, having their fortunes told by a palmist—“You have many happy days ahead of you,” as if they hadn’t known that already!—and then eating ice cream and strolling barefoot on the sand, hand-in-hand, surrounded by happy people with happy faces. But none of them were happier than Franco.