“I’m nervous about seeing Edna,” I said at last.
Peg looked surprised. “Why would you see Edna?”
“Why would I not see Edna? I’ll see her at the Lily.”
“Kiddo, Edna’s not at the Lily anymore. She’s in rehearsals right now for As You Like It, over at the Mansfield. She and Arthur moved out of the Lily in the spring. They’re living at the Savoy now. You didn’t hear?”
“But what about City of Girls?”
“Oh, boy. You really haven’t heard anything, have you?”
“Heard anything about what?”
“Back in March, Billy got an offer to move City of Girls to the Morosco Theatre. He took the offer, packed up the show, and went.”
“He packed up the show?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“He took it? He took it from the Lily?”
“Well, he wrote that play and he directed it—so technically it was his to take. That was his argument, anyway. Not that I argued with him about it. Wasn’t gonna win that one.”
“But what about—?” I couldn’t finish the question.
What about everything and everyone, is what I might have asked.
“Yes,” said Peg. “What about it? Well, that’s how Billy operates, kiddo. It was a good deal for him. You know the Morosco. It has a thousand seats, so the money is better. Edna went with him, of course. They did the show for a few months, same as always, until Edna got tired of it. Now she’s gone back to her Shakespeare. They’ve replaced her with Helen Hayes, which isn’t working, as far as I can see. I like Helen, don’t get me wrong. She’s got everything Edna’s got—except that thing that Edna’s got. Nobody’s got that thing. Gertrude Lawrence might have been able to do it justice—she’s got her own version of that thing—but she’s not in town. Really, nobody can do what Edna can do. But they’re still packing the house night after night over there, and it’s like Billy’s got a license to print money.”
I didn’t even know what to say to all this. I was appalled.
“Pick up your jaw, kiddo,” Peg said. “You look like you just fell off a turnip truck.”
“But what about the Lily? What about you and Olive?”
“Business as usual. Scrambling along. Putting on our dumb little productions again. Trying to lure back our humble neighborhood audience. It’s harder now that the war is on, and half our audience is off fighting it. It’s mostly grandmothers and children these days. That’s why I took the commission at the Navy Yard—we need the income. Olive was right all along, of course. She knew we’d be left holding the bag after Billy took his playthings and went away. I guess I knew it, too. That’s always the way it goes with Billy. Of course, he took our best performers with him, too. Gladys went with him. Jennie and Roland, too.”
She said all this so mildly. As though betrayal and ruin were the most mundane happenings you could ever imagine.
“What about Benjamin?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, Benjamin got drafted. Can’t blame Billy for that. But can you imagine Benjamin in the military? Putting a gun in those gifted hands? Such a waste. I hate it for him.”
“What about Mr. Herbert?”
“Still with me. Mr. Herbert and Olive will never leave me.”
“No sign of Celia, though?”
It wasn’t really a question. I already knew the answer.
“No sign of Celia,” Peg confirmed. “But I’m sure she’s fine. That cat has about six more lives in her, believe me. I’ll tell you what is interesting, though,” Peg went on, clearly not concerning herself with the fate of Celia Ray. “Billy was right, too. Billy said we could create a hit play together, and we actually did it. We pulled it off! Olive never believed in City of Girls. She thought it would bomb, but she was dead wrong. It was a terrific show. I was right, I believe, to take the risk with Billy. It was an awful lot of fun while it lasted.”
As she told me all this, I stared at her profile, searching for signs of disturbance or suffering—but there were none.
She turned her head, saw me staring at her, and laughed. “Try not to look so shocked, Vivian. It makes you look simple.”
“But Billy promised you the rights to the play! I was there! I heard him say it in the kitchen, the first morning he came to the Lily.”
“Billy promises a lot of things. Somehow, he never got around to putting it in writing.”
“I just can’t believe he did that to you,” I said.
“Look, kiddo, I’ve always known how Billy is, and I invited him in anyway. I don’t regret it. It was an adventure. You must learn in life to take things more lightly, my dear. The world is always changing. Learn how to allow for it. Someone makes a promise, and then they break it. A play gets good notices, and then it folds. A marriage looks strong, and then they divorce. For a while there’s no war, and then there’s another war. If you get too upset about it all, you become a stupid, unhappy person—and where’s the good in that? Now enough about Billy—how was your year? Where were you when Pearl Harbor happened?”
“At the movies. Watching Dumbo. Where were you?”
“Up at the Polo Grounds, watching football. Last Giants game of the season. Then suddenly, late in the second quarter, they start making these strange announcements, asking all active military personnel to report immediately to the main office. I knew right then something bad was afoot. Then Sonny Franck got injured. That distracted me. Not that Sonny Franck has anything to do with it. Hell of a player, though. What a tragic day. Were you at the movies with that fellow you got engaged to? What was his name?”
“Jim Larsen. How did you know I’d gotten engaged?”
“Your mother told me about it last night while you were packing. Sounds like you escaped by the skin of your teeth. Sounds like even your mother was relieved, though she’s tough to read. She was of the opinion that you didn’t much like him.”
This surprised me. My mother and I had never once had an intimate conversation about Jim—or about anything, really. How had she known?
“He was a nice man,” I said lamely.
“Good for him. Give him a trophy for it, but don’t marry a man just because he’s nice. And try not to make a habit of getting engaged in the first place, Vivvie. It can lead to marriage if you’re not careful. Why’d you say yes to him, anyhow?”
“I didn’t know what else to do with myself. Like I say, he was nice.”
“So many girls get married for that same reason. Find something else to do with yourself, I say. Gosh, ladies, take up a hobby!”
“Why did you get married?” I asked.
“Because I liked him, Vivvie. I liked Billy very much. That’s the only reason to ever marry somebody—if you love them or like them. I still like him, you know. I had dinner with him only last week.”
“You did?”
“Of course I did. Look, I can understand that you’re upset with Billy right now—a lot of people are—but what did I tell you earlier, about my rule in life?”
When I didn’t answer, because I couldn’t remember, she reminded me: “Once I like a person, I can only like them always.”
“Oh, that’s right.” But I still wasn’t convinced.
She smiled at me again. “What’s the matter, Vivvie? You think that rule should only apply to you?”
—
It was evening by the time we arrived in New York City.
It was July 15, 1942.
The town was perched proud and solid on its nest of granite, tucked between its two dark rivers. Its stacks of skyscrapers glittered like columns of fireflies in the velvety summer air. We crossed over the silent, commanding bridge—broad and long as a condor’s wing—and entered the city. This dense place. This meaningful place. The greatest metropolis the world has ever known—or at least that’s what I’ve always thought.