I could not bring myself to embrace her. I said I had to go to work. A train to catch. The wind was bitter off the ocean. By the time I arrived to the station my eyes were full of tears. On the train I had to assure several old nosy women nothing was wrong. I told them I only had a chill.
Mazie’s Diary, February 18, 1921
He was four days late, missed Valentine’s Day, and I don’t care because I’m not thinking about him at all, because who needs to bother with a lousy skunk? I put the postcard up in the cage anyway because the picture was pretty. The ocean, the other ocean across America. Mountains in the distance. I don’t know if I ever need to see a mountain in person, but I like knowing they’re out there. I’ve been turning and looking at it all day. I don’t know why, but it gave me a kind of faith in the world.
Doesn’t matter what it said on the other side of it, though. His words are so slippery they might slide right off the paper.
Mazie’s Diary, February 27, 1921
There was Jeanie in the living room this morning before I went to work, bending and stretching, trying to stand on her tippy toes. Desperate. Half squatting. Wobbly, leaning on the walls, breathing like a wretched old woman. I watched her from the doorway and she gave me a glance but kept huffing away. Then she fell backward and I rushed to her. There she was, tender in my arms. I kissed her forehead.
I said: You can do whatever you put your mind to.
She said: I want to be better right now, not later.
I said: You will. You’re from a family of tough broads even if you think you’re a fairy princess.
I hugged her, and she hugged me back.
I said: I didn’t realize I was jealous of you until you came home.
I didn’t even know where it came from, but now at last, there was a real truth hovering between us.
She said: I bet you’re not jealous now.
I said: No, I’m not.
So we’ll work on this for a while. We’ll work on getting our Jeanie stronger. Whatever she needs, I’ll give her.
Mazie’s Diary, March 1, 1921
Told Mack he could pick me up tomorrow in the early evening just to get him to shut up already. Rudy said he’d stead me. Rudy wishes I’d fall in love more than I do, more than Rosie, more than anyone.
Lydia Wallach
She did not have the best of luck with men. Dating in New York City has apparently always been terrible throughout history. You know: A good man is hard to find, and all that jazz.
Mazie’s Diary, March 3, 1921
Well, that was a flop.
First, the weather was cursed last night. Blustery spring wind, the kind that shakes up all the dirt and debris. I kept having to hold my skirt to my legs while waiting in front of the theater.
Then Mack showed up three sheets to the wind. He stumbled into a trash bin a half block away, and then struggled to right it. I laughed while I was watching him and then I remembered that was my date for the evening and it wasn’t funny at all.
I said: Oh brother, here comes trouble.
For his one and only act of chivalry of the night he removed his hat, but then promptly dropped it, and the wind grabbed it. I watched him chase it down the block. I turned to Rudy in the cage. Rudy whistled and looked away.
Eventually he got ahold of his hat and ran back slowly, then stood in front of me, breathless for a moment.
I said: Are you completely sloshed, Mack Walters?
He said: I am, ma’am.
I said: I took a night off work for this?
He said: I got nervous.
I was fuming. I started flapping my hands around and giving him the what for. I can’t even remember all that I said except for the last bit.
I said: And now Rudy’s got to stay late. He’s got a wife and children who’d like to see him one of these days.
He said: I didn’t know what else to do. You’re just so lovely, Mazie Phillips. You’re a pretty, pretty girl. Look at your pretty hair.
He reached out and touched my hair, the creep. I swatted his hand away, and gave him a good shove to boot. His eyes got larger, and for a moment I was terrified. I had just hit a police officer. In or out of uniform those lads still rule the streets. But instead his eyes filled with tears.
He said: I’ve been waiting for years for this and now I’ve gone and messed everything up.
I said: All right, all right, don’t go crying, especially not on your beat. You don’t want anyone to see you like that.
He let out a sob.
I said: Come on, you fool.
I dragged him down the street and the spring wind soon cooled him off. Finny’s was the only place I could take him. A drunk for a drunk’s joint. When we walked in the door Finny raised his hands in the air and everyone in the bar slid their drinks behind their backs or in their coats. As if that would make a goddamn difference. I snorted at them.
I said: Put your hands down, Finny. He’s off duty.
Finny said: I never know what to expect from the long arm of the law anymore.
I shoved Mack up to the bar and told him he’d better start buying, and he spilled some change on the counter, and paid into the wee hours. It wasn’t all bad, last night. I stayed late, so I must have been having some kind of fun. There was a laugh or two, once he calmed down. I wouldn’t let him touch me though. Funny, I’ll let any old fella passing through for the night grab me and squeeze me, but the men who’d stick around, I won’t let them near me.
Also he told me something that scared me — that they’re looking at Al Flicker for the Wall Street bombing last year.
I said: Al Flicker wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s an intellectual.
Mack said: What do you know of intellectuals?
I said: I know enough to know they’re too caught up in their heads to worry about bombing J. P. Morgan. They’d rather just talk about it all day instead.
Mack said: Well Al Flicker’s the one we’re watching.
I said: If it was me and I killed all those people, I wouldn’t stick around. Whoever did it is long gone.
At the end of the night Mack poured me into a cab. He had somehow drunk enough to be sober again, while I was finally as drunk as he’d been when he first arrived. I let him kiss my hand. I did let him do that. His lips were like cool jelly on my skin and I knew he was not the one for me.
Mazie’s Diary, April 16, 1921
Sister Tee’s been telling me about some of the saints. She says every kind of person has their own kind of saint to watch over them. I told her about my date with Mack and it made her titter.
She said: Saint Liberata, patron saint of unwanted suitors and marriages.
She stands at the cage and rattles off their life stories. Better than the gossip rags sometimes. Better than my life anyway. Some saints begin their lives imperfect and then turn into something special. Sister Tee says we are the sum of our imperfections. We sin and then we learn from our sins.
Sister Tee said: You can do wrong and then turn right.
I said: You believe that?
Because I truly needed to believe it, too.
I want saints for everything. Saint of Free Spirits. Saint of Dancing Fools. Saint of the Ocean. Saint of the Sky. Saint of the Moon. Saint of the Lovers. I want to feel watched over and safe, but from afar. I like to think about all the saints looking over me. They’re above and I’m below.
I know they’re not real. I’m no fool. Only it’s sweet to have something to dream about in that cage of mine.
Mazie’s Diary, April 20, 1921
Jeanie’s health is much improved. She walked down to the ocean with me this morning. Scarves and hats and in the wind, wrapped so tight we could barely move our mouths. We stood together in the sand. It wasn’t a far distance. But it was the end of the block. It was somewhere.