Mazie’s Diary, February 10, 1918
A charmed life’s what I’ve had up till now I see.
Thirteen-hour days, and all I can do is drink myself to sleep lately. Rosie says it gets easier. Rosie’s got it easy herself right now. Jeanie’s been going to the track instead of Rosie. I can’t say I’m not jealous. How long could it go on though, me sitting here? It’s been two weeks. I’m sure they won’t want me to stay here forever. Whatever lesson they want me to learn I’ll swear I learned it.
Jeanie doesn’t even like the track that much. She says there’s a man there who’s sweet on her though, always tipping his hat at her, running after her, opening doors she didn’t even know needed opening.
She said: It’s like he made these doors up out of thin air.
She told me he was a horse doctor from Long Island. His name’s Ethan Fallow.
I said: What kind of name is that?
She said: I don’t know, but he’s taller than me, so I don’t care.
Mazie’s Diary, February 12, 1918
That train, that goddamned noisy train. I have to yell all day long to be heard over it. People lean in with their hands on their ears to hear what I have to say. At least I’m making them pay attention to me.
Mazie’s Diary, February 22, 1918
I don’t know what to make of that fella Rudy. He’s nice and respectful, so I can’t say as I mind him. But he’s always creeping around late. I can’t wait to leave when it’s closing time, and he’s still there after dark. He’s free to do what he likes. He’s not ripping anyone off I don’t think. Only what about his family? All those little boys running around afoot. He and that wife of his are baby machines. You’d think he’d want to go home to them. Or maybe not.
Lydia Wallach
As I said, he was dead long before I was born. I’m sorry I don’t have a “he bounced me on his knee in the theater” story or anything like that. But yes, he was a legendary cinephile at that time, as legendary as one can be for that sort of thing. I know what you’re thinking. Oh he really liked movies, good for him. But he was part of a network of movie theater managers who had late-night screenings of art films imported — or sometimes smuggled, depending on the state of war — from Europe. Of course it’s not really a big deal to anyone. He’s not in any history books, or anything like that. It was just this sort of very cool thing that he did — cool if you find people being obsessive about things cool, that is. Which I do, a bit.
But I don’t know terribly much beyond that. I do know that it was something that drove my great-grandmother crazy, because she had wanted him home more with his sons. It became something that my grandfather and his three brothers treasured because eventually they were permitted to attend these late-night screenings. It was influential on them to a certain extent. One of my great-uncles did move to Hollywood for a short period of time, I think just a few years, and he was an extra in movies though he never got a speaking part. And then there was another brother who eventually ended up in the Midwest, in Madison, where he helped to start a film archive, and he stayed there until he died, which was not that long ago actually. I did not go to the funeral, because I had a lot of funerals last year, and one more seemed unnecessary.
And, of course, I work as a lawyer for a cable company, the name of which I don’t feel comfortable stating in this interview, on rights and issues for their original programming. I minored in film at NYU — we were in a class together there, right? I thought you looked familiar. And I always thought I would do entertainment law, the whole time I was in law school. There was really no question I would do otherwise. My family has always relaxed by watching movies. When I think of my childhood, I think of my hand in a bucket of popcorn. It’s quite visceral, this memory. Whenever I smell butter I feel small and comforted and safe. Just talking about it now makes me want to lick my fingers.
Mazie’s Diary, March 1, 1918
I met a nun today. Holy moly, my first nun.
It’s not like I’ve never seen a nun before. They’re all over the place, those Catholics, trying to save everyone’s soul on the Bowery, all the people having too much fun for their own good. But they’ve always left me alone before. I don’t know why. Maybe my dresses are too fine for them to bother with me. But I’m sitting in that booth all day, a working stiff, doing what I do. So now they’re after me I guess.
All right, I was taking a nip from the flask, it’s true. A nip and a cigarette, no one can blame me. I’d read all my True Romances, and there wasn’t another show for twenty minutes. Jeanie had already stopped by to drop off my lunch, she was off to the track. People were hustling by on the sidewalk, but no one stopped to say hello. Cars choking on the street, cursed train rumbling above. Nothing left to do but drink.
So I lift the flask to my mouth, and then out of nowhere, there she is, her face pressed up against the glass of my cage, her hands to the bars. I screamed.
She said: Before you drink, think.
I caught my breath, but then I was seeing red.
I said: I’m thinking just fine.
I tipped the end of the flask into my mouth. She shook her head, judging me on behalf of Jesus. She had honey-blond hair, a little wisp of it sneaking out from her habit. Her eyes were like blue glass, they had a shimmer to them. No makeup, just her face. She wasn’t much older than me, and she was short like me, but I didn’t know if she had the same curves under that habit. There we were, two girls on Park Row. Only one of us was showing a lot more skin.
I said: I ain’t hurting anyone.
She said: Except yourself.
I said: Oh brother.
I started blowing smoke in her direction and she took a step back.
I said: What’s your name, sister?
She said: Sister Tee.
I said: What’s the Tee for?
She said: It’s T-e-e not T. Tee’s for Theresa but there’s ten Theresas in the church so we all have different nicknames and I’m just Tee, because I’m wee.
This made me like her. She’s just a kid, I thought. I’m one too, I guess.
She said: We’re not talking about me though. We’re talking about you. And your soul.
I said: I’m Jewish so you can stop worrying about my soul.
She said: Everyone can be saved.
I said: Sister Tee, you wouldn’t even know where to begin with me.
It made her laugh a little bit. She was sweet. I’d have liked to see her out of that habit, all dolled up, in a club on Second Avenue, dancing up a storm with the sailors. Slap some rouge on those baby cheeks of hers and she’d grow up real fast. But it was not to be, me and Sister Tee.
A line started to build for the next show.
I said: All right, go find another drunk to help. I got work to do.
She said: Remember to think about what I said.
I said: Scram.
I waved her off with my hand.
She swished off in her skirts, and I was missing her already.
I said: But come back sometime. Come back and say hi.