Virginia knew needling her daughter wasn’t the best tactic, but she couldn’t help herself. “If you hadn’t dropped out of school this semester, you’d have a darkroom. At Sarah Lawrence.”
Ruby turned her head to the side. “Yes, Mom. I remember where I went to school.”
“Well, it’ll still be there if you decide to go back in January, so you’ll just have to hold out until then.”
When she’d picked Ruby up at school only a few weeks into the semester, she expected to bring her home for a long weekend at most, to make her favorite meals and offer some maternal advice before sending her right back. But Ruby had steadfastly refused to return to school, saying she was only going to fail if she did, so what was the point? In the end, Ruby’s tearstained face and abject misery had warranted a stronger plan of action, one that Chester loudly objected to: Withdraw for the semester and look for a less rigorous program. Virginia still held a small sliver of hope that Ruby would decide to give Sarah Lawrence another try in the spring. She’d given up so easily, so early. The official school withdrawal slip still sat on Virginia’s desk, unsent.
Yet the girl had always struggled in school, socially and academically, and Virginia was fairly certain the only reason she got into Sarah Lawrence in the first place was that Chester’s mother had pulled some strings. Virginia often fretted that her own worries about fitting in had rubbed off on her daughter. Throughout high school, Ruby had maneuvered through the world behind the safety of a camera lens. The yearbook was full of her photos of her classmates—the debate team, the theater club—but none of Ruby. Other than the official school photo, which for some reason broke Virginia’s heart: her daughter’s angelic face raised at a slight angle, as if in disbelief that someone’s attention was on her, her eyes bright with excitement. When Virginia asked Ruby what she’d been thinking of, Ruby had said she’d been chatting with the professional photographer about f-stops and apertures.
They’d grown even closer after Chester left, but now their relationship was fraying. Ruby had become irritable and secretive, disappearing for hours at a time. She fumed and stormed off whenever Virginia asked about going back to Sarah Lawrence or transferring into a new school. And now this.
“I need money to help pay for the darkroom. We’re going to set it up ourselves.”
“Who is this ‘we’ you refer to?” Virginia wiped off the lipstick she’d just applied. Too pink. Best to stick to her everyday rose.
“It’s a group downtown. Like an art collective.”
Smart girl, that Ruby, to bring up the artistic angle in her argument. Virginia’s first love was art history, which she’d studied at Barnard, specializing in medieval art. But she wouldn’t be swayed so easily. “I would have to meet these people first. I’m sure you understand my concerns.”
Ruby scowled. “They’re not like that. They’ll laugh at me and kick me out if I say that they have to come uptown and meet my mom.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve been on my case for not doing anything these past two months. Now I’m working with my hands, making something real, and you don’t like that either.”
She had a point. She was nineteen, after all. It was nice to see her striking out on her own, following an artistic passion. Virginia hated to shoot her down. “How much?”
“A hundred dollars.”
Virginia turned to face her, her mouth open. “You’re kidding, right? What on earth do you need a hundred dollars for?”
“I told you, to set up a professional darkroom. We’re all chipping in.”
“You’re being swindled. No. Even if I had the money, I wouldn’t give it to you. Where is this art collective you go to?”
“The East Village. East Sixth Street.”
Had she lost her mind? Virginia pictured a group of heroin addicts shooting up in an abandoned building, eyeing Ruby and her camera as easy prey. “It’s dangerous down there. I don’t like the idea of you wandering around that neighborhood.”
“God, I’m not a child anymore. Forget it, then.” Ruby bounded off the bed and out of the room, her exit punctuated by the slamming of her bedroom door.
Her daughter was lost, searching for some meaning in her life, and Virginia knew what that was like. She shouldn’t have overreacted. Ruby didn’t know how much they were struggling financially. Virginia had shielded her from the truth as much as possible, calling her job hunt a “fun lark.” She dreaded introducing the additional stress into her daughter’s life.
But for now, she was late for her date.
The restaurant Dennis had chosen was located close to Grand Central, which made sense since he lived on the Hudson Line. Virginia knew it took around thirty minutes to get to the Yonkers stop, depending on whether you were traveling at peak hours. Not a bad commute.
He was already inside, near the back, at a booth. He stood and kissed her on the cheek, a mix of soap and aftershave she’d always found appealing. The scent brought back memories of hot summer nights up on the roof of her parents’ apartment building, necking with her high school crush.
Dennis ordered a wine for her and a beer for him. “You been staying out of trouble, little missy?” he asked.
“Luckily, yes.”
“I bought you a present.”
Her heart thumped as he reached into his coat pocket. She hadn’t received a gift from a man in ages. Whenever it had been her birthday, she’d gone out and bought herself whatever she wanted and told Chester what he’d gotten her, so as not to be disappointed by his forgetting the day entirely.
Dennis placed a can of something on the table. “Mace. For your protection.”
Not what she’d expected. Still. “How thoughtful. And practical.”
“How’s the job going so far?” He passed a menu to her.
She searched for something interesting to say that might impress him. “I’ve been reading through the handbook for info booth clerks. Did you know that there’s a newsreel theater opposite track 17, and that until the 1960s, CBS had a television studio in Grand Central?”
“Sure did. You can’t surprise me with anything about that place. I know it all. But why are you learning about stuff from the 1960s? It’s not like a passenger is going to come up and ask that.”
“Oh, we get all kinds of strange questions. You’d be surprised. But the handbook is ancient, probably from the 1950s. Whenever it needs updating, Terrence just adds in more pages at the front. I like the older stuff, to be honest, finding out what it was like way back when. There’s even a photo of the information booth back before the terminal opened to the public. Turns out the metal frame on top is supposed to be shiny brass, not black.”
In fact, after studying the photo, she’d picked up some brass cleaner during her break and spent the afternoon wiping down the exterior detailing until it reflected her face back to her. Totto and Doris, the most caustic of the booth’s employees, had snickered at her while she worked, but she didn’t care. Terrence had given her a thumbs-up from behind the window.
She shrugged. “Anyway, it’s a job. I’m not sure I’m much help.”
They both ordered the shepherd’s pie, then clinked glasses.
“How do you like working for Penn Central?” she asked.
“It’s interesting enough. My grandfather was a conductor, so we have a family legacy in the railroad, you could say. But that was back when train travel was something special. Did you know that they used to roll out a red carpet for passengers on the Twentieth Century Limited, which ran between Chicago and New York? That’s where the phrase ‘roll out the red carpet’ comes from.”
Virginia smiled at his boyish excitement. “You’re a real train buff, then?”
“Even had an electric train set as a kid. I loved that thing.” He took another swig of beer. “Ironic that I’m the one ripping the place apart.”