Winter of the World

‘Yes, she’s expecting a call. Please hold on.’ She probably had to get special permission to receive a phone call at work, he reflected.

A few moments later he heard ‘This is Jacky, who’s that?’

‘Greg Peshkov.’

‘I thought so. How did you get my address?’

‘I hired a private detective. Can we meet?’

‘I guess we have to. But there’s one condition.’

‘What?’

‘You have to swear by all that’s holy not to tell your father. Never, ever.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ll explain later.’

He shrugged. ‘Okay.’

‘Do you swear?’

‘Sure.’

She persisted. ‘Say it.’

‘I swear it, okay?’

‘All right. You can buy me lunch.’

Greg frowned. ‘Are there any restaurants in this neighbourhood that will serve a white man and a black woman together?’

‘Only one that I know of – the Electric Diner.’

‘I’ve seen it.’ He had noticed the name, but he had never been inside: it was a cheap lunch counter used by janitors and messengers. ‘What time?’

‘Half past eleven.’

‘So early?’

‘What time do you think waitresses have lunch – one o’clock?’

He grinned ‘You’re as sassy as ever.’

She hung up.

Greg finished his press release and took the typed sheets into his boss’s office. Dropping the draft into the in-tray, he said: ‘Would it be convenient for me to take an early lunch, Mike? Around eleven-thirty?’

Mike was reading the op-ed page of the New York Times. ‘Yeah, no problem,’ he said without looking up.

Greg walked past the White House in the sunshine and reached the diner at eleven-twenty. It was empty but for a handful of people taking a mid-morning break. He sat in a booth and ordered coffee.

He wondered what Jacky would have to say. He looked forward to the solution of a puzzle that had mystified him for six years.

She arrived at eleven thirty-five, wearing a black dress and flat shoes – her waitress uniform without the apron, he presumed. Black suited her, and he remembered vividly the sheer pleasure of looking at her, with her bow-shaped mouth and her big brown eyes. She sat opposite him and ordered a salad and a Coke. Greg had more coffee: he was too tense to eat.

Her face had lost the childish plumpness he remembered. She had been sixteen when they met, so she was twenty-two now. They had been kids playing at being grown up; now they really were adults. In her face he read a story that had not been there six years ago: disappointment and suffering and hardship.

‘I work the day shift,’ she told him. ‘Come in at nine, set the tables, dress the room. Wait at lunch, clear away, leave at five.’

‘Most waitresses work in the evening.’

‘I like to have evenings and weekends free.’

‘Still a party girl!’

‘No, mostly I stay home and listen to the radio.’

‘I guess you have lots of boyfriends.’

‘All I want.’

It took him a moment to realize that could mean anything.

Her lunch came. She drank her Coke and picked at the salad.

Greg said: ‘So why did you run out, back in 1935?’

She sighed. ‘I don’t want to tell you this, because you’re not going to like it.’

‘I have to know.’

‘I got a visit from your father.’

Greg nodded. ‘I figured he must have had something to do with it.’

‘He had a goon with him – Joe something.’

‘Joe Brekhunov. He’s a thug.’ Greg began to feel angry. ‘Did he hurt you?’

‘He didn’t need to, Greg. I was scared to death just looking at him. I was ready to do anything your father wanted.’

Greg suppressed his fury. ‘What did he want?’

‘He said I had to leave, right then. I could write you a note but he would read it. I had to come back here to Washington. I was so sad to leave you.’

Greg remembered his own anguish. ‘Me, too,’ he said. He was tempted to reach across the table and take her hand, but he was not sure she would want that.

She went on: ‘He said he would give me a weekly allowance just to keep away from you. He’s still paying me. It’s only a few bucks but it takes care of the rent. I promised – but somehow I managed to summon up the nerve to make one condition.’

‘What?’

‘That he would never make a pass at me. If he did, I would tell you everything.’

‘And he agreed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not many people get away with threatening him.’

She pushed her plate away. ‘Then he said if I broke my word Joe would cut my face. Joe showed me his straight razor.’

It all fell into place. ‘That’s why you’re still scared.’

Her dark skin was bloodless with fear. ‘You bet your goddamn life.’

Greg’s voice fell to a whisper. ‘Jacky, I’m sorry.’

She forced a smile. ‘Are you sure he was so wrong? You were fifteen. It’s not a good age to get married.’

‘If he had said that to me, it might be different. But he decides what’s going to happen and just does it, as if no one else is entitled to an opinion.’

‘Still, we had good times.’

‘You bet.’

‘I was your Gift.’

He laughed. ‘Best present I ever got.’

‘So what are you doing these days?’

‘Working in the press office at the State Department for the summer.’

She made a face. ‘Sounds boring.’

‘It’s the opposite! It’s so exciting to watch powerful men make earth-shaking decisions, just sitting there at their desks. They run the world!’