Winter of the World

‘People would find it strange.’

‘People would get used to it. They get used to anything. Does Jesus have to be played by a Jew? Nobody cares.’

She was right, Greg thought, but, all the same, it was never going to happen.

When Lev had announced their return to Buffalo – leaving it until the last minute, as usual – Greg had been devastated. He had asked his father if Jacky could come to Buffalo, but Lev had laughed and said: ‘Son, you don’t shit where you eat. You can see her next time you come to Washington.’

Despite that, Jacky had followed him to Buffalo a day later and moved into a cheap apartment near Canal Street.

Lev and Greg had been busy for the next couple of weeks with the takeover of Roseroque Theatres. Dave had sold for two million in the end, a quarter of the original offer, and Greg’s admiration for his father went up another notch. Jacky had withdrawn her charges and hinted to the newspapers that she had accepted a cash settlement. Greg was awestruck by his father’s callous nerve.

And he had Jacky. He told his mother he was out every night with male friends but, in fact, he spent all his spare time with Jacky. He showed her around town, picnicked with her at the beach, even managed to take her out in a borrowed speedboat. No one connected her with the rather blurred newspaper photograph of a girl walking out of the Ritz-Carlton hotel in a bathrobe. But mostly they spent the warm summer evenings having sweaty, deliriously happy sex, tangling the worn sheets on the narrow bed in her small apartment. They decided to get married as soon as they were old enough.

Tonight he was taking her to the Yacht Club Ball.

It had been extraordinarily difficult to get tickets, but Greg had bribed a school friend.

He had bought Jacky a new dress, pink satin. He got a generous allowance from Marga, and Lev loved to slip him fifty bucks now and again, so he always had more money than he needed.

In the back of his mind a warning was sounding. Jacky would be the only Negro at the ball not serving drinks. She was very reluctant to go, but Greg had talked her round. The young men would envy him but the older ones might be hostile, he knew. There would be some muttering. Jacky’s beauty and charm would overcome much prejudice, he felt: how could anyone resist her? But if some fool got drunk and insulted her, Greg would teach him a lesson with both fists.

Even as he thought this, he heard his mother telling him not to be a love-struck fool. But a man could not go through life listening to his mother.

As he walked along Canal Street in white tie and tails, he looked forward to seeing her in the new dress, and maybe kneeling to lift the hem up until he could see her panties and garter belt.

He entered her building, an old house now subdivided. There was a threadbare red carpet on the stairs and a smell of spicy cooking. He let himself into the apartment with his own key.

The place was empty.

That was odd. Where would she go without him?

With fear in his heart, he opened the closet. The pink satin ball dress hung there on its own. Her other clothes were gone.

‘No!’ he said aloud. How could this happen?

On the rickety pine table was an envelope. He picked it up and saw his name on the front in Jacky’s neat, schoolgirl handwriting. A feeling of dread came over him.

He tore open the envelope with shaky hands and read the short message.

My darling Greg,

The last three weeks have been the happiest time of my entire life. I knew in my heart that we couldn’t ever get married but it was nice to pretend. You are a lovely boy and will grow into a fine man, if you don’t take after your father too much.

Had Lev found out that Jacky was living here, and somehow made her leave? He would not do that – would he?

Goodbye and don’t forget me.

Your Gift,

Jacky

Greg crumpled the paper and wept.

(ix)

‘You look wonderful,’ Eva Rothmann said to Daisy Peshkov. ‘If I was a boy, I’d fall in love with you in a minute.’

Daisy smiled. Eva was already a little bit in love with her. And Daisy did look wonderful, in an ice-blue silk organdie ball gown that deepened the blue of her eyes. The skirt of the dress had a frilled hem that was ankle length in front but rose playfully to mid-calf behind, giving a tantalizing glimpse of Daisy’s legs in sheer stockings.

She wore a sapphire necklace of her mother’s. ‘Your father bought me that, back in the days when he was still occasionally nice to me,’ Olga said. ‘But hurry up, Daisy, you’re making us all late.’

Olga was wearing matronly navy blue, and Eva was in red, which suited her dark colouring.

Daisy walked down the stairs on a cloud of happiness.