Chapter Eight:
April 25 1940
"What are you doing out here?"
It wasn't an act of concern or a scolding, but merely a jest.
Alana raised her head. Her dark makeup was running down her face almost resembling the bruises she'd used to cover up.
"Why aren't you inside? Aren't you up next?" he asked.
Because my costume isn't fitting right and wont for very much longer! She wanted to scream. Instead she half smiled, trying unsuccessfully to hide the fact she had just been crying.
"Just… getting some air."
She nonchalantly leaned her shoulder on the brick building and clicked her heels on the city sidewalk.
The man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes.
"Yeah me too," he said motioning the box to her.
She shook her head in response and he pulled one for himself. She'd seen him before. He was a client, and as she recalled, slightly less rotten than the rest. He leaned his shoulder on the wall next to her, uncomfortably close, and she moved her eyes away. Leaning over he brushed her hair behind her ear and she shuttered. Her tears had stopped but she still felt rotten. He continued to brush her hair out of her face before he grabbed her chin and moved his mouth to her cheek.
"No," she said stepping away.
He rolled his eyes and reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet.
"No! I don't do that anymore."
He looked up at her in playful disbelief and nearly scoffed. Ignoring her he stepped forward and grabbed the sides of her face and she pulled away.
"Stop! I can't! I'm pregnant!" she screamed.
He stared back at her unmoving. She broke down again, tears spilled out of her eyes and her lip quivered. She pressed her back against the brick and slid herself down to the ground. Crouching she put her face in her hands.
"Ah fuck," he replied.
She looked up at him with teary eyes, amazed to see him smiling.
"It's not mine is it?" he asked.
It took her a second to realize he was joking and to both of their surprise she let out a small laugh.
"No," she said glancing down briefly then back up with a small smile, "And it wouldn't be! How long has it been? Two years?"
This was a sense of coolness she didn't realize she still possessed.
He shrugged. "Just making sure."
He lit his cigarette and took a long drag. What an unusual response this was, and she found it oddly comforting. He wasn't angry with her that he wasn't getting lucky. He wasn't hitting her either. He was making jokes. Alana couldn't remember the last time she laughed. She smiled up at him.
"Who's the lucky guy?" he asked exhaling smoke.
He might've just been trying to make conversation, but it hurt nonetheless. She turned her face to the ground, eyes tearing up again, and shuttered at the recollection.
He took another drag. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."
She smiled and shook her head. "It's okay."
The night was dark. Only the streetlights and the end of his cigarette provided their light. The weather was taking a brief pause from its constant rain, which sat in brown puddles in dips in the concrete. Although it was spring, it was still April, and the night was chilly enough to tinge both the ends of their ears and noses pink.
"What're ya gonna do?"
She stared up at him. What was it to him? What did he care? But more importantly, why was he even interested? She didn't answer but stood back up and continued to stare at him. He looked back continuing drags of his cigarette.
"Why?" she finally whispered.
He tapped on his cigarette knocking the ashes off. "Well, I work for a place that helps people. Women in… similar situations."
"Oh," she gasped placing her hand on her abdomen and backing up a pace.
"Ah Jesus not like that!" he said with a hint of annoyance, "It's an orphanage."
"Oh."
She had considered this option before in the very beginning. All her "friends" at The Gutter were eager to tell her exactly what to do. However, she alone knew what she wanted.
"I don't think I could…" she trailed off.
"Look," he said dropping his cigarette butt and reaching for another, "Just consider it, alright. And I'm there all the time. Come by for help, even if you decide to keep him."
"Him?"
He placed his fresh cigarette between his lips and continued to talk out of the corner of his mouth as he lit a match.
"Well it's a boy's home. I dunno I just assumed you were having a boy. I'd figure something out for you otherwise."
She smiled at the idea of having a boy.
"Well thank you, but I am keeping him."
His match went out before reaching his cigarette and he dropped it on the sidewalk. Slightly stunned he looked up at her.
"You don't have to be a hero ya know."
She'd heard this before.
"I'm not. I know I'm not. Trust me," she chewed on her lip before saying anything else. It was nice to have someone, anyone, to talk to and actually listen. Even a former client with an odd sense of humor.
"The little guy hasn't even started kicking yet. But he's mine and… and I love him. I'm not used to… It's been so long… I'd forgotten. I love him, that's all." She stopped realizing her babbling had turned back into sobs.
He took his unlit cigarette out of his mouth and stuck it back in his pocket, exchanging it for a handkerchief which he immediately held out to her. She sat stunned before taking it. No man had ever shown her this element of kindness. Taking it in her hand she rubbed it on her tear streaked face staining it with her black makeup. The man couldn't help but stare. She wasn't the first young girl he had seen in this situation. But she was the first one to show this much caring and heart.
"Lucky kid," He said smiling, "Just… consider it, alright? And like I said, come by if you need anything. Any help at all."
She lifted her face and looked him in the eye.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because I like you," he stated as if it was obvious.
She turned her face to the ground again smiling, thankful that the night hid her blushing.
"Well, thank you," she whispered, "and I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name."
He let out a laugh, "That bad, was I?"
Her blush turned and deep scarlet. She hid her smile in her jacket collar.
"Stanley."
She looked back up, "I'm Alana."
He smiled and nodded, remembering.
An awkward silence followed before he spoke.
"Can I ask you just one more thing Alana?"
She didn't answer but looked him in the face.
"This kid's dad… are you gonna tell him?"
She turned her face away and suddenly felt guilty realizing she had spent too much time outside.
"No," she said handing back the handkerchief and starting for the door back in. He followed her. She grabbed the handle and sighed deeply before pushing it open.
Without looking back at him she whispered, "He'd kill me."
