A/N: A series of pre-canon chapters focusing on Nadine and her relationships with the others in her canon. Anyone you recognize belongs to Joseph Moncure March and Michael John LaChiusa; any cameo-OC's belong to me. The "heed the message" lyric belongs to Shawn Colvin, and is entirely anachronistic. Enjoy.
***
She, a small life packed into a suitcase that rattled above their heads.
He, sleeping lightly, waked by the motion of the train. The girl, her hand suspended a little ways from his arm, felt fascination mix with shame. The passengers stared open threats. The girl, whispering to him, saw two boys, older than she, whispering a few seats away. "Get the conductor…" The girl felt her heart skip a beat. They were watching her now.
"Eddie?" Tugging on his sleeve. One eye slit open. "Tell me about my sister?"
"That all?" His eyes closed, murmurs heavy from sleep. He chuckled, softly, deeply. "Mae's a piece of work…"
She'd hoped for more. He heard a plaintive note in her voice when she asked him, "Was it love at first sight?"
Another chuckle, uneasy. Then something changed in his face, a muscle tightened, an instinct reared, a reflex bowed. The conductor was an unimposing man, flanked by the two boys. He faced Eddie with a sorry look in his eyes.
"We'll have someone watch her." A stranger's hand on the girl's shoulder. "Hope you understand…" Heed the message, kill the messenger… Eddie thought about it. Briefly. Silent vengeance. He stood, and the girl rose with him. He looked at the two boys as he walked away, taking them casually enough by the shoulders, seating them forcefully enough to bruise. He spoke over his shoulder.
"Wait for me on the platform, Nadine. We'll find Mae, hear me?" She nodded, fast, uncertain, "There's a good girl."
The teenage boys watched him go with hate in every curve of their faces. Nadine looked away from them, watching the trees disappear. She thought of a photograph she'd seen of Mary Pickford, reached up for her suitcase and lifted it into her lap, covering the tear in her black stockings.
***
She'd never believed the streets to be paved with gold. Too many people walked them, ran them each day for the gold to last. The gold must have traveled with them. She'd never believed so many people could live on these streets, in one city, share one broad life. What she did believe stemmed from what the kind would call trust and the cruel would call ignorance. She believed in safety. She looked for Marie in every face.
One woman drew a pair of black sunglasses down the length of her jaw, snapping them contemptuously shut in a cheap imitation of Mae West. She stood at the platform's edge and looked, halfhearted and resentful, for the sister she'd never met.
A girl stumbled and eased her way through the crowd, blown like a leaf in the tumult of people, dressed in black like a breeze dark with rain. As she fell past Mae she grabbed her arm to keep from falling. Mae threw her off.
"Go back to school, little girl."
Eddie watched for the breeze-of-black mourning clothes. He pushed through the crowds, and just as his wife, cigarette in hand, flung an arm around his waist, he had found the girl and done the same.
"Don't wander, Nadine, what if I'd not found you?" He looked behind him to meet his wife's eyes. "Kept my promise, Mae. Let's get outta here." Mae was to fend for herself, he kept hold of the girl's arm the whole way, she only slightly bewildered at the solidity of his concern for her. He kept himself between the sisters as they moved through the rush of people, and she had a vague feeling he was denying them an introduction until he no longer had to act as mediator.
By the time they left the station and he was reaching down to take change from his pocket, there was the mark of a bruise on her elbow. Handing the change to his wife, a 50-centpiece fell to the pavement like rain. "Get a bus and bring her home, Mae. I'll be along."
"Where you off to?" Turning through the sea of people, charging back the way he came. "Eddie!" Already lost. Distinguishable in the throes of New York City, but lost to her. Mae turned to the wall and kicked it. Nadine picked up the 50-centpiece and went to Mae's right side. Mae saw the bruise, she knew it. She needed her to justify his form of kindness to her, but all she said was, "He and his pound of flesh."
It was the first thing she'd said to her sister, looking into her eyes and seeing only competition, favoritism, accusation. "Suppose you hate me, huh, little girl?"
Why should she? "Cat gotcha tongue, kid, that was a question." She shook her head rapidly. "Get on, then, let's getcha back downtown. You're about to get knocked down a peg or two, little girl."
Mae boarded the bus before the rush, leaving Nadine to stand in the front. Out one of the windows she thought she saw Eddie across a street, under a streetlight, arms entwined with a woman.
"I have a name," she whispered, too soft to be heard.
***
There was a way of patching together broken ends of time. Nadine, in her new home, rarely slept in her bed. She stayed awake by the window and looked up at the sky, hoping to see stars beyond the veil of poison light. Most often she would fall asleep on her knees, come morning the cold would tear at her, but some nights she did not sleep at all, preferring a daze in which she could see starlight to the visions of open coffins that would come when she slept.
Eddie had hoped his wife would be the one to guide her sister back to bed on those nights, but it was becoming increasingly clear that Mae was intensely afraid of the judgment personified by the child.
"There's a good girl," taking her arms, leading her. Gentle with her as with a sleepwalker. Don't wake her, don't wake her.
***
She'd only wanted to brush it. Stealing forward to where Mae sat at her vanity, holding out her hands. She'd seen Marie for an instant, auburn and grey waves she'd braid together with fingers that flew…then the sound as Mae turned in her seat and struck out at her hand. That night she stayed awake.
She'd been with them a month when she turned fourteen. December 18, 1928. Eddie stood in her doorway as she knelt by the bed, whispering the first few words of a prayer, lifting her head, opening her eyes, and whispering those first few words until they filled with tears.
She was in early mourning still, grief coming to her like a brutal lover and leaving no part of her alone, untorn. She had no will to build up strength against the force of her own submission. She cowered in its wake. Outside touch, Eddie could do nothing for her. In their familiarity with their charge, his wife grew only in fear. But as her fear gathered strength, so did her husband's defiance to it. He began to resent the impossibility of middle ground between the sisters. The child could not stop grieving and nor could she share it. But why, why should she have to?
He took her shoulder, shook her from it, just shy of roughly. She kept her eyes on him at first, then let her head fall back. She spread her arms up, over her head, taking in the chill light from the window. "I'm fourteen today." It was a shrinking offer, those words. Her grief made her fearful that the kindness she knew was in the graves with the remnants of her lilies. Eddie gave an uncertain nod. Eyes darting, the girl looked back into her hands, clasped like a locket, and shaking. Her keeper took her hand. She looked up.
"I bet you're a pretty thing when you smile." She reached across her face to brush away a strand of hair. Shy at the compliment, for a moment it looked as though she might. Smile. Then Mae, freezing in the door, turning away, muttering about getting coffee. Eddie rose, but as he turned to follow her, he saw Nadine take a brush from her suitcase. Holding it, spinning it through her fingers like a ladies' fan.
***
One smoky, green eye between the door and the chain lock. Beckoning. Dry, pistol words from behind the wood. "Mama'll put on a pot of bourbon."
"You're an angel, Mad."
"Nah, I'm the way the devil enters when you drink. Get inside, layabout."
"Vagabond."
"That's my business. What brings you to the slums of my doorstep t'day, and will it be rum or gin?" She turned on her heel and left the door open. The one thing Madeleine was meticulous about, and only in theory, was this apartment. By implication, her alcohol. As she passed him she threw her blue scarf around his neck. "Rum or gin?
"Gin."
"Sounds like I'm in for it today, ain't I? Intrigue, scandal, endless windbagging… you finally left Mae?" Groan. "Well, you oughtta. Any woman you put your roots down with better be a damn good drunk, or she's nothing but trouble to your health." All but throwing the bottle to him across the table.
"She tries."
"She fails, Champ. Remember Kate's last party? She got up on the sill and screamed something about having three tits? No? Ah, well, might have been me, who can keep it straight anymore." She clapped him on the back jovially, trying not to think about what he would say. She disapproved only slightly of the drinking, and only because it had led to some nasty incidents with his wife at past gatherings. She let him take the lion's share of the gin. "Spill it, then, you've got your drink. What's on your mind?"
"Remember a few years back, when Mae got pregnant?"
"Vividly." Madeleine grimaced, rocking back on the legs of the chair. "You married her. God knows why. It wasn't yours."
"You don't know that."
Shrug. "Neither do you. She pregnant again? That why you showed up?" He shook his head, "Jesus Christ, you're the only man I know who's harder to talk to drunk than sober. Gimme that." She took a swig of the gin that remained, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. Eddie balled up the scarf and threw it back to her.
"Mae's… Mae's kid sister came in, from out of town…"
"She has a sister?" Madeleine tipped the chair back against the wall, balancing on the two back legs, "You mean, she was born to a mother and there's somethin' in her veins other than cheap booze and hormones? I'll be damned, how do ya like that?"
He set his foot on the seat of the chair and kicked. Madeleine went down in a flurry of color and curses. In a second she was back on her feet, spinning her chair around so she faced him, looking genuinely intrigued.
"Where's she from?"
"Duchess."
"Very out-of-town…" Madeleine mused. "And you brought her up after the pregnancy scare…why?"
"She's just a kid. I didn't even know she existed 'till a month ago. We got a letter from some doctor up in Hopewell Junction, saying Mae's parents'd passed, and would we be able to come make some arrangements for their daughter… And I ask Mae what that's about and she doesn't even bat an eye. Didn't come up for the funerals… nothing… doesn't want anything to do with her now she's here."
"Hey. If Mae doesn't want her, give her to me."
"Mad."
"What? For her sake, her future, your sanity and my fulfillment in life."
"She's Mae's kin, the way I see it, she's my kin too."
"So tell her as much. I'm sure she's feeling lonely when you become the only person in the house worth talkin' to."
"Be fair." He grinned.
"Oh I'm not being unfair. Just unkind. But you understand my concern. Bring 'er by, when you get a chance. What's she like?"
"Real quiet."
"Men." Madeleine rolled her eyes. "Got a lot on her mind, is all. Talk to her about her dreams, Champ. No better way to a woman's heart." She took the gin bottle back to its place under the cupboard, pausing as she went to tap him meaningfully on the chest.
He thought about that on his way home, walking in the cold once Madeleine threw him out. To clear his head, she told him, walking him halfway there, drifting into a bar with a coded knock, and vanishing.
***
They were washing dishes when he joined them, side by side and not touching, the girl's dress soaking, her hair pulled up from her face. He and his wife touched together at the cheek but did not kiss. The girl watched them over her shoulder, hands in the scalding water. Softened, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"What'd you think New York was gonna do for you, Nadine?" It was through these half-jokes that he'd learned to speak to her. Nothing too serious, too sharp. She was just beginning to strengthen at the broken places.
"This the 'hopes and dreams' speech, baby? What, you been to see Madeleine?"
"Who's Madeleine?" asked the girl, eyes on Eddie. Eddie grinned at his wife, who groaned audibly and muttered something about aspirin.
"My true love and savior."
"Murderous lesbian stripper who wants to have his children." Mae amended, loudly, snapping her fingers against her thigh to call back her hired help.
"There's that." Eddie conceded, but as Nadine turned away he caught her by the hair, "Mae give you this?" She shook her head, "Where'd it come from, then?"
"There was a bouquet of roses on Broadway," she whispered to him. Eddie bent down to her as her eyes brightened, "In a store window for Christmas. This was tied round the stem," she pulled the ribbon down from her limp hair and wound it round his wrist.
"What'd you dream of having here?" he asked, cuffing her cheek. Just a little too sharply. He felt the ribbon slip from his hands. She was turning away already with strange wistfulness. Mae kept her eyes on the dishes, scalding water running over the rim of the same cup over, and over, and over…
"Baby, how many times you gonna wash that out?"
"Not sure yet, how many times would really piss you off?" Tone bitterly laced.
"Nadine?"
"My mother…"
"Marie," interjected Mae, tone hard as cut glass. Eddie ignored her.
"…she always wanted a ballerina for a daughter…" Slam of the overflowing cup onto the stack of dishes. Mae did not want her to answer. "…she always thought I could make it here…"
Mae gave a cold laugh. So, a chorus girl wouldn't cut it for her? She didn't speak.
"Name in lights, streets of gold…" she put a hand behind her hand and posed. Weakly. "All that jazz."
Mae's hand shook, the bowl unsteady. Cut glass shattered on the floor. Mae picked up the pieces, fragmented, cheap imitation china crisscrossing patterns on her hands until there was blood. Eddie moved the girl aside and picked his wife up from the waist, away from the sharp, glittering edges. Mae's eyes glimmered in the absence of tears.
"Who the hell do you think you are, little girl?" she spoke evenly.
"Get to that aspirin, Mae, it'll help you sleep," Nadine stayed in the doorway, "Don't listen to her," he added to the girl, "go on, tell me more." She shook her head. Damaged goods, faintly… "Don't be like that. Tell me."
Nadine went to her knees so she was at eye level with him.
"I just…I wish I knew what I had to learn."
"To what, kid?"
"Be part of the circuit. Like you and Mae." Eddie gave a cracked, harsh sort of laugh, "I'll bet you know everyone worth knowing here," her lips quivered into a smile.
"Oh, child, dream on. You wouldn't like it on these stages. Dance yourself lame and blind for an audience that could vanish tomorrow."
"Have you been blinded?"
"Not yet," he pounded the chair leg beside him. Three times, "But this ain't my circuit, strictly speaking. I'm from a little further downtown."
"Where?"
"Show you tomorrow." Distracted, smiling at nothing in particular, she nodded.
***
She could have gone through the front, he realized later. No one knew her. Though once asked for her guardian they would have felt they knew everything worth knowing.
Nonetheless, out of habit they went around the back. There was a young man at the door, who had once admired him and still liked him, though this was tinged with rueful disapproval. Going through the door as the man nodded him on, he remembered it had been five years ago that the bouncer had told him about the message from Mae, the woman who was now his wife.
Through glass he saw the ring, through rafters and his own past he let her see it. Through the back door of his life. The bouncer alone remembered him for his glory. The management saw him in terms of his transgression. The situation and its consequences, the sacrifice he had made, were what he concerned himself with, for he could not change them. He would not try.
She was impressed. She tried to imagine the circles below, of the fighters, of the crowd…close to opening time the other workers, most of them black, would watch the fights from the rafters. Most would drink, fights would break out among them, drowned by the noise of the crowd, most of them white.
She didn't see that yet. The crowds in her mind were always white. She was naïve yet about the rafters. Nevertheless, she held the fighters in high regard.
As they walked home, she took his arm, made brazen by her keeper's downtown stage. She imagined he had been happy.