Shattered Glass Page 4

  “Oh hey, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings!” She swept over to me. “Here, have a cigarette. It’s impossible to smoke and cry at the same time, and that’s a fact.”

  “Uh, thank you, no. I’m fine, really.” I was blinking furiously to hold back the waterworks. “I used to pretend to smoke with a couple of the others in the toolshed. Maybe we all pretended. Maybe we all went back to the house and quietly threw up. No more pretending.”

  Grady looked completely confused.

  “Thing is, I can’t sew, ma’am, but I can cook and I can serve. At dinner I’d see to over thirty people by myself.” I was still trying to get back on my feet after that sneak attack of homesickness. “What’s the Purple Onion, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Why, it’s the best club in town. Big Bob’s place.” She smiled then. “Even Ian Tyson comes in on occasion.”

  “Ian Tyson! For real?”

  Crisis averted, she sat back down. “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know practically everything about music. It’s deep in my blood, you know?”

  “Grady,” she reminded me. “Well, there’s hope for you yet.” She stubbed out her cigarette with extra thoughtfulness. “Okay, come on. We’re going to Honest Ed’s. It’s anything but couture, but we’ll get you something that will get you in the door when the Purple Onion opens this afternoon. Bring at least twenty dollars. You need clothes, shoes and definitely some lipstick.”

  The Toronto bus terminal had nothing on the chaos in the monster-sized Emporium of Everything that was Honest Ed’s. The outside, a full city block long, was smothered in neon lights and signage that beamed, This way, you lucky people! The inside was more like a carnival than a store. There were stairs that led nowhere, and tables overflowing with stockpots and men’s undershirts side by each. Bright hand-painted signs yelled in every direction. Don’t just stand there. Buy something!!! Ed’s hot deals on heaters! There’s no business like shoe business!! And, alarmingly, Free 12 pack of baby raccoons for every visitor!

  “Relax, kid—it’s a joke,” said Grady as she pulled me through the maze of aisles.

  Everyone from everywhere in the world was in that store, and they shouted at each other in a thousand different languages.

  I loved it! There was a rhythm to the chaos that was pure music. Grady made me try on dresses and pants and skirts. Sometimes, when a curtained cubicle was free I’d go in there to change, but most of the time I just put stuff on over Peggy’s uniform. I spent more than fifteen dollars. I bought a genius skirt that was actually reversible. It was black with white checks on one side, and white with black polka dots on the other! I also bought a pair of yellow slacks with a matching cable-knit cardigan and two black turtleneck tops, one with sleeves and one without. I was relieved to buy a pair of white Keds sneakers and black ballerina flats. No more of Peggy’s monster shoes for me. I also got hairbands and tights, a white purse that slung over my shoulder and, because Grady insisted I purchase them even though I didn’t really need them, a brassiere and six pairs of pink underthings. They were six for sixty-six cents! And oh yeah, I bought a Maybelline lipstick and some food too.

  After we got home, I changed into my brand-new clothes and made myself a sandwich. Grady pulled my hair back into a very high and tight ponytail. I couldn’t stop looking at myself. When Grady came back from getting herself a “refreshment,” she pronounced me perfect.

  “Okay, kid, you’re ready. Now go earn some money.”

  “How can I ever begin to thank—”

  “Ah, save it!” She dismissed me with a wave. “Straight to the Onion, hear? I just want to make sure you can come up with the rent, is all. And be sure to take your Orphan Annie ID with you, in case they don’t believe you’re sixteen.”

  The Purple Onion was on the corner of Avenue Road and Yorkville Avenue, just a couple of blocks down from Grady’s. Doors opened at noon and it was already past that, but I stood examining the playbill out front as if my life depended on it. Every night but Sundays and Mondays, there was a one-dollar cover charge from 8:00 PM on. The featured players were the “renowned” blues and honky-tonk band the Ramblers, featuring Brooks Goldman.

  Even more arresting was a large black-and-white photo of the most handsome man that I had ever seen. IAN TYSON ONE NIGHT ONLY AND ONLY HERE! The date was two weeks from now.

  So that was Ian Tyson. Wow. I couldn’t stop looking at him. My heart rate quickened. There was something…familiar. He looked…well, actually, he kind of looked like me, or at least what I would look like if I were a grown man. Wait. Exact same mouth, same eyes, same coloring, dark hair, light blue eyes. My heart raced. Maybe the Seven weren’t all loony, playing those daft games about our potential parents. Maybe…

  He would be the right age…

  No.

  But I had that playbill featuring a band that was playing at a club called Willa’s. It would make perfect sense that my father was a musician. A rover. These things happened…the Seven said that it happened all the time…

  No. That was ridiculous.

  But then again, where had I gotten my love of music?

  The door opened and a tall skinny guy stuck his head out. Even though he was all elbows and knees, he was also undeniably cute.

  “You gonna gawk at Tyson forever, or are you coming in to apply for the waitress job?”

  I reddened instantly and decided to hate him. Besides, did he count as a man, therefore not to be spoken to? No, he was a boy, an older boy, not a…well, when exactly did a boy become a man? I decided to ignore Mrs. Hazelton’s man rules from here on in; otherwise, the whole city would be full of people I couldn’t talk to. “How did you know? I mean, yes, I want to apply, but how—”

  “The Lady Grady called Big Bob and yanked his chain. I’m Ethan. You coming in, or do you want to keep swooning?”

  “I most certainly was not swooning. Or gawking, for that matter.”

  He ignored me. Still, he was cute.

  I followed the boy into the darkness inside. When my eyes adjusted, it was to mismatched wrought iron tables, chairs, loveseats and a small stage. “Hey, Big Bob, she’s here. I found her outside panting over Tyson’s picture.”

  Absolutely, totally hated him.

  Big Bob topped out at about maybe five foot two, but he was the most tightly woven, muscular man I had ever seen anywhere. He wore a bright-white T-shirt that looked like it was straining to stay on. He’d surely bust out of it if he inhaled too deeply.

  “Hey, you Orphan Annie?” Light glinted off one of his teeth. It was gold. And then there were his massive arms, which were blanketed with tattoos. I honestly didn’t know where to look.

  “Toni, sir. Toni Royce. Pleased to meet you.” The Royce part still crawled out of my mouth all wrong, despite my practicing it in my room. I held out my hand.

  The annoying boy didn’t quite stifle a groan.

  “The Lady Grady said you got real manners.” Big Bob’s hand swallowed mine. “Might be a nice change around here.”

  He quizzed me for several minutes and then walked me around the place, pointing out storage and showing me the kitchen, such as it was. Apparently, the Purple Onion was not renowned as a dining establishment. A couple of sandwich options and some baked goods were on offer. They served cappuccinos and espresso though. Whatever that was. A machine that came all the way over from Italy was required.

  Big Bob pronounced with considerable pride that he ran a “clean place,” just as I was thinking that if I got the job, I’d have to come early and clean it up proper. “And I’m shorthanded. Baby Goldman here has been helping me out for the past week or so, even though he’s supposed to be tending to his dad’s band.”

  So, the annoying boy was Ethan Goldman?

  “I had to can Sandra for getting high on the job, and Rachel ran off with a trumpet player down in Gerrard Village two days ago.”

  Gerrard Village? That’s where the club on my playbill was!

  Big
Bob shook his head in disbelief. “And he’s bad news, man. He can’t blow for beans! She always comes crawling back.” More head shaking, with Ethan joining in. “I hear he has a monster habit, so she’ll be tapped out in a month, ya dig?”

  What was he talking about? “I’m sure you’re right, sir. Uh, the Gerrard Village—has Mr. Tyson ever played there? A long, long time ago perhaps?”

  Ethan snorted, but Big Bob seemed to consider this seriously. “Possibly. Sure, now it’s pretty sketchy, but Gerrard used to be it, man. It was the scene in the forties and fifties. Tyson’s from out west, you know. But if he came this way to do his thing, it would have been there for sure.”

  Bingo. Everything was lining up. It must be a sign. For sure.

  “You can ask him yourself in a couple of weeks.” He smiled at me, flashing his tooth.

  “Does that mean that I…?”

  “You start this afternoon. Ethan will show you the ropes. Six shifts a week, six hours a shift, except for one short shift, and all the tips are yours. Anyone touches you, including little Goldman here, just holler. I run a clean place. Come back at three thirty, and we’ll get you started.”

  “Yes, sir! Thank you so much, sir!” I pretty much flew out of the place. I couldn’t wait to tell Grady, to thank Grady. Oh, if only the others could see me now. My first full day in Toronto, and I had a place to live, new clothes, a brand-new job in the most exciting place in the world and…I’d already figured out who my father was!

  The new me was amazing.

  “Wishin’ and Hopin’ ”

  (DUSTY SPRINGFIELD)

  I THOUGHT SHE was dead. I mean, who wouldn’t?

  I had run from the Purple Onion all the way to 75 Hazelton and, like an idiot, just burst into Grady’s front parlor with my great news. That’s the kind of thing that always got me into trouble back home. Grady was slumped over awkwardly in a big flower-patterned wingback chair. Her refreshment glass and a lit cigarette in an ashtray sat on a dainty side table.

  “Grady! Mrs. Vespucci! Grady, are you okay?” I tried to prop her up. She wouldn’t stay propped, but she did moan like she was in god-awful pain. I raced to the kitchen and grabbed the first tea towel I saw, ran it under cold water and then roared right back to her. I was patting her face with the damp cloth, pleading for her to live, when I heard someone coming down the stairs.

  “Help, help, please! Mrs. Vespucci is dying!”

  An elderly man with an armload of books stepped in and then hesitated.

  “Please help. Mrs. Vespucci has collapsed!” Grady groaned as if to underscore the point.

  The man shook his head and sighed. “You’re the new tenant on the third floor?”

  “Yes, sir, Toni Royce. Pleased to meet you.” I said it automatically. Years of training kick in even during a crisis. I kept mopping her face as if that would bring her back to life, but it looked like most of her face was coming off on the cloth.

  “Professor Edward Zeigler at your service, Miss Toni Royce. I have rooms on the second floor.” He actually bowed his head. “I shouldn’t overly concern yourself, Miss Royce. The Lady Grady is not dying—she’s passed out.”

  “Passed out! But, sir, that could be grievous!”

  More head shaking. “No, I don’t think you fully comprehend the situation. It’s a condition”—he paused—“a condition that both she and I find ourselves in a bit too often. She’s plastered.”

  Again with the words. Why couldn’t anyone speak plain English?

  He stepped closer to us. “The Lady Grady is inebriated—drunk—my dear. Very, very drunk.”

  I stopped dabbing at her face. “The refreshments?”

  “The…” He cleared his throat. “Yes, Grady tends to refresh with bourbon—that’s a spirit, my dear. It’s a leftover from one of her husbands, the American one, I believe. I prefer the more poetic demon rum. She’ll sleep it off.”

  He’d lost me again. What did spirits have to do with nationality? Wait, did he say husbands? Plural?

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to bore.”

  And I had to get to work. “But she’ll be okay—after the sleeping off, I mean?”

  “As right as rain. Well, perhaps a headache. You look like a reader. I’ll drop off some books at your door from time to time. Lovely to make your acquaintance.” And he was off.

  Okay then.

  I looked around the room and spotted an ottoman, and I dragged it over to Grady’s chair to put her feet up. She muttered something as I removed her shiny black high heels. Much to my awe, her toenails were painted the exact same shade as her fingernails. How shocking and beautiful! Unfortunately, a large ugly bump on the side of each big toe disfigured what would have been very pretty feet. I’m deeply ashamed to admit that I longed to slip on those splendid shoes. Instead, I propped her up as best I could and then covered her with a sofa blanket. After washing out the tea towel, which was soiled with makeup, I threw out her refreshment and refilled the glass with water. Drunk, just drunk. I watched her breathe until just before 3:30 PM, when I tore back to the Purple Onion in time for my very first shift.

  I felt years older and infinitely wiser than when I had first walked through those doors a couple of hours ago. Imagine a lady getting drunk!

  Predictably, Ethan was annoying for that shift and pretty much every shift thereafter. He was mainly annoying because he was such a know-it-all, even though he was only nineteen. This was made much worse by the fact that he really did seem to know a lot, and it was becoming clearer by the minute that I pretty much knew nothing. I had always, and not so secretly, thought of myself as the smart one at the orphanage. I hated feeling stupid.

  Still, little by little I got better at city language. When things were good or fun, they were a “gas,” a “blast,” “cool,” or “boss.” When Big Bob wanted me to relax, he’d tell me to “hang loose” or “go with the flow.” All in all, it was easier than French, but there was just so much of it. By the end of the first week, I not only knew the difference between a cappuccino and an espresso, but I was the best at making them. The patrons were occasionally rambunctious, but for the most part they were happy just to “hang out” and listen to Mr. Goldman’s band, which was “cool.” I had already written to Joe about everything. Well, not about Grady passing out, but pretty much everything else. I’d barely seen Grady since that day. She seemed to make herself scarce even when I came down with the rent.

  Perhaps I had given offense by presuming to take her shoes off.

  I also started several letters to Betty but never finished one. Someday soon, I would write Betty and tell her all my news. I would write about meeting my father. This, I kept telling myself, was completely different from all the silly fantasizing back at the orphanage. This wasn’t wishin’ and hopin’ nonsense; this was real.

  Betty would forgive me for my gutless departure. Betty always forgave me. God, I missed her.

  There were moments when Ethan and I got along. He did have the most wonderful chocolate-brown eyes, and his mouth was…well, if he weren’t so angular, it would come dangerously close to being lovely. Despite having worked in and around his father’s band since he was a toddler, Ethan wanted to be lawyer. He fancied himself intelligent, and, okay, maybe he kind of was. The day before Ian Tyson’s gig, I made the mistake of asking him if Mr. Tyson would come in early to rehearse, the way I’d seen Ethan’s father’s band do when they tried out new material. And he changed on me again.

  “Why? You looking to throw yourself at him before the rest of the chicks?”

  “No! Ewww!”

  “You want to marry him. All the girls who come want to marry him, or…” His dark eyes got darker still. “But he’s going to marry Sylvia, so a bit of a glitch, huh?”

  I felt like the top of my head was going to explode. “I certainly do not want to marry him! That would be highly inappropriate, and against the laws of man and nature.”

  Oops.

  “Huh?” He stopped washi
ng the countertop. Ever since I’d started working there, I’d been going hard on a cleanup campaign, and Ethan grudgingly went along. “What? Why? What do you mean?”

  Now what?

  “You must absolutely swear to secrecy.”

  “Sure.”

  I’d gone way too far, but there was no backing down. Besides, Ethan knew so much, he might prove helpful. “I, uh, so…I believe that there is some chance, maybe, that Mr. Ian Tyson is my natural father. Actually, all the facts point to it.”

  He looked at me like I had two heads. “Okay, that’s even stupider than I expected.”

  “Is not!”

  “Is too!” He snorted. “Is this, like, an orphan thing, like a movie in your head?”

  And there it was. He’d pricked my soft spot. I felt like a furnace. How dare he? If he only knew that I was the one who had never, ever allowed herself to indulge in all that ridiculousness. I was the one with her feet planted firmly into seriously unwanted reality when it came to that stuff. The best I could come up with was “Is not!” I lost all our arguments. I hated that. But what I hated more was being called stupid, because deep, deep down I worried that it might be true. “And what’s really stupid is your name. What kind name is Ethan?”

  “Well, in my case, it’s Jewish. You got something against Jews?”

  Okay, he had me there. I had to think about it. “I don’t think so. Am I supposed to? I don’t know any Jewish-type people.”

  “Well, you do now. What have you got against me? I’m busting my butt showing you the ropes, cleaning stuff with vinegar nonstop, and you ignore me unless you need instant Tyson info.”

  “I do not!”

  “You do so, and you’re acting real stupid to boot!”

  And there it was again. “That’s only because you make me feel stupid, and you—you’re awful!”

  That’s when he should have apologized for a whole bunch of things, but mainly for making me feel so…well, whatever that was. I folded my arms and waited for the apology. I would take my own sweet time in carefully considering said apology.