SLENDER MCNALLY STUDIED HERSELF in the small oval mirror. She caressed the back of her short, gold bob then dabbled on a little dark mascara. Then she reached for a tube of plum lipstick, applying a liberal amount as her image in the glass reflected the motion. She smacked her lips together contentedly. Lastly, she shimmied her prominent hips into a blue dress as though she were performing at a cabaret. The sound of a soft trombone trading lines with the blast of a trumpet wandered in from the adjacent room, serving to define the mood.
"Stella?" the young lady called from the seat of her vanity. There was no answer other than the restless sound of bedsheets moving round.
"Stella?" Slender tried again. "Are you coming to the shop?"
A knock on the iron frame of the bed followed. Then, a groan issued from the room as glass connected with the floor. It shook her for a moment but then she rolled her eyes. She went into the room to find her mother on her back, half awake, covered only in a slip. The rumpled sheets across the bed were damp with sweat. A bottle of hooch lay on the floor, overturned. Slender neared the bed, turned down the dial of the radio and picked up the bottle.
"I thought you quit," she said, placing the square bottle on a nightstand. The label was crinkled but Slender could make out a few letters of the brand. "You said today was gonna be the start of something new."
Stella McNally released another sound of discomfort. She rolled to the opposite side heavily which caused the metal coils underneath to creak in the same manner, as if to relate. "I'll do it tomorrow, kid."
Slender shook her head in discontent. "You made a promise and yet again turned your back on it. And now, you're hiding the booze in aftershave bottles?"
"It's prohibition. What's a debutante to do?"
"You're a long way from a debutante now, Stella."
Slender's mother sat up in bed, bracing her back against the iron head frame. Her slip fell from one shoulder as she wrapped her fingers around a thick strand of her charcoal hair, pinned up in a Gibson girl type of fashion. Her heavy eyelids focused on her daughter. She licked her lips slowly. "I'm as good as I ever was, kid."
But even as she repositioned her body and formed a pose to prove the point, the young lady knew her mother cast only the shadow of her departed glory. Over time, Stella had fallen into a careless decadence. She no longer appeared youthful with a face that conveyed idealism. Instead, her waist swelled, her cheeks bloated and an edge developed where before there was none. She was spotted around town with a different gentleman caller most every night of the week, her reputation already proceeding her when plunging into unprincipled affairs. And to Slender, her condition seemed to be worsening.
"Stella, it would do you good to come to work today," Slender urged her greatly. "It's getting tough to run the place all by myself."
Stella stretched widely, then licked her lips again, slowly. "Naw, kid. You do just fine. I mean, the customers keep coming, don't they?"
"Yes, McNally's has a great standing across the city," Slender informed her then a beat later said, "But there is a part of the day where the line wraps around the corner. I need someone desperately to help me. I need you."
"Your father's dream was to have that deli. I just fell in line with it after a time. But it was never mine. I wanted to be onstage, you know."
"Yes, I remember the stories–," Slender politely acknowledged, her voice fading slightly.
"And then," Stella interjected, her mood softening at the memory, "he swept me off my feet in that little dinner club. I was supposed to sing that very night after hustling drinks. We ran out of the back room, laughing away our inhibitions. We stopped at a landing, overlooking the Queensboro bridge."
Stella McNally paused, a tear escaping her eye. Her lips quivered. "It was there he asked for my hand."
"I know you miss him. We all do."
"But not Bianca!" her mother shouted, pointing her finger at Slender. "She uses his memory as a means to get ahead. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear she was aiming for Park Avenue."
Slender had no reply. "I can't help what B does," she finally said.
"So ya see, kid? Wouldn't do me any good to visit the shop when all those people would have the same lies on their minds. 'Good to see you', they'd say. 'You're looking well'. I don't want their charity."
Stella picked up the glass bottle on the nightstand, her back still propped against the iron bed frame. She turned it all the way up, the hint of the last drop hitting her tongue, then slammed the bottle down.
"I have to go," Slender said kindheartedly, alone in the midst of the disheveled room. "It's almost eight."
"You do right by your father, Slender," Stella offered. "But don't make that place your dream."
Slender left her without any other exchange. She went into her room to grab her grey cloche hat.
"By the by, the rent is one week overdue," her mother shouted, as she switched the radio on again. "Better not let Ms. Deveroux see you. That French hussy has a mouth like a sailor."
Slender hurried over to the window. The sun beamed bright inside the room she shared with Bianca, though her sister rarely slept in her own bed. She climbed onto her lavish sheets, kneeling to lift the windowsill. The roar of the city beneath the four-story complex was in full motion. It greeted her as the window drew open. She climbed out and onto the fire escape, descending the stairs in such a way that would not disturb any other renters. She crept by Ms. Deveroux's window, amassed in pots blooming marigolds, and continued down the alley and out in the street. The scent of the markets along the block permeated the air. There were vendors offering baked bread, fresh caught fish from the Hudson River, and imported cheese from every corner of the world. They howled familiar phrases from beneath their posts attracting a drove of buyers as they congregated along the slab of street.
Slender weaved in and out of the assembled lot, then stopped short of a taxi, nearly colliding with the hood as it clipped her inside the crosswalk. She held onto her hat, her other hand unknowingly meeting her heart. An immense horn resounded afterward, causing her to gasp a second time.
"Cuh mahn, sista! You're alright, aintcha?" the taxi driver bellowed from under the brim of an ivy cap. He then leaned his shoulder out of the window, his sleeve rolled past his forearm, peering down. The sudden stop had marked black lines on the street. Slender threw the driver a look of disgust.
"Hey," he called to her, smacking his lips with chewing gum, "you needa get somewhere in a jiffy?"
The question hung over the square while Slender gathered her composure. A black Chrysler barked its horn behind the cab. The circumstance held the attention of several shoppers. Others continued as if nothing could pull them from their charge. "If ever I do, sir, I will be sure to catch the ride with anyone but you."
The driver smiled then pressed the pedal a little. "I see, sista. You're one o' dem liberated dames, huh?" The Chrysler beeped once again with greater ferocity.
"Move along, mista," Slender replied, waving him away.
The taxi then disappeared into the influx of traffic. Slender crossed over and landed on the opposing sidewalk then pushed on up the block. McNally's was the only delicatessen for over a mile, situated in the center of a luggage store and laundry service. The emerald lettering, introducing the name, stood proudly over the square and shone like a beacon. She hurried to the door, put her key in and turned the sign to announce the deli open for business. She removed her hat and raked her fingers through her gold bob. Barely behind the counter, she noticed the first customer already through the door. He was tall with cropped hair and a mustache and wearing a tweed suit with matching trousers. A homburg hat complementing his attire sat perched on his head. He removed a white handkerchief from his pocket square, patting it gently across his brow.
"Welcome to McNally's," Slender greeted him as she tied an apron on and checked the shelves of pastries at her station, readying all her components for the day.
He cleared his throat once she settled behind the register. "I beg your pardon," he said, beginning to smile. "Thank you. It is so early to be this hot. I shudder to think of how the latter part of summer will feel."
He laughed good-naturedly, exchanging a few more pleasantries with the young woman. Then he ordered a danish pastry and coffee and retreated to a small white table near the counter. She reacted to several others in the same hospitable fashion as they entered and glanced round the deli before setting forward in preparing their orders. In the course of a few minutes, customers were filling the standing room near the front display, anxious for a taste of the sweet, pleasing scent of pastries, coffee and country ham. Gentlemen occupying their seats opened their newspapers and a discussion of politics followed, prompting the women to chatter ceaselessly about the suffrage movement. In a matter of fifteen minutes and with every table presently engaged in their morning feast, Slender, finding a spare moment, escaped into the back of the shop, which housed mostly items of storage, to pull out a ledger. She thought of the rent, overdue by a week, and began to pick out a series of delinquent accounts that needed following up. As the morning progressed, the deli saw a steady stream of patrons. Closing in on noon, she discovered she had acquired over a dozen accounts that needed settling. She wanted a moment to catch her breath. She went over to the telephone, which lay atop a wooden stand near the bolted door at the back entry. Picking up the listening piece, Slender asked to be connected to her room. Yet when contact was made, no one answered from the other line. She grew irritated at the thought of her mother deliberately dodging the call.
She placed the receiver back on the hook then walked out from the pastry display. Next, she switched the sign on the door to reflect when she would return then respectfully escorted the remaining patrons out. Locking up, she hurried down the block then crossed the street, thinking about the taxi driver who had sneered at her.
Presently, she traversed the alley then hooked onto the fire escape, ascending the stairs in a rapid manner, the bustle of the city eclipsing her hurried footsteps. But when she reached the fourth story, she could see the window to her room was closed. Cupping her hands, she leaned in to peer through, catching a glimpse of a figure moving near the bed under the sill. She tapped on the pane when she determined Ms. Deveroux was not inside.
"Hey!" she called distinctly, "let me in."
The figure got onto the bed then strained to lift the window. After Slender slipped through, she heard a snivel reverberate from every corner of the room.
"Why must I put up with it all," Bianca groaned, rolling her eyes while studying her fingernails. "I guess I should expect it by now."
"What are you droning on about, B? The window was open when I left. I had no idea you'd be here."
"Confounded noise," she replied, "not to mention all the gnats and such that scurry in and settle about my expensive things. The spread your shoes are on was imported from Paris."
Slender dusted off her shoulders. "I called a few minutes ago. Did the telephone ever ring? Where's Stella?"
Bianca turned and took a seat in front of the vanity. She picked up a hairbrush and stroked her silky brown mane. "I am not your answering service. Besides, the telephone is in our mother's room. Most likely, she's fast asleep."
Slender exhaled loudly. "I have a number of stops to make before getting back to the deli. You see, the rent—"
"Claire," Bianca interjected, "the affairs of that place are no business of mine. I would never lower myself to actually work for a living. I have to get dressed, anyhow." Bianca put on a maroon chiffon dress with a tiered skirt, a pearl necklace and two-tone, brown and white oxford shoes. She offered little attention to Slender for a moment.
"So how do you plan on getting by then?" Slender finally wondered. Bianca tucked her hair beneath a white felt hat with a matching maroon bow. Then she leaned over the edge of the vanity to find her parasol. "Zasu says I have a bright future as an actress." She turned round, waiting for a counter remark. When nothing arrived, she continued.
"He says my diction is spot on and it would be easy for me to join the Follies. Zasu says he knows Florenz personally."
"Well," Slender replied, "not all of us had the luxury of finishing school in beautiful Paris, B."
"Oh, Claire," Bianca countered, "your jealousy bleeds through you like cheap perfume. You know as well as I that our father wanted it that way. He opened the life insurance policy before the Great War. Could I help that I was the youngest and would benefit from the money the most?"
"You coulda let Stella have a portion of the claim. She lost her only love."
"Claire, I'm surprised at you," Bianca said, crinkling her face. "Maybe you were never told."
"Told what?" Slender wondered heatedly.
"Dear girl, our father was not her only love. There were many suitors who could have won her heart. Father happened to be present at the right time. She was going through a self-made, working-class hero type of phase."
"How long have you known this? Stella never mentioned it."
"Word gets around, dear sister."
"You do too, apparently. This bed is still made from several nights ago–with the imported spread."
"I would love to stay and witness your ignorance on display a little more, Claire, but I'm meeting Zasu soon."
Bianca looked Slender in the eyes. "He's taking me to a new dining club—some place called The Sudsbucket. Sounds rather common to me but it seems to be the new talk of Manhattan."
"What does Zasu do to afford all these things?" Slender pressed her.
"A little this and a little that, is all he tells me," Bianca shrugged. "Well...I'm off." She brushed by her sister quickly in a way that seemed to mock her, her bony shoulder colliding with Slender's arm.
Slender reflected for a moment on the conversation then decided she would leave the deli closed until the matter of the delinquent accounts was settled. She removed the tiny stubs of paper from her handbag—where each address was recorded—forming a plan of which customer to call upon first. After a beat, she had arranged them in what she believed an efficient manner. She would begin at the closest address from the deli then work her way farther out to collect payment. Perhaps she would even finish by the afternoon then have time to drift along the storefronts in search of new slip-on pumps or the latest edition of Harper's Bazaar before returning to an empty apartment. But then a name surfaced to the top of the stack that dropped her back to reality. She hesitated to pronounce it aloud. Then a drawn-out sigh inevitably followed.
"Ahh," she exhaled, biting her lower lip. "I gotta see the Jinx."