A LADY NAMED ROSE
Chapter Fifty-One
Even jail couldn't keep a good activist down.
A smirking guard led Rose and Diana to the holding cells, where Vera
demonstrated to a captive audience how to put on a condom, using an index
finger. The ladies booed and hissed at the guard as he escorted Vera up front
to collect her belongings; she waved and promised one of the women—who was
wearing a nurse's uniform—that she'd try to raise bail for her as well. There
was no sign of the frightened girl who phoned Rose only hours earlier. Indeed,
she was jovial as they left the precinct.
"It was wonderful, being able to
enlighten those women about birth control," she gushed. "I can't
imagine the dangers they're exposed to on the street; they probably don't have
time to stop to consider what may happen to them in the event of an unwanted
pregnancy."
"Vera," Rose asked softly,
"why were you in jail?"
"Because I was at the clinic at the
wrong time," Vera responded with a hint of impatience.
They were climbing the stairs to the platform
of an el station, just in time to catch the uptown train. The women fell silent
until they were seated, then Diana lit into Vera with a vengeance. "I
warned you not to get involved with that foolishness. Broderick read all about
that Sanger woman in the paper. I'm all for what she's doing, of course, but
she should really be more discrete."
"Could someone please explain to me
what's going on?" Rose demanded. Vera and Diana looked at her askance.
"I've been working as a clerical assistant at Margaret Sanger's new
women's health clinic," Vera finally whispered, in case any of the other
passengers overheard. "I'm sorry, I assumed you knew."
"She's only been doing this for six
months," Diana interjected. "In case you've been out of touch with
current events, Margaret Sanger is–"
"I know who she is," Rose said. She
admired the nurse's crusade to distribute contraceptives to the masses, but
never would she have considered getting involved and risking arrest. It had
never occurred to her that Vera would, either, but then again, this type of
battle would be right up her friend's alley.
"Her beau got her hired on there,"
Diana said, adding piously, "What kind of man would put the woman he loves
in harm's way like that?"
"It was my decision, not his," Vera
retorted. "I wanted to do some good for my community, something you'd know
nothing about. Besides, even with all the harassment from the cops, no one ever
really thought they'd arrest us."
Rose wondered what gave them that idea, when
what they were doing was a blatant violation of the law, and when Sanger
herself had spent some time in jail, but she didn't want to discuss the matter
any further in front of Diana. The day's confrontations had left her exhausted
and worried. How could she have been so stupid as to quit a Hugh Pollard play?
He'd probably have her blackballed from every theater in the city. And Henri
and Daphne would never speak to her again.
"Oh, there you are!" Giles of all
people awaited her on the stoop of her building. Without acknowledging her
roommates, he bounded down the steps and slung an arm about her shoulders.
"You must hurry if you're to be back at the theater on time."
Speechless, Rose glanced at Vera, who just
waved her on. "I'll wait up for you."
Giles ushered Rose into a Packard automobile
sitting at the curb. "You really should invest in a telephone," he
scolded her. "Hugh has been out of his mind trying to reach you."
What could the beast possibly want with her
now?
Abandoned in Pollard's office, where the
director reclined behind a massive mahogany desk and puffed on a cigar, Rose
sat quietly and waited, certain he could hear her heartbeat. "All
right," he spoke at last, "tell me what you want, and make it
quick."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your demands. If there's going to be
any revisions to your contract, I want to get them in writing for the producers
as soon as possible."
This wasn't making sense. "I–I’m happy
with my contract," Rose stammered.
The bushy eyebrows went up. "Happy
actors don't throw tantrums and storm out of the theater the way you did."
He leaned forward. "What is it, the dressing room? You can't have one all
to yourself, but perhaps we can get you in a larger one. The producers are willing
to re-negotiate your salary, too, though I must warn you not to get too greedy.
Come now, I don't have all day."
"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say. I
thought you wanted me gone."
"Oh, let me assure you, if it were up to
me you'd never act on a Broadway stage again. But it's really the idiots who're
bankrolling this production who make all the decisions, and they put too much
stock in what that French dandy Marceau has to say—he’s got entirely too much
clout for a writer—and somehow he found out one of his little darlings wasn't
on stage this afternoon and threw a fit of his own." Hugh's voice rose
steadily through this diatribe until it was nearly a shout. "Not to
mention that your understudy had shellfish for lunch, and it didn't agree with
her, and we had to take an extra five minute intermission to mop the stage. So
now she's home recuperating, which is probably for the best, because the
audience hated her anyway. They want to see you. So get your pretty little ass
out there before I come to my senses and throw you out!"
"Just one second," Rose said
coldly. "We were discussing my salary."
Late that evening, she sailed in her door
feeling a bit of a thrill over the prospect of a raise, and the concept of her
own power, something to which she feared she'd never adjust. She found Vera
waiting as promised, with an announcement. Her father, it seemed, was coming to
New York.
"I went to the campus and phoned him
after you left," she said. "He knows a lot of people here in the
city. I thought he might be able to put me in touch with a lawyer. Next thing I
knew, one showed up at the door, telling me the charges against myself and the
other clinic workers had been dropped." She laughed bitterly. "Though
it was fortunate Mrs. Sanger wasn't there today. I'm not sure there's much he
could do for her."
"That's great news!" Rose enthused.
"Now you won't have this hanging over your head, and no one at Columbia
will have to know about it."
"Doesn't matter. My father is coming to
personally escort me back to Chicago. He would only agree to hire the lawyer if
I promised to stop working at the clinic at once and move back home where he
could keep an eye on me."
"Oh, Vera, I'm so sorry." Rose
hugged her, fighting back tears. Vera couldn't leave, not so soon after
Angelica. And Sebastian.
"Don't be sorry. There's plenty of fine
universities in Illinois," Vera said, parroting her father. "And
Daddy's a state senator. I'm sure he can buy me a space in any one of
them."
*****
With Christmas less than two weeks away,
there was no time to launch a search for a new roommate before Rose and Diana
departed for their respective vacations. Rose had accepted an invitation to
visit with the Scotts for a few days; no doubt they'd asked her so there would
be someone to mind the children while preparations were underway for the
Christmas gala, but she was just relieved to have someplace to go.
Following a long and sorrowful goodbye to
Vera, Rose departed for Tarrytown. The Scotts and all the servants greeted her
as if she were a long-lost relative. Within an hour, she'd prevented a
no-holds-barred fistfight between Lucy and Richard. At seventeen, Lucy had made
her formal debut, but by no means was she a mature young lady, and she wasn't
above a brawl with her brother every now and then. Preparatory school had done
nothing to make a gentleman out of Richard, either. Rose managed to distract
Lucy by suggesting she try on the gown she'd chosen to wear to the party—only
to have her good intentions backfire when Lucy discovered, much to her horror,
that it was too tight about the waist. She chose to take out her frustrations
on India, the only person in the household who was obligated to listen to her.
India, accustomed to Lucy's outbursts, was
unfazed. "I let the waistline out by almost a whole inch. If you would stop
eating those bonbons...maybe you should wear a corset."
Rose winced.
"Corsets are for fat women," Lucy
declared. "Go find your aunt. She's sewn garments for Cecilia. She can
have this fixed in no time."
"She's in the guest house and I'm not
going to get her. She has company."
"Is she entertaining that man again? I
should tell Mother."
"What do you care? She ain't your
maid."
"No, but you are. Help me choose another
gown."
Rose left the two of them bickering and wandered
into Cecilia's room. Marie had put her to bed for the night, but the youngster
was wide awake and chatting—an observation which wouldn't have been out of the
ordinary had there been someone else in the room. She stopped when she saw
Rose. There had been enough of these occurrences for Rose to deduce that the
child's imaginary playmate had paid her a visit.
Cecilia climbed out of bed and threw her arms
around Rose. "My friend told me you were here! Can you read me a
story?"
"Does your friend know any good
stories?" Rose looked around the room, humoring her. "I could sure
use one."
Cecilia fixed Rose with wide, soulful eyes.
"He's gone now. He always goes away when other people come. That's because
nobody but me can see him. But he can see you. He 'specially likes to watch
you."
Rose knelt slowly. "What did you
say?"
Cecilia leaned into her ear and whispered,
"He told me not to tell you, but he was your friend once, too."
A sudden chill swept through the room,
raising goosebumps upon Rose's arms. "Who is he, Cecilia?" she
implored sotto voce, though she was certain no one could hear them. "He
isn't here, he won't know you told me."
The little girl shook her head adamantly.
"He'll know. He can see us."
"He's not real! You don't have to be
afraid of him."
"He is real, and I'm not afraid of him.
But he made me promise–"
Rose jumped to her feet. "Cecilia, you
are five years old and in school. It's time for you to stop this nonsense. Come
now, let's get you back to bed before you catch cold."
The sense that an ominous presence had
somehow invaded the room faded, leaving Rose feeling a bit silly; still she
remained at Cecilia's bedside until the child was drifting to sleep. As she
left she heard her mumble, in a tone far too adult, "He was here the day I
was born."