Angelica Lost and Found

Chapter 54. 42nd Street Buck-and-Wing

Well, it was what it was, wasn’t it! I mean, sleeping with Jim was all that I wanted it to be but it didn’t resolve all my problems and it didn’t wrap up the story of me and Jim and tie it with a pink ribbon.

Confusion is the medium in which I live, like a fish in water. If clarity suddenly happened I don’t think I could breathe. There we were with our sun-dried clothes back on. WHAT NOW? flashed on and off in the air like an invisible neon sign, seen perhaps by the tiny, tiny giants dancing on the cabin roof.

Why had the painting floated out to meet us? Had Volatore Three jumped off the bridge with it? He hadn’t seemed a suicidal type. I was sniffing the air. No smell but maybe … No, nothing.

‘I’d like to propose a toast,’ said Jim, ‘to Cyd Charisse who died yesterday. One more beauty gone from the world. Here’s to you, Cyd. We’ll stay danced with.’

‘Here’s to you, Cyd,’ I echoed as my eyes filled with tears. We touched glasses and sat in silence for a moment.

‘Her death hit you pretty hard?’ said Jim.

‘I cry very easily, and about more things all the time.’

‘A burrito will dry your tears.’

I was crying because I was thinking of Ruby Keeler. My collection of DVDs of Hollywood musicals includes Fred Astaire and all the women he danced with, but further back too, the thirties and films like 42nd Street, Footlight Parade and Gold Diggers of 1935. In 42nd Street Ruby Keeler sings the title song and dances to it. Busby Berkeley of course designed the big numbers but this one looked as if Ruby Keeler was doing her own buck-and-wing, glowing with innocent pride in her tap dancing; her moves were such as a child might invent, full of high spirits and joie de vivre. This in the height of the Depression. But the general hope was that just around the corner was a rainbow in the sky. The atom bomb did not yet exist, nobody had heard of global warming and polar bears had miles and miles of ice on which to hunt seals. That’s why I was crying.

Angel Island seemed, as we approached it, more crowded than we required, so we anchored well offshore and ate and drank contentedly while gently rocked on the cradle of the deep. I must have fallen asleep then because I became aware of waking up. The sky was red with sunset and Jim was watching me.

‘You looked so peaceful that I didn’t want to disturb you,’ he said. ‘You must have been having pleasant dreams.’

‘I don’t remember.’ But there had been something: not a dream but an awareness that Volatore hadn’t lost me, nor I him.

‘I have a headline running through my mind like a tune that won’t go away,’ said Jim. ‘ “SHRINK PLIED PATIENT WITH DRINK IN DATE-RAPE”.’

‘If you’re having guilt fantasies please do it in your own time. This is still my picnic outing.’

So we picnicked and fooled around until the moon came up and we get under way again. It was a big round full moon, riding quietly in the sky with a big smile on its face.

‘I arranged this for you,’ said Jim.

‘You think of everything,’ I said, and kissed him. It was a little like faking an orgasm but you can’t always be completely honest.

Jim hauled up the anchor and we headed for home. He sensed a change and became thoughtful at the tiller. The sails filled and I could see by our wake that we were moving right along but the air seemed perfectly still.

‘That’s because we’re running now,’ said Jim, ‘and we’re moving at the same speed as the wind.’

‘Life is full of metaphors,’ I said, moving at the same speed as my stillness.