Page 11 of In a Far-Off Land
“It will kill Papa to lose the farm.”
My chest tightened up and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t lose Papa. Not like Mama.
——————
When I missed Mama—and that was a lot, even years after she was gone—I went to the Odessa Picture House. In the cool darkness, I could almost imagine her beside me, whispering in my ear.
Flapper films were all the rage, and I lost myself in the daring stories of women who knew what they wanted and didn’t care what other people thought of them. Clara Bow was my favorite. I didn’t miss one of her films.Flaming Youth,The Perfect Flapper, andIt, the film that made her a legend at seventeen. She made me think anything was possible. Of course, two hours later when I walked out to cold sun and snowbanks, I remembered. Mama was gone and the farm was in trouble and I was far from a plucky heroine. I was almost twenty-one and just a waitress in a diner in the middle of nowhere.
I guess I was looking for something even then. It’s hard to know, looking back now, but maybe I thought if I could be like Clara, just a little, things would get better.
The fall I was heading for was named Alex. He had soft hands, slicked-back hair, and a real job selling brushes door to door. He drove an up-to-the-minute Packard Sport Coupe that matched hisbaby-blue eyes. Alex was smitten, he told me, leaning over the counter at the diner, his hair slicked back and his smile slicker. Even now, the scent of Wildroot Hair Tonic makes me sick to my stomach.
Penny warned me against Alex from the opening credits. “He’s trouble, Minnie.” She was worried about me, but the way she said it rubbed me the wrong way. I told her to mind her own potatoes and tried not to think about it.
Alex took me to the Stork Club in Pierre on a clear, cold night with the smell of snow in the air. It was a ritzy place with white linen tablecloths and waiters in penguin suits. He ordered us both steak, slipped a flask from his pocket, and dosed me with gin and outlandish compliments. By the time dinner was over, I was dizzy with love. Or maybe it was the gin.
We did the town, such as it was—dancing and drinking cocktails at a real speakeasy. For a few hours, I felt like Clara Bow or Billie Dove, footloose and fancy-free. Well past midnight, Alex drove back to Odessa through the cold countryside, his hand on my leg, the coupe swerving all over the road, both of us laughing.
But he didn’t take me home. Not right away.
What happened then was my fault, like he said. I guess I asked for it, like he said.
He pulled the automobile onto a side road, where tall trees blocked out the light of the moon. At first, I didn’t mind the kissing—liked it, even. But he kept going, his hands everywhere, his body pressed down on mine. I tried—really, I tried—to push him away.
“Don’t be such a tease, Mina.” His mouth tasted of liquor and the smell of his hair tonic was all around me. I tried to stay calm.I didn’t want to seem like a flat tire, but my heart was hammering and I couldn’t breathe. His body was heavy and his arms were strong, pushing me down on the seat. When he reached under my short skirt, that’s when I finally caught on. But by then it was too late.
After he was done, I curled up in a ball as far from him as I could get. He buckled his belt and started the car. I was crying now, my breath sharp and painful like a knife in my chest, my whole body shaking, hurting like I’d never known.
“It’s your own fault, Minnie,” he said. “What did you think, the way you get all dolled up? A guy can only take so much.”
I just wanted to get home. Away from him and the smell of Wildroot.
At home, Papa was waiting for me. Maybe he knew, maybe he was just worried, but I couldn’t look at him. How could I, after what I’d done? I ran up the steps to my room, my makeup streaked, my hair a mess.
“Liebchen?”He followed me up the stairs. “What’s the matter?”
How I wanted to throw myself in his arms, then. Tell him everything. How much I missed Mama, how lonely I was. How Penny had warned me and I hadn’t listened. I wanted to tell him about Alex and how I didn’t know what to do. But what if Papa told me it was my fault, like Alex said? What if he stopped loving me? What if he told me I was a terrible daughter? It would only be what I deserved, but no, I couldn’t bear it.
Shame burned through me. “I’m fine, Papa,” I said as I closed my door on him.
It was probably the biggest lie I ever told, and that’s saying something.
I tried confiding in Ruth, but she just shrugged. “Don’t let itbug you, Minnie. It’s not like it means anything.” I figured maybe she was right. In the films—with the girls like Clara Bow—it didn’t mean a thing.
But it should mean something. I knew it should.
After that, I stopped talking to Ruth and missed my shifts at the diner. I avoided Papa and Penny. I didn’t go out with boys but stayed in my room every night. I worried that I was pregnant—and then what would I tell Papa? Penny tried to talk to me, but I wouldn’t—couldn’t—confide in my sister. She’d never understand, would she? Not perfect Penny. I wasn’t pregnant—I thanked God for that on my knees-—but by the time I made myself go back to the diner, I’d lost my job.
So you see, when I said I couldn’t do anything right, I was telling the honest truth.
I didn’t tell Papa about losing my job, but without that extra pay, I knew we’d never make the mortgage. I went to the Odessa Picture House just to make myself feel better, I guess. And that’s where I got my bright idea.
The Hollywood Revue of 1929was playing for the matinee. I’d seen it before—Joan Crawford and John Gilbert, Norma Shearer and Marion Davies—but this time it got me thinking. Joan Crawford, who had her own song and dance at the beginning of the film, had started out at seventy-five dollars a week at MGM and now made ten times that. When somebody asked her how she did it, she answered, “Hard work and determination. And of course, a little bit of talent.” And there was Billie Dove. Jean Harlow. Fay Wray. All of them started as nobodies and now made thousands of dollars in a year.
Hard work and determination. A long time ago, Papa had said I had both. Hidden talent—Mama had said I would find mine.And anyway, wasn’t acting just pretending? I could pretend as well as any of them. I had just turned twenty-one and that was no youngster in Hollywood.
I left in the middle of the picture, went home, and packed my bags. I took my savings out of my stocking drawer and knew it wouldn’t be enough. I’d seen enough films to know that when things looked their worst, that’s when the heroine had to do something drastic, something nobody understood at the time but would thank her for later.
