Free Getting Garbo by Jerry Ludwig Page A

heard myself talking. Trying to sound casual, as if what was happening was normal and okay, as I unbuckled the watchband. “It’s not an expensive watch, just a—”
    She slapped me again. I winced. Handed her the watch. She put it in her pocket and while she went through my purse and took the $3 she found there, she pointed at my hand. “Now the ring. Give it here!”
    My daddy’s ring. The one real present I ever got from him. There would be no more.
    â€œLook, Tamar, don’t get mad but that’s kinda special, I mean I don’t think it’s worth much, but the sentimental value—”
    I was spritzing blood at her as I babbled. Maybe that’s why she punched me in the gut. My eyes filled with tears and I blinked to keep her in focus as I pulled at the ring. I really tried, but it wouldn’t come off. “I haven’t taken it off since my Dad gave it to me—”
    A switchblade snapped open. Tamar pointed the tip of the blade at the ring. “Want me t’get it off for ya, honey?”
    I tugged extra hard and got it off and dropped the ring into her waiting palm. She closed the switchblade and stood up. She told me that after she left I was to count to a hundred slowly before leaving the building. And if I yelled or came running after her sooner she would cut my eyes out.
    â€œY’believe me?”
    I did.
    She trotted off. I counted to myself, slowly, added an extra fifty after the hundred. Then I got up and went down the stairs, holding on to the banister because my legs were pretty shaky. It’s not like I was scared, though, more like I was far away, watching myself, as if it was a movie. I was ultra-clear about every detail that was going on.
    Open the front door. Peek outside. Make sure she’s gone. She is. Step outside. Look all around. No Tamar. If that’s her real name, probably not. A lie. Like all the rest. Streetcar ’s over. Crowd coming out. Should I go to the cops? Where’s the police station? There’s a black limo, 8Z plates, the kind hired by the studios. Waiting near the stage door alley. There’s some of the Secret Six. Pam O’Mara, the older gal who’s like the den mother of the Group. Tillie Lust (her real last name, I found out later, is Lustig), a couple of the guys, the one they call Podolsky. Why’re they here? Something special. I stand in the darkness. Be inconspicuous. Secret Six don’t like me tagging after them. But I was here first.
    Stage door opens. Pam O’Mara puts a flashbulb in her camera, it’s Kirk Douglas and his wife, didn’t even know he was in New York. Collectors converge. I duck under Podolsky’s arm, shove my book in with the others, Tillie glares at me. Then her expression goes funny. Kirk Douglas and his wife get in the limo.
    Here’s Roy. Sure is cute. People asking him to sign their programs, without me starting it up. Guess he was real good today. Mr. and Mrs. Darnell. Roy and Addie. They were just married a few weeks ago. For richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. Secret Six all staring at me. Have to tell ’em I didn’t follow ’em. Roy talking to me, “What happened, Reva?” Now he’s looking funny. Pam and Tillie alongside me, “It’s okay, Mr. Darnell. We’ll take care of it.”
    They took me to the ladies room at Child’s cafeteria on Broadway and cleaned me up. My face was swollen and bloody. There was more blood running down my legs. My first period, how’s that for timing? Pam sent Podolsky and the one they call Charming Billy back to the theater to check on Tamar. That was before I started to puke. I thought I’d never stop. Tillie held my head. It was very embarrassing. I told them losing Daddy’s ring was all I was upset about. Podolsky came back and knocked on the ladies room door and told us nobody named Tamar works at Streetcar and the assistant wardrobe mistress is a