My mother’s moods could swing on a dime. She did temp jobs for a living, most of them rarely lasting more than a week. Nana, my grandma, never really told me the whole story about Mom. She’d just say: “Your mother, she has problems. Be patient with her. She’s been through a lot.”
I knew that Mom had graduated college with a degree in theater, then joined the Navy in WW II working as a teletypist and entertainer. And, that after the war, she did summer stock in the Catskills. But her stage career ended when she married and had three kids. Two months before my sixth birthday, Mom left Dad in the middle of the night, with us kids in tow. And that’s how we ended up living in Nana’s one bedroom apartment in the Bronx.
One Sunday, I was sitting on the couch, reading The Good Earth. Nana had taken my younger brother and sister to Aunt Beattie’s which left me alone in the apartment with Mom. I planned to tell her that I didn’t want any more acting, ballet or tap lessons. But I would wait till later that day to bring up the subject. I was afraid of her reaction. She’d likely scream, then blame me for all her troubles. It was her routine whenever I disappointed her. I had already been forbidden, since Kindergarten, to write with my left hand because, well, Mom thought it was evil. So, I used my right hand whenever she was in the room, if I wanted any peace.
What I desired most was to read books and learn new things. I’d been notified that I made the special progress program, which meant that after 7th grade, I’d be skipping 8th grade altogether. School had become an escape for me.
I was halfway through my book, when Mom appeared in the living room, dressed up in her blue satin chemise, “How about a set of singing lessons, Linda girl?
“Mom, about the lessons, I…”
“Oh, never mind that now.” She held up my green velvet dress; “Close that book and put this on.”
“But I have a test. I really need to finish…”
“Do as I say, Linda Sue. We’re going on a date, just you and me.”
Going somewhere alone with her? Exactly what I didn’t want. She took out the silver watch she kept in the zippered pouch of her purse. The wrist strap was unusable. Only part of the black leather band was still attached. The numbers were tiny italicized marks against a mother of pearl background. She always had that watch with her. I never asked her when or where she got it, or who gave it to her, but I knew that she treasured it. “Oh God, it’s so late. We’ll have to take a cab to make it.”
“Make what?”
“You have three minutes to get ready, young lady.”
On the street, she whistled, immediately hailing a cab, “Downtown. Broadway and 53rd.” The show tune, Happy Talking, played on the taxi radio. Mom sang along in her overdramatic style with exaggerated hand gestures. She was always performing.
We stepped from the taxi to see a marquee.
BROADWAY THEATER
presents
I CAN GET IT FOR YOU WHOLESALE
She handed two tickets to a man wearing a tuxedo. We hurried down the aisle in the theater, to the second row, where we sat down in red velvet-cushioned seats. The lights dimmed. Music started.
I could feel the tension growing inside me. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that I tasted blood. It was Mom’s wish for me to perform, not mine. I just needed to talk to her. I’d tell her after the show.
A tall skinny woman sauntered across the stage and sang out a catchy tune about Miss Marmelstein, the character she was playing. Her song made fun of the grumpy managers who barked orders all day long in the office where she worked as a secretary. I laughed so hard at every word she sang in her whiny New York accent. “That’s Barbra Streisand,” Mom whispered. “Nineteen-years-old.”
“Miss Marmelstein’s a teenager?”
“She’s going to be a big star. My prediction. Just like you.” I bit the inside of my cheek again. At intermission, I asked to go to the restroom. I needed a moment alone to plan how I’d talk to her, exactly what I’d say. She hesitated, then agreed.
As I entered the lobby, I found myself humming the tune to Miss Marmelstein’s song. Spotting the souvenir kiosk, I found a basket full of blue keychains, each one in the shape of a dress like the one Miss Marmelstein wore in the show. The sign read “$2.50.” Expensive, but I had to have it.
With the keychain in my pocket, I turned to see a row of colorful framed posters on the wall opposite, each one with the name of a Broadway show. I looked up at the My Fair Lady poster. Starring Rex Harrison and Julie Andrews. It featured a caricature of a man wearing a top hat holding the puppet strings of a frumpy young woman. It made me giggle.
I felt a firm tap on my shoulder and almost jumped, “What are you still doing out here?”
“Sorry Mom, I-I was just curious.”
“You scared me, young lady. You were gone so long. Anything could have happened to you,” People stared. “Okay,” she softened, “Let’s check out the poster. Ah, Julie Andrews. An incredible talent. Like someone else I know.”
I cringed. Her face suddenly went pale; her eyes fixed on something behind me.
“Now that was a great show.” came a man’s voice. I looked up to see a very tall man in a gray suit and striped tie. His eyes were a dark brown, his hair black with gray flecks. He was as handsome as Rock Hudson. Mom took my hand. Her palm felt clammy. The man grinned at me, “Would you like to be on Broadway someday?”
“Me? I-I don’t know. But… maybe,” I added, surprising myself.
His eyes went to Mom, “I can see you in her.”
A plump woman wearing a mink stole rushed up. Her strawberry hair was in a tight bun, “Darling, let’s get to our seats.” She pressed her red nails to the man’s sleeve. I noticed the large diamond on her ring finger.
“Just taking a gander at these posters, dear.” He glanced at Mom and gave her a quick wink.
“Your daughter, she’s adorable,” he said, reaching out to touch Mom’s bare arm. A smile spread across her face. She seemed to blush. It was like a scene in some romantic movie.
The lobby lights blinked.
“Anchors away,” the man said, giving us a quick military salute. As they walked away, I heard the woman say, “Do you know that woman and her little girl?” But I couldn’t hear his answer.
Mom stared as the two disappeared through the crowd, the expression on her face like she was thinking of something from long ago. That handsome man was attracted to my mother. My whacky mother. He was flirting with her. Did she know him?
I watched my mom as she walked down the aisle of the theater. For the first time, I saw her as if I wasn’t her daughter. She had nice legs, an hour-glass figure, and shiny dark hair which curled perfectly at her chin. She reminded me of Elizabeth Taylor. Maybe she would have been a famous actress if she didn’t have three children to raise without a husband.
Settling in my seat, I felt guilty for having to break her heart, tell her that I was done with the whole showbiz thing. “Mom, close your eyes, just for a second.” She shrugged, shut her eyes and folded her hands in her lap. Okay, you can look now.”
I held up the I Can Get it for you Wholesale keychain, and placed it in the palm of her hand, “For you, Mom.”
“For me?”
“Uh-huh, a gift for giving me this day, just you and me.” She bit her lip, took my hand and kissed my fingertips.
Linda S. Gunther is the author of six suspense novels: Ten Steps from the Hotel Inglaterra, Endangered Witness, Lost in the Wake, Finding Sandy Stonemeyer, Dream Beach, and Death is a Great Disguiser. Her memoir, A Bronx Girl was released in 2024. Her short stories and essays have appeared in a variety of literary journals.
