Songs Of Willow Frost: A Novel Part 4

Of that he was fairly confident. But what if she doesn't want me? he thought, keeping his fears to himself-bracing his heart for one final rejection. As the Moviola at the penny arcade faded into memory, as he strained to remember the show at the Moore Theatre, her image blurred and became warped, distorted by his feelings of abandonment. What if she doesn't care?

"My mother died when I was little," Charlotte said. "But I remember her holding me-I remember feeling safe and happy and content. I didn't even know that I couldn't see; my whole world was nothing but those feelings."

She squeezed his hand.

"What's your earliest memory of your mother?" Charlotte asked. "The very first one?" She moved closer, their knees touching.

William closed his eyes and tried to remember. Sounds came first, and then smells. "My earliest real memory," he said, "is of lying on my back, staring up at the tin ceiling of what must have been our apartment at the Bush Hotel. I was wet and warm from a bath in the kitchen sink, and the towels felt cold and rough against my bare skin. I remember my nose twitching from the scent of ammonia or detergent, and I couldn't stop giggling and kicking my feet as my ah-ma cleaned my belly b.u.t.ton with a Q-tip."

"That's a sweet memory."

He smiled.

"She would say in Chinese, 'Don't be a wiggle-worm.' Whatever else she said to me I've forgotten, or lost, along with most of my Cantonese. And I remember hearing live music on the radio, and the window-it was dark outside, except for the moon, so it must have been my bedtime. Ah-ma sat me up and I wobbled as she stretched and tugged this nightshirt over my head that must have been too small because I recall my ears throbbing afterward. I don't even know if that actually happened. I was little. It's been so long. I barely remember anything. I might have imagined it all."

William paused and cleared his throat. Then he went on, speaking more slowly.

"But there was another time I've never forgotten, years later, I was older ... maybe five, I'm not sure ... she was helping me get dressed and I heard a knock on the door. She turned and walked away. A man's voice was shouting something ... in Chinese, and my mother shouted back even louder. I heard gla.s.s breaking. Then my world turned sideways, the ceiling became the wall, and the wall became the floor. My head hit something, and everything went dark. I wanted to cry but couldn't inhale, or exhale."

"Who was that man?" Charlotte asked.

Was that my father? "I ... don't know," William said instead. He chewed his lower lip. "But I touch the side of my head whenever I think of that moment, even to this day." He removed her hand from their shared mitten and guided her fingers to a crease on his temple, just below his hairline.

"That's how I know it's a real memory," he said. "Because I still have the scar."

He closed his eyes and felt Charlotte run her soft, delicate fingertips along his old wound that had been so neatly hidden.

"We all have scars, William. You. Me. I'm sure Willow has more than her share."

She gently kissed his blemish, then wished him good night.

Velvet Rope.

(1934).

William and Charlotte woke the next morning and turned on the light, to the vociferous complaints of their neighbors in the next room. They quickly turned off the bulb and gathered their meager belongings. William could barely knot his tie in broad daylight, yet somehow Charlotte and her amazingly dexterous fingers managed to craft a perfect bow in the gloaming. Eager to leave, they left the flophouse midmorning, shooing away a flock of pigeons that had been picking at earwigs crawling on the cold steps that led up to the street. The sidewalks were less crowded than the night before, though there were now men of every age, sleeping in gateways or raggedly snoring beneath nearby bushes with sheaves of old newspaper stuffed into their coats to stave off the crisp, damp Puget Sound air. How they remained asleep was a mystery, especially as the Salvation Army marched by, banging their loud ba.s.s drums. They formed a semicircle in the square, where the bra.s.s instruments lit into a heaven-splitting hymn that William barely recognized as "Solemnize Our Every Heart." Charlotte grinned from ear to ear as the two of them sat on a vacant bench and listened to the men and women in their strange, bright uniforms playing bugles, trumpets, cymbals, and trombones. Before the song was over a stout woman pa.s.sed a tambourine among the crowd asking for donations for the poor and downtrodden. William regarded the homeless men sleeping in the gutters and put in a nickel.

William thought his companion should eat as they walked uptown, so they stopped at a lunch counter and ordered shredded wheat with cream, sprinkled with salt, and shared a cup of Ghirardelli chocolate. He let Charlotte have most of the hot cocoa and barely touched the cereal. His stomach was a knot of excitement and anxiety. As he glanced around the diner, he worried that grownups might question why they weren't in school, but then he looked outside and saw dozens of kids their age, many younger, shining shoes, delivering newspapers, and sweeping up in front of stores. Public school is free, William thought, but even that has become a luxury some can't afford.

At the counter, William asked a stranger for directions, then guided Charlotte toward the new Skinner Building, where the 5th Avenue Theatre was impossible to miss. Its glowing red and yellow neon sign must have been four stories tall-William spotted it from three blocks away and squeezed Charlotte's hand. Plus flashing signs for KOMO and KJR adorned the roof, along with towering radio antennae, which broadcast NBC Red and NBC Blue. But his heart quickened even more when he saw the entrance to the theater and its Chinese motif-layers of gold and jade, with ma.s.sive, studded double doors painted burgundy, the threshold guarded by a pair of giant Foo dogs. Each golden canine was at least a foot taller than he or Charlotte.

"Is this the place?" she asked.

William looked up at the lighted grand marquee, which read: SEATTLE'S OWN WEEPING WILLOW FROST. PLUS: STEPIN FETCHIT-THE WORLD'S LAZIEST MAN. FEATURING ASA BERGER AND THE FOX MOVIETONE PLAYERS, WITH THE INGeNUES. Stepin was a bigger star and had been in dozens of movies, but Willow, a local hero, had managed top billing.

"Without a doubt," William said. He'd forgotten that the 5th Avenue was a Chinese theater, at least on the outside. Somehow it was fitting that Willow would be performing here. It was the audience that would appear out of place.

William took Charlotte's hand and showed her how to touch the ball within a Foo dog's mouth. "You're supposed to rub it for good luck."

"Do I make a wish?"

"You can if you want."

Charlotte closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. Then she smiled.

"We should get in line," William said as a crowd gathered, everyone waiting for the box office to open. William's eyes widened when he saw that the theater was showing movies-some with Willow, though most of them, like Show Boat and The Galloping Ghost, featured Stepin. There was also an anthology, showcasing some of the other performers who would be appearing live, once in the afternoon and once for the final show of the evening. As much as William wanted to watch the other movies, he knew that they needed to save their money. So he didn't mention the other shows as they lined up and bought tickets from a blond woman for the matinee, which cost thirty cents apiece, half the price of the evening show.

As he stared at the posters and portraits of Willow in her elaborate gown and dramatic makeup, he wondered what he'd say to her. Will she remember? And if not, will I be forced to beg for answers? She was famous and he was nothing. He began to doubt, suddenly bereft of hope, contemplating what he'd do if she weren't his ah-ma. What then? He'd be on his own, but at least he wouldn't feel so rejected. There was strange comfort in that.

WILLIAM AND CHARLOTTE spent the afternoon skipping from store to store, savoring the freedom they'd been starving for back at the orphanage. They wandered like curious dogs with broken leashes. They lingered at Mozart's Cigars until they were kicked out for loitering. And they played downstairs in the Bon Marche's vast toy department, where Charlotte delighted in touching and squeezing the stuffed bears. They even tried on hats at Best's Apparel, until a customer mistook William for an Indian and a security guard was roused to chase them off. Neither of them seemed to mind. The city was noisy, and smelly, and fragrant, and even though poverty and joblessness had consumed whole boarded-up neighborhoods, the downtown district was alive. Plus, there were storefront theaters on almost every block-sometimes three or four in a row, showing second-run talkies, newsreels, cartoons, and a mix of silent photoplays. Motion pictures seemed to be the only business that was thriving.

By the time they got back to the 5th Avenue Theatre, William's legs were tired and his feet sore from walking in shoes one size too small. But that discomfort diminished with each minute that ticked away, bringing them that much closer to showtime. As they waited, some of the people in line gave them queer looks or commented under their breath, especially when they saw William's Oriental face or Charlotte's cane. William ignored them.

And when the ornate doors finally parted, everyone fell silent.

"What is it?" Charlotte whispered.

"It's ..." William blinked as his mouth hung open. "It's ..." He was at a loss for words. As the crowd marveled, William took Charlotte's hand and walked through the entrance into another world. They sank into the lush carpet of the lobby, promptly greeted by usherettes in Mandarin costumes of red, blue, green, and gold. The walls were draped in shimmering ribbons of crimson and jade. And as they entered the ma.s.sive theater, William felt as though he were setting foot in China's Imperial Palace, overlooking the landscape of his ah-ma's wildest fairy tales. He looked up, in awe, gushing his amazement as he beheld an enormous, lavishly sculpted five-toed dragon that had been carved across the center of the high, deckled ceiling. An opulent pearl chandelier dangled from the creature's gaping mouth.

"From all the gasps I'm hearing, I take it this theater is quite impressive," Charlotte said, squeezing his hand. "I can feel this place-the way it smells, the way the air moves, the way our voices carry. It must be huge."

While waiting in line William had overheard someone mentioning that the 5th Avenue had nearly three thousand seats, but he'd never envisioned a place this large. The interior resembled the Temple of Heaven he'd once seen in National Geographic. The decor felt like a confirmation, a sign that Willow was indeed sent from somewhere on high.

It's the most breathtaking place I've ever seen! William thought. But he said, "It's so fantastically ... ornate." As he led Charlotte to their seats, he struggled to figure out how to describe such rich colors to a sightless girl. "The curtains are blue velvet, like the sky at night, the golden pipes from the organ stand tall above the arch of the stage, it's huge, but with fine details in every corner. And it's all ... Chinese."

"Like your mother."

Like Willow. William had never seen anything this majestic, this exotic, even within the few square blocks of Chinatown. "And the people here to watch the show, they're all ... white." The contradiction left him feeling strangely proud.

Charlotte closed her eyes and beamed as the pipe organ filled every corner of the theater with sound. "Now I can see it," she said with a smile.

William watched as patrons found their seats while the main floor filled up, almost to capacity. He felt himself drifting between two worlds: the austerity of his childhood, the orphanage, the poverty of Pioneer Square-and the magical realm of the stage, with its decadence, its overwhelming opulence. Most of the other people in the audience wore suits or dresses, but no one was twinkling with sequins or dripping in diamonds. Some were dressed no better than he was, in his old jacket and tie. But everyone seemed rapt, nearly bursting with excitement. The theater was an escape and an amus.e.m.e.nt-a welcome, celebratory respite from the harsh, cold reality outside.

As the houselights faded and the audience clapped, William imagined that they had all stepped into Charlotte's world of sound and music and infinite s.p.a.ce. But then a spotlight illuminated a dashing fellow in a dark tuxedo.

"Laaaaaaadies and geeeeeeentlemen, children of all ages, shapes, sizes, flavors, and levels of sobriety ..."

William recognized him from the advertis.e.m.e.nts, even before he introduced himself as Asa Berger. He cracked a few jokes and then broke into song and dance as the curtains parted to reveal the Ingenues, who began to play. William didn't quite know what to make of them. They were fantastic, though strangely comical at times as one of the girls strutted across the stage in glittering heels while playing an ivory accordion.

The all-girl orchestra was followed by an act billed as Straight and Crooked Magic, in which a magician named Blackstone made a birdcage vanish, leaving a squawking canary in the hands of Pete, his jocular a.s.sistant. For their finale they made a lightbulb levitate from a table lamp. The radiant orb flew above the audience while the musicians in the pit played "I Know That You Know." As William described the illusion to Charlotte, the man sitting behind them said, "I hear Thomas Edison himself is trying to figure out how he does that." Magic made William nervous. He hoped it was just a trick.

Blackstone was followed by a duo who performed "Indian Love Call" from the hit musical Rose-Marie. A broad-shouldered man dressed as a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police rode in on a wooden horse and sang to a blond woman dressed as an Indian maiden. William couldn't help but think about Sunny, who would probably change his name to Sunny Does-Not-Approve.

After that a high-kicking dance number called "Hot Cotton" took over the stage. William counted sixteen leggy ladies in enormous feathered hats and floor-length tutus that were nearly transparent. The men in the audience whistled and hooted.

Asa, who had the crowd rolling with laughter, introduced each performance, though most of the jokes were beyond William's level of appreciation.

Finally, the emcee said, "Well, folks. It's that time, time to reintroduce you to a local doll who's done the extraordinary, the nearly impossible-she's been able to put up with me for two months on the road!"

"This is it," Charlotte whispered.

This is it. William sat spellbound as Asa teased and the audience chuckled while timpani drums rolled louder and louder and louder ...

"Here she is-the one you've been waiting for, from the silver screen to the airwaves above us, and finally to the grandest stage on the West Coast, I give you the one, the only, the inimitable, Miss ... Willow ... Frost!"

Charlotte clapped wildly and cheered, more than the rest of the audience, who seemed interested but less enthused. William became a statue, a gargoyle staring at the slender figure in a lavender gown with flowers in her hair. She began to sing, softly, deftly, in a whisper that quieted the audience, as the orchestra followed her lead.

A pair of sailors shouted, "Take it off, sweetie!" and "How much for a private dance?" prompting a male usher to ask them to refrain.

I should have rented a pair of opera gla.s.ses, William thought, because from his seat in the middle of the theater he couldn't see her face or define her features. But something about the way she carried herself, her walk, looked familiar. She seemed profoundly stylish, standing out as the one Chinese performer in a Chinese theater-but in a modern dress, before a modern audience. She sang her version of "Dream a Little Dream," her voice rising and rising until the rich, powerful notes filled every corner of the theater and people began clapping, cheering. William caught his breath.

"That's her?" Charlotte whispered.

That's her. The hair stood up on the back of his neck as William recognized her voice. And when the song ended he watched as Willow blew kisses and waved while the audience continued their l.u.s.ty applause and Asa whisked her away.

It has to be her. It has to be.

Then Asa was back, only to trip over a shadowy figure sleeping onstage, just below the following spotlight. The crowd roared when Stepin Fetchit sat up, yawned, stumbled to his feet, and dusted himself off. He looked elegant yet comical in a skimmer and c.o.o.nskin coat. "Man, is it showtime already?" Stepin scratched his head. "My hotel is right across the street, so I called me a cab. When I told the cabdriver to take me to the Fifth Avenue Theatre, he said, 'But it's right over there,' and I said, 'I know, hurry up, I'm gonna be late!' " The audience laughed and clapped while he stripped off his long coat to the sound of a scratchy trombone. Beneath the fur he wore a tuxedo covered in purple sequins. The tuxedo's tails touched the floor.

"How do you like my outfit?" Stepin asked as the audience clapped and whistled. "I bought it from Rudy Valentino." The men groaned as the women cheered. "He wore it on his wedding day. He and the bride both wore lavender!" The audience roared, but William didn't understand the joke. "Brother, it's good to be here-we just rolled in by train. You know, I love riding the train, which is much better than traveling in the South. You know how we travel in the South?"

Asa yelled from offstage, "No, how do you travel in the South?"

William listened numbly as Stepin paused, drawing the audience in. "Fast. At night. Through the woods! That's how a colored man travel in the South ..."

The audience ate up the comedian's jokes, laughed at his pratfalls, marveled at his dancing, was surprised by his singing, and begged for more. He even took a turn conducting the orchestra, directing them through a medley of Mozart and ragtime.

But William didn't smile. He hardly noticed. He sat spellbound, staring into the wings of the stage and the back of the house, hoping to catch another glimpse of Willow Frost, his ah-ma, whoever she was.

For the grand finale all of the performers, including Willow, came back onstage. William was still mesmerized by seeing and hearing her in person, along with the other living, breathing movie stars-figments from the silver screen, walking, floating across the stage like ghosts from his haunting, faded daydreams. Then the curtains sighed.

As the houselights came on and the usherettes appeared, William sat staring at the stage. You have to come back. Charlotte took his arm, and he reluctantly led her up and out onto the sidewalk, where a man with a cart was selling bunches of flowers and directing autograph seekers to the stage door, tucked in the alley. William thought about how much the flowers must cost, then shrugged and bought a small clasp of purple and blue.

"They smell lovely," Charlotte said. "For your mother?"

"For Willow," he said. Then he led his friend around the block to where the stage door was crowded with reporters and other fans, some of them holding their own bundles of flowers or elegantly wrapped gifts. Together they waited patiently behind a doorman and a velvet rope. William could hear the band playing, tuning, and clearing their valves for the evening performance while an airmail plane droned overhead. Then he heard clapping and cheering as performers began to mill out, the musicians, the Ingenues, the dancers-all of them smiled and waved, hugged the locals they knew, and graciously accepted gifts before they were ushered toward a queue of waiting taxis. William heard a crashing sound, like gla.s.s breaking, and then Asa Berger burst through the door. Ever the showman, he posed for the cameras and shook the hands that stretched beyond the velvet barrier. William touched the comedian's sleeve and could smell alcohol on his breath, even from an arm's length away. William looked at Charlotte, who had her nose scrunched though no one else seemed to mind. He smiled as the comedian stumbled back to the door, unsure if the clumsiness was all part of Asa's act. The man held the door open for Willow and then Stepin. William's heart pounded in his chest. He rubbed his eyes as blue flashbulbs popped again and again in the shadows of the alley while reporters peppered the headliners with questions.

She's right here! William thought. So close I can almost touch her.

He held on to Charlotte as they struggled near the rope to keep from being pushed aside by pale women with ruby lips who gushed over the black showman and the many Caucasian gentleman admirers who offered their flowers to the coy Chinese actress. William watched Willow accept several of the bouquets, smiling graciously as if each gift were of singular importance. Then she handed them to Asa, whose arms were quickly filling up. He pretended to collapse under their weight.

As Willow turned to leave, William blurted, "Wait!" He waved frantically from behind the velvet rope, standing on his tippy-toes, desperate to make eye contact with the woman who turned and smiled knowingly, as though comforted to see a young Chinese fan with flowers. "Aw, morning glories are my favorite-how did you know?"

She was inches away, but he couldn't speak. I've always known. Don't you know who I am? The words stuck in William's throat. He could barely think. This was his moment, but he stood paralyzed by the thought of rejection. Was it better to keep hoping, dreaming, than to be disappointed forever? He looked up with desperate eyes, watching as her wide Hollywood smile, her perfectly painted face, shrank into an aspect of stunned, devastating sadness. William offered the flowers, and she took them slowly, raising them to her nose, staring back at him over the wide, bluish petals.

A reporter interrupted. "Miss Frost-can I ask you one more question?" He spoke as he scribbled in a small notebook. "How's it feel to be back in Seattle?"

Willow didn't answer. She didn't move. She closed her eyes, tightly, then opened them and looked toward the sky as tears traced her soft cheekbones. She wiped the wetness away and sniffled, half-hiding behind the flowers.

Everyone, even the chattering newsmen, fell silent, all of them hanging on her answer, as though this dramatic pause were merely the foreshadowing calm before a typhoon of song and melody and heartrending drama-as if her entire life were an act.

"It's ..." She seemed to be searching for the words. "All so, unbelievable ..."

"And how is that, Miss Frost?" another reporter asked.

William stared into her eyes as she gazed back. He was close enough to see his hopeful reflection in the murky hazel. The rope was all that separated their two worlds.

"It's the people," she said. "Not just the fans, but the familiar ..."

"When did you leave?"

"Five years ago."

"And do you still have family in the area?"

You do, Ah-ma. I never left. I've been here all this time.

William watched as she slowly, almost absently, shook her head and whispered something so softly that he almost didn't hear her say, "How could I ..."

"Miss Frost," the reporter said.

"Could you repeat the question?" she asked, wiping away more tears.

"I was asking about your family. I know you grew up here. I was wondering if they were planning to come to any of your performances-I was curious as to what they must think-family, friends, relatives. I'm sure they're incredibly proud of all of your success and how far you've come. Miss Frost?"

Charlotte whispered in William's ear, "Get her autograph."

As though waking from a dream, William blinked, once, twice, and then took out the folded, dog-eared photograph and handed it to the movie star whose likeness it bore. He watched, spellbound, as she held the paper, regarded it for a moment, and then quickly scribbled her signature with an ornate fountain pen. She handed the autograph back and paused for a moment as a reporter snapped a picture of the movie star and the young boy, staring at each other from opposite sides of the plush red velvet rope. He took the photo with both hands, then looked up as the woman stood gazing back at him. She didn't let go until a taxi driver blared his horn and revved his engine. William sank beneath the padded shoulders of his jacket as Asa flashed Willow his wrist.w.a.tch and pulled her away.

She hastily said, "This was the best performance of my life. One I will never, ever forget-for as long as I live. And if there were any friends or old fans in the audience, I hope they can forgive me ... for being away so long."

William found his voice as she turned her back toward him. "Ah-ma?"

She paused while her companions, Stepin and Asa, climbed into the taxi.

"You were wonderful," William said in Chinese.

Willow hung her head. It started to rain, and thick, heavy droplets dotted her cape and cloche hat. She peered back over her shoulder and then stepped into the car, wiping a tear from her cheek as the door closed and they pulled away.

William stood like a statue placed on a muddy sh.o.r.e, sinking deeper and deeper as the current washed away the sand beneath his feet. While the a.s.sortment of reporters, well-wishers, and stargazers slowly drifted elsewhere, he remained transfixed, holding Charlotte's hand, wondering what exactly had happened.

"Was it really her?" she asked. "Was Willow ... you know ..."