Jami Attenberg - Saint Mazie

I said: We’re closed for the night, gentlemen. There ain’t no more shows till morning.

One man said: Aw, you know us, Miss Mazie. We’re waiting on Rudy.

I said: Don’t you boys have anything better to do than stare up at a big screen all night? You spend all day in front of it. Go chase some girls!

They all laughed at me. They don’t care nothing for girls. They just like to watch movies. They’re hypnotized by them.

Rudy came and let them in and they all shuffled off. Silent and mysterious creatures of the night. That part I understand. I locked up my cage and wandered through the lobby. What could be so good, I was thinking.

I stuck my head in the theater. I tried not to look up for too long. But I’d never seen anything like it before. The movie was in color! Of course it wasn’t much of a movie. There weren’t any actors in it. It was just a bunch of circles and waves moving across the screen. But it was definitely in color. I know color when I see it.

Two seconds later, I was hunched over, retching up my guts all over again. Rudy came over to help me, walked me out front when I could make it.

He said: You trying to make yourself sick?

I said: Being nosy always gets the best of me. But Rudy, that was color up there.

He said: Someday there’s going to be color all the time. People talking too.

I said: Then you boys will never go home.

He said: Speaking of nosy, I forgot something.

He pulled a letter out of his pocket.

He said: Who’s this captain friend of yours?

I grabbed it from him. Postmarked the day after he met me. It was addressed to Miss Mazie Phillips, The Beautiful Proprietress of the Venice Theater. No return address.

There wasn’t much to it. Just that I was special and lovely, and that he would think of me whenever he saw a bridge, and that in his line of work, he saw a lot of bridges.

I hurried home after that. The house was empty. I read the letter again and again and then I got under the covers and put my hands between my legs and thought about bridges.

Benjamin Hazzard, Jr.

I understand from an intellectual perspective why he had such fond memories of her. They met at a moment in time where everything was perfect. He looked at her and told her she was gorgeous and then sailed off on his boat. They were both allowed to be perfect for each other forever.

Mazie’s Diary, August 2, 1918

Rosie’s home now, came back late last night, angry and weary from her travels. Jeanie and I wrapped ourselves up under a quilt on the couch. Then Rosie said our mother’s brain was slowly bleeding. We found each other’s hand under the quilt.

She said: I barely recognized her. Her face doesn’t look the same anymore. It’s all mashed up.

Rosie was holding on to the arms of the chair. Claws into fabric. She was tough and grim, and she was breaking my heart with her pain.

I said: Do you think he did it to her?

Rosie said: Of course he did! Of course he did. He said she fell, the liar. Fell a hundred times, more like it. She’ll die for sure and then he’ll be a murderer too. And he’ll never be held responsible for his actions.

Jeanie said: I don’t even remember her. I wish I could remember her.

I was thinking about when Rosie came to get us, when she brought us to New York. I could see it, still, even though it had been at night, and late. Jeanie had been a toddler, what did she know? But I could close my eyes and see it. The house had dirty floors…or made of dirt, maybe. We’d lived somewhere nicer once, closer to the city. He drank us into the country, that’s what Rosie said once. Maybe the floors were made of dirt after all.

There was Rosie picking me up whole from my bed, blanket and all. She shushed me, took me through the kitchen, and it was light and I opened my eyes. I saw Louis and my father standing there. Louis was counting out cash. The trees in front of the house bent with the wind, and there was a rushing noise in the leaves. Then we were all in the car, and then we were driving. All night we drove. I wasn’t scared, because I was with Rosie.

My mother was nowhere in all of this. I don’t think she said good-bye. I can’t remember it if she did. I can’t remember what she looked like either. Except maybe like the rest of us girls. A hazy, dark-haired lady. I can see her eating quietly by herself in the kitchen. A dark head hunched over a bowl. I don’t remember her smiling. A mother is supposed to smile at her babies.

We don’t even have any pictures of her here. Rosie walked out with us, and that was it. She didn’t want nothing from them but us girls.

I said: I wonder what would have happened if we had stayed.

Rosie said: I would never have let that happen.

Jeanie said: How did you know when it was time to leave? When you left the first time?

Rosie didn’t want to answer any more questions. She just sent us off to bed. Told us she’d be tightening the screws again now that she was back.

Mazie’s Diary, August 15, 1918

Nothing but drinking and working for days and days. Not a letter for the Proprietress, not a one. The drinking’s making me sick I think. I’m waking up queasy. But I can’t seem to stand a second of my lonesome life without it.

Mazie’s Diary, August 18, 1918

Last night Jeanie and Rosie got into it. Oh boy did they ever. I can’t say I enjoyed the yelling but at least it wasn’t me causing a fuss for a change.

Jeanie wants to work for Belle Baker. She doesn’t like traveling to the track, it’s too long a journey, she’s bored on the train, bored when she gets there. Belle’s got a new show on the Bowery. She’s a headliner now. She’s the queen of the Thalia Theater. She needs a lady-in-waiting, says Jeanie.

Rosie said: You’ve got a job.

Jeanie said: A job you picked for me, not a job I picked for myself. Why do you get to pick everything all the time?

Rosie said: Maybe because I know what’s best.

Jeanie said: Please let me do this one thing. Please, Rosie. I’m always on time, I’m always where I say I’ll be. I’m always pretty, I’m always sweet, I don’t drink, I don’t stay out all night, I’m a good girl. Please, Rosie.

She got down on her hands and knees on the kitchen floor. I saw it with my own eyes. She put her hands in Rosie’s lap. She was begging her.

I said: Go on, let her have some fun.

Jeanie started to wail. This is the end of your childhood, I was thinking. You are using it up right now. Rosie reached out to her, put her hands on her head. Promised she would talk to Louis.

I know I’ll be jealous of Jeanie, doing what she likes. But at least she knows what she wants. I can’t begrudge a soul their desires.

Mazie’s Diary, September 1, 1918

I was a little queasy this morning. I’m a sturdy wench, strong as an ox. I keep hoping the whiskey will kill whatever germ is inside me.

Mazie’s Diary, September 15, 1918

Rudy told me this morning about this influenza, it’s been spreading across the country and it’s hit New York. He’s got his entire family wearing surgical masks, and he handed one to me too. He told me there were too many strangers in our midst, and I was handling all their money, breathing all their air. I told him I’d look a fool if I wore it. In my mind I was thinking that maybe I already did have it. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud.

Mazie’s Diary, October 4, 1918

There’s new rules now for theaters, courtesy of our public health department. They’re closing us down during the day and staggering our openings at nights. Rumor is they’ll start shutting us down if we’re not up to snuff. More and more people on the streets in surgeons’ masks.