The newspaper was folded up in its customary spot, so I made myself some tea and flipped the paper open to the section I needed.
With a pen in hand, I started to search.
I wasn’t sure what area I needed, but I knew the kind of price range that would work. One thing about being here before, it had taught me what I could and couldn’t expect to make—and what I could and couldn’t afford.
Prices that would’ve seemed ridiculous in my time were actually still ridiculous now—ridiculously expensive, especially for somebody who had no experience, no references…nothing but hope when it came to finding a job that wasn’t waitressing or working in a grocery store, that is.
Florence was convinced I could get the job at Astor’s clinic, but I wasn’t going to count on that, not until I actually had the job. Not just the offer, but the job itself.
Still, from what Florence had told me, the clinic paid its employees very well, including the women. To make it here, I needed a job that would allow me some measure of independence.
Rubbing at my temple, I made a few more notes on a pad of paper I’d found, circling one address that had jumped out at me.
It was in an area called Willowbrook—one of the more affordable listings.
I could afford it if I got that job at the clinic.
“Hello!”
At the sound of her bright, happy voice, guilt flooded me, and I closed the paper carefully, taking care to hide the classified section. Florence slid into the seat next to mine, eyes on me and not the paper. “How are you feeling?”
She leaned forward, slipping her hand over mine. It was a comforting gesture.
“Just tired.” After a moment, I shrugged. “Maybe a little hungry.”
“You should be hungry! You haven’t eaten all day.” She nudged the paper. “Don’t tell me you’re still looking for a job. I’ve already told you, I have that taken care of.”
Wincing, I shrugged. “Habit.”
But I didn’t quite hit the right tone.
She cocked a brow and leaned back in her seat, studying me. “Is that right?”
“Ah…of course.” I took my tea and sipped. But when I went to slip out of my chair, Florence ever so slightly tightened her grip on my hand.
“Don’t lie,” she said simply. “We’re friends and we trust each other. Why lie?”
Deflated, I met her eyes. “Because you’re not going to like it.”
“I don’t like a great many things and I deal with them,” she pointed out.
“Well, you’re really not going to like this.” Slumping in the chair, I stared upward at the ceiling again. “I…look, I think I should find my own place.”
A moment of silence, followed by a baffled, “Why?”
“Because…” Lamely, I reached up, waving at the empty air, but no miracle answer appeared. “Florence, I’m an unwed mother living in Hollywood in 1965. Do you have any idea how hard this is going to be? How bad it could reflect on you?”
“Fuck them.” Her brows drew down low over her eyes as she said the words in a cool, pithy tone.
It was so surprising, I broke out laughing. “Florence!”
“Don’t you laugh at me!” she scolded, rising from her chair and shaking a finger at me. “You’re one of my dearest friends. You saved my life. You helped me in ways I can never repay, and you think I’m worried about how something might reflect on me?”
She waved a hand at the door again. “Fuck them! And you, for thinking it.”
Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears, and I realized I’d hurt her.
“Oh, Florence…”
Rising, I went to hug her.
She didn’t let me at first, but finally, she relented and I pulled her in close. “It’s not about you worrying over it,” I said, guilt now bubbling on top of everything else. “It’s about how they will react to you. I don’t want anybody ever thinking badly of you…especially because of me.”
“Maya…”
“Don’t.” I squeezed her and then moved away, going to the window to look out over her gardens. “It’s going to be hard enough, Florence. I don’t have family here. I don’t have—well, except for you and Astor and Harrison, I don’t have anybody. I’m not going to let this hurt you in any way.”
“But we want to help,” she said gently.
“You will. You already have.” I managed to smile as I looked back at her. “But…at the same time, I just feel like I need to find a way to do this…alone.”
She looked troubled as she sat down in her seat, pushing her hair back from her face. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
No. I shouldn’t.
Neither of us could argue that, but we couldn’t change what was, either.
After a moment, she sighed and looked up.
“Just what are you planning, Maya?”
“Well…” I blew out a breath, then folding my hands on the table, I gave her a smile that hopefully portrayed more confidence than I felt. “I’ve been thinking this through and I’ve got an idea.”
“I’m waiting with bated breath to hear what it is.” She had a wary look in her eyes.
“I’m going to buy a wedding ring.” At her blank look, I lifted a shoulder and looked away. “I hate to lie about such a thing, but I’ll let people think I’m a widow. If they ask, I’ll say he died in the war.”
“Maya…” She spoke in a hushed tone, her eyes as wide as saucers.
“Normally, I would never do something like that.” Miserable, I looked back at her. Now that the words were out, it felt even more wrong, but what was I supposed to do? “But this way, I wouldn’t have to worry about anybody talking down about my child. It won’t affect me on the job. I…”
“You’ll need Astor to cover for you if you take the job at the clinic,” she said quietly.
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Closing my eyes, I buried my face in my hands. “That won’t work. I’ll just have to find another job.”
“But this job will be wonderful!”
“And it’s too likely something will slip, or somebody who knows me could find out.” Shaking my head, I got up from the chair and moved to the window. “If I’m going to build a decent life for me and the baby, it needs to be a new life.”
“Without me?”
“No!” Spinning, I turned and met her eyes. “You’re the only friend I’ve got. I can’t lose you. But the job…it’s too risky, Florence.”
“What’s too risky?” Astor’s deep, melodious voice had me jumping.
Florence, too.
She gave me a worried glance before sliding out of her chair to go give him a kiss. “Girl talk, honey.”
He arched a brow and studied her for a moment before looking over at me. “Is everything alright here?”
“It’s fine.” Florence’s voice wobbled a bit.
“For an actress, you’re a terrible liar,” I told her wryly. Then I looked at Astor. Regardless, he’d have to know I wasn’t taking the job, and I didn’t want her having to lie to her husband for me. “I’m not going to take the job at the clinic. I…can’t.”
Dark brows furrowing over his eyes, he shook his head. “Why not, Maya?”
“Because I…” Licking my lips, I fumbled for an explanation, and finally forced one out—one that almost resembled the story I’d tell people once I established my new life. “I’m pregnant, Astor. I only recently found out. And…” I held up my left hand, bereft of a wedding ring. “It won’t work very well when people there realize I’m not married, will it?”
“You’re pregnant,” he said slowly.
“Yes.”
Full lips drawing together in a lopsided frown, he rubbed the back of his neck. There was a flush on his cheeks, and I realized I’d probably embarrassed him. People were so different to what I was used to.
“The father is gone,” I said, forcing the sentence out, not looking at Florence. She was twisting her wedding ring around and around, her eyes on the floor. “He…well, he didn’t lov
e me, and he’s gone.”
“What do you mean, ‘gone’?”
“He died,” Florence said, her voice shaking. The words came out with more conviction than I would’ve expected. When Astor’s face softened, I turned away.
“Please don’t.” Holding up a hand, I staved off whatever comfort he’d offer. I felt terrible lying to him—and Florence…? I hadn’t wanted her to lie to him at all. “It’s over and done. Except for the baby.”
Covering my belly with my hand, I calmed the racing in my mind enough so that I could look back at him and smile. “There are consequences to our actions, after all. But now…well, I should figure out what to do next. I know it won’t reflect well if I work at the clinic. I’ll find something else. I…also, I’m planning on moving. There’s an apartment in an area called Willowbrook. I’m going to look at it after a job interview tomorrow.”
“Willowbrook.” He looked troubled. “That’s some ways away, Maya. You don’t know anybody there, and you don’t have a job yet.”
“I know. I’m looking.” Giving him a bright smile, I added, “I also saw a couple of ads for job openings there that I hadn’t applied for. One is at a library. I was going to go by there after I looked at the apartment.”
“Maya, you know you don’t need to go rushing out of here. Florence and I are happy to help.”
“I’m not rushing out!” Under his watchful gaze, I had to fight the urge to squirm. It was like he could see right through me. “I just…I think it’s best if I find a place of my own and start…”
He moved closer and took my hands. “I have a confession to make. It’s my turn to apologize for overhearing. I already know you plan on buying a ring and saying you’re a widow. I overheard.”
He glanced at Florence as she looked up.
Their eyes locked while I tried to figure out just how much he’d heard.
He took that worry away a few seconds later. “Whoever the bastard is, shame on him for not standing by you. If you think this is the best way to handle it, I’ll support you. But I want you to know our doors are open.”
My heart ached and I whispered, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m just being a friend.” He squeezed my fingers gently, then moved over and joined Florence at the table. “Tell me about this apartment. Willowbrook, isn’t that close to Watts?”
Florence answered while I sank into the seat across from Astor.
Watts.
Why did that sound familiar??
“I don’t know much about the place. It’s small, but that’s okay. I don’t need much. What matters is that it’s affordable—or will be, once I get a job.” Lifting a shoulder, I tried to sound blasé. “And that will be soon.”
“You’re always so certain,” Florence murmured.
I wasn’t, not this time. But I had to believe things would be for the better. What choice did I have?
Three
Maya
Well, I’d been on point when I told Florence and Astor that I didn’t need much.
I didn’t.
I’d been on point when I’d told them the place was small.
It was.
But I hadn’t thought it would be this small.
The entire apartment would fit into the living room of Florence and Astor’s home and still have room to spare. A renovated apartment over a garage turned into a small living space, it was a no-frills, basic-as-basic-can-get place, with only one room. There was one window in the front, one in the back and only two doors in the entire place. One was to get inside. The other was to get into the bathroom.
It was clean, which was a bonus in my opinion, because I really couldn’t afford anything better.
My landlord was an older woman who’d eyed me with an inscrutable gaze before letting me see the apartment a few days earlier. She’d asked if I was single, and for the first time, I’d given voice to the lie that would guide my life.
Widowed, I’m afraid. My husband died in the war.
She’d looked at the ring for a long moment, then nodded.
She’d accepted fifty dollars cash to hold the room until I could move in--Astor and Florence had told me to wait a few days so they could help me.
I couldn’t afford anything better, though.
I’d gone to the library afterward and applied.
To my astonishment, they hired me on the spot.
I had a job.
I had a place to live.
Things were already turning around.
Earlier that morning, Astor and Florence had given me a ‘gift’ that would let me cover the rent for the first three months, insisting I needed to have some money set aside for the baby. Their kindness undid me, but when Florence had told me that refusing it would hurt her feelings, I’d accepted, even though I knew she was working me.
“Wow…you’ll get some great natural light with those windows!”
Glancing back at her, I smiled and nodded. “Sure will!” I hadn’t understood why she and Astor had insisted on helping me move. I didn’t really have anything.
Then the truck—and Harrison—had shown up, and the bed I’d used at her place was unloaded, as well as a small dinette set, a couch, a few other odds and ends.
It had made me sniffle, and I ended up locking myself in the bathroom until I was done.
As Harrison pushed and rearranged furniture, Astor and Florence had left to run a quick errand. When they’d returned, they had cleaning supplies, curtains, dishes, and a toaster.
I almost had to lock myself in the tiny bathroom again. I fought the tears back just because the bathroom was so small, making me feel a little claustrophobic going in there.
Now, as he and Harrison worked on getting the curtains up, Florence and I washed the new dishes and silverware.
“You all didn’t have to do all of this,” I said softly, rinsing out the last glass.
“Like we wouldn’t help you get settled.” Florence dried her hands on the dish towel—she’d bought that, too—then hugged me. “Wow. I haven’t worked like that in…maybe ever.”
She went over to the couch and dropped down, letting her head loll against the back.
Laughing, I sat down next to her.
My lower back was aching some, so I could totally understand. Tired, I muffled a yawn and apologized. “I’m more tired than I thought.”
“That’s because you got a baby growing inside.” Florence gave me a misty smile and then got up. “I…excuse me, please.”
She disappeared into the bathroom.
No sooner had she shut the door than Astor sat down next to me on the couch.
“She wants a baby,” I said.
“We both do.” He smiled and shrugged. “It will happen when it happens.” He shifted and pinned me with a serious look. “I want you to take care of yourself. Be safe.”
"I'll be fine."
"I imagine…well…” He smiled a little. “You’re probably one of the most capable women I’ve ever met. You’re incredibly steady and very smart. But we live in a…” He hesitated, his eyes going to the bathroom door once more. “These are troubled times for some people, Maya.”
I shook my head, confused. “Is this…people will think I’m a widow, Astor.”
“It’s not the baby,” he said, taking my hand. The wedding ring I’d bought, a plain gold band, looked so strange on me. “It’s this world. It’s a hard time for certain people, and I get the feeling we’re coming to a boiling point, in a way.”
“I’m not following.”
He sighed and looked away, the light gold of his skin flushing. After a moment, his gaze came back to mine. “If I’m overstepping, I apologize. Let me say that first.”
“Okay.”
He nodded and swallowed. “Maya…you look like a white woman.”
It hit me then, what he meant.
“Now you’re following,” he said, nodding. “You look white…but with the last name like Cruz?”
“Spanish,” I told him. “M
y ancestors came from Spain. My father was born here, but his family came over when my grandparents were young. My mother’s family…well, they’ve been here for several generations, but they immigrated from Spain, too.”
“As I said, you look white. You may never have any trouble.” His jaw tightened. “But I want you to be careful. This area isn’t like Hollywood.”
Unconsciously, I looked down at our joined hands, at the light gold of my skin, a few shades paler than his.
I couldn't say that I had never dealt with racism in my life—especially lately. It seemed that in a time when things should be getting better, they were only getting worse.
The past year, I’d been told too many times I should go back to my own country, and Philadelphia was a more inclusive area than most. Just how many generations had to be ‘here’ before we could consider this our country, too? I’d been born here. Both Mom and Dad had been born here. My mother’s family had been here a long, long time.
But to some people that didn’t matter, and that was in my time.
Things in the sixties were nothing like what I was used to. A sliver of fear settled in my belly but I forced it under control.
I’d be fine, I told myself. Just fine.
“I'll be careful, Astor. Thank you for caring, though.”
He hugged me then. “You matter to both of us.”
Later that night, I settled on the couch with a book open in my lap. I had tried to read the first few lines several times over before I finally gave up.
Astor's gentle warning kept sounding itself over and over in my mind. You look like a white woman.
He’d mentioned he felt like things were coming to a boiling point, but he was wrong.
An explosion was more accurate.
Now, as I turned all of this over in mind, again and again, I thought of my parents.
What would they tell me, if they were here to give me advice?
“Get home,” I said, dropping my voice to a deep timbre, mimicking my dad’s stern tone. That was it, plain and simple. He’d want me home, and not just because he missed me. Because I’d be safer. The baby would be safer. I’d have family there to help me.
It would be the wise thing to do, assuming it was possible.