Authors: Paddy Eger
After a few minutes a plump woman with brown hair and a warm smile appeared from the back room. “Hello. May I help you?”
“Hi. Is there a cafe nearby where I can get something to eat?”
The woman sized her up. “If you’re twenty-one you can go in the bar.”
“I’m not. I’m seventeen.”
“Well then, I’ll order you a sandwich to eat out here.” The woman called the sandwich order into the bar, then turned back to Marta. “Are you in Billings for long?”
“I hope so. I’m joining the local ballet company.”
“That’s exciting.” The woman’s eyebrows raised, and a wide smile brightened her face. “Do you wear those fluffy short dresses?”
“Sometimes. Have you been to a ballet?”
“Not yet,” the woman said. “Every year I plan to go. I like the music, so I’d probably like the dancing.”
Marta smiled. “I hope you will come this year.”
A thick ham sandwich with a fat dill pickle, a pile of potato chips, and a bottle of Coke arrived on the counter. Marta started to protest.
“I know you didn’t order the Coke; I added that. The chips and the pickle come with our sandwiches.”
Marta opened her purse and drew out her wallet.
The woman waved her hand at Marta. “Put your money away. I’ll come see you dance one of these days. I’d be proud to say that I bought you dinner.”
“Thanks,” Marta said. She took her food to one of the faded overstuffed lobby chairs and devoured half of the sandwich and the pickle before taking a few sips of the Coke. The uneaten half sandwich and the chips she wrapped in a paper napkin and slipped into her pocket. She sat back and drank the rest of the Coke, feeling the bubbles erupt in her mouth and nose. Tomorrow she’d return to her usual much smaller and healthier meal portions.
Marta found the pay phone in a small alcove off the lobby and called the greeter again. Still no answer. Next she called her Mom, collect.
“Hi, darling. Feeling calmer?”
Marta paused. “A little. I crashed when I got to the hotel. I didn’t sleep very well with the bus twisting and turning. We made so many stops between Tacoma and Billings that I lost count.”
“Well, at least you‘re rested now. How’s the inn? Is your greeter helpful?”
“It’s an old inn. Reminds me of the beach lodge at Kalaloch.” Marta paused, expelling a slow breath. “I haven’t reached the greeter. It’s strange not knowing anyone or where anything is located.”
“It will all work out; you’ll see.”
Marta ran her fingers up and down the metal phone cord. “Did you do anything like this when you were my age?”
“No. When I left high school, I married your dad. We were busy working and saving money for a house. Then you came along. You were my adventure, and my blessing.”
Marta smiled to herself. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“You could never disappoint me, honey. Now, get some rest. Call me whenever; remember it’s cheaper after nine. Laugh when things get too crazy; it helps.”
After her mother hung up, Marta listened to the dial tone drone on and on before she hung up, feeling a break in connection to her mom. She roamed the lobby, waiting to thank the night clerk for the food. When she didn’t appear, Marta returned to her room and went to bed.
Morning sunlight slipped in along the side of the window shade, warming Marta’s back. The clock registered six o’clock. She stood, stretched, and peered out the window. Not a person or an evergreen tree in sight.
She curled up on the bed for a moment. When she next scanned the clock, it read nine-thirty. She sat up, shaking her head to clear away the sleep. Outside she heard cars and trucks rumbling along the avenue and voices moving along the sidewalks. Saturday looked to be a busy day in town. She’d better get moving. Too much needed to be done for her to sleep late.
She showered and rolled her worn clothes in the damp towel to soften the wrinkles. After she ate the leftover half sandwich and chips, she hurried down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. She stood under the entry awning, attempting to orient herself to the town. The map the ballet company sent looked like chicken scratches. It didn’t make sense. She stepped back inside the inn to check the telephone book for a better map.
The woman from last night spoke when she saw Marta. “Good Morning! Nice day isn’t it?”
“Yes. Thanks for last night’s food. That sandwich tasted great. I was starving.”
“Nothing like a little food to make you feel better.” The woman eyed Marta’s rumpled handful of papers. “New task today?”
“I need to find a ballet shop and a place to live,” Marta said, “but this map is useless.”
The night clerk stepped from behind the check-in counter. “Let me have a look-see. I’ve lived here seven years. My name is Trudy, and you’re Marta, right?”
“Yes, I am.”
Trudy scanned the list. “The dance shop is down the block. We can start there. You have a wide variety of apartments and rooms to consider. Here are my suggestions.” She circled places she considered acceptable, handed the list back to Marta, and picked up her purse and lunch bag. “Let’s get going. It will take a couple of hours to visit all of them. I need to be home by twelve-thirty. I assume you’ll accept a ride?”
“I’d love a ride,” Marta said, “but I can’t pay you much.”
“Pish, posh, Marta. I know how it feels to be new in a strange town.”
Trudy’s car interior was super-heated from the early morning sun. Marta’s blouse stuck to her back. The hot air burned her throat. Trudy started the car. “They say today will be a scorcher. Already is.”
The Dance Shoppe sign said, “Closed until September 6.” Way too late to help Marta.
Trudy drove Marta around the city looking for housing. The first apartment complex sign said, “No Vacancy.” The second turned out to be too expensive. Marta ruled out the third, fourth, and fifth because they were dingy or too far out of town for walking to the ballet company.
At a quarter to twelve, they stopped at the Belvern Boarding House on the east side of Yellowstone Avenue. Its freshly painted exterior and overflowing planter boxes invited a second look. A man in bib overalls pushed a rotary mower in the side yard, tossing up the scent of dry grass. Marta approached the front door.
“There’s no one home right now,” the man shouted. “Aggie gets home about five o’clock. Come back then.”
“Thanks, I will.”
When she climbed back in the car, Trudy started the engine. “I have a friend who knows Aggie. She’s got a great reputation. If she has a room, take it.”
Trudy drove Marta back to the inn and left with a wave. The smell of cinnamon, hot dough, and chocolate chip cookies floated out the door of the nearby bakery. Marta stepped inside and bought an inexpensive cheese bun for her dinner. She took it back to the inn and sat eating it in one of the foyer’s cushy chairs while she planned her next move.
Marta placed several calls. No other shops in town carried dancewear. They all suggested calling the Intermountain Ballet Company. She already knew that wouldn’t work.
3
A
t a quarter to six, Marta rang the Belvern boarding house doorbell. As she waited, she brushed back her damp hair and finger-pressed her wrinkled clothes.
A chunky woman about Marta’s height came to the screen door. She wore a pinstriped summer dress covered by a white apron. “Yes?” she said, as she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel.
“Hi. My name is Marta Selbryth. I came about the room. Is it still available?”
“Yes. Please, come in.” The woman opened the screen door. “I’m Mrs. Belvern. Two rooms are available. Follow me.”
The upstairs room above the entry hall smelled of lemon furniture polish. The room faced the street and the side yard. A faint breeze fluttered the white lace curtains, creating wavy patterns on the hardwood floor.
Marta surveyed the furnishings: a bleached maple bed, two mismatched dressers, and a rocking chair, all well-used. One of the blue and white flowered wallpaper walls had a small sink with a mirror. The closet appeared spacious for such an old home. Although the room was twice the size of her bedroom back home, it felt cozy.
Mrs. Belvern pointed toward the hall. “The shared baths are next door. You’d need to work out a schedule with the other upstairs tenants.”
Marta entered the bathroom. The large room split into two spaces each with locking doors. One room had a claw foot bathtub, a sink, a toilet, and a mirror. The other was similar but with a small shower. The linen closet in the entry area had four shelves. Two held personal items; one held a pile of towels, extra toilet paper, and tissues; the last shelf was empty.
“Each tenant has a personal shelf,” Mrs. Belvern said. “Extra towels and supplies are stocked here as well. You’ll need to launder any towels you use. The wash machine is in the furnace room in the basement. Check the schedule for available tenant wash times. You’ll need to purchase your own laundry detergent once you settle in. Clotheslines are available out back and in the furnace room.”
Mrs. Belvern pointed to a phone hanging on the wall in a tiny alcove. “Upstairs tenants make local or collect calls from here. Incoming calls ring up here as well as downstairs. I prefer they be answered downstairs when possible.”
Marta nodded.
The second room, on the main floor, looked north onto a large backyard where neighboring houses and fruit trees blocked direct sunlight. With flocked forest green wallpaper, dark maple furniture, and one tall sash window, the room felt too dark for Marta’s taste.
“Two boarders share the bath next door. There’s a small closet to store personal items. Boarding house guests also use this bath, so I provide a basket of hand towels intended for their use.”
“Are the rooms the same price?” Marta asked.
“Yes, seventy-five dollars a month, which includes breakfast as well as weekday and Sunday suppers.”
“I’d like to rent the upstairs room,” Marta said. “I like the view of the street and having a breeze. Could I move in tomorrow, Mrs. Belvern?”
“Certainly,” the landlady said. “That gives me time to dust and check things over.” She extended her hand to Marta. “Welcome, Marta. Call me Mrs. B.” She gestured toward the street. “I’m sorry I don’t have parking spaces.”
“I don’t have a car. That’s why I need to be in town. How far is the bus depot from here? My bags are lost. This morning they said to expect them tomorrow.”
“Oh my. That’s unfortunate. You can walk there, but it’s quite a distance. But, in this heat, how about I meet you there at noon tomorrow? We’ll pick up your bags and get you here in nothing flat. Take my phone number in case you think of any questions.”
“Thanks, Mrs. B. Getting help with the bags would be great.”
The sidewalk sizzled as hot as stove burners as Marta retraced her route back to the Rimview Inn. Her sandals stuck to her feet and sweat coated her body, but she congratulated herself on finding a room. When she got her bags tomorrow, she’d be set.
Marta took a cool shower and wrapped herself in the two small bath towels provided by the inn. She rinsed out her clothes and hung them over the shower rod to dry while she stretched out on the orange bedspread. She awoke near sunset. Her clothes felt damp to her touch, but she put them on so she could walk through town in hopes of catching a breeze.
The huge mercury thermometer on the bank wall read eighty-five degrees well after eight, much warmer than the warmest days back home. She stopped in a small park to sit in the shade of a droopy willow and eat the remains of a second cheese bun she’d purchased earlier.
A thought startled her: she was totally alone. She had no one to talk to, no one to laugh with, and no one to tell her everything would be okay. But this chance to dance was what she wanted, and that meant handling her own life day after day. She stood, straightened, and looked around. She
could
do this.
When she returned to her room, she thumbed through the
Seventeen
magazine her mom had tucked in the toiletries case. At nine-thirty she called home collect to report her day’s progress: the heat bothered her, she’d not found a place to buy dance clothes, yes she ate, and best of all, she loved the boarding house room she’d found.
“Did your bags arrive?”
“I hope they’ll be here tomorrow. Mrs. Belvern will help me collect them. I have two dressers, so send my extra box. And, Mom, there’s even a rocking chair.”
“Great,” her mom said. “Sounds like you’ve found a good place to live.”
“Only two problems left: I’m melting, and my clothes stink.”
Marta woke when her leg jerked her awake. She lay in bed, in the dark, clutching the thin sheet that covered her. The recurring dream of falling had followed her to Billings. This time she danced on the rock wall behind the inn. Wheat stalks poked out of her hair. She wore
pointe
shoes and a sheer flowing skirt with a border of apples and cinnamon rolls. Circling and dancing, she’d approached the edge of the cliff and lost her balance. She shuddered, then took several deep breaths. Would the dream of falling ever go away?
On her way to the bus depot the next morning, she took a parallel street, passing the Fox Theatre. Tall glass cases flanked the doors with posters of coming events including performances by the Intermountain Ballet Company. The doors were locked, but she peeked inside and saw the ornate foyer of a real performance hall. No more picking splinters from her
pointe
shoes from performing on a decrepit junior high stage like back home. Maybe the theatre even had dressing rooms and those little lights around the mirrors like in the movies. That would be impressive.
The Greyhound depot echoed its emptiness as she entered. Her toiletries case stuck to her hand as she set it on the cement floor to rummage through her purse for her claim tickets.
The attendant shook his head. “Sorry. They didn’t arrive. Write down your phone number. I’ll call when they show up.”
Marta wrote down the number and exited the bus depot. That meant she had nothing appropriate to wear tomorrow, her first day at the ballet company. Hopefully Madame Cosper would understand.