He said: All right, I was just checking. Rosie thinks so too. It’s not that I don’t trust her opinion. There’s no one sharper than your sister. Only I know she’d rather see all of you married off sooner rather than later. And I’d just like for you girls to be happy.
We were quiet for a long time after that. My mind went somewhere dark, and I tried to pull myself out of it, but I was sunk with sadness.
I said: You know there’s no hope for me. No husband in my future.
He said: You’re better than all that anyway.
He said it without thinking, and it made me think that it was true, or at least that he believed it was true. That was good enough for me. Good enough for now.
Mazie’s Diary, June 12, 1921
Walked down to the water this morning and Jeanie was already there. Not whole yet, but closer to who she used to be. Leaping and skipping. A tumble in the sand but she laughed as she fell. Still lean, always lean, but healthier. One leg matches the other now. She was nodding in the wind. Seagulls scattering. I waved at her and she waved back. We didn’t join each other. But I was satisfied that we were both bearing witness to the same sunrise.
Jeanie Phillips, July 7, 1921
I know where Mazie hides this, but I swear I don’t read it, only needed to write down one more thing, shed this skin, bleed this blood. No one wants to talk to me about Mama. She’s dead, I know it, what’s the point anyway? And it’s true I’ve not thought much about Mama & Papa in my life, not knowing them, barely remembering even very much about them. But I have something to say.
Rosie & Mazie told me Papa was bad, and so I believe it to be true. He hit her, for years he hit her. Rosie says he’s a bastard, I believe it. Mazie says I should be grateful to Rosie for saving us, and I believe that, too. Our mother was once beautiful, they’ve both told me that. I let that roll over in my imagination and accept it as fact even though my only memory of her was dark circle eyes and clumps of hair that came out in her hands. I squeeze my eyes shut and she becomes a whole woman again, because they say it, and I want it to be true.
But when I think of him, I only remember him dancing. He danced with me when I was a little one, held me high in his arms and swayed me around the room. And I remember once, only once, going to a fair, all of us as a family, and seeing him dance there. We were there for hours, we lost him, and I slept in my mother’s lap while she stroked my hair. It was safe there, the comfort of her lap, her thighs, her hips I remember it all as soft and bounteous, and that’s all I wanted was her touch. Stroke my hair, hold me close, dance me around the room.
And when we found him there was music like I had never heard and strings of lights everywhere. It seemed like millions of them, but only now I realize that wasn’t true, it was only because I was little, and so everything seemed bigger. But oh it was dazzling! All those lights. And the crowds of people dancing. And there was our Papa, dancing with a stranger, and I looked at how happy he was. But Rosie stopped him, made him stop dancing with the woman. The last thing I remember about this was thinking: Why is Rosie making Papa stop when he’s so happy?
Later I knew it to be true that it was bad that Papa left us all alone, and bad that he had his hand on this woman, and especially bad that later on he hit Mama and Rosie, I know all of that. But one of the most beautiful things in life is seeing someone else happy. Isn’t that the most we can dream of?
Mazie’s Diary, August 15, 1921
I only saw what she wrote just now. We all forgot about everything after she left again.
Life is full of lies just waiting to be told.
Mazie’s Diary, September 1, 1921
Walking wounded, and we never even went to war.
Mazie’s Diary, September 15, 1921
She had someone who loved her and it didn’t even matter. She threw it all away like it didn’t mean a goddamn thing to her. I want love. I want it, and I can’t have it, and she throws it away.
Mazie’s Diary, October 3, 1921
I got a postcard from Jeanie today, at last.
It said: I’m not done yet.
6. Excerpt from the unpublished autobiography of Mazie Phillips-Gordon
They’re not criminals, they’re just drunks. Still they spend half their time in jail. The police are always roughing them up. I’ve watched it with my own eyes, every day for decades. But rich folks, they commit all kinds of crimes and nobody ever blinks. Hell, I drank straight through Prohibition, and that’s the least of my crimes. I knew the rules, and I knew how to break them without getting caught. No one ever threw me in jail.
Mazie’s Diary, November 1, 1921
Twenty-four years old today, though I feel like I’m a hundred.
Louis requested my presence in the car this morning. I said yes because I say yes to everything they want lately. We didn’t even drive anywhere. We just sat. The seagulls were screeching at the end of the block.
He said: Hey, sis.
I said: Yes, brother?
He said: I’m thinking you should become part of the family. Legally. Be a Gordon like your sister and me.
I said: I’m already your family. You raised me, you fed me, you took care of me.
He said: I want you to be blood. I’ve been watching over you forever, let me call you one of mine. That other one, there’s no telling what she’ll do, when she’ll be here, even if she’ll ever be here again. But you’re here, you’re our girl, you’re not going anywhere. So be one of the Gordons.
I thought about what it meant to be a Gordon versus a Phillips. My father is a violent rat bastard. A man who hits women is the worst kind of man. Still I am part Phillips, always will be. There’s no denying the truth of your blood. But I’m a Gordon too. When Jeanie left, everything shifted again. Our family rejiggered.
I said: It’s an honor that you ask me, Louis. But I don’t know if I can give up my name.
I prayed he didn’t take it as an insult.
He said: Maybe you could be both names. A Phillips and a Gordon. Make one of them your middle name.
I said: That sounds like something I could do.
He said: I’ll adopt you like you were my own.
I said: I’m yours, Louis.
Then we hugged, me and the big guy, until we cried.
This is the safest I’ve felt in years, knowing I’ll be his. Knowing he’s claimed me for his own.
Mazie’s Diary, April 16, 1922
Louis spoke to me yesterday about signing the theater over to me. He told me it’ll make his life easier in taxes, and that I’ll get more of a share of the money we bring in. He makes too much money, but not enough, whatever that means.
He said: It’ll be good for you to have it in your name. You practically run the joint anyway. Someday it’ll be yours for real.
I said: I’ll do whatever you ask. Give me a pen, tell me where to sign.
Mazie’s Diary, May 1, 1922
A postcard from the Captain, and I barely read it. Saw his name, looked at the lake, the mountain, somewhere in Oregon. Blue skies surrounding it all, a picture of a perfect day somewhere far away. He saw it, I didn’t. What do I care? I put it up in the cage with the rest of them.
These people who come and go can just stay where they are.
Mazie’s Diary, May 11, 1922
Saw Louis down the road from the theater with a dapper Jew. Nice suit, fine, narrow features, olive skin, doe eyes, thin. A tidy kippah pinned to his head. I could see how shiny his shoes were from half a block away. I don’t generally go for the religious ones but this one might make me change my tune. I’d slice some challah for him any old time.