by Ken Springer
The Vintage Lady ~ A tale of love, loss and time
“A man’s greatest fear is that a woman will laugh at him. A woman’s greatest fear is that a man will kill her”
~ Margaret Atwood
Helen Galloway saw Susie’s startled response to the image in the mirror and placed a hand on her shoulder, asking, “What just happened? You look positively frightened?”
“I’m not really sure,” Susie replied. “The image in the mirror was mine, but there was a subtle difference.”
She explained to Helen that the image did not show the scar above her right brow.
“That is quite strange,” Helen said, pondering a moment before adding with a smile, “you don’t suppose this old house is haunted, and I just haven’t noticed it before?”
Susie laughed at Helen’s remark and said, “You told me when I first arrived that I resemble someone you knew many years ago.”
“Your likeness to a woman named Ruth Wendell is much more than a resemblance, Susie. There is something I want to show you before you leave; it may be significant to what you saw. So why don’t you load the old clothing into your vehicle, and we’ll talk over a bit of wine?”
It took a half-dozen trips to her van, but Susie finally loaded up the clothing and other items and returned to Helen’s parlor. Helen had poured them sherry in tulip-shaped copitas. As the two women sipped the wine, Helen told Susie about her sister’s best friend, Ruth Wendell.
Helen explained that Ruth was a few years older than her sister and had been an activist in the suffragette movement of the 1890s.
“Ruth opened Alice’s eyes to not just the right to vote in 1920, but the new freedoms that women fought so long to get. However, many men, including Alice’s husband, resented the recent gains for women in the workplace and society at large.”
Helen then stood up and walked over to a tall mahogany barrister and retrieved a framed photograph. She returned and stood beside Susie, pointing out herself, Alice, and a woman who was Susie’s doppelganger.
Susie looked up at Helen, saying, “Oh my Lord, this is incredible; that woman could pass for me even among my family and friends.”
“She very well could, my dear. I cannot explain it, but there you have it. Does it mean anything? I really don’t know, so I leave it up to you to sort this out.” Helen said.
Susie thanked her for the wonderful cache of vintage clothing, took one long look at Helen in the doorway of her Queen Anne home, and started back to Akron, her mind abuzz with questions.
On her drive home, Susie realized that, in some odd way, she shared Helen’s grief, as if she were connected to the Galloways in some respect.
“Perhaps,” she thought, “I am making more of this than I should, maybe I didn’t notice the scar in the mirror.”
It would be several weeks before Susie got around to sorting out the Galloway clothing. Business had been brisk lately, but Susie had an afternoon free to take her time and examine the various items of clothing and the occasional pieces of accessories and haberdashery.
In addition to the clothing, Susie found a treasure trove of beaded headbands, opera-length black gloves, long beaded necklaces, Art Deco bracelets, and even a feathered boa.
Susie’s delightful discoveries stalled when she came upon the half-moon mirror lying face-down at the bottom of the packing crate. She stared at the mirror for some time, hesitant to even touch its gilded frame. She quickly drew her hand away, trying to decide what to do.
Susie started to walk away, but fear was not something she readily experienced; she was a lioness when it came to confrontation. She grasped the mirror frame, feeling a vibrant energy run through her hand, and turned it over to see the very same image she had seen at Helen’s house. At the same time, the light in the room faded into near darkness.
Holding on to the mirror, Susie could see in the gloom that she was in a small room, with heavy drapery blocking most of the light. She carefully made her way over to the window and pulled open the thick drapes. The mirror, no longer in her grasp, was sitting on a side table beside a single bed.
A million thoughts were swirling around in Susie’s head, but she forced herself to calm down and figure out what had happened and where she was. The room she found herself in, which in its darkened state seemed dingy, now looked eerily familiar, and, one might add, nicely appointed.
She went back over to the window and looked down upon a lively city street scene. Model T Fords, electric streetcars, trucks, roadsters, and the occasional horse-drawn carriage filled the street, while the sidewalks were peopled with women in loose-fitting garb, cloches and headbands. Men wore double-breasted suits, flat caps and fedoras.
“I’ve a feeling we are not in Kansas anymore,” Susie wryly remarked to herself.
Susie intuitively knew that this was her apartment, or, rather, that of Ruth Wendell. It suddenly dawned on Susie that she might have been Ruth Wendell in an earlier life, after all, they were identical. She also realized that she was here for a single purpose: to prevent the imminent deaths of Alice Galloway and her son, Charles.
After all, in John Irving’s novel, “A Prayer for Owen Meany,” Susie’s favorite book, the protagonist, the diminutive Owen Meany, knew from a prophetic dream as a young man that he would die saving the lives of some Vietnamese children.
If this experience of traveling back in time held Susie’s purpose in life, then she faced a great challenge in the limited time before Alice and Charles would die. Susie had a plan, but she had to find a man named Frank Nitti. According to Helen, Mr. Nitti was Al Capone’s top enforcer and had met him on several occasions.
Susie’s first order of business was to remove her faded jeans, Rolling Stones T-shirt, and lime green Nike shoes before even thinking about stepping out onto the bustling streets of 1920s Chicago.
She began exploring her three-room flat, finding a large armoire in the adjoining room. She thoroughly enjoyed putting on the flapper ensemble, including a pair of Mary Jane shoes. When Susie stepped out of her brownstone and onto the sidewalk, she fit right in. Now, she must find a man named Frank Nitti.
Susie remembered Helen saying that there was a particular speakeasy, the Four Deuces, owned by Al Capone, that she and her sister frequented. As each minute passed, more memories of living here returned to her conscious mind. Susie didn’t need a map to navigate Chicago.
She headed on foot up to Wabash Street and slipped back into an alley to a door with a sliding peephole. She knocked three times, and after a short wait, it slid open. A voice asked for the password. At this, she almost panicked, but out of the blue, she said, “The Cat’s Pajamas,” and held her breath. The door opened, and in she went. She was looking for Capone’s enforcer, Frank Nitti.
Inside the Four Deuces, she looked around before proceeding. Susie was now flooded with memories of being here many times – the dim light provided by Art Deco sconces was familiar. Even before looking to her left, she knew there was a stage where Jazz musicians played nightly. The bar, with an exposed-brick back bar and a line of stools, was straight ahead. Off to the right was an alcove with leather chairs where one could have a private conversation.
Susie was what they called a “tomato” in the Flapper Era, an exceptionally attractive woman. Frank Nitti, a womanizer, would definitely notice Susie. She would wait until Nitti arrived and divulge something to him, the most expedient and judicious way to keep Alice and Charles safe from Ralph Nash.
At midnight, after indulging in a bit of dancing, including the Charleston and the Black Bottom, she decided to go to her flat and come back the next day. As she opened the back door to leave, she bumped into a gentleman who was coming in.
She apologized for bumping into him. He extended his hand to her and said, “believe me, the pleasure is all mine. It’s still early by Chicago standards. My name is Frank, Frank Nitti. Would you care for a drink?”
“Sure,” said Susie, “I’d love a Mary Pickford.”
Frank suggested he and Susie sit in the alcove where they could hear each other over the jazz band. When Frank returned with the drinks, he asked Susie if she was from Chicago.
“Oh no, I am from Akron, Ohio, and am here to visit a friend. Perhaps you know her; she frequents this place with her twin sister to dance and listen to jazz.”
“What’s her name?” asked Frank.
Susie giggled and replied, “It must be the drink; her name is Alice Galloway Nash.”
Frank recalled that he did see the twins here on most weekends, but he didn’t know them very well.
Susie said, “Alice and her sister, Helen, are just peachy keen. I think Alice’s husband, Ralph Nash, has a bootlegging operation near-by.”
Frank stiffened at this and remarked, “Around here, you say?”
“Yes,” said Susie, “somewhere in this neighborhood, behind a Chinese Laundry, if I remember correctly.”
At this, Frank told Susie that he had some urgent business to attend to and wondered if he might see her another time. Susie smiled and said, “Of course,” knowing she would never see him again.
She promptly left and returned to the flat, hoping that Frank would take what she told him straight to Capone.
The next morning, the Chicago Tribune headline led with, “Chicago bootlegger and thug, Ralph Nash, was found floating face down in the Chicago River early this morning. Apparently, his death was over a territorial dispute with Al Capone. The Chicago Police Department is investigating.”
Susie woke up the next morning in her own bed in Akron, and the mirror lay at her side. She wondered if it had all been a dream. Her answer to that question was but three months away.
After attending a women’s business seminar in Chicago, Susie decided to visit Helen Galloway. When she knocked on the door of the Queen Anne house, it was answered by Helen. Before Susie could speak, Helen said, “You look familiar, have we met before?”
Susie answered, “Why yes, I was here just a few months ago; I’m Susie Hardesty.”
A big smile came to Helen’s face, and she said, “Oh, yes, I believe I do remember. You’re Susie from Akron. My memory is not what it used to be, my dear. I don’t remember what we talked about; I only remember that we had a wonderful time together.”
Helen took Susie’s hand and gently led her down the long hallway, saying, “I want you to meet my family. Come, dear, we shall all have sherry in the parlor.”
Upon entering the room, Helen began introductions, “Susie, this is my twin sister Alice, and over here is my nephew, Charles. He was a highly decorated soldier in World War II, saving an entire company of soldiers in the Battle of the Bulge.”
Alice stood up and walked over to Susie, holding out her hand. She looked intently at Susie and said, “You know, you are a dead ringer for my best friend. Unfortunately, she died some years ago. Alice hesitated a few moments and said, “Ruth was a wonderful person; I don’t know what I would have done without her, she was a real life-saver.”
Susie thought, “You have no idea how very right you are.”
After more glasses of sherry than she planned, Susie started the long drive back to Akron, having never felt so gratified in her life.
Author’s Note: You have just read a tale, defined as a story or account of events, either true or invented. This was a bit of both.
Don’t take any wooden nickels,
Ken Springer
ken1949bongo@gmail.com
