Heartbroken by Lisa Unger

never marry. A pall had settled over her life. It wasn’t black but gray. A grayness that leached into every other color, draining her energy and spirit. She was consumed with gray thoughts. She knew she’d languish in the secretarial pool until the day she died. She was certain of it even though she was only twenty-three years old.
    “Lying around here isn’t going to make anything better,” said Joanie.
    “No, I’d wager it will only make things worse,” agreed Belle.
    They were all so pretty and fun—dressed up, hair pinned, lips red, skin white and flawless. Had they really been as beautiful as she remembered them? Or was it that they were all so young, so hopeful, with everything before them?
    She allowed them to do her makeup, sweep her long blond hair into a stylish chignon. The dress—even in her doldrums, she had to admit it—was sensational.
    “It’s like someone poured you into it,” said Patty. “Oh, Birdie. It’s wonderful.”
    Whatever happened to friendship like that? That selfless, cheerful, loving camaraderie? Did it go the way of the bouffant, a silly style that people laughed about now? All Birdie’s close female relationships had fallen away over the years. She wasn’t quite sure why.That easiness, that sweetness, when they were all on equal footing and just starting out, had turned bitter. Choices turned to consequences, opinions turned to judgments, and admiration turned to envy. Envy curdled everything, like lemon in milk.
    And then they were on the chilly streets. Their coats were all awful, practical tweed and wool affairs worn two seasons too long because none of them could afford new. At the Stork Club, the coats were immediately shucked aside like embarrassing relatives from Brooklyn. Of course, they were all Brooklyn-born and -raised. But they thought of themselves as Manhattan girls now, leaving the outer boroughs far behind. They had educations and jobs, small apartments in the Village or on the Upper East Side. Men still paid for drinks and meals back then; a girl could live well on very little until she found a husband. For a certain set in 1960, New York City was a candy store.
    What Birdie remembered most about that night was how everything sparkled—Christmas lights on the trees, sequins on the dresses, gloss on the lips, and bubbles in the champagne. A jazz quartet played hip renditions of classic carols. And then there was Joe, taller, bigger, than the other men. He didn’t belong; she could see that. He played the game as well as everyone else, but there was something about him that stood apart and above. He had a way of squinting when he looked at people. He could have been amused or disgusted. It was hard to tell. Something about that excited her.
    When his eyes fell on Birdie, there was something in his gaze that made her draw in a little gasp. Birdie had been beautiful then. She wouldn’t have said so at the time, but she could see it in photographs of herself. She was slim and strong. The scarlet dress that night, her matching lips: Joe claimed that she cast a spell on him. He walked over to her, abandoning his conversation, as if drawn by a rope through the crowd. The men with whom he’d been talking turned to stare and then started laughing among themselves. Sheheard Joan, Patty, and Belle giggle and whisper and drift away. The band was playing a jaunty rendition of “Jingle Bells.” In that moment, Birdie felt lighter, happier, than she had in weeks.
    “You’re too pretty to work at our company,” Joe said as he approached her. In those days, it passed as charming.
    What did she say to him? She didn’t remember. All she remembered was the feeling she had when she looked into his face. He was strong. He was honorable. He would take care of her. She could see it all there in the square of his jaw, the wide knuckles, the thickness of his neck. She felt washed over by a sense of relief that left her lightheaded. He was the first safe place she had found,