Dust girl

the cracks and the screaming. I was crying and Jack was cussing, taking us this way and that. We climbed over the couplings between the trains; we dodged around sheds and coal piles. My lungs burned and my legs got heavier with each step, and the whole time my head was babbling, No way out, no way out, no way out…

“There!” boomed Morgan’s voice. “There they are!”

I looked. I couldn’t help it. Bull Morgan reared up in the floodlights like a monster, with a crowd of shadows at his side. He pointed at us with his club.

“Get ’em!” he bellowed. “Bring ’em here!”

Men surged forward, guns and ax handles ready.

Jack swore and we ran. Ahead, I spotted the livestock pens.

“Jack!” I pointed. He saw, and he dove forward.

We were small, and we were running for our lives. We slid between the slats; we climbed over gates the blow dirt had drifted shut. We even ran on the top rail of the crisscrossing fences, a game every farm kid has played. The men swore and stumbled and got stuck and swore some more. But they kept coming.

Bullets sound like hornets when they pass too close to your head. After a while, the world closes down. You can’t hear much, you can’t see much, just the way ahead, the next slat, the next open gate. All you know is running; the only place that’s real is away.

Finally, we hit the edge of the stockyard. Jack swerved toward the lights of Constantinople. I hesitated, but when a truck engine rumbled up from behind us, I tore after him. If we headed out to the prairie, they could drive us like rabbits. Back among Constantinople’s houses, we’d have a place to hide, and maybe the vigilantes wouldn’t be so ready to fire off their guns in the middle of town.

Not that I was thinking that straight then. I just followed Jack as close as I could. Jack dodged into the streets, ducking around buildings, trying to get walls between us and the headlights and shouts.

“Gotta get inside somewhere.” He panted. “Gotta…”

“Movies!” I shouted, pointing at the lit-up Bijoux.

Jack swallowed hard. This time, I took the lead, and after a split second, he followed.

There was a small, plain door in the back of the theater. I grabbed the knob and yanked it open, and all but fell inside.

Jack slammed the door, fumbled for the latch, and shot the bolt home. As it snapped shut, I felt the world twisting around us.

15

Looking for a Woman That’s Hard to Find

“Jack?” I whispered. He was near me. I could feel him, but I couldn’t see much.

“Yeah?”

“We’re somewhere else.”

“What do you mean?”

I hesitated, trying to dig up words to explain. Now I could make out shelves stacked with boxes. We were in a storeroom, except, of course, it wasn’t just a storeroom. “I got this feeling when I walked into Shimmy’s juke joint, like the whole world had turned around. I just felt it again.”

“Okay.” Jack swallowed. “Okay.”

We both stood there, trying to catch our breath and not doing a very good job of it. We were both thinking about the riot, and the vigilantes in the streets, and Bull Morgan in front of all of them. Jack had his hand on the door, but slowly, he lifted it back. I understood. We couldn’t leave by that route. We didn’t know what was in here, but we for sure knew what was out there.

There was another door ahead of us, partly open. Through it, we could see the red carpet and gold trim of the Bijoux’s lobby.

“I guess we see the show,” said Jack. Side by side we walked toward the light.

I’d actually been in the Bijoux before. Mama used to take me to the pictures when we could afford it. The last time was to see Tarzan the Ape Man with Johnny Weissmuller and Maureen O’Sullivan. I played Jane-Being-Kidnapped for weeks afterward, until I tried swinging on the drapes in the Moonlight Room and Mama put a stop to it.

The theater looked exactly like I remembered, with the red carpet and drapes, velvet ropes, and shiny gold paint on the curlicue trimmings that reflected the light from the chandeliers. I started to think maybe I’d been wrong about what I’d felt. There was nothing strange about this place. It was just a movie theater. The popcorn smelled warm and buttery, and the candy counter was laid out with a crazy quilt of Jujubes, Baby Ruths, Milk Duds, Zagnut bars, and licorice whips. None of which we had money for. That was okay; I was still full of barbeque. I did wonder if I could gin up some money, though. If the Hoppers could do it, why couldn’t I?

We handed the tickets Shimmy had given us to an usherette with frizzy gold hair, short pants, and a jacket like an organ-grinder’s monkey’s. She popped her gum and led us to our seats in the half-empty theater, shooing us in place with the beam of her flashlight. We sat where she told us and stared at the closed scarlet curtains up front. The theater was air-cooled, and at first it felt like Heaven. Now, though, I was shivering. Jack gave me his coat, and I huddled into it. I was tired. The longer I sat there, the less I liked the quiet. I felt for sure something was sneaking up on us.

“Don’t worry,” whispered Jack. “If Morgan and his bunch come in, just duck down in the seats.”

I nodded and bit my lip. Something squeaked, and I jumped. But it was just the curtains up front pulling away to reveal the rippling silver screen. Above and behind us, the projector whirred. A beam of flickering white light shot out over our heads, and the picture show started.

The newsreel came first. President Roosevelt waved to crowds and talked about the New Deal. The courage of the American businessman was on the rise. Then it was over to New York City. The United Nations was complaining about Germany’s rearmament policy. Adolf Hitler didn’t seem to care; in fact, he was making military service mandatory. Lefty Gomez opened the season for the Yankees.

After that, there was a Betty Boop cartoon. Despite everything, Jack and I both started laughing at the silly dancing and the crazy machines Betty’s grandpa invented to help out with their party. It felt good to just laugh, even for a minute.

The screen went black, and to my surprise I almost felt okay. If Morgan had been on to us, he would’ve been here by now, wouldn’t he? And as for this being someplace else, some fairy place… I must have been wrong about that. Just my worried mind borrowing trouble. I mean, how in the world could fairies get their hands on a Betty Boop cartoon?

Then the projector started whirring again, and the white light flickered. Fresh music blared out of the speakers, and a new title card appeared on the screen:

THE PARADE OF GLAMOUR

“This is Los Angeles!” declared the announcer as the camera panned across an expanse of straight streets and squared-off buildings. “A city of commerce… recreation… and of course… glamour!”

There was the HOLLYWOODLAND sign. Next shot was of a beach with clean sand and rolling ocean waves. Women in bathing suits and floppy hats stretched out under striped umbrellas. Then there was another shot of a straight white street with a big Rolls-Royce car driving past a row of palm trees.

“And MovieTime News has been granted an exclusive look at what the nation’s official glamour capital will be wearing this summer!”

The scene blurred and cleared. Now we were shown a stage with a long platform stretching out in front. Spangled translucent curtains screened off the back, but behind them you could see the silhouettes of women carefully posed in overstuffed chairs.