Her Unexpected Friend

Her Unexpected Friend

Loretta Schiavo Smith

As Priscilla stepped out of the cab, she cursed under her breath when she tore her stockings on the door’s chrome moulding. Three whistles signalled the train’s imminent departure from Track #3 heading east to Toronto. Running to her train, she climbed the steps of car C425, stumbled down the aisle gripping her mother’s alligator suitcase and slumped into her seat. It was hot that day. A record hot, humid August. Sweat trickled down her neck creasing her cotton blouse, now stuck to her back. Pulling down the window, she counted on the moving air to refresh her.

The train picked up speed pulling out of the station. Priscilla took a few bites of her soggy tuna sandwich, wrapped the rest and tossed it in the paper bag at her feet. To pass time, she flipped through pages of the Life magazine left in the seat next to her. Revlon’s ad for Cherries in the Snow lipstick caught her attention. She wore it for special occasions or on a date with Edward, which used to be a special occasion. She didn’t want to think of him. Instead, she rolled the magazine, slid it into her bag and let memories of Jane Eve calm her thoughts.

xxx

The photographer placed them side by side in the class’s graduation photo. Jane’s smile cast Priscilla’s dour expression in shadow. Beside her, she looked like a poor country cousin; one to be pitied, ignored, teased. But what Priscilla remembered most from that photograph was Jane turning to her after the final shot offering her a strip of Juicy Fruit gum.

“Congratulations Priscilla on being nominated for the Governor General’s Scholarship,” she said. “You deserve it.”

Priscilla looked warily at Jane, a rich boarder from Toronto, and the most popular girl in Brighton Girls’ Academy graduating class of 1954.

“Thank you,” Priscilla said curtly. “Final marks will determine the winner…well, we’re not there yet.” Turning to leave, Jane called to her.

“Wait a minute, Priscilla. Can we meet for a few minutes after classes today at the oak tree bench beside Fulford Hall? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you. It could be important to both of us.” Skeptical of Jane’s motive, Priscilla was nonetheless curious and agreed.

They sat side by side on that old bench scarred with decades of initials, some no longer legible. Jane was direct; a trait Priscilla appreciated.

“Look Priscilla, we don’t know each other well. We travel in different circles. But I admire your diligence and focussed intellect,” she said while Priscilla remained stone-faced and silent.

“I want to know if you’d be interested in collaborating on our final English project?  It could give you the edge to winning the GG scholarship and me being class valedictorian. I took the liberty of asking Mrs. Blythe if this would be allowed and I mentioned you…as a partner. Mrs. Blythe seemed amenable to the idea. In fact, she thought we might learn from each other… but wants to talk to you first. So, what do you think?”

Priscilla stood slowly and straightened her skirt. “I’ll think about it Jane…and consider setting up an appointment with Mrs. Blythe.” She didn’t know what she was setting in motion. Events which would lead to Edward William Thorne. All she could see was the scholarship, her ticket out of Brockville and freedom from her mother.

xxx

When the train stopped at Kingston, Priscilla made her way to the train’s canteen and bought a bottle of Canada Dry ginger ale to settle her stomach and a small pack of Du Maurier cigarettes. The brand her mother smoked. The ones she stole from her mother’s purse when she was fifteen and blew smoke rings out the bathroom window.

Her mother’s stern voice assaulted Priscilla. “Don’t be spineless girl,” she chastised when she spied any weakness. “People will use you and then what will you be? A doormat! That’s what you’ll be…like your aunt Sylvia and you know what happened to her.”

Over the years, Priscilla perfected her rote response to her mother’s strident verse: “Aunt Sylvia shamed the Turner family-most generous and respected benefactors of Timothy-on-the-Mount Anglican Church-and was forced to marry a wastrel who left her with two churlish children and no money. Amen.”

Funny how life spins, Priscilla thought. Now the most respected Turner family was penniless like Aunt Sylvia. Her foolish, greedy father was caught embezzling funds from the town’s local bank. He lost his freedom; her mother lost her most important currency-the town’s respect; and she lost the money for university.

When the whistle blew signalling the train’s departure, Priscilla put out her cigarette and returned to her seat. The oppressive heat left her tired and anxious. She reached into her purse and pulled out the clear plastic folder with the 3x3 black and white of Jane and her, arm in arm, under the arches of University College taken last April by Edward. How carefree and ebullient they felt, on that spring day of 1955, breathing in the intoxicating fragrance of the flowering almond trees. They thought themselves a triumvirate: smart, ambitious and ready to conquer the world.

xxx

Jane’s father decided his daughter needed to hone some work skills and not waste her summer, like her mother, at the club with the golf pro. He placed her in his Queen Street gallery managed by Arthur J. Sloane where her job was to scout out pieces by emerging artists, which was, in Mr. Sloane’s narrow scope, implicit for male only. Jane called him a pompous, chauvinistic ass when she spoke to Priscilla throughout the summer.

“You know, Priscilla, I thought about trying to fool him, which would show him for the fool he is. Tell him that an abstract I brought in by M Maxwell was by a talented Quebec male artist just to see his reaction to the piece. When really, the M is for Maxine. Instead, I left photos of her pieces on his desk with a copy of de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex to confront him first thing the next morning. My so-called mentor pitched it all in the trash. How do you like that, Priscilla?” she asked. “When I told my father about Mr. Sloane’s Neanderthal ideas, Dad’s response made me even angrier. He ordered; I repeat, he ordered me to do what I get paid to do and stop complaining. Said Mr. Sloane moves art quickly and lucratively and I can learn a lot from him. Damn it! Things have to change. You and I have to make a difference. Together Priscilla.”

It took a great deal of patience for Priscilla to listen to Jane’s trivial problems. “At least your job is interesting and doesn’t include being little more than a char woman. … sweeping, dusting and worse of all washing other people’ crusty dishes left in the lunchroom sink. Certainly not what Mr. Neale promised when I took the job. All in all, Jane, I’d put your job in the plus column,” she replied with irritation and envy. Priscilla needed this job at Mills Print Shop to cover next term’s expenses. She calmed herself and changed the subject. “Are we still getting together next Friday? My train should arrive around 6:00.”

“You bet. I’ll try to leave work a bit early and meet you at my apartment. If I’m late, I’ll leave a message for George, my doorman, to let you in. I’ve planned our evening starting with a bite to eat at my place then rum cocktails at the El Mocambo. Followed by some serious dancing. I guess you’ll be spending Saturday night with Edward?” she asked.

“Not sure, Jane. Gotta go. Mr. Neale is paging me to bring him coffee. His third this morning.”

Arriving at Toronto’s Union Station, Priscilla walked over to Spadina and took the bus to Jane’s apartment on St. George.  True to form, Jane was late. Her tardiness was the only sore point between them. While she waited for the doorman, she wondered if it was just the hope of the scholarship that drew her to Jane a little more than a year ago. Or was it also Jane’s ease with the world. Confidence is something you don’t think about if you have it in spades.  

xxx

Jane insisted it was about time Priscilla enjoyed campus life beyond lectures and seminars. She lent her a powder blue sheath and white silk scarf, that set off her rich brown hair, for the Christmas party at her friend’s fraternity house. She dated Edward briefly last summer but they operated better as friends and tennis partners at her parent’s country club. Jane sensed Priscilla’s hesitation as they mounted the steps to the frat house.

“What do you say we have a code? If either of us gets into an awkward situation that might get out of hand, the other will fly in to the rescue” Jane proposed.

Priscilla laughed, “…like Superwoman?”

“Exactly.”

A rescue wasn’t needed. Edward spotted Jane as they entered and handed each a beer as he introduced himself to Priscilla. Slow dancing to this year’s favourite Autumn Leaves, Priscilla learned that Edward was in his first year of medical school. Like his father and grandfather, he was going to specialize in heart surgery. By the end of the evening, they were sitting together on the porch swing wrapped in a wool blanket, smoking and drinking beer. And, by the end of her first year, they were sleeping together. Their secret. Not even Jane knew this part of her life.

xxx

After a light dinner, they took a cab to El Mocambo and were seated at a side table. Jane noticed that Priscilla had been detached and distracted since her arrival but supposed she would explain if and when she was ready. The waitress set down the rum cocktails that Jane ordered and started a tab. Priscilla lit a cigarette; looked squarely at Jane. “I’m eight weeks pregnant and I’m having an abortion.” The shock silenced Jane. Priscilla held her hand and stroked her back, waiting for Jane to erupt.

“For Christ’s sake, Priscilla. How did this happen?” she asked foolishly. Priscilla arched her eyebrow at Jane. “An abortion,” she whispered, “is not safe and…it’s illegal. Did you think of that? If you get caught, you can go to jail. Kiss goodbye your dreams of law school.” Jane pulled out her trump. “It is a baby, Priscilla. Jesus H Christ. What did Edward say?”

“Edward said he won’t marry me; it would shame his family and ruin his future career.” Jane was caught off guard and confused by Priscilla’s laughter. “I didn’t ask him to marry me, Jane. I just wanted help with the arrangements. He didn’t even ask how I felt about it…Listen to me carefully. I will not end up like my Aunt Sylvia. Remember her? I’m not walking that road and I refuse to give up my dreams.” Priscilla stopped to catch her breath. “Edward wired me the money yesterday...and the other instructions. I hope you’ll go with me. I’m meeting the man tonight at 10:00 and I’d prefer not to go alone, but I will if I have to.” She looked at Jane with understanding. “It’s ok if you can’t do this. No questions asked.”

Side by side they walked south on Spadina to Queen Street and stopped in front of a derelict block of low-rise apartment buildings. The second floor one room apartment was furnished with little more than a couple of chairs placed alongside a scratched wooden table lit by two bare light bulbs suspended from the ceiling. A stained couch was wedged against an opaque window. Jane gazed at the stainless-steel bowls stacked on the counter beside a rusted enamel sink. She quickly looked away.

 After he briefly described the procedure, Jane was surprised Priscilla didn’t ask any questions. She was disgusted at this business transaction, like arranging garbage removal. The procedure was set for seven the next morning. As Priscilla followed Jane out the door, he shot out in rapid fire, “Don’t eat. Best to wear a skirt. 7:00 sharp and bring pads for after. Maybe aspirin for the pain. No cash, you get to keep the baby,” he cackled.

“This is the best that cheap bastard Edward could do? It’s like a Fellini movie Priscilla,” Jane yelled as they left the building. I’m going to kill him…”

“No Jane. This is between Edward and me. Leave it be, ok?”

“…I remember my mom whispering about her friend Elaine having to take care of her daughter’s little problem… Not here Priscilla. Not like this,” Jane pleaded. “I can ask around. Find another…” Priscilla cut her off. “No. It has to be here and now.” 

The next morning Priscilla awoke at five, dressed and sat on Jane’s balcony. She softly hummed a mournful melody to a little sparrow that landed on the railing. When Jane joined her, the sorrow was shared.

“Finish your coffee and let’s go if you’re coming,” Priscilla said with finality.

 Climbing the flight of stairs, Jane held tightly onto Priscilla, wanting to hold her back, protect her. He stood inside the open door waiting for them and ordered Jane to stay in the hall until it was over. Priscilla turned to look at Jane and offered her a smile. She was calm and resolved as the door shut behind her.

Jane sat on the stairs, rocking and hugging her knees. Her anger was directed at Edward and her father and Mr. Sloane and the man on the other side of the door. She stood and paced the hallway back and forth, forth and back.

Less than forty minutes passed when the door flew open knocking her over. He ran down the stairs and vanished. Priscilla’s blood was flowing out of her body, painting the table red, pooling on the floor.

 “Priscilla,” she cried in anguish. “Stay awake, please, please, stay awake! I’ll get help. Hold this towel between your legs,” she pleaded. “I’ll be quick, I promise. Stay awake.”

The sirens wailed in the distance. She sat beside Priscilla holding her hand and caressing her lifeless face.

xxx

The hearse drove under the green striped canopy at the front entrance of White Garden Funeral Home and Crematorium on Dundas West. It made a sharp right turn down the ramp at the west side of the building and stopped at the bay to unload the body of Priscilla Joan Turner. Her unexpected friend.