Heads You Win

“Then you’ll have to make an appointment with the education officer at City Hall,” said Dimitri. “But not before you both get some new clothes and Elena’s landed that job in the pizza parlor, so we’d better get going.”

Once they were back on the street, Alex tried to take in everything that was going on around him. He wondered how long it would be before, like Dimitri, he too melted into the background.

One of the first things Alex noticed was that not all of the men were wearing a suit and hat, while many of the women were dressed in brightly colored clothes, some of them in dresses that didn’t even cover their knees. The paper boy was standing on the same street corner, shou

ting a different headline.

“Bobby Kennedy assassinated!”

Alex wondered if Bobby Kennedy was related to the former president, whom he knew had also been assassinated. If he’d had a dime, he would have bought a paper. Once they were back at the market, Elena would have liked to stop and inspect the freshly baked bread, the oranges, apples, and so many other vegetables, and ask about those she was unfamiliar with. What did an avocado taste like, she wondered, and could you eat the skin?

Alex couldn’t resist stopping every few moments to stare into the windows of shops that offered watches, radios, televisions, and gramophone records. He kept being distracted, and then having to run to catch up with Dimitri and Elena.

They finally arrived outside the Goodwill store on Hudson, just as a young woman was turning the CLOSED sign around to read OPEN. Dimitri led them inside, still very much in charge.

Elena spent her time rifling through the shelves and clothes racks before she selected a white shirt and a dark blue tie for Alex. She then turned her attention to a row of suits hanging on a long rail, while Dimitri chatted to the shop assistant. Alex was disappointed when his mother picked out a plain gray suit, which she held up against him to check the size. It was a little large, but she knew it wouldn’t be too long before he grew into it. She told him to try it on.

When Alex came out of the changing room, dressed in his new suit, he couldn’t help noticing that the girl behind the counter was taking a closer look at him. He turned away, embarrassed. Elena pretended not to notice as she began to pick out some clothes for herself: a simple blue dress and a pleated black skirt. She was beginning to worry that her money must be running out, when she spotted a pair of black leather shoes that would go perfectly with Alex’s new suit.

“A man dropped them in on Saturday afternoon,” said the girl. “He told me no one wears shoes with laces any longer.”

“Perfect,” said Elena once Alex had tried them on and walked around the shop a couple of times.

“How much?” Elena asked, gathering up all the goods and placing them on the counter.

“Five dollars,” said the girl.

Elena handed over the money, stood back, and admired her son, no longer a child. She didn’t notice Dimitri hand the girl another ten dollars, give Alex a wink, and say, “Thank you, Miss Marshall,” as the girl handed him a bag full of their old clothes.

“I hope you’ll come back soon,” said Addie. “We get new stuff in every day.”

“Now we have to find the pizza parlor as quickly as possible,” said Dimitri, as he left the shop and dropped the bag of old clothes in the nearest trash can. “Can’t afford to be late and let someone else get that job.”

Elena was about to rescue the bag, when Alex said, “No, Mother.” She reluctantly joined her son, and they set off once again at a pace everyone else on the sidewalk seemed to consider normal, and they didn’t slow down until Dimitri spotted a red and white sign swinging in the breeze. He crossed the road, dodging in and out of traffic, while Elena and Alex followed, showing none of the same confidence as cars shot past them, horns blaring.

“Leave the talking to me,” said Dimitri as he pushed open the door and walked inside. He went straight up to a man standing behind the counter and said, “I want to speak to the manager.”

“That’s me,” said the man, looking up from his booking sheet.

“I’ve come about the job you advertised in the Post for a pizza cook,” said Dimitri. “It’s not for me, but for this lady, and you’d be lucky to get her.”

“Have you worked in a pizza parlor before?” the man asked, turning his attention to Elena.

“No, sir.”

“Then I can only offer you a job as washer-up.”

“But she’s a fully qualified cook,” said Dimitri.

“What was your last job?” asked the manager.

“I was the head cook in an officers’ club in Leningrad.”

“In Queens?”

“No, in Russia.”

“We don’t employ commies,” said the manager, spitting out the words.