Heather Buyce-Vasquez
Lucy, New York, December 1929
The hulking tower with its gothic windows and brickwork stood out in the grey sky like something out of a story. Lucy stood on the corner of 63rd and Lexington, in the cold, with her worn brown coat and two threadbare carpet bags containing her books, clothes and letters. All she possessed in the world.
The Barbizon Hotel for Women was a triumph on every level. Twenty-Three stories, limestone and terra cotta moldings and multiple balconies and a strict ‘women only’ policy.
Lucy’s acceptance into this famed residence had not come easy. Her employer Mr. Klein was very close friends with designer Palmer Ogden. Mr. Klein was very much a father figure to Lucy being extremely protective of her virtue. He suggested she try for nicer and more dignified accommodations and that his dear friend Mr. Ogden was the designer of a glamorous hotel for Women only boasting beautiful rooms, balconies, a pool and library. He had long been aware of her fondness for books as she was always reading one while perched on an overturned bucket outside the store during the slow hours.
He promised to put in a word so she could bypass the strict reference letter policy. And he was as good as his word for within a week she was was packing her little belongings and saying goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Bloomer on Grove. They waved at her smiling as if she were a favored daughter going off to Uni.
Her friend Mr. Crane, the poet, had already left earlier that year for Paris. His passion and poetry had made her time on Grove almost bearable at times. They had spent many nights just talking on the steps. Of the world, of their dreams, of their lost loves. Lucy had of course concocted quite some stories of her earlier life. So much so she almost believed them herself. On warm summer nights when she could almost forget where she came from and what she’d lost.
She was sad to see him leave New York but excited for him and the adventure that awaited him in France. Now she was really and truly on her own again – but hadn’t she always been?
Now here she was again, in a new place, one face of many – she hoped. In her consciousness she still found herself looking over her shoulder at unseen ghosts and silent pursuers. Yet she was always alone.
Fingering her locket that hung tucked in her old woolen coat and jut under her light blouse she mounted the steps and started again.
“Some people just burn bright…”