Queen of the Silver Dollar

Shaelyn Ryan

I can’t help but stamp my feet in this cold. Because of all the snow, the sidewalk doesn’t make as nice a noise as it usually does- I’ve always liked the sound my shoes make against the wood. I’ll have to settle for the sound of the coins in my tin cup clinking together pitifully. I think the Queen might be a little late tonight. That happens sometimes, especially when the snow’s falling as hard as it is.

 

I think the Queen’s real name is Sarah, or maybe Jane. I’ve heard a few diff’rent suspicions. The people who pass me on the street pretend they can’t hear me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hear ‘em. Some of ‘em talk about her- mostly men. When the ladies talk about her, their voices seem to turn all shrill and their noses are all up in the air. The men, on the other hand, practically worship her. They say she’s “a broad with a heart of gold” and “the cat’s meow” and all those sorts of things. Some things they say I ain’t gonna repeat ‘cause I’d get my mouth washed out with soap, but they still sorta sound like nice things. Most of the men really do like her. Some even stick around and wait for her cab to come to the corner, like it does every night, just to help her get in and wave her off. Some even go with her. She shakes her head at them a lot. I like the way her blonde curls bounce around her ears.

 

I tell my pa about the Queen sometimes. I tell him all about her blonde curls, her dangly earrings, her silver eyeshadow, and her long, sparkling dresses. He says that twelve is too old to still believe in fairy tales, and that she’s not really a queen, but some rich lady from uptown. He says I oughta move my beggin’ spot up closer to where there are lots of people like her. I don’t think I could ever find anyone quite like her. Maybe she is just a rich lady, but she’s a kind one, and I’ve heard those aren’t too common around here. She’s one of the only people who still puts money in my cup every night, when most other people just walk by. She’s saved me from more whippins than I can count. Ever since the Depression hit, Pa don’t allow me to come home unless I make at least a dollar and a quarter, see, and the Queen almost always gives me at least fifty cents. Sometimes she even gives me a whole dollar. I guess she is sorta rich, but I think a queen oughta be. Maybe that’s why the men call her the Queen of the Silver Dollar. There’s one man who’s with her pretty often, and he just calls her Queenie. She calls him Joe. Sometimes he scolds her for puttin’ so much money in my cup. He even tried to take it back once, but I wouldn’t let him. The Queen wouldn’t either.

 

It’s comin’ up on eleven o’clock, I think. There is no moon tonight, so it’s hard to tell. The snow is still fallin’ and the wind is biting at my neck. My nose is runnin’ a little. I hate it when that happens.

 

“Hey, kid!”

 

I turn my head towards the voice. It’s that little Joe man who’s with the Queen so often. He’s walkin’ towards me. I stand my ground, clingin’ tight to my cup. He’s got on a suit and tie and he’s smokin’ a big cigar. The street lamp casts a funny glow over his face that makes him look kinda ghostly. He takes a big puff of his cigar and blows the smoke in my face.

 

“You cold, kid?”

 

I cough a little. “Well sure I am, ain’t you?”

 

He scoffs at me. “You aren’t gonna make a ton of dough that way, kid. Can’t be rude to your benefactors.” I want to ask what a benefactor is, but I keep my mouth shut. He keeps talkin’.

 

“Why don’t you come with me and we’ll see about doubling your money? Queenie would be awfully glad to see you. People are real generous where she comes from. I taught her that.” He looks me up and down, but I can’t tell what he’s lookin’ for. I suddenly feel mighty self-conscious about my skinny arms and legs and what my ma used to call “red ragdoll hair”. I think about my freckles too, and my crooked teeth. I feel like he’s judgin’ my every aspect, and I shrink back a little.

 

“Well, are you coming or aren’t you? C’mon, when’s the last time you had a warm meal and got to come inside and take off that old coat?”

 

I look down into my tin cup, and there are just a couple pennies in there. I sure as heck wasn’t gonna get to go home and have a warm meal with that kinda money. I shrug at him and step forward. He smiles and takes my frozen hand, leading me down the street.

 

Before too long, we round a corner and come to a place called The Silver Dollar. A tavern. Even though it’s so cold out, the door is wide open and I can see all the people and feel the warmth coming from inside. It’s brightly lit and there’s loud, bouncy music. I can’t help but smile. Everyone seems so happy. Joe leads me in by the hand. I always thought there’d be someone to stop me coming in, seein’ as I ain’t old enough, but no one even looks at Joe. I figure maybe he runs the place, but then I wonder what he’s doin’ out with the Queen so often. And aren’t we goin’ to see her? Surely she’s not in here. But she is the Queen of the Silver Dollar… I’m all confused all of a sudden.

 

Joe sits me down at a round table right in the middle of the room. I’m facin’ a big stage, and just below it there’s a man playin’ a jaunty tune on a real beat up lookin’ piano. Off to the side there’s a bar with a lot of pretty bottles behind it and a tall, skinny man with an eyepatch pourin’ drinks. Joe brings me a Coke from there, but when I take a sip it tastes funny and I start to feel like I can breathe fire like a dragon, so I just leave it on the table in front of me. Joe sits down beside me. There’s a thin layer of smoke in the air from all the men smokin’ their cigars and cigarettes. It reminds me of when Pa smokes at home.

 

Suddenly, the lights start to go down a little, and the men start to whisper. The piano man stops playin’. And then, from behind a stained red curtain, the Queen walks out onto the stage, beamin’ like I’ve never seen before. She’s wearin’ a blue satin dress and the longest necklace I’ve ever seen, and her hair is all down around her shoulders in big, loose curls. Her big high heeled shoes are silver, matching her eyeshadow, the same kind she always wears. She looks over at me for a second and I wave to her excitedly. Her big smile fades for a moment and her eyes linger on Joe, then on me, then on Joe again. She stands still, and I can see her knees begin to shake a little. Her face, smooth and white like a porcelain doll I once had, contorts into a look I can’t quite place. Her jaw is set forward and her lips pursed like she’s mad, but her eyes are scared. Quickly, she blows elegant kisses to the crowd as the piano man begins to play again, and she walks down a little set of stairs on the side of the stage. As she makes her way over to Joe and me, she ruffles the hair of the men she passes, smilin’ at them sweetly and sometimes touchin’ their faces and shoulders. She is a queen who loves her subjects.

 

“Hello, Joe,” she says, runnin’ her gloved hands over his arms as she sits down next to him. “I thought we talked about this.” Her voice is sweet and low, but there’s fire in her silver shadowed eyes.

 

“Look, Queenie, she was cold! I was just bringing her in to get warm and have a drink, and maybe just see what the place is like! She might enjoy it here! You do.”

 

The Queen reaches over and slides my drink towards her. I notice a hole in her white glove. She sniffs at my drink and quickly pushes it to the other side of the table where I can’t reach it.

 

“I enjoy it here because I have to, Joe. Because you brought me here and left me no alternative. And at least I was sixteen! This girl is barely over ten!”

 

“I’m twelve,” I say.

 

“Twelve, then,” she says, and turns back to Joe. “Do you know what hell I’ve-?”

 

“Queenie, she’s begging on the streets. She could have what you have! A fine apartment, lots of friends-”

 

The Queen, the sultry smile never leavin’ her face, leans forward and takes hold of Joe’s tie, slowly tightenin’ it around his neck. He grabs her arm, and she lowers her voice to a near whisper.

 

“I have scars, Joe. And I have memories that I’ll never forget. And for what? This?” She gestures to herself, and for the first time, I notice the stains on her dress and the little tears at the seams and the hem. I notice the bruises on her arms and the tired look in her eyes. Maybe she’s not a real queen after all. Maybe she’s not even very rich. The longer I stare at her, the more she looks like me.

 

“Queenie, listen-”

 

“This is it, Joe. The last straw. I can’t let this happen.” She stands up and turns to me. “Come on, sweetie. We’ve got better places to be.” She stretches out her gloved hand. I look at her and I look at Joe. Joe takes hold of my arm, but I shake him off and grab the Queen’s hand. She always been so kind to me, and I can’t help but trust her. She sure has saved me from an awful lot of whippin’s from Pa when she gives me her pocket change. I get the feelin’ this is a real similar situation.

 

Together, we leave The Silver Dollar and walk back around the corner and to the end of the block. Sure enough, the Queen’s chariot- her usual black taxi cab- is waiting for her. She helps me climb in and we sit side by side. As I look out the window, watching the street lamps rush by and sittin’ next to the Queen of the Silver Dollar, I can’t help but feel a little bit like a princess.