Her Thirties Part 72

About two hours after Marilyn’s singing debut, we watched Cam and Mitzy leave for their ‘intimate’ gathering back in their condo. I assured Cam we’d follow.

When we came out of the Palais, the sky was filled with dark clouds, but the rain had tapered off. The temperature had also dropped and a mist was rolling in off the lake.

“I told Cam we might walk, but it’s a bit too cool for that, I think.”

She nodded. “It would have been nice—romantic too.”

I knew then, I’d propose to her—but I also knew I wanted to do it right—with a ring, the appropriate place, and just the two of us.

There was no way I ever again wanted to spend even a few hours away from her—and that applied to the rest of our lives.

We drove along the lakeshore enjoying the night and watching the moon breaking free of the clouds.

“Oh, Scott—look!”

I followed her hand to where she was pointing—a tiny white castle with a red tiled roof—just like in my flashback about the Christmas trees.

“They must have relocated the old building here—preserving it as a heritage site,” I told her.

Marilyn’s face lit up. “Those were called Joy gasoline stations—I remember them. They used to sell Christmas trees on the lots in December.”

“You remember that?” I asked, mouth agape.

“I remember there was a station at Bloor and Dufferin Streets. Joey went with me and helped me pick out a tree and bring it home.”

“That’s only a few blocks from Havelock Street—See? You must have lived there.”

“It’s spooky—I can picture it so clearly, but it feels like someone else’s memory.”

“Maybe it is,” I whispered.

She grew silent. We pulled into the Palace Pier complex and I parked where Cam instructed in a guest parking spot.

We got out and I began to guide her along the pathway, when she froze and gripped my arm tightly.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Something happened here, Scott—something really bad—I can feel it.”

I turned and looked at her. “Can you recall any details?”

“I might be able to—right now, it’s just a heavy feeling—very ominous, as if something’s about to happen, or did happen here a long time ago.”

I looked around at the two huge towers that dominated the harbor and the footbridge that crossed the Humber River.

“There were dance halls along here in the Thirties. They were going to turn this into an amusement park similar to Brighton, England, but the economy took a nose dive, and that was that.”

“I can see it!” She cried.

“What—What can you see? Are you having a flashback?”

“Wait—wait!” She grabbed my arms and dug her fingernails in so tightly, it hurt.

“Oh my God!” I couldn’t see what she was seeing, but I could see its effect reflected in her face.

“It’s not a flashback—it’s …it’s more like a mirage. I see a huge open building there.” She pointed to a stretch of beach, “and a partially finished pier and boardwalk.”

“What else do you see?”

A look of disappointment crossed her face. “Oh! —it’s gone.”

I stood back and stared at her. “This vision that happened to you just now—it’s kind of like what I experienced in Doctor Lambert’s office—but for me, it was just a flash, and was gone.”

“Well, this was like a different city rising up out of the beach. Remember—you said what you saw wavered like heated air—well, that’s what this was like.”

“It must have been incredible,” I sighed.

“It was spectral—ghostly,” she said in a dreamy voice.

As she spoke, the atmosphere about us changed. A cool breeze arose and a few stray tears of rain were borne on the wind.

Out across the dark waters, lights illumined the shoreline, following the curve of the bay.

She shivered. A cool mist sighed about us, wrapping us in gauzy dampness.

“We should go,” I said.

“It’s chilly, but it’s lovely here, Scott. Look how the moon silvers the water.”

The moon had entered a cloudy rift and its flame fragmented into a slivery track upon the lake—its ripples sparkling like sequins.

Marilyn looked like a Siren—not so much from the silver screen, but a mermaid singing on a rocky outcrop—singing out to sea.

I imagined Jason on his quest for the Golden Fleece, lashing himself to his ship’s mast as his craft passed—afraid he’d succumb to her spell.

Too late for me, I mused.

I stared at her again—the wind catching her hair, creating tiny vortices, spinning off into the eyeless dark. She was irresistible in her silver sequined gown.

An urgency possessed me. “We have to go—now,” I said firmly.

I grabbed her hand and pulled her along the walkway toward the far, dark tower.

“I’m coming,” she gasped, “ struggling in gown and heels, trying to keep up.

We were on the footbridge now, crossing the river—Cam’s tower in sight—when it happened.

A dark form emerged—seemingly out of the water, and before I could cry out or react, it collided with us, sending us over the rail.

The last thing I saw were the coloured lights of Cam’s condo tower spinning above me before we hit the icy water.

Palace Pier in 1931

© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

Photo1
Photo2

Part 1 - 63
Part 64
Part 65
Part 66
Part 67
Part 68
Part 69
Part 70
Part 71