Illusions of Love by Cynthia Freeman Page A

her jewellery and the few other possessions she had brought to her marriage. As the Depression worsened and her husband remained unemployed, the tension in the house increased until she wished she could get a divorce. But that was impossible, since she
     
    was a devout Catholic. Working ten hours a day in a factory making shoes for other women, she had plenty of time to think back over the past.
    She’d married outside of her class. Because of that, she’d been ostracized by her family. Her mother had said that she would live to regret it, and she had. Now, looking back over the years, she wondered what the attraction had been. She had sacrificed herself, and in doing so, she destroyed her dreams of becoming a concert pianist. There was a strange irony to their lives. They were two very extraordinarily gifted people who were unable to exercise their talents.
    It was Maria who had made Dominic realize that, with out a college degree, he could never amount to anything. If his father had had that parchment, she said, he would never have been fired. If her bitterness blinded her to the fact that there were college professors standing in the breadlines, she had nonetheless imbued Dominic with an indomitable need to succeed. He vowed that what had happened to his father would never happen to him.
    He was going to go to college and get a degree no matter what it took.
    When he was eleven, he worked for a bookie, mowed lawns, and delivered bootleg liquor to a whore house. Later, he drove a truck and worked on the docks. He had hoarded everything he made. When he’d won a partial scholarship to Yale, he knew he had the world by a string. He tried to explain his confidence to Martin.
    “I didn’t have a doubt in the world that I was going to be able to compete Don’t look at me like that, Martin.” Dominic smiled and lit up a cigarette.
    “Look like what?”
    “Like you think I’m a cocky bastard.”
    “If I gave you that impression, it was wrong. I think the look was one of admiration. You’re just so sure of yourself. I wish that I were.”
    “That’s really funny, Martin. We always wish that we were someone else or somewhere else. Okay, Martin, you ready for this? The first day we really talked I was green with envy. You’d been to private school.
    You could afford to live in the dorms. Your parents were obviously well off. Well, now that we’re friends I’m not so envious. I guess we all have our problems.”
    “I guess that’s right,” Martin said, thinking that one confidence inspired another. Hesitating a little, Martin described how he’d been affected by the 10 per cent quota.
    Dominic laughed.
    “Well, old buddy, you grew up believing that the world was round and then suddenly you discovered it was crooked. I don’t know who’s more privileged, you or me. At least I grew up knowing what it was all about; there were no surprises.”
    Martin started to answer, then thought better of it.
    As if reading his thoughts, Dominic asked, “Do you think that sounds bitter?”
    Martin shrugged.
    “Well, maybe. But on the other hand, it’s that bitterness that goads me on. Now to more frivolous things. I’d like to go to New York this weekend. Rubinstein’s at Carnegie Hall Saturday. I’ve got a little dough stashed away-do you feel like going?”
    Martin agreed. It would be good to get away from the pressures of school for a couple of days, and he knew his parents would be pleased if he heard the famous pianist. It was odd, Martin thought. He had always had every opportunity to attend concerts, opera and the theatre in California, but he and his friends had preferred just riding around, dancing, or simply hanging out with the gang. For Dominic, who had to scrimp to buy his tickets, a piano concert was a prize event.
    On Saturday morning the boys got up at six and drove to New York in Martin’s Ford coupe.
    No sooner had they checked in to the YMCA than Dominie was ready for action. It was as though he were