What would happen to us?" demanded Mae. "To the children? We're hardly managing now."
Jim shook his head sadly. He waved a hand at the broken building, the empty yard. Couldn't she see? He was already killing himself-—and for what? A few coins at the end of a long day's work? "I have to do better than I'm doing," he replied.
Mae stepped closer. "Things are better now. Please, Jim . . ."
He wanted to take her in his arms, but he stopped himself. He had to think about the family's future. The strength was clear in his voice. "I can still take a few punches. At least in the ring you know who's hitting you."
Mae felt helpless as she watched him walk to the building's dark back door. This isn't over, James Braddock, she promised.
•
The next morning Jim left early for the gym. Mae left the apartment house, too. She took the kids to her sister's house, and then she crossed the Hudson River to New York City.
She was going to the small part of the city known as the Upper East Side. It was an area of beautiful houses, expensive apartment buildings, and fine hotels. Some of the richest people in the country lived on the blocks along the city's Central Park.
Two streets away, the buildings weren't quite so beautiful, but they were still home to wealthy people. In front of each apartment building, a uniformed doorman stood guard. When she reached the tall building, she looked up, trying to guess how many floors it had. She went through the beautiful entrance hall to the elevator. On the fifteenth floor, she moved down the line of doors.
She knocked on one and called politely, "Open the door, Joe." There was no answer. She tried again, and again, but nobody came to the door. "Joe, open this door now!" Mae shouted. "You're not going to hide in your expensive apartment while you turn my husband into a punching bag. I won't let you get him hurt again!"
The door opened. "You'd better come in," said Joe Gould.
As she pushed past him, Mae's anger died. She had expected the manager's home to be beautiful. But she looked around now at a completely empty apartment.
Minutes later, she sat on a camping chair, drinking tea with Joe and his wife Lucille. She hadn't expected this friendly welcome.
"Sorry," said Joe, pointing to the door. "People have to think you're doing well."
"I thought. . ." said Mae.
"That's the plan," said Joe, touching his fine brown suit. "Show people you're doing well, even if you're not. We sold the last of the furniture last week," he continued, "so Jimmy could train."
"Why?" Mae asked.
"Sometimes you see something in a fighter, something to hope for," answered Joe. "Jimmy's what I hope for."
Mae shook her head. "This is crazy. You don't even know if you can get him a fight, do you?"
"I'll get him a fight," Joe said, "if it's the last thing I do."