Empire Girls Page 12

  “Shut it, Jimmy,” said Sonny. “Not now.”

  “Three?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Jimmy. “You, Ivy and this guy over here...” He pinched Sonny’s cheek.

  “Nice,” said Sonny.

  “Shhh...she’s gonna start. She sings like an angel, that sister of yours,” said Jimmy.

  Viv walked by with a short-stemmed glass full of clear liquid. “On the house,” she said, and winked at Jimmy.

  “I shouldn’t...”

  “Just drink it. I know how to make a drink, and it’s not strong. You think I’d do that to you? Just want you to fit in, is all.”

  I took a sip as a peace offering. It didn’t taste bad, citrus and some kind of bay, maybe. Liquor for sure, but not too strong.

  It was then that my sister began to sing “Always.” Father had loved that song.

  She was wearing a beaded cap over her bobbed hair that shimmered under the spotlight. Her dress, black and too slinky to be called a dress at all was a little big for her small frame and the straps kept falling off her shoulders. She gracefully used her arms to help her not only “act” out the words of the song, but push the straps back up at the same time.

  Her voice, more beautiful than I ever remembered it to be came ringing out soft and low, then grew. And in that voice I felt an ache that I didn’t know existed inside my sister. Where I thought she was shallow, there was pain.

  I finished my drink, and Viv was there with another. And another, I was smoking a cigarette.

  By the end of her set, five songs I think, I was...intoxicated.

  Ivy came to sit with us. She plopped herself in a tired heap across from me and lit a cigarette. I noticed Jimmy didn’t offer to light it for her.

  “Some kind of a gentleman you got there, Ivy,” I slurred. I was slurring. I had to get out of there.

  “Are you okay? What have you been drinking?” asked Ivy.

  “Damn it, Jimmy, what did the two of you give her? You said it was light.” Sonny was angry.

  “Come on,” said Jimmy. “Lighten up, Poet. We just wanted to see what kinda’ moxy this one had hidin’ underneath her proper, ya know?”

  “That is not funny,” I said, wagging my finger back and forth and then looking at it so close that my eyes crossed. It seemed like I had seven fingers on that hand instead of five.

  “Ivy, I have this psstard. This pstcrd...this mail I have to show you came tday for Cat. Think she’s lyin...can’t seem to figure out...do I have sevn fingrs?”

  “Good lord,” said Ivy.

  I was embarrassing her again. I pushed the postcard toward her and waited until she placed her hand on top of it. Then I got up, spilled my drink and made for the stairs.

  I was glad I didn’t fall down. I looked up the flight I’d walked down not a half hour earlier—or was it hours and hours? I couldn’t tell—and got dizzy. Sonny was there again to catch me before I fell.

  “I’m so sorry. That was a cruel trick, but I will say that I could get used to catching you. God, look at you.”

  “Who do you see when you look at me?” I asked.

  “Shhh...don’t talk,” he said, and I realized he was drunk, too. He pressed his forehead against mine. “Just answer me, about catching you. Will you let me do that, Rose? Catch you, once, and twice, then again and again?” His face was so close to mine, too close.

  “Kiss me,” I said. “You know you want to.”

  He leaned in and his lips brushed against mine. A shiver went through me that gave me the single moment of clarity I needed to get myself up the stairs. I slapped him. Then ran to save my virtue.

  CHAPTER 10

  Ivy

  “WHEN THE CAT'S AWAY—” Maude said.

  “The mouse sings torch songs,” Viv finished. Their smiles weren’t completely insincere as I wiggled into a black dress I nicked from the rack in Cat’s Dress Emporium. Only widows wore black in the middle of June, so I figured I’d put it right back when I was done and no one would be the wiser. It was cut too big for me, but if I held my arms up like Bessie Smith, I’d not break any decency laws.

  Earlier in the day, after I’d rubbed spots out of my millionth cocktail glass, the trumpet player for Cat’s house band, a skeletal fella in a peg-leg suit, beckoned me over to the small stage in the corner. “I hear you can carry a tune,” was all he said. He didn’t have to go any further.

  “Name it and I can sing it,” I said with more bravado than I felt. I’d walked away when the sweet-faced girl beckoned me into the Republic Theater. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake.

  “We’ll see about that,” he said. “The name’s Stan.”

  “Ivy.”

  I didn’t know who told him I could sing, and I didn’t care. Stan tugged me onto the stage and we ran through a couple of numbers, the guys letting me pick the tunes. I faced them to start, making connections eye to eye until I felt each musician could see into every part of me and knew I wouldn’t lead them to nowhere.

  “Tonight,” Stan said when I finished. “I can’t promise more than that.”

  I smiled at him. “It’s enough.”

  Viv, Maude and I decided a singer needed a dressing room, so we commandeered one of the small storage closets behind the bar. After I dressed, Viv gave instructions to Maude for something she called “liquid insurance.” It involved gin, honey syrup and lemon juice and would supposedly keep my throat from catching on fire. She didn’t say what it would do to the rest of me. Viv settled me onto an oak barrel and then dug into her pockets, pulling out a pocket mirror and pot of lip rouge. In the glow of the yellow, overhead lightbulb, she applied the makeup to her lips with keen precision, and smoothed the spit curls leading to her precisely bobbed hair. A kohl pencil appeared from inside her sleeve. She rimmed her hooded eyes, took one last glance in the tiny mirror then turned to me.

  Theater folks know that a bit of grease paint and colored oils can transform an actor into a character, but I was not prepared for this new Viv. She was pretty before, but now her face would turn the head of a prince. Viv’s eyes burned with a dangerous excitement, the dark kohl highlighting the green and gold in her hazel irises.

  She tentatively placed her strong hands on my shoulders and stared at my face. “I’ve never painted anyone’s mug but my own,” she said after scrutinizing my features one by one. “So I could really do a number here.”

  “I trust you.” With makeup, I thought. And only makeup.

  “You do? I wouldn’t.”

  “My hands are shaking too hard to hold that pencil.”

  “You? Miss Razzle-Dazzle? You’ll knock ’em off their feet, especially after I’m done.” She took a breath. “Now close your eyes. Those peepers need to be seen in the back of the room.”

  Viv went to work. After she finished lining my lids, she relaxed enough to start chitchatting again. “Your sis coming to watch?”

  “Naw, she’s working back in the penthouse.”

  “You two don’t get along, do ya? Has it always been like that?”

  Had it? Our lives in Forest Grove had been mostly separate. When we did bump into each other, Rose did everything she could to pluck every nerve in my body. I couldn’t remember what it was like when we were young girls—the past was cloudy as a dirty martini.

  “I suppose we’ve never seen eye to eye,” I finally said. “It’s been worse here in the city, or maybe it’s the same only I notice it more in such close quarters. Rose belongs in the country—anyone can see that.”

  “Maybe not,” Viv mused. “Maybe you need to let her have a little fun.”

  “No one’s putting the brakes on her.”

  “Maybe she sees you living it up and thinks there’s nothing left for her but the scraps.” Viv pinched my cheeks, hard.

  “Ow
! What was that for?”

  “You needed a little color. I ran out of cheek powder.” She stepped back, evaluating her work. “Perfect. Now go out there and bring the house down.”

  I walked back to the bar with trembling legs. All my life I wanted to be onstage, and now that the opportunity presented itself, my insides had turned to jelly. Maude passed me a drink and I downed it, the honey coating my vocal cords in a protective film.

  “I’d say knock ’em dead, but we need these folks alive and thirsty,” Maude said, giving me a forceful shove. “Get on up there before the band boys change their minds.”

  To my relief the fellas started up with “My Man,” the first song I’d chosen during our practice session. I could tell it wasn’t their usual kick, but they were game and I gave it my all. The room was full, but the guys and gals paid attention, clapping with more enthusiasm than I’d hoped. One pair of hands sounded louder than the rest.

  Jimmy.

  He’d taken a seat slightly to my left, out of my line of vision but in clear sight of the stage. Sonny sat next to him. Empty glasses littered the table.

  I couldn’t look at him. I sang to the room, to the bar, to a gangly gal in the front row who grinned joyously over the red froth of her sloe gin fizz.

  I tried to focus on the music. My Man...he’s not much for looks...

  And no hero out of books... Who was Asher? Had he been a villain or a hero? My brother was made from my father. He had to be good. He was what Rose and I had left, not a house, but blood.

  Or was I fooling myself?

  I dived back into the song, my voice giving me courage, and met Jimmy’s gaze.

  My man...

  He sat, still and watchful, those Irish eyes burning my skin, making their mark. Sonny signaled to someone—Maude? Viv?—and the song ended. I took a bow, careful to only let the dress gape a little in the front, and then the band started another, jazzier number, then another, finally leading into “The Sheik of Araby.” The audience laughed, unused to a woman singing the tune, and I took advantage of their surprise, shimmying across the stage, bringing them to a roar, making the most of it. I forgot about Jimmy and Sonny, Viv and Maude. I even forgot myself.

  The band, picking up on my mood, transitioned back to a real torcher. I searched out Jimmy again, unable to help myself, and nearly lost my footing when I saw who was about to join his table.

  Rose. Gaping at me with those eyes she shared with our brother.

  Rose sat flush between Jimmy and Sonny, gaping at me with those eyes she shared with our brother.

  It felt like someone turned me inside out. I wanted her to go, but I also wanted her up onstage, her solid presence holding me steady. Those conflicted feelings went into the song, and I finished my vocals with a sigh. The trumpet player tapped me on the shoulder as the applause rose around us. “You want to take a breather?”

  “Yeah,” I said, wiping the sweat stuck to the back of my neck. I went to the bar first, and Maude handed me another glass of honey liquor. “You’re doing all right there, missy. Keep it up.”

  “Move your shoulders a little more,” Viv said as she speared olives with jade-colored toothpicks. “That dress sparkles if you stand in the center of the stage. Make the most of it.”

  I thanked her, but my attention darted to Rose. She laughed at something Sonny said, but both men leaned in close over the tiny table. Rose’s pale complexion and blond hair caught the light better than my dress ever could. In fact, Rose was aglow. She commanded attention.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said before,” I said to Viv, feeling mean. “Bring my sister one of your gin rickeys, on me. On second thought, bring her two or three. It’s a long set. She wants to have some fun tonight, and I want to help her out.”

  “Is that right?” Viv, stone-faced, looked at me long and hard.

  I stared her down until she shrugged. “Long as you take her home,” she finally said. “This wasn’t what I meant by letting her live a little, but I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

  I went back onstage and belted out a few more jazzy numbers. I kept my attention away from Rose’s table—too much of a distraction. I couldn’t hear Jimmy’s loud clapping at the end of each song. I thought he might have left, but I didn’t want to glance over and appear overeager. When Stan gave me the eye, I knew the guys wanted to do an instrumental piece. I skipped back over to the bar.

  “Old Viv’s been mixing your sister some real hoochie-koo,” Maude whispered. “It’s doing the trick.”

  I looked over at Rose. Her posture was sloppy. She moved to push a stray lock of hair from her forehead and poked herself in the eye.

  “Oh, brother,” I said, handing my empty glass back to Maude. “Thanks for the warning shot.” I felt a pinch of guilt.

  Jimmy didn’t bother to get up when I approached the table. He didn’t light my cig, and he didn’t shower me with compliments. What he did do was hook a finger into the slouching fabric of my dress and slowly pull it up over my shoulder, brushing the damp skin with rough fingers.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered.

  Rose was trying to tell me something, but her mouth crushed and garbled the words before they could form coherent thoughts. Finally, she pushed a postcard forward. It showed a man sitting in a metal car, climbing the steep incline of a roller coaster, the interminable wait until gravity took over. Halfway to the top of the crest, he seemed completely unaware of the perilous drop on the other side, the fall into nothingness. “What’s this supposed to mean?”

  Rose looked like she might vomit. Wild-eyed and embarrassed, made a run for the stairs back up to the shop. I slid the card into my bosom and stood to follow her.

  “No,” Sonny said, a gentle hand on my arm. “Let me. You’ve got a set to finish.”

  He was gone before I could respond.

  “Take a load off,” Jimmy said, and I sat down heavily, stunned by how quickly and fully the liquor affected Rose. Jimmy signaled to Maude, and she brought a pair of drinks.

  “Can you hear your voice when you’re singing?” he asked, breaking the solid wall of silence forming between us.

  “What?”

  “I’m wonderin’ if you can hear how good you sound.” Jimmy lifted his glass. “To talent,” he said. “Slàinte.”

  “Slàinte,” I repeated, and took a small sip. My thoughts turned to Rose again. “Will she be all right?”

  “You can trust Sonny,” Jimmy said, his expression turning uncharacteristically serious. “He’s never given me reason not to.”

  “You’re not a twenty-two-year-old girl.”

  “True enough,” he said. “But I’ve known him for years, if that says anything.”

  “How long have you been in New York?”

  “I left home more than a decade ago, only returned once when I was fighting overseas in the war. My mother sent me here. Trouble were brewing—with her right eye she saw Sinn Fein wanting to make me and with her left she saw Germans heading toward our potatoes with pickaxes. It made sense to put me on a boat.”

  “Really? You’ve been here that long? You sound so...”

  “Irish?” Jimmy laughed. “Once you learn something you don’t unlearn it. Get many foreigners where you’re from?”

  “Only if you count the fortune-teller from Poughkeepsie.”

  His laughter was interrupted by the shrill, earsplitting sound of a whistle. Viv stood on the bar, blowing away. “There’s been a raid at Sullivan’s down the block! Four squads!” She didn’t look overly worried.

  Jimmy grabbed my hand. “Come on.”

  “Will we really get raided?”

  “Maybe, but it’s not the coppers I’m worried about.” He gestured toward the narrow staircase leading outdoors. People crowded into it, pushing and shoving, shouting insults to each ot
her. “These folks lose their heads faster than their dollars.”

  There was a thickening in the air, a dense fog of panic and fear. Jimmy held his hand out again, but I paused and found myself knocked to the floor for my hesitation. Someone kicked my side and a pair of wingtips trampled over my dress. I curled forward to protect myself, but strong hands lifted me up, and my back was pressed to Jimmy’s broad chest, his arms protectively folded over my body. He shuffled me away from the scuffle, down past the dressing room I’d used earlier, farther into the basement, into a damp corridor smelling of earth and water, as though we were burrowing ourselves underground.

  “How much farther?”

  “Turn to your right.”

  I was in a root cellar, or at least that’s what it would be, come late fall. The bins were empty. The musty air felt cool on my exposed skin, and the single electric bulb hanging from a wire above our heads didn’t add a bit of warmth. Jimmy overturned an empty barrel and perched me on it. I thought of Viv, painting my face with such determination. It was only a few hours earlier, but the memory was already watery at the edges.

  Jimmy rooted in his pocket, drawing out a handkerchief. It was surprisingly white and crisp. He held it in front of his mouth for a moment, paused and then placed it inches from mine. “Spit,” he ordered. I did what he said.

  “You should see yourself,” he said, rubbing at my face with the dampened cloth. “You look like a bootblack.”

  The edge of the postcard stabbed at my bosom. “I should go home,” I said quietly. A panic had been rising, slowly and steadily, since Rose ran out of the speakeasy. What had I done to her? Had Sonny caught up with her? Was it better he did or was Rose better off alone? I had a quick image of her running, frightened and bleary-eyed, through the streets of Greenwich Village. “I really do need to go.”

  “Come on, now. Don’t be like that,” Jimmy said. He tucked my hair behind my ear. “Nell won’t let you in the house looking like you went a few rounds with Jack Dempsey.”

  When Jimmy teased me his brogue came on thicker, and I thought about him living so far from his home. I also wondered if he had little brothers and sisters back in Ireland, pale, raven-haired children who missed him desperately or thanked the heavens he left when he did. As Jimmy dabbed my cheek with the linen handkerchief, sweeping the dirt away with soft, gentle strokes, I thought it surely must be the latter.