Empire Girls Page 13

  I forgot everything else for a moment and closed my eyes, relishing his touch. I could feel the heat of his fingers through the thin fabric. The handkerchief brushed my throat, collarbone, the swell of my breast.

  I opened my eyes. Jimmy dropped the cloth. He moved closer to me and tilted my chin up with one finger. “I’m going to call you Beauty,” he said, his eyes darkening. “Does that lack a certain poetic grace?”

  “I’d expect something more original from an Irishman,” I joked, but it came out a whisper.

  His mouth on mine was a revelation. I grasped at his shoulders, the muscles of his arms, wanting more, greedy and desperate.

  He brought his mouth to my neck, and I thought of the couple under the arch at Washington Square Park, the way the man devoured the woman, the way the woman tilted her head back, welcoming him. I pulled Jimmy closer.

  “Say yes to me,” he murmured. “Say yes tonight.”

  And wasn’t that the way of this city, say yes, yes, yes, and keep saying it because there was no end to what it had to offer. Yes, yes, yes.

  He’d moved to my shoulder, the front part of my dress falling to my ribs. With an intake of breath he paused, plucking the postcard from the fabric and tossing it to the floor. I looked down and didn’t see the man on the roller coaster, but the other side. –D. Daisy.

  “I...I need to go.”

  For a moment it was like he hadn’t heard me, but then he lifted his head, eyes glassy and features soft. “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  Jimmy straightened up. “There aren’t any girls in this city, Ivy,” he said quietly. “Do you know what I’m telling you? Only women live here.”

  “There are plenty of girls,” I countered. “The women warn them about men like you so they stay away.”

  Anger pulled at the corner of his mouth, just for a moment, and then he laughed. “True enough. Come on, I’ll walk you home,” he said. “Keep you safe from the wolves like me.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Now, Beauty,” he said, lifting my dress to a modest height, “I don’t want you tellin’ those other girls I’m not a gentleman, do I?”

  * * *

  The kitchen was quiet when I let myself into the back door of Empire House. I crept up to the penthouse, only to hear the sound of retching as my head popped up through the floor. I got the basin under her chin just in time.

  “I’m so sorry,” Rose whispered. Her features collapsed in misery. “So, so sorry.”

  “No,” I said, wanting to cry. “I am.”

  She heaved once more, emptying her stomach. I smoothed her damp hair and rubbed circles on her back. “Did you see it?” she mumbled as I tucked her back into bed. “Postcard...match.”

  I drew the postcard from my bosom and placed it next to the other one, along with the matchbook we found in Daisy’s things. The images were identical. I felt a rush, a need to run out the door, but Rose was in no state. “I do see it,” I said. “Now go to bed. We can talk this through in the morning.”

  I brought the full basin to the Washing Room, but it was locked. The kitchen was still dark, so I headed down, wondering how much of a crime it was to dump what I had into the sink.

  Sonny’s kitchen was spotless, smelling of lemons, so I didn’t have the heart to soil it. I ended up tossing the basin into the bushes outside. When I passed the garden on my way back in, I saw the cherry-red glow of a cigarette behind a lilac bush.

  “What’s good for the gander is not good for the goose?” I called. “You owe me one of those.”

  Sonny stepped onto the patio. He looked older in the moonlight, not haggard but weary, as if my request was another in a long line of things that disappointed him. “Smoking is not good for women.” He sighed.

  “Now that’s a tired line,” I said, holding my hand out. “I’d say liquor does more harm, given the state of my sister upstairs.”

  “Would you know anything about that? Viv kept those drinks coming more often than the A train.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “I would’ve stopped it if I’d realized it was going to her head so quickly,” he continued. Sonny passed me a cigarette and lit it. “I personally don’t find that kind of prank funny.”

  I shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect,” I said, which wasn’t admitting or denying much of anything.

  Sonny gave me a pointed look.

  “Did you put her in bed?” I asked, going on the offensive.

  “I walked her in the house. That’s it.”

  “Good, but I want you to remember—do her wrong and you’ll have to deal with me,” I warned. “And our brother. He could pound you flat before you even raise a fist.” I didn’t know why I said that. I meant to say our father would, but it hadn’t come out that way. Mentioning either of them was childish and made no kind of sense. I picked up the cigarette and noticed my hand was trembling.

  “I was under the impression you hadn’t found your brother yet.” He didn’t smile, but there was sympathy in his voice, an understanding that embarrassed me deeply. He noticed, and was kind enough to change the subject. “It’s Sunday morning already. What do you have planned for the day?”

  I smiled at him, grateful. “I’m going to grab a few hours of shut-eye, then I’m going to eat a fabulous hot cake breakfast prepared by you.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yep. Then I’m going to put on the dog and start exploring this city with my eyes wide-open.”

  Sonny lit another cig. “Just don’t get anything stuck in them. There’s a lot of garbage blowing around these days.”

  “You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

  He shrugged. “You caught me on an off day.”

  We stood side by side in the moonlight, smoking. The silence wasn’t companionable—he had something to say and whatever it was took some gearing up to spill.

  “You taking your sister?” he finally said.

  It hadn’t occurred to me. My plan didn’t include meandering down Fifth Avenue like a Sunday tourist; I was going to get all dolled up and drop in the Republic Theater and demand an audition. Rose would probably try to talk me out of it. Would Sonny? I figured he had the same attitude toward the revolutionaries as Jimmy. “I think Rose is sticking around Empire House tomorrow. It’s hard to get that girl to leave the attic.”

  Sonny tilted his head toward the still-dark sky. “Did you even ask her?”

  “I’m taking her to Coney Island next Saturday to stroll the boardwalk. That’s more her speed.”

  “On the subway?”

  “I don’t own a chariot.”

  Sonny shook his head. “You’ll be packed like sardines. Boiling sardines, in this heat. I’ll have Jimmy drive you.”

  He wasn’t asking a question, so I couldn’t say no. How had he done that, made an order sound like a kindness? I didn’t want to face Jimmy after what had happened in the cellar, but I guess I’d only have to stare at the back of his head. “Okeydoke,” I agreed, regret immediately pooling in my stomach.

  But it was a week away. I shrugged it off and put my hand out for another cig. We smoked next to each other, both of us looking at the moon, and then I trudged upstairs.

  Empire House

  June 7 (or maybe 8?), 1925

  Dear Mr. Lawrence,

  Wasn’t it Friar Lawrence the wise monk who sagely advised Romeo and Juliet in a fruitless effort to avoid tragedy?

  Okay, it was Friar Laurence, but maybe you could still give me a bit of wisdom and we could avoid the tragic part?

  I did a lousy thing tonight. I got my sister roaring drunk. I feel guilty about feeding her the gin, but I don’t regret it. Confusing, right? If I had the chance to do it again, I might. Does that make me a degenerate? Tell me, great Friar!


  No Asher yet, but I do have some good news: Rose and I are both gainfully employed. Our dear Rose has gotten a job slaving away at a sewing machine making dresses for a la-de-da ladies emporium. I’ve found less taxing—but infinitely more amusing—work as a waitress. How do you like that?

  I wish we were getting along better. I’m alternately angry with her and worried for her. I want her to go far, far away, but then I want her waiting for me when I get home, even if she’s just in the bed next to me, snoring away. In some ways, I’d like her to go back to Forest Grove, completely erased from my new life here in New York, but then I think of living alone, and I’m learning I’m probably not cut out for the solo ride. Each day Rose’s independence grows like a wildflower, while I swat at my encroaching fears buzzing around my head like angry wasps.

  Why do those thoughts give me such turmoil? Is there something wrong with me? Wait...I’m not sure if I want you to answer that question....

  Sincerely,

  Ivy

  PS: I may have had a little nip myself tonight. I’m going to sneak out and post this before I give it a second thought.

  June 10, 1925

  From the Law Offices of J. W. Lawrence:

  Dear Miss Adams,

  For your information, I do spend many an afternoon har-har-har-ing until closing time. My clients find it most peculiar. Your note, incidentally, prompted the faintest snicker, at most. If you’d like a guffaw—try harder.

  Empire House sounds, if not suitable, then comfortable enough. I was relieved to hear you’d found employment. Bringing food to hungry people is a most noble profession, but hardly a profitable one. Please let the other Miss Adams handle the financial matters while you organize the hunt for your brother.

  I do have information to share, information which may prove distressing, which is why I am glad it is the unshockable Adams sister with whom I am corresponding. I’ve got an old acquaintance working in the archives in Washington, D.C., a fellow I regularly caught glancing over my shoulder during law school examinations, so I felt no hesitancy in asking him to peek into our nation’s military records. It appears Asher John Adams served in the 308th in the war, commonly known as the Lost Battalion. As he survived Argonne, more information was not recorded. Take that for what you will—I’m certain you’ve heard stories of that rough-and-tumble—and heroic—group of men. Keep in mind that I’ve learned in my profession to reserve judgment until the sketch of a person’s life is filled in at least halfway, and even then the blank spots can only be shaded in context.

  Please keep in touch.

  Sincerely,

  J. W. Lawrence

  CHAPTER 11

  Rose

  HERE'S WHAT I remember: my sister’s beautiful voice and the peculiar desire I had to get onstage with her and sing a duet. I remember Santino’s breath on my face. I remember running out ahead of him, and I remember he was standing next to me outside again. The night air was simply beautiful and cool. I started to wonder about the fact that I liked the nights in Manhattan better than the days. A lady, a true lady, would like it the other way around. And she wouldn’t have gotten drunk in a speakeasy or felt her body pulled, as if by a magnet, to a man she barely knew.

  “Rose...” His voice trailed off as I tried to walk ahead of him down the alleyway using the brick walls to keep me standing.

  “I told you to leave me alone, didn’t I?”

  “Actually, you didn’t. Look, I’m just going to walk behind you and make sure you get back to Empire House safe. You don’t need to turn around or anything. You don’t even have to talk to me.”

  “Good, ’cause I don’t wanna...” I said.

  He was a gentleman and did as he said. He didn’t bother me at all, simply made sure I got into Empire House safely.

  The disappointment that I felt shocked me. I’d wanted him to talk to me, to kiss me, to hold my hand. I wanted him to follow me up the stairs at Empire House. I wanted things I didn’t even understand, and I was frightened.

  Here’s what I don’t remember: anything else.

  * * *

  I woke up with a terrible headache, a sore throat and my sister saying, “Get up, sleepyhead—we got ourselves a ride to Coney Island. It won’t be till next week, so you can thank me later. We’ll see the diving horses, ride some rides and maybe even find our brother. That’s some kind of clue you found. Well done. Now, what do you say, my little gin blossom?”

  I burst into tears the way I used to when I was a little girl, a fierce flow of crying that came out of nowhere and had no bounds.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” asked Ivy.

  I couldn’t speak. I sat up in bed, and she sat on the side of me, trying to soothe me as I cried.

  “Okay, let’s do this. I’ll ask a question and you nod yes or no. Okay?” she asked.

  I nodded yes.

  “Are you upset about last night at the speakeasy?”

  I shook my head, no. And then, of course...nodded yes. And then no again.

  “I get it,” said Ivy. “Let me try again. Is it Asher? Because we’ll find him. Maybe even today.”

  I shook my head. No.

  She took a good long look at me. Up and down, before she asked the next question. “Is it Sonny?”

  I didn’t have to answer or nod. I just cried harder.

  Viv and Maude were cackling over something on their side of the penthouse. Were they laughing at me? I couldn’t even bear it, so I cried harder.

  “Shut your traps a second,” Ivy yelled at them. “Did he hurt you? Rose, did he touch you? Because I’ll...”

  “No, nothing like that,” I said, finding my voice to protect him. What was the hold he had over every single one of my emotions? “I made a fool of myself, Ivy. And Santino...I don’t know what is stirring inside of me. What could this be? It hurts me to look at him. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  “Is that all? Jeez, Rose, I thought you were in trouble!”

  I threw myself back under my covers.

  * * *

  The week drew out long and hot before me. My days were filled with sweltering, attic sewing binges, clinking dishes, playing chase with Claudia and trying to avoid falling headlong into Santino’s ill-hidden stares.

  Though each day brought the dreaded “newness” with it, I was not afraid of the city anymore. I began to enjoy my new routine and the easiness that came with it.

  A few trips back to Cat’s and I had a nice sum in my money box. Those trips usually ended up with Cat bringing me downstairs to hear music and keep an eye on Ivy waiting tables. She also wanted me to join her for a drink.

  “I don’t think so,” I said the first night she offered.

  “Pish posh. Don’t be dull,” she said, escorting me across the dance floor, her beaded dress sparkling in my eyes like stars, and in my ears like raindrops. Her long fingers seemed permanently attached to the cigarette holder, and her advice fell on eager ears.

  “Lighten up, Rose. That night when you tossed your cookies, Jimmy and Viv were havin’ a bit of fun with you is all. Have a drink with me, and I’ll make sure you keep your wits. A girl does need to know how to drink if she’s to survive the city. Think of it that way, Rose. It’s survival!”

  She had a point.

  I didn’t overdo it until the night before we went to Coney Island. There was a party at Empire House, and that was one I wasn’t going to miss. I wanted to feel the way Ivy must have felt on our first night in the city. The evening started off light with music and dancing. The garden glimmered with lanterns, candles and bubbling laughter. Before I knew it, I was tangled up with both of my newfound favorite intoxications, gin and Santino. Through a smoke-filled haze I watched my Ivy arrive, but I didn’t care. I wanted to keep dancing.

  CHAPTER 12

&
nbsp; Ivy

  ON FRIDAY NIGHT the old thermometer wouldn’t take a dip below steaming, and all but the whirring fans came to a standstill in Manhattan as folks tried to stay cool. For once, Cat’s place was nearly cleared out as the clock hit ten. The hard-core drinkers of Greenwich Village, rendered listless by the heat, slowly floated up the stairs in search of relief. The basement speakeasy had somehow sucked up the night’s feverish air, the tapestries turning the room into a kiln that glazed every one of us in sweat.

  “They all wanted water,” Maude complained. “I told them we ain’t a fountain. No reason why they can’t head over to the park and take a dunk.”

  “Maybe we should have made gin ice-cream floats,” I said, sighing as I emptied the tip jar. Our take wouldn’t buy a block of ice.

  Cat appeared from one of the tiny rooms behind the bar, looking remarkably fresh in a bright chartreuse-and-aqua-striped slip dress. She crossed the empty dance floor, scowling at the band as if its desolation was their fault. “Go home,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll get more fans in here tomorrow night. This heat is unbearable.”

  Sweat had completely wilted Stan’s suit, and he sighed in relief. He nodded to the guys and they disassembled their instruments quickly, most likely grateful they were heading home to cold-water flats. Maude and I placed cool cloths on the necks of the few remaining rummies slumped over the bar. “They’ll sleep here,” Maude assured me. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Cat collected the cashbox and dismissed us, too. “Leave before you melt all over my floors,” she said, and Maude and I scrambled for our things, bolting up the stairs before Cat could change her mind.

  Being outdoors only improved our situation slightly—the night couldn’t shake the day’s heat no matter how hard it tried—but our spirits lifted on the walk home. Some kids had pried open a fire hydrant, and the water ran slowly down the gutters like a lazy river. I was tempted to kick off my shoes and dunk my feet. Heck, I was so desperate I thought I might toss off my dress and swim home.