Diva (10 page)

Becky scanned the wedding invitation and sighed. “Wow, the
Plaza
? Did every wedding invite have a photograph? That’s rich business. This swell must have a lot of dough.”

“Mmm, no extravagance is too extravagant for old Lillian and George,” Lorraine said, as though she and the Eastmans were particularly close. “Even their servants are dipped in gold.”

Becky pulled the photo down and examined it. A wrinkle appeared between her pale brows. “What is he doing with Deirdre Van Doren? She’s a total gold digger. She tried to get Francis Chase to marry her, but only for his money. He’s none too sharp, but even he got smart to her ways and got rid of her.”

Lorraine’s ears pricked up. Deirdre Van Doren—who was that? “But that’s not her name.” Lorraine unfolded the invitation. “See? Her name’s Anastasia Rijn.” She cocked her head. “Do you think you’re supposed to pronounce the
j
?”

Becky let out a tiny cough. “I think you can pronounce it however you want because that’s not her name. I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts that this girl is Deirdre Van Doren.”
Becky glanced down at the silver watch wound around her wrist. “Well, anyway, we should get going in a few hours and I still need to pick up my dress from the tailor. Don’t forget to invite Melvin!”

As Becky scurried out the door, Lorraine looked back at the invitation in her hands. What in the world was Marcus getting himself into?

Oh, how Lorraine had missed slipping into the perfect party dress!

Her fingers hungrily climbed over the gold lamé, deep green satin, pale rose silk chiffon, sparkling silver sequins, and fluffy black feathers that lived inside her closet.…

In the end she pulled out a fire-engine-red number covered entirely in tiers of fringe. The bodice dipped into a low V in the front and back, and the skirt barely reached her knees. It was one of the more scandalous dresses Lorraine owned and was perfect for her brief return to the wild life she’d missed so much these past weeks.

She barely recognized the raven-haired, oxblood-lipped, sophisticated flapper who greeted her in the mirror. She loved the way the light caught her dangling diamond earrings, how her bob curved against her cheek and softened the sharp angles of her face. Lorraine still had it after a few weeks of
forced retirement. She could hardly wait to see the reactions of the boys at the party.

Becky was adorable in a vanilla silk chiffon dress. Rhinestones dripped along the dress’s neckline and dropped waist. Ho hum! Her roommate was cute, but she was certainly not the sultry vixen Lorraine saw when she looked at herself in the mirror. Becky would get all the dull, wholesome suitors, while the more intriguing boys would be entranced by Lorraine’s irresistible mystique.

Or that was the plan, anyway.

The two girls stood in front of the wide mirror to put the finishing touches on their makeup, and Becky glanced at Lorraine. “I can’t wait!” Becky said, settling a pearl headband over her short hair. “Do you have some pearl earrings to go with this?”

“Top right drawer of my desk.”

Becky opened the drawer and began to search through it. “You should really try to organize your things better, Raine. How do you ever find anything?” She pulled a pair of antique opera glasses out of the drawer. “And what on earth are these for?”

Lorraine laughed. “My parents practically forced them on me, along with their season tickets to the Met. I never
could
understand why people get so excited about watching a boring musical.”

“Ah, here they are,” Becky said, holding a pair of pearl
studs triumphantly. “I hope we find some fellows with shiny hair tonight. How about you, Raine? What do you like most in a man?”

“A pulse,” Lorraine answered, making Becky laugh.

But it was true. After weeks of no one but Melvin for male company (and he barely counted), any of the upper-class party guests would do for a bit of necking. Besides, Forrest Hamilton was a rich, handsome man. It stood to reason that his friends would be rich and handsome as well. For a second, she thought of Hank—how he’d kissed her underneath the overturned boat in Central Park, told her she was beautiful.

But that had all been one big lie.

Lorraine glanced at the photo invitation on the bulletin board one more time. If what Becky said was true, Marcus couldn’t know his fiancée very well. Maybe
this
was how she would get him to forgive her. If she saved Marcus from a sham marriage, he’d be so grateful he’d
have
to be her friend again, right?

Lorraine missed the days she, Gloria, and Marcus used to spend walking through Astor Square Park or lounging around the Carmody mansion, gossiping and joking. She might never get Gloria back, but there was still hope for her and Marcus.

And once the Barnard girls and Columbia boys saw her palling around with Marcus, they would want—nay,
beg
to be her friend!

She would find out the dirt on this Anastasia woman as soon as she got back to New York. But now was the time for fun, at long last.

“Are you ready to go, Raine?” Becky asked.

Lorraine snapped her black beaded purse shut. “Ready?” she asked with a smile. “I think the better question would be: Is this party ready for
me
?”

GLORIA

Gloria could feel sweet jazz pulsing through the walls.

She leaned against one of the many maple bookcases in Forrest Hamilton’s library, listening to the sounds of the party next door. She’d felt so glamorous when she’d left the guest room twenty minutes earlier, outfitted in her favorite of all the dresses Hank had sent: a Boué Soeurs dress of the deepest pink, which brought out the rosiness in her complexion. Purple beading ran in vertical stripes down the length of the dress, and its midsection was covered with white beaded flowers. She wore a simple white beaded headdress and pink velvet heels by Pietro Yantorny.

But standing across from Ruby and Forrest, Gloria felt like an ugly duckling. Ruby looked heart-stoppingly beautiful in
a flesh-colored cotton tulle evening dress with a fishtail train and silver beading. A rhinestone evening cap covered most of her hair—only a few dark, wavy tendrils framed her delicate face. Forrest was dapper in a tuxedo. His waistcoat and bow tie were just a shade darker than his white shirt, and a red rose was pinned to his lapel.

Forrest touched Ruby’s hand lightly, letting his fingers linger there. “Goodness, you’re shaking! I would’ve thought singing onstage would be old hat for you by now.”

Ruby smiled back, and her dark eyes positively glowed. Gloria was beginning to wish she hadn’t accompanied Ruby “backstage.” Ruby wouldn’t have to sing for another hour—she’d go on between the Blue Rhythm Orchestra and the famous singer Paul Solomon. Forrest certainly had quite the lineup for his party.

“I still always get nervous,” Ruby confessed. “It’s what I love most about performing—the frightening thrill of it all.” A flush crept up Ruby’s neck. Forrest still hadn’t removed his hand from hers. Now it was clear: Forrest’s feelings for Ruby weren’t as unrequited as Gloria had previously thought.

Ruby suddenly tore her eyes from the young millionaire. “Don’t you agree, Gloria?”

“Considering I’ve only ever worked for gangsters, I’m looking forward to a far
less
frightening singing career from now on,” Gloria joked. She waited for a laugh, or even a chuckle,
but got none. Forrest and Ruby were back to gazing at each other with their matching, nearly black eyes.

Watching those two stare at each other twisted something in Gloria’s chest.

She thought of falling in love with Jerome while he gave her vocal lessons back at the Green Mill in Chicago. She could still feel his hand, firm and strong, right beneath her rib cage. He’d been showing her where her diaphragm was, but Gloria hadn’t been able to focus on anything but his hand and the way it, the way
he
, made her feel. Gloria could see that the same sort of love was blossoming between Forrest and Ruby.

Too bad Ruby was already married.

“Ruby?” Marty called out, bursting through the library’s side door. There was a brief thunderclap of chatter and laughter from the party guests next door before the door slammed closed. In a tweed suit nowhere near formal enough, Marty looked dull and cheap and tacky.

“Yes?” Ruby said, moving a few inches away from Forrest.

Marty’s cheeks were red, his forehead scrunched up. “What’s this I hear about you singing tonight?”

“I asked her to,” Forrest responded quickly. He made an attempt at his usual charming laugh, but it sounded hollow. “It seems a crime to have Ruby Hayworth here and
not
have her sing, doesn’t it?”

Marty glared at the taller, younger man. “You think we give the milk away for free? This is a Broadway star you’re talking about! Ruby doesn’t wail without a contract.”

Ruby turned to her husband, eyes wide in dismay. “Marty, what’s one song?”

“You gonna pay those colored boys out there a fee but let
my wife
go on free of charge? I don’t think so.” Marty seized her arm with his pudgy hand. “She’s a
professional
. Come on, Ruby.”

She gave Forrest a helpless look as Marty dragged her out the door.

For a moment Forrest looked absolutely crestfallen—his dark eyes were enormous, as though he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Then his brows lowered, his full lips leveled into a straight line, and he clenched his fists at his sides. But he remained silent.

Once they were gone, Forrest smoothed back his brown hair and took a deep breath. He gave Gloria a shadow of his usual grin. “Good thing I had the sense to invite more than one canary to this party.”

Gloria’s mouth fell open. “You can’t mean—”

He laughed, and his disappointment seemed to vanish. How strange, Gloria thought, to seem so downtrodden one second and happy-go-lucky the next.

“You were just saying yesterday how eager you are to get back to your singing career!” Forrest said. “Do you have any idea how many producers and club owners there are out there? You couldn’t ask for a better showcase than this party!”

“But I’m not ready, I haven’t prepared—”

“Don’t worry!” Forrest put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Just sing whatever you want. This is one of the best
bands you’ve ever been with—I guarantee it—and they’ll pick up what you throw them and run with it.”

The mention of a band made Gloria think of the last time she’d seen Jerome, how handsome he’d looked sitting at the Opera House’s piano in his gray suit and crimson tie. Gloria didn’t care who was in this band—if Jerome wasn’t in it, no way would it be the best she’d ever worked with. The nervousness she’d felt a moment earlier paled in comparison to the worry that clenched at her stomach. Hank had promised to find Jerome but hadn’t turned up any information yet.

Yet here Gloria was, living an easy life of luxury with a man she was supposed to be investigating. What if she couldn’t dig up any dirt on Forrest—would Hank send her right back to jail? Would he stop looking for Jerome?

Misreading the worry on her face, Forrest added, “Baby doll, everyone here knows who you are! And they’re on your side! How about you come out to the party with me and see?”

There had to be a way out of this … except Gloria realized she didn’t want a way out. She wanted to sing. That was about all she
could
be certain of in this strange new world.

And she couldn’t afford to make Forrest unhappy. His trust was the only bargaining chip she’d managed to gain during her stay at his villa.

“You go on,” she said. “I’ve gotta go fix my munitions if I’m going onstage.”

“That’s my girl.” Forrest put a gentle hand on her arm. “Really, thank you for stepping in, Glo.”

Forrest’s touch gave her chills. “Erm, of course,” she mumbled as he left.

Gloria sighed and thought of Jerome again, how long it had been since she’d felt so much as his hand on her arm. She would keep fighting for her freedom so the two of them could finally be together.

Quickly, she ran upstairs, into the bedroom Forrest had said she could use as long as she wanted. It reminded her of her room back in Chicago: truly lavish. A four-poster bed with its burgundy hangings stood next to a large window with a glorious view of the front lawn. A huge oak vanity took up most of one wall.