Empire Girls (5 page)

“I’m a capable seamstress,” Rose said. “I can do both tailoring and alterations.”

Nell turned to me. “I’m an actress,” I said. “Both tragedy and comedy.”

She nodded, unimpressed. “Your telegram said you were also coming to New York to find a lost relative. Is that still the case?”

“Yes,” Rose said quickly. She dug into her bag and pulled out her book of poetry. Inside was Mr. Lawrence’s file. “My father was Everett Adams. This is his son, Asher. Will you take a look at this photograph and see if you recognize him?”

The woman snatched Asher’s portrait from her hands, but only took a quick glance before passing it to Sonny. He studied it, his expression softening while Rose explained our mission. “Unfortunately circumstances have caused an estrangement from the family, but we are desperate to find him for legal reasons. Do you recall his face?”

“It’s my job to keep young men away from my door,” Nell said. “I own Empire House, but I manage it, as well. Any male on the premises endures my careful scrutiny. If I’d seen him, I’d remember.” She took the photograph from Sonny and gave it back to Rose. “I’m sorry we can’t be of help in that matter, but we can get you settled into your room. If you’ll come with me, we can address the paperwork.”

After tossing a final glare Santino’s way, she ushered us out of the kitchen. We followed Nell’s straight back down an adjacent hallway lined with faded fleur-de-lis wallpaper and framed photographs of hunting dogs dressed in country attire. Rose looked at me with a raised brow, doubt flooding her eyes.

“Yeah, she’s an odd bird,” I said lightly, “but aren’t we all?”

Rose sighed. “Speak for yourself.”

Nell’s small office smelled of onions and rose water. A dusty brown ledger lay at the center of a circular table. “You’re lucky we had a vacancy,” she said, turning open the book. She fussed at a drawer and extracted a fountain pen. “Sign here.”

“Could you be more specific about the rent and amenities?” Rose asked.

“You could walk three blocks and find a dozen other boarding houses that offer the same or worse,” Nell said, bristling. “There are a hundred places for girls in this city. You’re free to find one to your liking.”

I hated talk of money. I just wanted a room. The day was growing hotter, and I longed to stretch out in front of an open window with a cool cloth on my forehead.

I signed the ledger with a flourish and handed the pen to Rose, who reluctantly added her signature.

Nell separated one key from a ring holding countless copies. “You get the penthouse, top floor. As soon as you agree to the rules, you may have the key.”

My head snapped up. “Rules?”

“Oh, darling,” Nell said. “There are always rules, even in a city like this.”

EMPIRE HOUSE

RULES FOR TENANTS

• Curfew is strictly enforced. The front and back doors will be locked at 10:00 p.m. nightly. On Saturday nights, the lock turns at 11:00 p.m. SHARP. (After this hour, no knocking, screaming, crying or howling will be tolerated. Sleep in the garden and learn your lesson.)
  
• Hot showers cost fifteen cents and should last no longer than five minutes. At three cents a minute, you’re barely paying for the coal—quit your complaining. There is a timer on the small table outside the bathroom. It will be set.
  
• Laundry services are available, but management is not held to any time constraints. You’ll get it when you get it.
  
• Breakfast is served at 7:00 a.m.; dinner at 6:00 p.m. There is no luncheon. If you are here in the middle of the day, then you have most likely lost your job and have more pressing things to do.
  
• Excessive noise is prohibited. Talking, singing, laughing and loud coughing are not acceptable after midnight.
  
• No one is allowed to sit in the parlor. Ever. No exceptions.
  
• Absolutely no consumption of alcoholic beverages. The Feds say it’s illegal and so do we. Have a nice cup of coffee instead (Five cents a cup and be sure to wash it out when you’re done).
  

As we gained the upper part of the house, I realized with a growing sense of unease that Empire House was only elegant at ground level. The higher we went, the shabbier it got—frayed carpet, holes in the plaster, a pervasive dampness in the air. After climbing what seemed like countless flights, we reached what I thought was the top floor, but then Nell led us to a door, which housed a narrow staircase.

I peered up, though I couldn’t see much. “Are we sleeping in the attic?”

“It’s really quite lovely,” Nell said, dropping the key into my hand. “This is for the bathroom. You won’t need any other keys. I lock up the main door at night.” With a quick smile, she began her descent back to the first floor.

“What’ll we do?” Rose asked, panic in her voice.

I shrugged. “We explore.”

Rose and I came up the stairs to find ourselves standing in the middle of an airy loft, marooned in a sea of cast-off furniture and puffs of dust.

“Our front door is a hole in the floor!” Rose said, aghast. “We might sleepwalk and tumble down the stairs!”

I didn’t want to admit I’d had a similar thought. “It ain’t the Ritz, but it’s not so bad,” I said, but I was throwing her a line—it was one step above a flophouse. One slim window faced MacDougal Street, and sunlight weakly filtered in through a dirty skylight, casting strange shadows on the two twin beds, huddled like starving children in the middle of the room, and an old-fashioned dressing table with an overlarge mirror. The walls were painted a leaden gray. Our trunks sat on a frayed rug. Leeched of all color, it covered a small section of well-used oak floors.

“We have roommates,” Rose whispered, pointing to a closet cut into the middle of the far side wall. Through it another room could be seen. I spotted two female figures moving to and fro, but it was like I was peering at them through the wrong end of the telescope. The gals noticed me and squealed, and they both darted through the slim passageway, fluttering into our room like birds escaping the nest.

One had brown hair that would be mousy, had it not been cut in the most precise bob I’d ever seen. She introduced herself as Maude. The other’s hair was blond, not golden, like Rose’s, but honey-colored, as though she’d started off light but darkened with age. She had the kind of eyes—keen and electric—that missed nothing. This was Viv.

“How’d you gals get stuck with the penthouse?” Viv asked.

“Just lucky, I guess,” I said, keeping my tone jokey. “What’s there to do for fun around here?”

Maude winked. “Oh, anything you set your heart on. Anything at all.”

Rose glanced uneasily at the corridor linking our rooms. “We were hoping for a private room. We’re paying a steep sum—”

“Don’t worry about us,” Viv interjected. “We won’t bug you unless you ask for it.”

Maude rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind her. She’s still working off a bender.”

“But isn’t drinking against the rules?” The words had tumbled from Rose’s mouth, and she colored, instantly aware of her mistake. “Oh,” she said, her voice soft. “It must have been your birthday.”

“Nope,” Viv said. She sat on Rose’s trunk and began to brazenly readjust her stockings. Maude joined her and began to study her own seams. There are always leaders and followers, I thought, and it only took a minute to figure out which was which.

Viv focused her attention on my sister. “Tuesdays are Tom Collins nights,” she explained. “I figure it’s a neglected day of the week, why not give it a distinguishing characteristic?” The girls erupted in laughter.

Obviously unsure of how to respond, Rose looked at me in silent appeal. “You gals been here awhile?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Long enough to know what’s what,” Viv answered.

I caught Rose’s eye and gave a little nod. Once again she extracted Asher’s photograph and placed it on the trunk. “We’re looking for someone,” Rose said, and I noted a change in her voice, a sadness. Was she already feeling defeated? “That’s him. Does he look familiar?”

Viv picked it up first. She held it very close to her face, and I realized she must need glasses. “No,” she said, handing the portrait to Maude. “But if he shows up, be sure to send him my way. He’s a looker.”

“He’s my half brother,” Rose said quietly.

“I was just kidding,” Viv said by way of apology.

Maude returned the photograph. “He looks familiar, but so do half the mugs in this city. I’m sorry I can’t say for sure, but if you want to ask about someone, I’d go see Nell. She’s been here since the Dutch waltzed down Fifth Avenue in their fur coats.”

Viv barked a laugh. “If you can catch her on a good day.”

“We’ve already asked her,” Rose said.

“Well, that’s that, then,” Viv said, her tone growing friendlier. “So, since we’re going to be sharing the penthouse, let’s get acquainted. On this little island you’re either a party girl or a workaday drudge. Which are ya?”

Rose brought a hand to her cheek. “Are those the only choices?”

Maude laughed. “In this city, it’s one or the other.” She appraised my sister with new eyes. “Hey, you’re a kick. I hadn’t realized.”

“But she still hasn’t answered the question.” Viv’s smile was mean. “Drudge it is.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a good day’s work,” Rose said tightly.

“Now that’s the bald-honest truth,” Maude attested, and Rose shot her a grateful look.

I stepped into the conversation, hand on my hip. “We’re looking for work, but we never turn down a party.”

“Well, now that we’ve got that settled, let’s talk the lay of the land,” Viv said, standing up. She patted Rose’s trunk. “That half-baked closet in between us might be as wide as a cigarette case, but we’re lucky—the girls downstairs hang their clothes on a line in the hallway. None of our rags ever go missing. The girls downstairs are fortunate if they can hold on to a dress more than a season. The smart ones keep their good dresses pressed between their mattress and box spring.”

“Don’t forget Claudia,” Maude interjected. “She lives here, too.”

Rose smiled, and I watched the straight line of her back give a little. “We met Claudia downstairs. Is she a relation of yours?”

“Claudia’s a street rat Nell took in,” Viv explained. “She sleeps in that narrow room, tucked under our dresses. The wall juts out, so she’s got her own spot under the eave.”

“Lucky her,” Rose said with a sigh.

“You bet,” Viv said, misinterpreting her sarcasm. “In fact, it looks like it’s everyone’s red-letter day. Daisy moved out around three weeks ago. Nell thought she’d have to put an ad in the
Daily
if she couldn’t rent this place soon.” She paused, taking in the grimy walls and bare mattresses. “I have no idea why it’s so hard to let.”

“Oh, it ain’t so bad.” Maude sniffed. “We’re lucky to have it.”

I studied our surroundings more closely. The room could be charming with a little bit of spit and polish. Daisy had either been a slob or she’d been in a hurry. She’d left some handkerchiefs on the floor next to one of the beds, hairpins and magazines on the dresser and some restaurant cards stuck to the mirror. Those might come in handy, give us a lay of the land. “Daisy blew out of here pretty quick, huh?”

Viv smiled knowingly. “She’s either headed to the convent or the preacher.”

“So old Daisy was a party girl?” I said with a wink.

Maude’s eyebrows lifted. “Daisy was a workaday drudge,” she said, obviously still marveling over that shocker. “A seamstress. And you wouldn’t believe—”

“Perhaps we could discuss Daisy’s indiscretions later,” Rose interrupted, exhaustion creeping into her voice, “after we’ve unpacked.”

Viv pulled at Maude’s collar. “Let’s leave the girls to their new home.”

“We’re going out for a stroll if you want to join us,” Maude said as Viv pulled her down the narrow staircase. “Be downstairs in ten if you want to tag along!”

I sat on one of the beds after they’d left. The mattress felt like it was made of slate. I watched Rose unpack, her movements slow. Mouth compressed, eyes slightly unfocused, she was lost to the thoughts inside her.

“What’s eatin’ you?”

She took Father’s painting of Empire House from her trunk and placed it on the dresser. She contemplated it for a moment and then sat on the bed opposite me. “Do you think they’re all telling the truth, Ivy? I have an odd feeling.”

“When your instinct talks you should listen. Wouldn’t father have said the same?” I thought for a moment. “I did wonder why Nell barely gave Asher’s photo a glance. I thought she was impatient, but maybe there’s something else? Maude did say Nell’s been here the longest, so if anyone would have come across him it would be her.”

“Maybe,” Rose said distractedly, but then her eyes sparked to life. “I know what’s bothering me! That cook downstairs. He didn’t say if he knew Asher or not. He didn’t say anything at all after looking at the photograph.”

I grinned at my sister. “Reading all those books is finally paying off! Maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree, but if someone’s keeping a secret, I can’t imagine it would stay buried for too long around here. We’re going to find Asher before you need to change your dress. I know it.”

“Ivy?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever considered what might happen if and when we do find him?” Rose was staring up at the skylight as she asked the question. The light played across her worried face.

I got up and wordlessly helped her unpack her books. I wanted to say I’d thought the whole thing through, but I hadn’t. Rose was trying to prepare me for disappointment, and I couldn’t consider that. Not for a moment.

“You’ve got something to write with in that trunk, dontcha?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Are you feeling self-reflective?” Rose teased while sifting through her things. “Has Greenwich Village already turned you into a philosopher?”

“Now wouldn’t that be a kick?”

Empire House

June-something-or-other, 1925

Dear Mr. Lawrence,

As time is money and all that, I’ll cut to the chase: No one here knows of Asher.

Rose and I arrived safely at Empire House in two whole pieces, untouched by the savagery of the city. Empire House isn’t exactly the Waldorf Astoria, but the place has a certain gritty bohemian charm. Rose asked about Asher the minute we arrived, but every gal claimed she didn’t recognize him. The more I think about it, the more I suspect Asher did more here than simply pose on the doorstep. I realize lawyers don’t put much stock in intuition, but actresses do, and my gut tells me someone here knows where he’s living and breathing. My gut is also telling me that said person won’t open her trap unless I do some real arm-twisting, so I’m gearing up to do it. I spent my girlhood pounding the stuffing out of the Gilbert boys next door, so I am capable of twisting until something pops off. I will be subtle about it—she’ll not notice until someone else points out the blood.