Empire Girls (7 page)

I pulled off my stained dress and sorted through my things I’d brought along, finding a long white nightdress that had once belonged to my mother. I loved that one; it looked and smelled like home. I pulled it over my head and loosed the last two pins from my hair. I then placed the sewing machine on the floor, hoping it would work without the stand, but it didn’t.

The crawl space. Maybe Daisy had left the rest of her larger belongings in there? I walked past the window and that’s when I saw Ivy.

The party was underway with starry lights glimmering roughshod over the poor man’s festival. Tattered people gathered there, one looking more broken than the next. There was a pretty feeling to the center of the gathering, but if you looked toward the edges you saw the darkness creeping in.

I focused on the crumbling brick of the garden walls, waiting to see the specter I’d created in my mind, when there, in the center of it all, stood Ivy...smoking a cigarette.

I leaned on the window trying to pry it open.

“Only fast girls smoke,” was something both Mother and Father used to say, and I couldn’t let Ivy become “fast.” She was speeding toward disaster since the day she was born, and now, it seemed, we’d reached it.

I couldn’t open the window, so I banged on it.

I saw her see me, but she looked away, that ninny of a girl. The look in her eyes, though... It made me ashamed, I must have embarrassed her...but if I was her cross to bear, it didn’t matter to me. I had to stop her before she fell headlong into all the vices the city had to offer.

Frantic to stop her, I knew I had to go downstairs. It’d gotten very dark, so I picked up a hurricane lamp that was next to my bed, shuffled through Daisy’s things for a matchbook and lit the wick.

I rushed down the rickety staircase, one hand on the railing, the other holding up the lamp by it’s thin wire handle.

Just then, a man—I could tell by his footsteps, heavy and booted—bounded up the stairs toward me. He couldn’t see me as he rounded the corner and so even though I tried to move aside for him we were both going too fast. We collided.

I started to fall, but he caught me. Only he was at a poor angle so he fell forward. What happened was a graceless heap of two bodies intertwined, knocking the lamp askew, as well. The man reached over me to right it before too much oil spilled. I felt his cheek brush against mine, the stubble there so rough on my skin. I felt his arms try to sit me up... How strong they were, holding me, making sure I wouldn’t fall again. He had to touch my bare arms in order to get me on my feet again. Calloused hands swept past my face, smelling clean, of lemons and earth...gardens deep inside the ground full of fresh, growing things.

My God, what is this feeling?
I thought as my head inched past his.

He asked, as breathless as I felt, “Are you a phantom?” into my hair as I moved upward, my lips open, not realizing I’d brush the side of his neck with them as I stood on my own.

And then sank back down because my ankle had twisted in the fall.

He reached for me again, but I backed away from him. There was nowhere to go. He was now blocking the staircase up, and I didn’t want to go down anymore.

“You’re hurt, and I’m frightening you,” he said. “Please don’t be frightened. We’ve already met. It’s me, Sonny. Santino.” It was then that I got the courage to look up at him.

Shadows speak louder of a person than sunlight. He was handsome. A strong nose and even stronger chin.

Mother always said that a strong chin meant a strong character.

“Are you drunk?” I asked him. “You ran so fast, I could have died here!”

I wanted to say,
What was that, that thing that just occurred...what happened there? Did you feel it, too?

“Not drunk yet,” he said...and I felt he answered me.
No, that was nothing....
“I’m still cooking. I was coming to check up on you, actually. And here you are, my phantom.” He laughed. It was a warm laugh, not mocking. Not like when I said silly things, and Ivy would laugh at me.

“You are so very pretty, Rose.”

I was happy for the dim light of the lamp so he couldn’t see me blush.

“Well, you look terrified, so allow me to escort you back upstairs. Only to your own steps, of course. We wouldn’t want to seem improper. You are a lady, Rose Adams.” He held out his arm, and I took it.

I began to walk but stumbled on my sore ankle.

“If you’ll permit me, I’ll carry you. I promise, no more awkward falls. I’ll not mistreat you, Rose.”

“Only if you promise to stop Ivy from making a fool of herself with the cigarette she’s smoking.”

“Agreed,” he said, and picked me up and carried me back to the penthouse. I felt lighter than air. He smiled at me. He had a smile like my father’s. One that lit up his eyes as well as his mouth.

“Perhaps we will meet on the stairs again,” he said. Then he gave a small bow and went back to the party.

I’ll admit, by the time he was gone, my ankle had stopped throbbing altogether, and I wondered if some alternate person inside of me had wanted him to lift me up. Then shook the thought away.

I rushed to the window to see if he’d do as I asked.

There he was, next to Ivy and taking the cigarette out of her hands.

Santino. A wonderful name. Exotic and full of mystery.

I went back to my original objective and found, as I knew I would, the sewing table crammed into the crawl space.

It took some time, but before I knew it, I was sewing myself a dress out of orange chiffon, thinking of home, summers by the lake and Santino.

When Ivy finally came back upstairs with Viv and Maude, they were obviously drunk.

She’d have to learn the hard way, my sister.

I pushed more filmy fabric through the machine and felt confident for the first time all day.

CHAPTER 6

Ivy

I SAW MY
sister in the window.

Rose stood there like Rochester’s forgotten attic bride—hair loose, ghostly white nightgown billowing about, palms pressed to the glass. The calmer, more relaxed demeanor she’d exhibited earlier was gone. Her eyes scoured the patio with a desperate look, the angel of practicality prepared to rain judgment upon us, if only she could get the darn window open. Rose pushed at it, hit the frame with the flat of her hand, but the thing wouldn’t budge. When I caught her eye Rose shook her head—
no, no, no!
—but I ignored her. There isn’t a girl on the planet who wants to be told not to do something right after she’s made the decision to do it, and my must-do list was a doozy—smoke a real cigarette, get roaring drunk, kiss somebody. I’d crossed off the first one and planned on knocking out the rest of the list that night, my worrywart sister be damned.

But that wasn’t the whole story. Between the heartache of the past and the razzle-dazzle of a gin-soaked present, I chose the here and now. Empire House was a brace to the system. Something new to forget something old.

“Give me a drag of that lipstick,” Maude said, deftly taking the cigarette from my hand. She’d given it to me when we arrived at the party, to “slay my nerves.” I wasn’t the neurotic type, but I could see what she meant. When a gal’s hands are busy the rest of her looks pretty occupied with life. It helps when you don’t know a soul, and I didn’t. I didn’t trust Viv much, or Nell, but I did take an instant liking to Maude, and my instincts were pretty steady-eddy. Still, I wondered if she did remember Asher. Had he been a trusted friend or a boy who broke her heart? I supposed there were a number of reasons to skirt the truth, and not all of them meant the person wanted to lie.

“You okeydoke?” Maude asked. She sucked on the cig and drew the smoke so far into her body I expected it to come out her pores. “You look a little green.”

Dizzy from the smoke, my head felt like it had turned into a zeppelin, ponderously circling the party in search of a place to land. Still, I flashed my teeth. “Fine and dandy.”

“Viv will be back soon. She went inside to help Jimmy with the hooch.”

My zeppelin head went down in flames at the name. “Jimmy?”

“He’s a real harp—face looks like the map of Ireland. The girls like him, though.” Maude leaned in. “My tastes are more refined. I want a gent to take me to Mouquin’s for escargot. You know, someone cosmopolitan, refined.”

I took in her long, plain face and simply nodded. “So...the rule about drinking liquor is loosely enforced?”

Maude took another drag and shook her head. “Rules don’t apply when Nell can make a buck.”

We stood there, companionably listening to the sounds of nighttime in Greenwich Village. The rest of the city popped like the gunshot beginning a footrace—
go, go, go!
—but the Village spoke in musical whispers, the sound of ideas taking form, and the soft slide into the delicious vices that make one’s head swim. Maude slipped the cig back into my hand, and I readied myself for another smoke. I lifted my hand and brought only my fingers to my mouth. Santino, the cook, had taken the cig while passing. He clucked his tongue and crushed it in his bare hand.

“You ain’t her father, Sonny!” Maude shouted after him. “Stick to making meatballs!”

I watched him slip back into Empire House. “What was that about?”

“He was in the war,” Maude gave in explanation. “Those guys think because they’ve seen a few ghosts, they know everything.” She shrugged. “Forget about him. What do you think about sharing a house with the rest of the crew?” she asked, gesturing to the gals moving about the patio. “We’re a touch removed from the action up in the penthouse, but these baby dolls are your neighbors.”

The other girls were a candy box assortment—plump and thin, brunette and blonde, tall and short, but they all looked like they knew where the world had wanted them to go, but ran in the opposite direction as soon as they got the chance. Modern girls. They clustered in small groups on the garden patio, candles in Mason jars circling their feet, tittering in anticipation of what the night would bring. A few of them sat cross-legged in front of a low slate bench, their attention drawn to the woman sitting on it. She didn’t wear a dress, but a simple shirt made of light green silk, paired with a day carpenter’s white canvas trousers and Chinese slippers. The odd combination somehow worked in her favor, though I suspected no one else should dare attempt it. In the dusky candlelight, her face was smooth and ageless—she could be a girl of twenty or a woman of forty. I wanted to look at her in the harsh light of day, but still I wondered if it would make any difference.

I was used to being the object of curiosity, but this woman, with her pale, fine-boned face and shock of white-blond hair, held every eye as though she were a hypnotist by trade. In this crazy city, maybe she was.

I nudged Maude. “Who’s that?”

“She has far too many admirers already,” Maude huffed. “Don’t add to her roster.”

“Are you going to answer my question or not?”

“Cat LeGrand,” she answered, after making me wait a moment.

“Is that her real name?”

“What do you think?”

I took a few steps toward the bench, drawn as moth to flame, Maude dragging behind me like an iron prison ball. “I want to meet her. Will you introduce me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

I laughed. “I don’t really want to give you one.”

“All righty, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You didn’t! And anyway, what’s the crime in being popular?”

Maude rolled her eyes. “Spoken like a true babe in the Greenwich Village woods.”

We approached slowly, arm in arm. If Cat noticed us homing in she gave no acknowledgment. A round-faced girl sat at her feet like a supplicant, telling a story with broad, expansive gestures, attempting to elicit a reaction she simply wasn’t getting.

“Cat,” Maude said, her nasal voice interrupting, cutting into the girl’s enthusiastic ramblings.

Cat’s bored expression dropped from her features, replaced by an avaricious grin. “Maude,” she said, looking at
me
with glittery dark eyes. “Have you brought a party favor?”

“Possibly,” Maude said, “but not for you. I’m merely making introductions.”

Cat brought a hand up. Her long nails were painted the deep, pure fuchsia of my mother’s peonies. I slipped my hand in hers, surprised at their roughness.

“Ivy Adams,” I said, wincing a bit as her hand gripped mine.

Cat studied my face as though she were committing each feature to memory. “Are you the seamstress?”

At that moment, I wanted to be, more than anything. “No,” I replied. “I’m the actress.”

Her lacquered mouth drew into a pout. “Oh, pity. I can’t use one of those.”

“My sister can sew,” I said, suddenly overcome with the need to please. “Maybe she can help you out.”

“Maybe,” she mused.

“Oh, jeez,” Maude groaned. “Head count.”

The party’s attention shifted to the patio door, where Nell stood, dressed formally for evening. With one arm draped over the railing and a thin, knowing smile, she looked inscrutable as a sphinx.

With great efficiency, Nell began to work the crowd. She hit the outskirts of the party first, but then changed course, heading in our direction. “Prepare to be fleeced,” Maude muttered.

“Two dollars tonight, ladies,” Nell said in lieu of a greeting.

In a flash, money exchanged hands. So distracted was I by the swiftness of the transactions, it took me a moment to notice that all eyes were on me, waiting for my contribution.

I felt myself go pale. I had a dime in each shoe, and nothing else. “If I can, I mean, if you’ll allow—”

“If you don’t have it,” Nell said briskly, “you’ll have to leave.”

“Don’t give her the business, Nell,” Cat said, thrusting two more dollars at the old woman. She turned to me. “You owe me one.”

Nell frowned. “And your sister?”

“Rose is tired,” I said. “She decided to turn in.”

If I’d blinked, I’d have missed the quick glance between Cat and Nell. It was a simple meeting of slightly widened eyes, but the timing of it set my senses on high alert. How easily my suspicions took root—was I taking lessons from my bookworm sister?

Maude let out a breath and laughed a little. “You look like you need a drink,” she said. “I’m eager to get at it, too.” We started toward the house, walking a few steps before we noticed Cat hadn’t left the bench. “You coming?” Maude asked.

Cat tilted her head toward the inky night sky. “Gin comes to me,” she said, her voice like silk, “not the other way around.”

“Well, I’m happy to chase it,” Maude whispered, pulling me away from Cat. “If I waited for it to find me, I’d die of thirst.”

We entered a shadowy stairwell, bypassing the kitchen, and exited on what I thought was the second floor, but was actually a landing with a room attached. The door, marked Washing Room, was closed, but Maude walked in anyway without the courtesy of a knock.

The heady scent of pine and oranges nearly knocked me over. Jimmy straddled a copper tub, carefully tipping a large glass bottle into a cocktail shaker. When he noticed us standing there he gave a wink, and my heart jumped in my chest. “Next batch is for these two lovelies,” he called to Viv, who stood at a folding table squeezing the dickens out of an orange.

“Orange blossoms tonight,” she said excitedly. “You’re going to want more than one of these.” Jimmy gave her the shaker and she went to work, adding a dash of orange juice and a scoop of chipped ice before agitating the mixture in three slow undulations.

“Aren’t you supposed to shake it up?” Maude asked.

Viv poured the liquid into two porcelain teacups. “This is a delicate drink. A
ladylike
concoction.”

“Oh, brother,” Maude said under her breath.

Viv distributed the drinks. “Run and get me some more oranges, Jimmy,” she said, surveying her supplies. “I’ve only got one left.”

Jimmy stepped over the tub. His shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing thick forearms swirled with black hair. “Come with,” he said to me. “I need someone to help me carry the bounty.”

“I only need a couple,” Viv said sharply, “not a case.”

Jimmy ignored her and ushered me from the room, closing the door on the whispering girls behind us. Once in the kitchen, he seemed to forget why we’d come, and set about investigating the knives lining the walls. “Sonny would chop off my hands with these if he caught me in here,” Jimmy said.

“And what would he do to me?” I said, hand on my hip, the words braver than I felt.

Jimmy tossed me a dark look and didn’t answer. I knew he was joshing, but the uneasiness I felt on the patio kicked up a notch. I changed the subject. “Do you often make gin in the washing room?” I hated the way I sounded, prim and practical, like Rose.

“That tub hasn’t seen a scrap of fabric in years,” Jimmy said. “The whole place stinks like a juniper and sweat.”

I dipped a finger into my teacup and placed a drop of the ice-cold liquid on my tongue. “Doesn’t taste like sweat—I’d say more like sunshine.”

Jimmy moved closer, leaving his fascination with the knives behind. He stuck a finger in my drink then ran the gin down the slope of my nose. “We’re alchemists,” he said softly. “You’ve got magic in your glass.”

There was a mere hairbreadth between us. I could smell the pine scent of juniper, and the something else, something warm and inviting. “Now that’s a golden line,” I said, smiling up at him. “Does it usually work?”

“I don’t know if it does or it doesn’t,” he said softly. “I’m just trying it out.”

Jimmy had a small scar bracketing the corner of his eye, and one at the edge of his mouth. His nose was slightly crooked, as if it’d been broken and reset badly. His face grew more interesting the closer I looked, and more dangerous, just like this crazy city I was only beginning to understand.

“It’s starting to work,” I said. “Give it time.”

“No one’s got much of that,” he said. He leaned toward me, and my pulse hammered with anticipation.

“Jimmy,” Maude said. She stood in the door frame, a strange look on her horsy features. “Viv doesn’t want to wait all night.”

Jimmy grabbed two oranges from a bowl on the kitchen table. “Go easy on the gin,” he said, grinning as he stepped backward toward Maude. “There’s a party every night if you want it. And ain’t that what life’s all about?”

An eerie kind of silence filled the kitchen after they left. I felt odd about following Jimmy and Maude, and I was fearful Sonny the cook would return to find me nosying around his kitchen with a cup of gin, so I rejoined the others on the patio. In the few minutes we’d been gone the party filled out, shifting from picturesque gathering to raucous bash.

The candles had been kicked to the side, so only the moon and stars lit the patio. Shifting bodies heaved unsteadily, strange elbows and shoulders knocking me to and fro. I downed the gin before it spilled. Someone called something that sounded like my name, but the darkness swirling above swallowed the sound.

A hand clutched my arm.

Before I raised my eyes, I thought about who I wished it would be. The dead? The missing? The map of Ireland?

No, I realized with a start. I wanted the girl trapped behind glass. The one upstairs, worrying.

“Hey,” the owner of the hand shouted. It was the round-faced storyteller, the one we’d interrupted. “Got a light?”

I shook my head and melted into the crowd.