Out of the Easy (31 page)

The sun was up when I arrived at Willie’s. I let myself in through the side door and proceeded to eat anything I could find in the kitchen. I hadn’t had food or drink since Tangle Eye left the shop. The milk sloshed against the sides of the trembling glass as I raised it to my lips. I had spent all night considering the options. No one escaped a debt to Carlos Marcello, not alive anyway. Five thousand dollars was an enormous sum of money, over two years’ tuition to Smith. I could raise some of it myself, but not all of it. There was no other way.

I’d have to take it from Willie and then find a way to return it. I couldn’t tell her, not after Tangle Eye’s threat.

Sadie knew something was wrong the moment she saw me. I told her I couldn’t sleep. She kept feeling my forehead and the sides of my neck. She made me open my mouth so she could look at my tongue and throat. She brewed hot tea with lemon and fried up some eggs and thick bacon for me.

“I smell pig,” said Willie as I brought the coffee into her room. “Who’s Sadie cooking for?”

“It was for me. I drank too much soda yesterday and had a bad stomach all night.”

Willie eyed me. “Soda, huh? Yeah, right. Give me the papers.” Willie read through one of the front-page stories in the newspaper. “They’re crackin’ down, Jo. Says here they’re hiring more cops and plan to drag the Quarter.” She threw the paper across the bed. “I’m too old for raids. Used to love ’em, all the dodge and ditch was a turn-on, but I don’t have the energy for it anymore. I haven’t had to use the buzzer for years.”

“What will you do?”

Willie thought for a moment. “I’ll keep two drivers on-site every night. Sadie will sit at the window and throw the buzzer if she sees the cops. Everyone will run through the courtyard and climb through the flap door into the waiting cars. I may send a car to the bookshop—you said it’s closed up, right?”

“Yes.” I chose my words carefully. “I’ve asked Jesse to put boards or shutters up on the windows. I don’t want people to see it empty.”

“That’s a good idea. Move the bookshelves. I’ll have Elmo deliver some furniture so there’s a place to sit.”

“Willie, have you heard from Mother?”

“No, and we don’t want to. I hope she’s settled her scores here in town and won’t come back. I don’t need the trouble, and neither do you. I know you feel some sort of connection with her, but trust me on this, she will bring you down, Jo. She’ll bring us all down.”

She already has, I wanted to tell Willie.

“If I were you, I would think about changing my last name. You’re eighteen. You can do it. Cut the cord.”

Willie banded a stack of bills and handed them to me. “Put these in the safe.”

She continued to talk about the crackdown. I stared at the stacks of cash in the safe. If I could nick two one-hundred-dollar bills, go to the bank, change them for a stack of one-dollar bills, I could fill the packs with ones. Maybe she wouldn’t notice. I tried to quickly calculate how it would add up. Perspiration beaded at my hairline.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” demanded Willie.

What was I doing?
Decisions,
whispered the voice of Forrest Hearne,
they shape our destiny.

Yes, Forrest Hearne’s decisions had led to his destiny. Death.

FIFTY

“Mr. Lockwell, please,” I whispered into the receiver. “This is Josephine Moraine.”

I waited for several minutes. The line finally clicked. “You got your letter,” said the woolly voice on the other end of the line. “You want to go celebrate?”

“Actually, I haven’t received word yet. I’m calling regarding—” I paused. Could I really do this? “Regarding employment.”

Lockwell was silent. I heard nothing but the wet sucking of his cigar. “Ah, reconsidered, have you?”

“I’m thinking about it. I’d like to know a bit more about the position.”

“Meet me at noon at my place on St. Peter.” He rattled off the address. “I look forward to discussing . . . the position.” He chuckled and hung up.

When I left the shop for Lockwell’s, Jesse was installing shutters on the windows and doors.

“They’re castoffs from a building over on Chartres. The one for the door even has a mail slot. The fit won’t be perfect, but they’ll work for privacy.” Jesse looked at me and smiled.

I stared at the sidewalk.

“That’s what this is about, right? If it’s not, tell me.”

I looked at Jesse.

“Damn it, Jo. Say something.”

I wanted to tell him everything. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t drag Jesse, Cokie, or Willie into this. So I just stood there.

Jesse dropped his hammer in frustration. “You know what? I’m tired of this. You come banging on my door or breakin’ my window whenever you need something, and I jump when you say jump. But I ask a question or come by to see you, and you leave me standing out here on the street. I got school, cars to fix, and I dropped everything to do this today. I’m not some puppy. You complain about your mom being a user, but you’re lookin’ like one yourself these days.”

I turned on my heel and walked away from him, fighting tears and the urge to run back and tell him everything, ask for his help.

The entrance to Lockwell’s apartment was discreetly tucked down a deep, gated courtyard. He said the other two apartments were generally vacant, as the owners lived out of town. How convenient for him.

The apartment was small but lovely. Old oak floors ran the length of the long and narrow parlor. The high ceilings made it feel bigger. Sparsely furnished, but the pieces were tasteful, especially the desk in the corner, which had the framed picture of Lockwell on a hunting expedition. He saw me eyeing the desk.

“It’s a beauty, huh? It’s not all play. Sometimes I work here, too. Would you like a tour?”

The apartment was petite. There couldn’t be more than the small parlor, a kitchen, and a bedroom. “No, thank you,” I said, having a seat in one of the chairs.

Lockwell lit his cigar and sat down across from me. “So here we are. Quite a long way from where we started. I like how things have progressed.”

I nodded, tired, slightly off my usual spar with Lockwell. The encounter with Jesse still bothered me.

“All right, let’s just admit it. We’ve come full circle. I predicted you would come back to me for money, and here you are.”

I opened my mouth to object.

Lockwell raised his hand in protest. “Now, I’ll admit that you aren’t the shakedown I originally thought, but I’ve offered you a job several times, and you’ve always been quick to decline. Now you’re here about the job, and you’re not quite yourself, Josephine.” He sucked on the end of the cigar. “You need money, or you wouldn’t be here. It may be for college. It may be for something else. But you need money. How much?”

I tried to calculate what I thought I could borrow from Willie’s safe. “Two thousand dollars,” I told him.

Lockwell’s head popped back in surprise. “That’s quite a hefty sum.”

“That’s why I’m inquiring about a job.”

“It’ll take you two years to make two thousand dollars as a secretary. Maybe more.”

I didn’t have years. I had days.

“Unless”—he leaned back in the chair—“you’d prefer a more private arrangement. I’d front you some of the money, and we’d have a weekly arrangement here.”

I swallowed, hard. “And you’d front exactly how much? I’m in need of two thousand dollars.”

Lockwell rolled his cigar on his lips. I was a marionette. He loved pulling the strings. The power was titillating. “A thousand.”

“Fifteen hundred, cash,” I countered.

He looked at me. “But you can’t look like that.” He pulled out his wallet and handed me a fifty-dollar bill. “Go to Maison Blanche, pick out a nice dress and some high heels. Real heels, no loafers, or whatever you call them. Get your hair and nails done, too. Buy some perfume if you want. Come back the day after tomorrow at seven o’clock. I’ll have dinner brought in.”

He rolled his cigar against his bottom lip and stared at me. I stared back. “Well, I’ve got an appointment. I’ll show you out.”

I could feel his eyes all over me from behind as I walked to the door. I held my pocketbook tight against my left side, trying to hide the slice in my blouse from Cincinnati’s knife.

Fifteen hundred. That meant I’d have to steal over three thousand from Willie. I stepped out the door and turned around.

“See you soon, Josephine,” he said with a wink.

I stared at him, and my nose wrinkled, thinking I could smell the vinegar in his veins. Could I do this? But somehow the words came right out of my mouth. “See you soon,” I told him.

FIFTY-ONE

Two days passed. I still didn’t have a dime. Five more days, and Marcello’s men would track me down. Willie didn’t ask me to put money in the safe that morning, almost as if she had read my mind and knew what was going on. I got a postcard from Patrick saying the Keys were beautiful and that he missed me. I got another letter from Charlotte, asking if I could confirm the visit to the Berkshires in August. I thought of Tangle Eye Lou showing up at the Gateses’ home in the Berkshires, hunting me down for the five thousand dollars he said I owed Marcello.

The cops had raided Willie’s. A car dropped Dora, Sweety, and two johns at the shop to hide. When I opened the door, they all came running in, Dora clutching a bottle of crème de menthe and Sweety holding the hand of sweaty and trembling Walter Sutherland, who wore nothing but boxer shorts and a necktie.

“Raid party!” shouted Dora. She turned on the radio, and they danced between the bookshelves. I sat on the stairs and watched beautiful, heartful Sweety with Walter Sutherland’s fat pink arms around her. His eyes were closed, and his head rested on her shoulder as he drifted off into a dreamland. It nauseated me. She was so beautiful and kind, she didn’t have to do this. I didn’t have to do it either. I could run away, go off to Massachusetts without telling a soul.

I had just returned from Willie’s and was cleaning the shop after the raid party when I heard a noise at the door. I turned and waited for a knock but none came. And then I saw it. A large brown envelope was wedged askew between Jesse’s shutters and the glass door. I dusted off my hands and removed the keys from my pocket. I opened the door and the envelope fell faceup onto the tile. I saw the return address and lost my breath.

SMITH COLLEGE

I paced around the shop humming and holding the envelope. It felt like more than just a sheet of paper. That was encouraging. A rejection would be a single sheet. I used the bookbinding knife and slit the top flap. I peeked inside. There was a sealed envelope clipped to a piece of paper.

I paced some more, my hands perspiring and my heart thumping wildly. I stopped and yanked the paper out of the envelope.

The words came at me in slow motion.

Dear Miss Moraine,

Thank you for your application to Smith College.

The Board of Admissions was pleased to have so many outstanding applications this year.

After long and careful consideration,

we regret to inform you that we cannot offer you a place in the Class of 1954.

Rejected.

Why had I allowed myself to dream that it was possible, that I could escape the smoldering cesspit of my existence in New Orleans and glide into a world of education and substance in Northampton?

The rejection went on to say that my application wasn’t timely enough to be fully considered. The rest of the letter contained polite pleasantries, wishing me luck in all my future endeavors. I’d have to tell Charlotte. Even worse, I’d have to tell Cokie. Thinking about Cokie made my stomach wormy. I looked at the envelope clipped to the rejection letter.
Miss Josephine Moraine
was written in an inky script on the cream bond envelope. Inside was a letter on matching paper.