The Secret Life of Anna Blanc (34 page)

Why did she feel so sad?

Someone knocked. Anna slipped into a robe de nuit. “Come in.” She went to unlock the door from the inside.

Keys jingled in the hallway and six separate bolts turned, clicked, and slid before Mrs. Morales pushed open the door. “Goodness. It's sweltering in here. Why in heaven's name do you have a fire going?”

“Because this house is full of icy hearts.” Anna tilted her chin toward heaven, though God never listened.

Mrs. Morales remained impassive. “You have letters, Miss Anna.” She handed Anna two envelopes and left.

The envelopes had already been opened, the letters read and censored. She wondered if there had been others that had not made it through—a love letter from Joe, perhaps, telling her to meet him at midnight so that they could run away together. It made her whole body ache.

Anna waited until Mrs. Morales had turned all six bolts before she
unfolded the letters and read. The first came from Clara, saying her aunt had died and she was coming home. She asked whether Anna had come to her senses and, if so, would she join them for a Looloos game because Theo liked the pitcher. Anna scratched a quick reply accepting the engagement and sprayed it with lavender water. She didn't bother to seal the envelope. She knew it would just be steamed opened and read before it was delivered.

The second letter came from a “Mrs. Eunice Partridge.” Anna's heart skipped a beat. She doubted whether corresponding with a madam was advisable for a girl whose status had only recently been restored to golden. But the letter had made it through the censors and so she read it.

Dear Miss Blanc,

Thank you for your interest in our home for wayward girls. I wish I were there to oversee the property, but I'm still enjoying the mayor's hospitality. One of the girls, a Mrs. McBride, is no longer with us. She bought a farm across the river. It's a better place.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Eunice Partridge.

The letter was cryptic, but the message as clear as glass. Eve was dead, presumably at the hands of the killer. Madam Lulu still languished in jail, and there was no one to look out at the brothels. Anna ripped the letter into a hundred pieces and flung it into the fire. She wished she hadn't read it. Anna had doomed Eve to the brothels. Now she was dead. Anna had failed to catch the killer when she'd had the chance. Now there was nothing she could do.

That afternoon, Anna would see no one, not even Edgar. She claimed to have a headache and wouldn't come down for dinner. She refused to take food in her room. Instead, she sat at her toilet table in a black gown, combing her hair until the brush choked with long strands and had to be cleaned.

Above the mirror, Christ hung on the cross and looked down at her with sorrowful eyes. Edgar gazed out at her from a framed photograph on the glass counter. He looked handsome, and a smile lurked under his lips, as if he had some secret. She lifted a mirrored tray that held her silver comb and brush. Underneath, the Arrow Collar Man stood bare-legged in his shirt suit, looking almost as good as Joe Singer. Beside him, Eve and Anna were taped together, holding a sign and smiling. Anna looked fancy and feathered, like a white bird of paradise. Eve wore a dark, simple frock like the other marchers. Now Anna could see that Eve had been a beauty in disguise, like Anna herself when she'd worked at the station.

She kissed Eve's image, set the picture down, and began to brush her hair again, keeping company with her image in the mirror. She looked beautiful, just like Joe said. But, like he also said, beauty was only skin deep. She wasn't a good person. She was a selfish person and a useless person who really couldn't fry an egg. Her life had no meaning. No wonder God punished her.

Why hadn't she tried to get Eve out of the brothel? She could have given her some jewelry to sell and the little money she had earned in salary after the cost of her uniforms had been deducted from her pay. She could have told Joe that Eve was in the brothel. He would have helped her. Eve would have been humiliated and angry, but at least she would be alive. She thought Joe had forgiven her for getting Eve fired—at least he seemed forgiving when he was licking her leg in the dressing room; but he could never forgive her this. Her pretend police lover, the man she missed intensely, he would despise her.

Anna couldn't bear to languish in her room. She had to make it right. She couldn't raise the dead, but she could catch Eve's killer, and she could find Eve's children and try to convince Clara to raise them, as Anna didn't much care for children. As for the consequences if Mrs. Morales discovered her missing, Anna just wouldn't think about it.

She scrambled to the door and slid the bolt, locking it from the inside, so Mrs. Morales could not get in. She rattled the window. The locksmith had nailed it shut, but the pane was big enough to accommodate
her body if she could remove it. She set her talking machine to play “By the Light of the Silvery Moon” on the loudest setting, then dragged the thick satin coverlet from her bed and fastened it over the curtain rod with hat-pins, covering the window. She lifted an eighteenth-century chair and wielded it like a battering ram, smashing through the glass.

Anna rummaged through a trunk and found the veil. Holding the veil in her teeth, she wrapped towels around each hand and climbed through the broken window out onto the roof. Tucking the hem of her gown into her waistband, she shimmied down the rope and bolted for the brothels.

Anna knocked at the back door of Canary Cottage, breathing her own hot breath beneath the veil. She could smell food burning. A woman in her mid-twenties answered the door—a big girl with a chestnut bun and a gob full of chewing gum. She wore heavy makeup, curlers, and a filmy off-the-shoulder blouse. “What are you doing here?”

Anna blew out a puff of breath that rippled her veil. “Lulu said you were short a girl.”

“Three girls. One's passed. One got married. One's got sores.” The woman flipped up Anna's veil and let her eyes roam over Anna's body. She raised an eyebrow. “Huh. I'm Charlene. Come on in.”

The door led to the kitchen. In a breakfast nook, a young girl was drinking a glass of milk. She was tiny, doll-like, with blond curls and a voice like bells. She smiled at Anna, revealing a gap between her tiny front teeth. A creamy milk mustache spread across her upper lip. Charlene shifted her weight to one voluptuous hip. “Big Cindy, we got a new girl. What's your name, honey?”

This time, Anna was ready with her alias. “Aimee Amour.”

Big Cindy grinned and shook Anna's hand. “I like your name. It's a real killer.”

Charlene assessed Anna from behind. “Why don't you take her upstairs and show her the ropes. She can have Peaches' bed.”

To Anna's surprise, Big Cindy took Anna's hand again in her soft small one and smiled. “Come on now, Aimee.” She led Anna across the expansive dance floor to the staircase that led up to the balconies. The wooden railings shone with polish. Big Cindy began to climb. “Second floor's got little rooms for entertainin', and we got a lawyer who boards there whenever his wife kicks him out.” She giggled. “He likes Dolly, the piano player.” Anna's fist went to her mouth.

They proceeded to the third floor where the girls lived. Big Cindy had shared a room with Peaches. It was filled with childhood relics—a rag doll, a
Child's Garden of Verses
, a little silver cup filled with baby teeth, and two twin brass beds with soft pillows stuffed with goose feathers. Big Cindy sat on the bed and tucked her feet beneath her bottom. She patted the space beside her. Anna sat on the quilt, which had every mark of being made by a grandmother.

Big Cindy picked at a hole in the quilt where the batting poked out. “Don't worry sweetie. Compared with a lot of jobs, this is duck soup.” She shrugged. “The scratch is good. The rake-off's fair. For every man you entertain, Lulu gets eighteen, you get eighteen, plus more for selling drinks. But you got to pay a fine to the mayor every week. Plus some complimentary attention. You got any experience?”

Anna shook her head.

“Okay. Some of the customers, they're gonna give you chestnuts—‘I love you,' ‘Let's run away together,' that kind of thing. You send chestnuts right back. Got it?”

“Got it,” Anna said.

Big Cindy pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Don't believe 'em and don't loan 'em money, because they never pay you back.”

Anna nodded. “All right.”

Big Cindy leaned closer and whispered. “If you don't mind my saying, with your looks, you're a nut not to go to the Poodle Dog. That's where the real coin is. They charge a hundred dollars for dinner and a girl.”

Anna raised her eyebrows.

Big Cindy pulled a face. “I know. I wouldn't want to live with Madam
Monique either. That's okay. You'll have a boss time here, and you're so beautiful you'll make loads of cash, more than most your customers. But save every penny. In a couple of years, you could open a store or somethin'. You don't wanna end up slaving in a factory or having to marry some goop you don't like. He'll get all your money the minute you say ‘I do.'” Big Cindy tapped her teeth. “Let's see. Oh yeah. You need a story.”

Anna looked puzzled. “A story?”

Big Cindy cocked her head. “You know, where you come from. You can be whoever you want to be. But I recommend you don't be who you really are.”

“Who are you?” Anna asked.

Big Cindy tossed her hair and put on a bad posh accent, lifting one hand in the air as if it were dripping with jewels. “I'm a society girl who lost her fortune in the bank panic.” She giggled.

Anna shifted on the quilt. “Me too.”

“No, that's mine. You be an actress or somethin'.”

“But what's your real story?”

“Me? It isn't interesting. My pop's dead. I got eight younger siblings and they eat like termites, so I send money home.”

Anna bit her lip and frowned. Big Cindy shrugged. “Let's see. Wash him before, you after. Prevents disease.”

“What about during?” Anna had no intention of having a “during,” but the details would be interesting.

“We got a peep hole for training.”

Anna blinked.

Madam Lulu rustled in with some bright, silky frocks and things on hangers. “Big Cindy, she's a detective undercover. She don't need to know technique.”

Anna's gray eyes widened. “Madam Lulu?”

“She's with the LAPD?” Big Cindy leaned away from Anna.

Madam Lulu rolled her eyes. “God no. She's from the DDDA. The Dumb Debutante Detective Agency. You don't tell nobody, you hear? And look out for her. She doesn't have a lick of sense.”

Anna threw up her hands. “How did you get out of jail?”

“I gave the mayor ten thousand dollars. Of course it were counterfeit, but he don't know that yet.” Madam Lulu winked. She handed Anna the frocks. “These belonged to Peaches. She'd want you to have 'em.”

Anna inspected the florid things. “You act like you were expecting me. Like you knew I would come.”

Madam Lulu grunted. “I know everything.”

Anna picked out a short, scarlet dress and held it up against her. It was as red as blood, made of chiffon, and hit just above the knee. The arms were sheer, the neckline cut low. It was skimpier even than her bathing suit. “Jupiter.”

“Men are like bulls, red steams 'em up,” Madam Lulu said. Anna wondered what a steamed-up man looked like. Then she remembered the dressing room and being tangled with Joe and how their heat had made the mirror foggy. Her heart ached.

Madam Lulu tossed Anna a long blond wig. “You'll wanna wear a disguise.”

Anna shook her head. “I assure you. I won't know anyone.”

“Trust me, kid,” Madam Lulu said with a pointed look. “Charlene! You got that powder? Charlene's my right-hand man. She told me you were here.”

Anna looked confused. “She knows me?”

Madam Lulu rolled her eyes. In a moment, Charlene appeared at the door and handed Madam Lulu a packet of white powder. Madam Lulu nodded thank you. “Princess, you need to be seen goin' upstairs with one or two customers to maintain your cover. We're gonna handpick drunk, docile ones for you.” She handed the powder to Anna. “Slip a teaspoon of this in their drinks before they get you upstairs. Stall them until they black out.”