Wicked City (30 page)

I had to admit, Lily hadn't held back on her side of the deal. She had draped me like a dressmaker's doll at the positive bleeding edge of fashion, in a she-swore-original Jeanne Lanvin delivered by her mother from Paris just last month. Rust red chenille silk with a swooping back and a flared skirt layered with black. She gave me a bandeau with a white flower and short red gloves with the wrists folded down. I said I looked like a robber bride, or like those girls who pretended to be vampires for certain men in certain brothels.

“Fashion,” Lily said, with her particular emphasis, “is just something you don't grasp, Zephyr. Trust me. This will make an impression.”

Lily had decided upon a more subdued ensemble for herself—crushed velvet in midnight blue with a high neck and a long rope of pearls—though I had no doubt it was every bit as modern. Lily looked smashing in everything she wore, a trait I had come to accept philosophically.

Heads turned when we stepped into the hotel lobby. Lily regally took this as her due. We were accompanied by a dozen or so other early arrivals, none of whom I recognized. We were easily the youngest of the group and far more fashionably attired. Velvet ropes and smartly attired attendants directed us to the ballroom. I tried to appreciate the surreptitious, whispering attention as we glided past, but any pride I might have taken in my appearance was tempered by overwhelming panic. I looked around, relieved to see no evidence of the mayor.

“Maybe this isn't a good idea,” I whispered, while we waited in the receiving line.

Lily raised her chin. “Get me in and you can do whatever you please. But there's no need to let irrationality spoil a good time.”

This seemed like a good mantra, so I repeated it several times before we reached the doorman. He took my invitation and waved us through after a check of my name on the list. As though we had passed through a magic portal, my vague worries about being trapped this evening evaporated. I took a glass of punch from a passing waiter's tray, tingling with a feeling of being young and beautiful and carefree.

“Is
this
what it's like to be Lily?” I said softly.

Lily laughed. “Hardly. I don't make a habit of attending dry parties. Dreadful dull.” She sipped her drink and made a face. “And
sweet.
”

I sipped mine and realized she was right: the punch had no kick at all. It hadn't even occurred to me, but the mayor could hardly serve illegal hooch at an official dinner—even if his regular consumption of liquor was an open secret.

I surveyed the banquet hall. The space could have fit Mrs. Brodsky's entire boardinghouse, and quite possibly the smaller tenement beside it. From the cavernous ceilings hung crystal chandeliers the size of two grown men, bathing the room in a fractured, sparkling glow. I felt as though it had lit my dress on fire, while I stayed within it, serene and devastating.

“Not many people, yet,” Lily said, looking around with significantly less enchantment. “I knew we should have come later. Ah well. There's Marlowe, from my old paper. Society beat. I might as well say hello.”

Lily departed before I could so much as nod. I didn't mind. Lily wanted her picture in the paper; I wanted the canapés that had lain untouched on the refreshment table since we arrived.

As usual, I hadn't managed to eat much beyond the toast from this morning's breakfast. I could have tried, but my argument with Amir had made me feel vaguely queasy for hours afterward. I had passed a hot dog vendor on the way to Lily's apartment and nearly burst into tears—which I had sworn would be the last of my sentimental effusions. I was well rid of him. Or I would be, once Sofia was done.

I was on my second canape when I heard—faintly, but unmistakably—a woman say, “I can't believe she
dared
!”

I stiffened, the pastry frozen halfway into my mouth. In my mind, a frantic litany of
I knew it, why did I come
ran in merry circles. But then the man with her laughed. “Nothing we can do about the old bird if she wants to make a fool of herself with a married man.”

They walked off, still gossiping, while I blushed.
Get a hold of yourself,
I thought sternly.
No one here gives two figs about you
. I looked around and saw that this was true. The room was slowly filling with guests, everyone dressed to the nines, and they had more important people to pay attention to. I laughed a little and popped the rest of the canapé into my mouth. I was sure we would be served plenty of food for dinner, but I didn't imagine I'd run out of room.

From my position between the snack table and a listless piano player, I could watch the room unnoticed. I recognized the ancient, stooped figure of John Voorhis, the Grand Sachem of Tammany Hall, surrounded by aldermen, Tammany sachems, and other functionaries of the political machine. For the people invited to this party, there were connections to make, deals to attend to. In the end I was just a pawn, not a player. Lily sauntered back over a few minutes later, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“What a shindig!” she said. “Everyone's here. Just wait till Breslin sees my article tomorrow. He spent an hour trying to get an invite yesterday.”

I laughed. “Don't rub his nose in it.”

“I wouldn't dream—oh!”

As one, all heads in the room turned to the doorway. I didn't understand why, at first. The object of admiration was a little too far away, at the center of a bobbing mass of people who blocked my view. But I heard someone nearby whisper his name: Al Smith. New York's recently elected governor had his sights on the president's seat, it was said, and his chances were considered good. He was a Tammany man, just like Jimmy Walker, and the ripples from our city's struggles with Faust had made themselves felt in Albany. The state senate had abstained from passing its own legislation on Faust so far, preferring to let the city bear the brunt of public scrutiny. Faust hadn't made inroads elsewhere in the state the way it had in New York City. Still, I'd read that Al Smith and the Tammany democrats supported Jimmy Walker. If the antiprohibition faction won here, it would probably win in Albany.

But not without a fight, if I knew Elspeth.

“Look at that,” Lily said. “It'd be the berries if I could get a few quotes out of him.”

But in lieu of elbowing her way to the governor, Lily gave me a running commentary on the other unworthy journalists jockeying for his attention.

“And look, there's Bill Oliver in a tuxedo even older than he is! I think I can smell the camphor. Oh, of course, he and Al Smith are pals, are they?”

Lily tossed back her glass of punch like she wished it could make her drunk and gave Bill Oliver, rival reporter from
The Sun,
a polite smile. He was chatting with Al Smith in what I admitted was a friendly manner.

“Oliver has been with
The Sun
since the nineties,” I said. “You'd expect him to make some connections in all that time.”

“I expect he's got more connections with headstones than live bodies. Al Smith!” She straightened her shoulders and made eye contact with a roving waiter. When he approached, she started to take a glass and then paused. “You know,” she said, “I'm just feeling so terribly dry. Do you have something else back there? A little kick?”

“I could get you some tonic water if you'd like, miss.”

“That's a start,” she said, and leaned forward until her lips were a mere inch from his ear. “I'd really appreciate it,” she said. “Two, if you don't mind.”

The waiter froze for a moment before nodding and hurrying back to the kitchen. I stared at Lily.

“What was that about?”

Lily gave a very self-satisfied smile. “I slipped a five into his cummerbund,” she said.

When the drinks arrived, Lily gave me one, much to my surprise. “My gift to you,” she said. “Use it wisely. Fend for yourself for a while, hmm?”

I watched her dive into the crowd, pushing her way forward with a single-minded intensity toward Al Smith and his circle of admirers. I looked back down at my drink. The grain alcohol wafted from my glass, clearing my nostrils in a bracing fashion. I shrugged and took a sip. Smoother than Horace's bathtub swill, that's for sure. I gave a secret little smile; I was getting more glamorous by the minute.

“Zephyr Hollis?”

I looked up to see Mrs. Brandon, frowning like she'd caught me sneaking out after bedtime.

“Why, hello there,” I said. “Lovely party.”

But she just shook her head like my compliment was a horsefly. “What are you doing here? I mean, I don't mean to be rude, but the guest list—”

“The mayor invited me,” I said, flustered. I didn't understand why my presence would perturb her.

She looked away. “I … my sincerest apologies, Miss Hollis. Please excuse me. As you can imagine, the last few days we have truly been inundated with work. I'm afraid exhaustion has made me thoughtless.”

I waved away her apology. “I completely understand,” I said, “if you didn't expect to see me.” I lowered my voice, perhaps the alcohol helping me say aloud what I had previously only thought. “I can only imagine how draining all this must be for a woman in a position of power.”

Mrs. Brandon gave me a grateful smile. “Some days it truly is,” she said. “But the vote will be over soon enough. If it goes his way, I'm sure Jimmy will be generous.”

Perhaps he could start with giving her a new office,
I thought, but was not tactless enough to say. We shared another nervous smile while I wondered how to effect a graceful exit from the conversation. But it turned out to be unnecessary; a ripple went through the room again, as it had when the governor entered. This time it was the mayor, accompanied by two other men.

I vaguely recognized one of his advisors. The other … I gasped.

“What is
he
doing here?”

Mrs. Brandon turned back to me and narrowed her thin eyebrows. “Jimmy requested that I invite Amir,” she said. “I'm surprised he didn't tell you.”

She set down her half-eaten plate and hurried to intercept the mayor. I stayed where I was, contemplating hiding under the table skirts if it meant I could avoid a confrontation with my djinni. He whispered something to the mayor and they both laughed. My jaw clenched. Irrational as I knew the sentiment to be, I felt each of his smiles as a blow, every carefree laugh as a knife to my back. How
dare
he carouse and hobnob with the elite of the city while I fought for my freedom with the city police? A horrible suspicion gripped me: had Amir
told
the mayor? He had promised he would keep his role with Faust a secret, but at the moment I didn't value his promises very highly. I took a thick gulp of my drink, mostly for the distraction of its burning warmth. What would the mayor do if he knew I had lied to him? Ring up McConnell and declare open hunting season?

Or even worse, would he do nothing—because Amir's cooperation had been all he needed to corral the last of the swaying aldermen to his side? Despite my best efforts, had I delivered the death-blow to any hope of Faust prohibition?

At that moment, Amir—still smiling—looked up. From opposite sides of the room, our eyes connected with a snap that nearly made me spill my drink. He looked devastating; dark eyes in a suit so sharp it could cut. Maybe everyone here thought he was human, but I knew the truth like a catechism.
Make a wish,
it said. Like I had since January, I refused.

After a long moment, Amir nodded. I raised my glass. He was the first to look away—as though nothing had happened.

Because nothing did,
I told myself fiercely.

*   *   *

I avoided Amir. This was easy, as a circle of admirers followed him wherever he went in the crowded room. Whether this was due to his proximity to the mayor or the basic attraction of his exoticism, I didn't know.

“You two fell out again?” Lily asked, astutely interpreting my expression.

“For the last time,” I said, and she patted my arm with something resembling sympathy. Perhaps the mayor's invitation had been a trap, but he had so far refrained from springing it. He and Mrs. Brandon were engaged in an intense, quiet conversation by the piano. They were both quite good at controlling their expressions, but they still seemed to be arguing. This surprised me, given that they had always gotten along so well in my presence. But then Mrs. Brandon nodded and said, just loud enough for me to catch:

“I'll phone his office now, Jimmy. Perhaps he's been delayed.”

“He's been delayed the past half year, Judith. I don't know why I ever listened to you about him. Especially tonight. I
told
Al to expect him! You're making me look like a fool in front of sachems.”

“He promised, Jimmy,” Mrs. Brandon said, desperately.

Mayor Walker's smile could have withered fruit. “You're the fool who believes him. And I'm the fool who believes you.”

Mrs. Brandon's face went rigid as a plaster statue. “I'll phone him now,” she repeated and hurried away—past Lily, who was busy engaging a young gentleman. I hoped that Mrs. Brandon succeeded in finding her tardy guest. Perhaps the mayor respected her abilities, but not enough to treat her with decency in a crisis.

Lily's young gentleman had been joined by one other, more familiar to me. I couldn't quite make out their words over the general din of the crowded banquet hall, but Amir's deep laugh rang out like a bell. I felt vaguely betrayed that she would talk to him, but of course I hadn't told her what he had done.

“Marvelous to see you here, Miss Hollis. May I refresh your drink?”

The mayor gave me a self-deprecating smile, nearly dripping with charm. I looked down, surprised to see the puddling icy remains of my gin and tonic.

“The punch would be fine, thank you,” I said. Best to sober up. I felt Amir's proximity like a hot stove, and I wanted no drunken burns.