Grace in the Wings

by Kari Bovee

  Marciano faltered, his eyes rolling back in his head. He swayed and fell onto the bed in a sitting position. He grabbed her around the waist and buried his face in the folds of her dress at her bosom. Grace grimaced as she stared down at the crown of his head. He bit her breast, and she gasped, wanting to smack him across the room, but she crushed her lower lip with her teeth instead.

  He tightened his grip on her and flung her onto the bed. She struggled beneath him as he climbed on top of her, trying to avoid his face. His movements slowed as if he were swimming through sand. His breath came short and heavy, his limbs becoming like weights on her body. Suddenly, his head lolled to one side. He stopped moving and lay limp on top of her.

  She heard the door open and lifted her head to see Felicity rush in.

  “You okay?” she asked. She came to the other side of the bed and pulled on Marciano’s arm, trying to free Grace. In her stunned relief, Grace couldn’t answer. Felicity tugged at his lifeless body, inching him off Grace, who wriggled out from beneath the inert body.

  “Is he dead?” Grace asked.

  With one last yank, Felicity freed Grace completely. She dropped Marciano’s arm and let it drape over the side of the bed. He was motionless, facedown, like a corpse.

  “I slipped a mickey into his drink.”

  Grace sat up, her blood finally rushing back into her limbs. “You what?”

  “Every drink he took I could see he was headed toward this, and I didn’t want him to go through with it.” Felicity stood next to the bed, nervously pulling on her fingers. Her face, still swollen from the beating he’d given her, looked disfigured, like something from a nightmare. Her hands trembled as she walked to the foot of the bed, her striking blue eyes trained on Grace. “You stopped him from killing me the other day. He’s beat me before, but never like that. I really thought he’d kill me. But you stopped him.”

  “I didn’t want to see you—”

  Felicity held up a hand. “You’re so innocent, pure. Like me long ago. I couldn’t bear to have him hurt you, at least not this time.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He won’t be out for long.” Felicity nervously put a hand on a locket at her throat, running it against the chain.

  “Can I get out of here?” Grace asked.

  Felicity shook her head. “He’s got guards at every door and two just down the hall.”

  Grace stood up and felt for the letter opener in her pocket. “I have this,” she said, pulling it out. “We can scrape the paint off the window sill and open the window. We can get down to the fire escape.” Adrenaline rushed through her veins at the realization that it could work, especially if they did it together.

  Felicity’s eyes popped open, and her brow wrinkled above the bridge of her nose. “We?”

  “We can do it together, Felicity.” Grace approached her, placed a hand on her forearm. “You saved me from him. You don’t deserve him.” She pointed to the bed where Marciano rolled his head back and forth and then proceeded to snore. “You deserve better.”

  Felicity placed her hand on top of Grace’s and pulled it off. “I bought you time, is all. I didn’t save you. This place is locked tight as a drum. Believe me, I know. He’s got goons all over. And I bet you ten-to-one that window is nailed shut.”

  Grace sighed, slipped the letter opener back into her pocket, and walked to the desk to sit down. She buried her face in her hands, wishing that someone would come rescue her. An image of Chet flashed in her mind, and her heart clenched as tears came to her eyes. “Is it true?” she asked, turning to Felicity. “Is Chet dead?”

  “I’m afraid so. They came back all tanked-up, and Joe set about bragging that he’d shot Riker.”

  Grace closed her eyes. The salty tears burned behind her lids until they spilled down her cheeks. She felt the warmth of Felicity’s arm around her shoulder.

  “Did you love him?” Her voice was silken, like honey.

  Grace nodded, brushing away tears with her fingertips.

  “He was a good man.” Felicity gently pushed Grace’s frazzled hair off her face. “I knew him a long time ago.”

  Grace knew this. She looked into the woman’s piercing blue eyes. “Were you? Did you . . . ?”

  Felicity shook her head. “No. We were just friends. He and I ended up at the same orphanage. I didn’t see him again until we were grown. He was a kind man, and a girl doesn’t forget kindness.”

  “He told me he had a mother, that she was sick and in need of an operation.”

  Felicity smiled. “She gave him up at birth. He must have found her later.”

  Grace clutched her stomach, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Given up by his mother. She couldn’t imagine anything so horrible and hurtful. Her gaze traveled to Felicity, who stared out the window, as if recalling a memory.

  “The nuns at the orphanage found me in the street,” Felicity started. “I was real bad off, starving to death and sick. Chet saw them bring me in. He never spoke much, but when I was recovering, he brought me a rosebud. He used to get in trouble all the time for cutting flowers. It was such a simple gesture, but so kind.”

  Grace remembered the two occasions he’d left rosebuds on her pillow and forced down the ball of emotion in her throat. She couldn’t think about Chet now. She stood up and turned to Felicity. “What do we do about him?” She jutted her chin toward Marciano.

  “You can sleep in my room. Joe will like that. He’ll think it’s all part of his devious plan to get me to convince you that’s he’s a good guy under that gruff.”

  They both blew out puffs of air, and almost laughed.

  “Will he wake up soon?” Grace asked.

  “In a couple of hours. And he’ll wake up with one hell of a headache.” A deep chuckle rumbled from Felicity’s throat. “But he won’t remember anything. Never does.”

  “You’ve done this before?”

  “When I have to.”

  “What is it? Where did you get it?”

  “I have trouble sleeping, so Joe’s doctor gives me laudanum.”

  Grace reached out for the black woman’s hands and took them in her own. “Felicity, I have an idea. Will you help me?”

  Felicity frowned and cocked her head. “What is it?”

  Grace smiled. “I want to give Marciano a present.”

  Lost in a cloud of white mist, Chet opened his eyes to searing pain and a blinding light. An astringent odor wafted over him. When he tried to lift his head and peer through the slits of his eyes, pain shot through his chest like a bolt of electricity. An occasional cough or groan pulled him back into consciousness, but it was a struggle. He managed to recognize white tiled floors and stark white walls surrounding him. Rows of iron beds with white sheets lined the walls.

  Hospital . . .

  His head fell back onto the pillow, sending a spasm of lightning through his neck. He heard soft, squishy footsteps come closer to the bed. He turned his head to see a large woman resembling a giant marshmallow standing over him. Her round face peered over the clipboard, her eyes scrutinizing his face. She wore a pointed white hat with a red cross emblazoned across the front. Large breasts hung low over the crisp white belt at her waist.

  “Well,” she said, putting her hand gently on his arm, sending a wave of pain all the way up to his shoulder. “You decided to rejoin the living, I see.”

  “Where am I?”

  “St. Luke’s Hospital.”

  He closed his eyes to ward off the dizziness. “How did I get here?”

  “A policeman found you behind the Plaza Hotel.”

  Chet furrowed his brow, trying to remember, his palms sweating under the sheets. “How long have I been here?”

  “About a week.” She bent over him and pulled at something on his head, sending a razor-sharp knife through his eyes. He winced and jerked away from her touch, eliciting other jolts of pain throughout his body. “I’m sorry, but I have to check the bandages,” she said with a sympathetic look.


  “What happened? My chest hurts. . .”

  “You tell me, Mister. You were shot. You’re lucky, though. It missed your heart by an inch. From the looks of it, whoever did this to you wanted to make sure you didn’t get up. Yep, someone worked you over good,” she said. “Concussion, broken ribs, several contusions, and a broken finger, too—you came in battered, bruised, and nearly dead.”

  He raised his hand and squinted at the splint covering his pinkie finger. The image of a white scarf passed through his mind, and then he remembered: the Plaza, the body blows . . . Grace . . . Marciano . . . Grace. He’d let her down, left her to the wolves. Panic burst in his chest. What had become of her? He had to find her and protect her from Marciano. He tried to sit up but was met with the nurse’s hands against his burning chest.

  “But I have to go,” he said urgently. “She’s in danger!”

  “You’re not going anywhere, pal.” The nurse gently pressed him back onto the bed.

  Somehow, he had to get up, find his clothes, and get out of there—fast. God only knew what Marciano had dreamed up for her.

  Thinking of the mobster’s filthy hands on Grace made Chet’s temples pound. He attempted to get up again, but the nurse pinned his arms to his sides. She reached over him, got hold of a strap, and fastened him into the bed with it. She then tucked the sheets under the mattress, tight, to prevent any other movement.

  When she was finished, she held a finger up to his face. “Don’t you move, Mister. The doctor will want to examine you now that you’re awake.”

  Exhausted from the conversation and his efforts to get up, Chet relaxed his head against the pillow and fell back into the darkness.

  When he woke again, he realized he’d lost all track of time and had no idea how long he’d been out. It must have been days since he was last conscious. If they had been sedating him, they hadn’t sedated him today, he knew, because every muscle and joint in his body ached. The nurse also hadn’t strapped him down to the bed since that first day he tried to get up. Good thing, too. He had to get to Grace.

  He struggled to sit up, ignoring the pain in his head, chest, and ribs. Sucking in his breath, Chet slid his legs over the side of the bed and let them dangle. He let go of the breath and fought the dizziness threatening to make him seek solace in the fluffy white pillow again.

  His clothes were stacked in a neat pile on a chair next to the bed. They’d been washed and pressed, but there was no denying the ragged, gaping hole in his shirt. He glanced around the large sickroom at the other patients. Many were sleeping, while others stared at the walls with glassy eyes. No one seemed to notice or care that he was trying to get up.

  He slid off the bed until his feet made contact with the cold, white tile. His chest caved in, as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs, and his head spun. He stood, hunched over like an old man who had been through more than one war, grabbed his pants, and pulled them on. Satisfied that the nurse had not yet reappeared, he slipped on his shirt, every movement piercing his chest like knives. He placed his tie around his neck, picked up his coat, hat, and shoes, and started for the door.

  The lethargic patients watched him through their morphine-induced gazes. He buttoned his shirt over the tight bandage that was wrapped around his rib cage, plopped his hat on his head, and walked into a long corridor.

  “What are you doing up?” the nurse called from behind him.

  He jumped, shockwaves of pain vibrating through his body. “I have to go.”

  “But the doctor—”

  “I don’t have time to explain.”

  “But I’ve been instructed to keep you here until the police can question you!”

  Chet forced a smile. “You know you can’t keep me here against my will, and if the police want to talk to me, they’ll have to find me.” He gave her a pat on her ample shoulder and, clutching his burning ribs, walked to the nearest hospital exit.

  Grace awoke in Felicity’s room to find Felicity sitting at her vanity. Sunlight streamed through the opened curtains, lighting the space.

  “How angry is he?” Grace asked. She imagined Joe Marciano did not take kindly to being bested by two women.

  “I don’t know. He was still asleep when I left, but you can bet he’ll be stirring up a hornet’s nest.” Felicity rummaged through her boxes of jewelry, trying on sparkling items and then taking them off.

  “How soon ’til he comes after me again?” Grace asked, pulling the covers up over her chest.

  Felicity smiled in the mirror. “I can handle Joe. You just do your part, and we’ll be fine.” She held a pair of bright green earrings up to her earlobes.

  Grace sank deeper into the covers. Her mind whirled with how they would execute her plan. Then a chill seeped down her spine.

  “Joe bought these for me when we were first together.” Felicity held the earrings up for Grace to see.

  “Do I hear sentimentality in your voice?”

  Felicity put the earrings down. “I’m not sure I’m going with you.”

  Grace sat up, shoving the covers off her. “Are you mad? You’re going to stay here? With him?”

  “Where else would I go? What would I do?”

  “C’mon, Felicity! You were a performer, and a good one. You could go back to the stage.”

  Felicity shook her head. “That’s not for me. I’m fine here. Joe can be a brute sometimes, but he takes decent care of me and I can handle him. You saw that yesterday.”

  Not when he’s beating the tar out of you.

  “Then why are you helping me?” Grace asked.

  Felicity turned away from the mirror and faced Grace. Her eyes hardened and turned the color of blue agate. “Nothing personal, but I want you gone. If Joe gets too enamored with you, he’ll forget all about me. It’s happened before, but this time he’ll throw me out in the street, and I just can’t be in the street again. I’m getting too old to survive that.”

  Grace swung her knees over the side of the bed. “Your chances of surviving the streets are far better than your chances of surviving another beating like that.”

  Felicity stood up, straightened her shoulders, walked over to the wardrobe, and opened the doors. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll help you escape because I don’t want you here, but I’m asking you: don’t destroy what I have. It’s enough for me.” She filed through the wardrobe and pulled out a dark blue velvet dressing gown with a satin collar and handed it to Grace. “Here, put this on. It’s cold, and Joe will show up any minute. My guess is he’ll be hopping mad, wondering where you’ve gone.”

  Grace flung off the covers and rushed to accept the dressing gown, hastily wrapping herself in the soft velvet. She then walked over to the window on the pretense of looking outside, but she really wanted to see if it was sealed shut like the other one. It was—tight as a drum. Her plan had to work.

  “How many guards does Marciano have around the hotel? Are there other guests here?” Grace asked.

  “No other guests. Joe rents the whole thing. There are two guards outside the hotel and three inside. One at his room, one at my room, and one at the room you were in.”

  “Do you have more laudanum?”

  “I have enough.”

  “Good.” Grace’s mind whirled with her idea. “What about the fabric? How will you get it?”

  Felicity sat at the vanity, picked up a necklace, and held it up to the light. “Sometimes Lefty, one of the guards, will sell my jewelry for me. He’s kind of sweet on me. Poor guy. He’s ugly as sin with this big scar on his head that comes down the side of his face.”

  Grace’s skin pricked all over as if she’d scrubbed it with lye.

  The man in the tattered brown suit.

  “Whenever I need some extra cash, I give him some of my jewels and he sells them. I give him a cut, of course. Joe has no idea.”

  Not wanting to let on how much she felt like jumping through the paned glass right then, Grace nodded. She had to keep a cool head for this
plan to work. She had to summon the skills she’d learned in all those acting classes.

  When the door burst open with a loud bang, Grace’s heart leaped to her throat and Felicity dropped the jewels, shoved the drawer closed, and whirled around. Joe Marciano stood in the doorway, his face a mask of anger.

  “What. The. Hell.” He marched over to Felicity, grabbing her robe by its silken collar and practically lifting her off her feet. Grace’s blood went cold, and she pulled the dressing gown tighter around her body. She rocked back and forth, shifting from one foot to the other and longing to reach out and pull Felicity away from him. But she didn’t dare move.

  “Darling,” Felicity said, her voice strained, “you passed out, again. I’ve told you to have the doc take a look at you. The girl was sick, retching, and I wanted to let you sleep, so I brought her here. I didn’t want her to disturb you.”

  Joe released his grip and Felicity landed with unsure footing, falling back into the chair. When Marciano turned to Grace, she felt the blood drain from her face and her fingers tingle. He approached her, his expression morphing from rage to something else. The familiar stale odor of cigar and booze on his breath made her insides churn.

  Felicity ran to his side. “Joe, the girl needs time. She’s grieving.”

  Grace pulled her lower lip into her mouth. She’d been so consumed with finding a way of escape that she hadn’t even had time to grieve. Chet’s handsome face crept into her mind again, and her heart felt heavy and weak at the same time. She shoved the image away.

  “I’ve got this, Joe.” Felicity looked into his eyes. “She’ll come around. She has nowhere to go. Riker’s dead, and Flo is likely crippled with worry and jealousy that you’ve got his girl. It’s all working for you, Joe. Just give it a little time. You’ll win her over, just as you won me over.”