They. Ella shut her eyes. “You believe that. You believe there are—ghosts, or whatever, in that basement.”
“I don’t know what they are. But something’s making music down there, something’s making sound and vibration. Life. But it’s not life. You can’t get inside that basement, behind those walls. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Holy shit.”
“Hey. It’s okay, all right? Nothing’s going to hurt you.”
Ella opened her eyes. “But who? What happened here? That woman screaming, I can’t get it out of my head.”
“Well, I went to the library once. Tried going through the newspaper archives, looking through books and magazines. I never could find anything. Not a word ever written about the place. I called up the Times, the Post. The New Yorker. Metropolitan. Zero. Nada. Nothing, never, not in the entire period of Prohibition, ever written about a speakeasy on this part of Christopher Street. Let alone a raid or a shootout or murder or whatever it was. My grandfather knew, but he never said a word. Took it to his grave.”
“So there’s no way of knowing?” she said. “No way of finding out what happened? What’s really there?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters! Aren’t you curious? Don’t you care about the truth?”
“I guess I used to,” he said. “But then I started to wonder if I had the right to know the truth. I mean, it’s not my secret, is it? The truth belongs to the people who lived it. I guess if they want me to know more, they’ll show me the way. Everyone’s got a right to privacy, I guess. I listen to them down there, the echoes of them, whatever they are, and I think, It’s enough. Let them be. What difference does it make, who they are? They’re not hurting anyone. They just are.”
Ella pulled her hand free and rose from the stool. The apartment was dark, except for the pendant hanging above the kitchen counter. The sun had set; a violet sky hung above the buildings outside the windows. She walked toward the piano, which was closed, lid down, keyboard covered, ebony so black and shiny it was like looking into a pool of oil, and rested her hand on the cool, curving edge.
“So have I completely freaked you out? Moving out of the building first thing tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I don’t—I don’t even believe this. I don’t believe in—” For some reason, the word wouldn’t come. Ghosts. Or spirits. Souls? She felt queasy. “You know what? Maybe I’ll have that drink after all.”
She heard the legs of the counter stool scrape softly against the floor. Some clinking, the rattle of bottles. Outside, the world was perfectly normal. The rooftops in their usual order. Lights going on in a hundred rooms, a thousand, a million across Manhattan. She thought, So many old buildings. So many lives. So many girls starting out here in the big, wicked city, falling in love with the right man, falling in love with the wrong man. Falling in love with a woman. Going out dancing and drinking and falling into bed after. Going to work, flapping frantically after some grand dream. Getting into pickles. Getting into grooves. Dying old, dying young, dying somewhere in between. All this packed into twenty brief square miles. Was it any wonder you could still hear the echoes?
Or had she known this all along? The first time she lay on the table in the laundry room, listening. Waiting. Observing.
Hector came up behind her shoulder and handed her a drink. She sniffed it.
“Gin,” he said. “Theme of the evening. It’s what they’re serving down below, after all.”
She laughed. And laughed. Set the glass down on the piano because it was shaking so much, threatening to spill. Kept on laughing until Hector put his arm around her, then suddenly moved his hands to her waist and hoisted her up onto the piano while the hysteria shook her chest and bent her over. She put her hands over her face.
“I really hope you don’t, though,” Hector said, when the spasms subsided.
“Don’t what?”
“Move out.”
“Oh, come on. With the harem you’ve got here? And Claire.”
“Harem?” He looked shocked.
“Sadie and Jen and the others.”
He braced his hands on either side of her legs and bent his head. “Jesus, Ella. Mind in the gutter.”
“Well?”
He looked up. “They’re my cousins, Ella! Actually, that’s not true. Sadie’s my half sister. The rest are cousins.”
“Not all of them.”
“All of them.”
Ella spoke slowly. “Are you saying I’m the only person in this building who isn’t a family member?”
“That would be correct. We had a meeting about it, actually. Mike left to get married—his girlfriend was too spooked to hang out here, anyway—and we’d basically run out of cousins. Nobody wanted the job. What’s the matter?”
“I’m just … just trying to get my head around all of this.”
“You know, you’re not in any danger or anything. I hope you know that. Swear to God, nothing’s going to hurt you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I do. Because do you think I’d take a single chance like that with you? The smallest chance you might be hurt?”
Ella said nothing. Somewhere below the edge of the piano, Nellie whimpered a little: not in anxiety, she thought, but some kind of eagerness. For what, who knew?
Hector picked up the gin and handed it to her. “So, my turn. What’s with the flowers? Are you getting back together with that asshole?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Actually, I talked to a lawyer yesterday afternoon. Started proceedings. Should be pretty straightforward, he said. Not asking for alimony or assets or anything, just to get back what I put in.”
“Well, your apartment looks like Kew Gardens at the moment, so I’m guessing what’s-his-name didn’t get the memo.”
“Please. Give me credit.”
“Oh, I have total faith in you,” Hector said. “From the moment you spilled your underwear all over my feet. Said to myself, Hector, this one’s for real.”
“That is total bullcrap. I know for a fact I looked hideous that morning.”
“You were sublime in your hideousness. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
“Because your taste runs to sweaty women with unwashed hair and lurid underwear.”
“Actually, you were radiant. I dig that glow of yours, when you’re just back from running. And your eyes. You’ve got this thing you do with your eyebrows that knocks me over. Remember how you dumped the soap on top of your clothes and you turned around and said to me, Are you happy? You did the eyebrow thing. And I remember thinking, I am so happy, I could sing. I could stand here and belt out ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Fucking Morning.’”
“So glad you didn’t, Curly. I would have run so fast …”
“Naw, you wouldn’t. You would have given me that stunned look, and then you would have smiled and joined in, you would have known every word and every note, and that, Ella, that is why I want to compose a symphony to your eyebrows and then build you the best damn kitchen in Manhattan.”
“Because I know all the music to Oklahoma!?”
“Because, when you sat down at my piano, everything made sense, right then. You belonged there. You belonged here.” He spread his open palm over the middle of his chest. “And I haven’t thought of anything else since.”
“Stop.” Ella finished her gin and crashed the glass down to the piano lid, just missing Hector’s fingers. “Just stop. You can’t do this to me. I just left my husband, and you have a girlfriend.”
“Had a girlfriend. Claire and I broke up last week, actually. Right after we watched that movie together.”
The air left the room. For a moment, Ella thought her heart had stopped, too. Hector’s arms were braced around her, his face close. His skin turned to indigo in the shadows. Too close and too much. She closed her eyes. “No. Please don’t say that. Don’t say it was me.”
“It wasn’t you.
It was mutual. Overdue. A lot of stuff, going way back. For one thing, she hated the apartment, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. For another thing, Nellie just kind of tolerated her, which is the same thing as another dog hating her guts, and we all know you should listen to your dog in matters of the heart. And finally …”
Ella waited for him to continue, but the words just hovered there, balancing carefully between them.
“And finally, what?” she whispered.
“And finally, you can’t keep a girlfriend if you’re falling in love with someone else.”
“Oh, damn.”
“I can’t, anyway. Maybe certain assholes can. I won’t mention any names.”
“Oh, damn. Oh, Hector.”
He pushed away from the piano. “Anyway. There it is. Just threw that bomb out there and blew everything up. But I couldn’t not tell you, Ella. I was going to wait until I got back from LA, but—well, I suck at pretending. And it’s all I can think about. Everything I’ve been playing, writing lately. You’re in every note.”
“Hector, you jerk.”
“I know. Incredibly selfish of me to say all that. I acknowledge. But when I saw all those flowers being delivered—”
“Hector, please—”
“Everything out of season. I can’t afford flowers like that. I’d like to think I could, one day, but for now—”
“Just shut up. Shut up a second, so I can think.”
“All right. Fine. You think, and I’ll just wash up these glasses.”
Hector plucked her empty gin glass from the piano and walked back to the kitchen. She opened her eyes and stared at the wall, but really she was watching him, admiring the compact grace of his stride. Not strutting. Just … at ease. Inside an apartment he’d renovated himself. Filled with the things he loved, the objects that constituted the physical manifestations of his dreams. Which Claire had hated. Or maybe it was just the basement she hated, the voices from the past. The clarinet that followed you when you took out the trash at night. Hector turned on the faucet and rinsed out the glasses. Set them in the dishwasher. Wiped his hands on a striped towel. Looked up and saw her watching him, and this time she didn’t look away. Didn’t close her eyes.
“You jerk,” she said. “You have laid so much on me tonight. You have no idea.”
“That wasn’t the plan. You were the one who pounded on my door, demanding explanations.”
“And another thing. You were supposed to come into my life in a year or two. Not now, when I’m like the walking wounded. Bleeding all over the place. Hitting bottom so hard, I’ve shattered the fucking pavement. And now completely freaked out by this ghosts-in-the-basement thing.”
“You’re not freaked out. Not really. That’s not you, Ella.”
“Maybe not freaked out, exactly. But this—all of this—it’s just … big. It’s like I was living in one country a month ago, and now I’m living in a different one. And I don’t know the customs and the food’s weird and the ancestral spirits keep beating their drums in the wilderness, and the locals are incredibly sexy but I’ve only just arrived, I haven’t even unpacked yet.”
“Life is stupid that way.”
Ella drew in a long breath and turned to address the wall. “Also, I think I’ve just lost my job.”
There was a brief, strange silence. The slight jingle of Nellie’s collar as she moved her head.
Hector said, “You think you’ve lost your job?”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure of it. Pretty sure the axe will fall when I walk in Monday morning.”
“What the hell? Why?”
“It’s complicated. Politics, I guess. But the official reason is that I didn’t tell them Patrick works at another division in the bank we’re investigating. Which I did, by the way. But when you want to get rid of someone, any excuse will do.”
“Jesus. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” She paused. “At least I think I am.”
“You’re not sure?”
“I don’t know. I actually—it’s kind of funny, because I love my job. I thought I loved my job. But right now …”
“You don’t give a shit?”
Ella stared at her hands and thought of the yellow legal pad in her laptop bag. “Maybe I don’t,” she said. “Or maybe I do. I’m still in shock. Kind of numb. Kind of pissed off. I guess I’ll find out Monday morning.”
“If you want the job, you should fight for it. Fight for what you love.”
“Yeah, well, they don’t give you much choice in this town. I’ve seen it happen. Escorted downstairs by security. It’s ugly. It’s like you get erased.”
“So don’t let them do it. Make a plan. Talk to a lawyer. Decide what you want and fight like hell.”
“But it’s just me against them.”
“No, it’s not. You have us.”
“Us?”
“Us. Here. Me. All of this,” Hector said. “And either way, whatever you decide, we’ll work something out. You’re safe here, okay? You can stay as long as you want. Figure out whatever needs figuring out. If you want to start a new life, start a new career. Fight for the old job or look for a new one. The world’s your oyster. The world should be your oyster. Don’t let the bastards get you down.”
But they already have, she thought. The bastards. All of them. Patrick, Travis, FH Trust, the SEC, whoever else. A few swings of the hammer, and everything was broken, her old world, her old life. “Sure thing,” she said. “World’s my oyster. How does it go? Which I with sword will open. Falstaff, right?”
“I mean it, Ella. Use this place. Just use it. Lick your wounds here. Plot your comeback. You’ve got all the strength you need, right here.”
She looked up. Hector’s face was grave, sincere, except for one well-groomed piece of hair giving up and sinking over his forehead to spoil the effect. She wanted to lift that curling hair. She wanted to kiss the skin beneath it. Not because her heart was beating gratefully at his kindness; not even because of the dizzy sense that her overturned life was revolving in pieces around her. Only because he was Hector, and the pieces seemed somehow to be revolving around them both.
What had Aunt Julie said? Life’s a gas. Stop and breathe it in. Or something like that.
She said, “You know, you were supposed to time this right. You were supposed to wait for the exact right moment. After I put everything together again.”
“Hey, I can wait. I can wait forever. Well, maybe not forever. I might have to march over and drag you upstairs like Tarzan after a decade or so. But otherwise, as long as it takes. I have stamina. Perseverance. Self-control, unlike Mr. Priapic, who sends you flowers to make up for being a cheating loser asshole. Sorry. That just came out.”
Ella started to slide off the piano.
“No, don’t. Stay right there,” he said. “I want to think of you on top of that piano, all the way to California.”
“You’re going to lock me in?”
He set down the hand towel, reached into his pocket, and walked back toward her. “Actually, the opposite. I’m going to give you the key. You can stay here while I’m gone, if you want. Because first, your apartment has no working kitchen—sorry, I’ll get on that when I get back—and second, it’s currently crammed full with lyin’, cheatin’ flowers.” He set the key down on the lid. “There. But only if you want to. No pressure.”
“No pressure?”
He spread out his hands. “Seriously. I’m a patient man. Just crash here. Make yourself comfortable. Go through my drawers. Sniff all my sweaters. Nothing to hide. Just Sadie coming in to take care of Nellie.”
Ella took hold of his hands. Her heart was galloping now. “I think I’m going to barf,” she said.
“Bathroom’s right through there.”
She yanked him between her knees, laid her hands on his cheeks, and kissed him. She meant to be brief and hard, but he wouldn’t play along. His mouth was too soft, his breath too sweet. His hands, sliding up her back to cradle the curve
of her head, too gentle.
“Better?” he said, pulling away at last.
“Better.”
“Because I kind of have a flight to catch.”
“I have dinner with my parents at eight. At Balthazar.”
“So you definitely can’t cancel.”
“No way. Neither can you. Meeting with the director.”
“Not a chance. Besides, I don’t just want to be your revenge fuck. Or your comfort fuck because you’re getting fired.”
“And freaked out by the ancestral spirits in the basement.”
“Which, by the way, are completely benign. But I want more than that. I don’t know. Maybe a lot more.”
They were silent. Holding his cheeks, cradling her head. Brows touching.
“You know what?” Hector said. “Scratch that. You want revenge, I’m here for you. Use me.”
Ella lifted her head. “No.”
“No?”
“I don’t want to be your rebound fuck, Hector. I want more. Maybe a lot more. Now get your mind out of the gutter and scram, before you miss your flight. Go on. Git.”
Hector kissed her again and stepped back. Straightened his jacket. Stepped forward and kissed her once more and turned away quickly, grabbing his wheelie bag without even pausing.
“Not going to look back,” he called over his shoulder.
“Break a leg. Or finger. Whatever.”
“Will do! And, Ella?” From the hallway.
“What?” she called back.
“One more thing!”
“What?”
Hector’s voice echoed bountifully up the stairwell.
“Don’t fall in love with anyone else while I’m gone!”
Ella slid off the piano and stared at the door. The silence rushed in like a tornado. At her feet, Nellie rose and whimpered. Looked up anxiously with those round, black King Charles eyes. Silky, curling face.
“It’s for the best,” Ella said. “It’s the sensible thing, not to go rushing in. I’m incredibly susceptible to sexual contact.”
Nellie rose up on her hind legs and pushed Ella’s knees.
“Look, I’ve just left my husband! I’ve just lost my career, maybe! I’m vulnerable. I can’t just jump into bed with the first guy I meet, can I? No matter how amazing he is. That’s how I got into this mess in the first place. Sleeping with Patrick on the first date. It clouds the judgment. Too much oxytocin. Not going to repeat that mistake, believe me.”
The Wicked City Page 35
