by Lyn Cote
“Why haven’t you asked me about Roarke?” With arms crossed, Kitty stood behind Chloe.
“Let’s go down and have the doorman hail us a taxi.”
“You’re not acting like yourself,” Kitty muttered.
Chloe made no reply. Kitty was acting different, not she. But she knew if she asked Kitty what was wrong Kitty would evade a direct answer. So she ignored Kitty’s comment and touched up her lip rouge and straightened her hair. Her reflection in the mirror showed a cool, well-dressed blonde—just the illusion Chloe wanted. She’d left off her mourning veil two years ago. Back now in New York City and dressed to the nines, she felt unusually vulnerable to life’s careless cruelty. So much could be gained tonight. So much lost.
“You do look divine though.” Kitty threw her arms wide. “All that pale skin against black satin. You’ll be turning heads. Why don’t men go for perky brunettes like me?”
Chloe turned toward the door. “I think you’re very attractive, Kitty.”
Kitty shrieked with laughter. “Only you would take me seriously. Let’s go.”
Kitty’s unnerving giddiness made Chloe feel a hundred years older than her lifelong friend. She’d put off her widow’s weeds, but she couldn’t put off all the loss Theran’s death had brought her. Maybe tonight she could start again. She’d braved New York City, the city where she’d married Theran, because Roarke would meet them sometime tonight. He’d promised Kitty and that promise was what had brought Chloe to the city. Something inside her felt as if this were her last chance to reach Roarke. And Roarke was the one who could help her find her feet again.
The taxi ride to the theater passed with Kitty’s incessant chatter. Chloe provided monosyllable replies, heightening the contrast between them. Then they were there.
And Roarke met them at the entrance under the glaring marquee lights.
“Roarke, she came,” Kitty crowed.
Chloe’s pulse raced. After all this time she was finally seeing one of her dearest friends—one who had sacrificed his own feelings to help her when she most needed it. It had been too long. Amid the milling theatergoers, she devoured what she could see of Roarke’s outline. Then he stepped out from the stark shadows.
Chloe took in a sharp breath. His face had been flayed across one cheek, as though gouged by a hand with razor-sharp nails, and left to heal that way. One eyebrow looked as if it had been raked with a garden tool. Its sparse hair stuck out every which way. And he looked grim.
“Roarke, it’s so good to see you.” She leaned forward and kissed his unscarred cheek. Then she wondered if she’d said and done the wrong thing. Her heart fluttered. It was good to see him, but not disfigured and so somber. She wanted to tell him that his scars didn’t matter. She longed to sit close to him and hold one of his strong hands. Instead, she held out one of her own.
He nodded, but didn’t take it. His stiff arm remained crooked under his evening coat. “Chloe, good to see you.” However, he didn’t really look at her and his voice was flat, so the sentiment rang hollow. In an instant Chloe’s elation plummeted. She let her hand drop. “I’m glad you came, Roarke.” Please don’t shut me out. I need you. She tried to gauge his emotion, but his face remained shuttered.
“Well, then, escort us.” Kitty took his normal elbow. “Go ahead, Chloe, take the man’s arm.” When he didn’t offer his damaged arm to her, Chloe hesitated. “He’s become more and more the strong, silent type and something of a recluse,” Kitty went on breezily. “But not tonight. Not for your first visit to New York since . . . since . . .” Kitty suddenly became flustered.
“Since Theran died,” Chloe supplied. Should she tell them that by now she could think of Theran without bursting into tears? A blank silence enveloped them. Shrill voices of women greeting each other and the street noise of auto engines and horns flowed around. Someone had to do something and now.
As if it were a delicate Fabergé egg, Chloe took Roarke’s stiff elbow and hoped she wasn’t hurting or embarrassing him. “It is good to see you again, Roarke,” she repeated the polite phrase. Why hadn’t finishing school prepared her for this situation?
“You look lovely, as usual, Chloe. How’s your little girl?”
Chloe tried not to take this as a slap to her face. How would Roarke know that she ached always for her child? She still visited Ivy Manor every few weeks. Over the past few years Bette had grown into a quiet, sickly child who treated her like the stranger she was. “Fine,” Chloe lied, “Bette’s fine.”
Looking at neither Kitty nor her nor anyone else, Roarke led them through the gilded lobby, crowded with chattering men and women in evening dress, and then up the red carpeted stairs to their box. Chloe willed away the hurt his question about her child had stirred up.
And she tried not to react negatively to the wooden, silent man beside her. She supposed he was self-conscious about his bent arm and scarred face. That was understandable, but why had he avoided his home and friends for over two years now? It couldn’t just be because of these physical imperfections, could it? That just didn’t feel right with Roarke. He wouldn’t act that way. Someone had to do something, find out what the matter was and make it right. But could she?
She’d hoped that if she finally confronted Roarke tonight, at last the ice jam between them would crack and begin to break. Their friendship would pick up where it had left off. So far she felt no softening in him. But she didn’t give up hope. The evening’s just begun. I won’t surrender so easily. God, help me bridge the gap with Roarke. I just want him to talk to me, look at me.
Roarke seated them in the box, urging them to sit in the two forward seats while he sat behind them, shielded by the red velvet curtains that draped on either side of the box. The orchestra began to play the jazz overture. The lively, syncopated music captured Chloe’s attention and made her smile. Then the lavish, deep-red curtain swept open and the chorus line spread out in front of them, a glittering line of young very beautiful black women. They wore a rainbow of dyed ostrich feathers in their hair and beaded dresses. Chloe searched for and found Minnie—or should she say Mimi?
The musical play was a revelation to Chloe. She’d never seen an all-black cast before. How had it happened? She hummed along with “I’m Just Wild about Harry” and then “Love Will Find a Way.” In no time the play ended and the audience rose in a standing ovation. Applause and shouts of “Bravo!” ricocheted off the high walls and ceiling. Chloe clapped with the rest, her gloves muffling her applause. For the space of a few hours, she’d forgotten everything but the dancing and singing on the stage below. She turned to Roarke and beamed. “Wasn’t it wonderful?”
The poignant expression of longing on Roarke’s face caught her by surprise. “Roarke?” She took a step toward him and reached out a hand. She was stunned when he stumbled backward and her hand fell short of his. His expression spoke of revulsion. She pulled back as if he’d cursed her.
“Let’s go backstage,” Kitty crowed heedlessly, “Minnie gave me passes.”
Chloe let Kitty lead them out of the box and through the crowded aisles to the wings. Only rigid self-control kept her from tears. Though Chloe felt Roarke’s resistance, she claimed the crook of his frozen elbow, trying to come up with some way to break through the man’s repelling silence.
“I went backstage last time, too,” Kitty enthused. “It’s exciting to see all the costumes and everyone talking and giggling. After the performance, everything’s funny, like everyone’s tipsy or something.” How can Kitty rattle on so? Doesn’t she see her brother’s sadness right under her nose?
Laughter, chatter, and squeals of delight bounced off the unadorned walls of the area backstage. Chloe felt like an intruder amid the colorful scene of sparkling costumes and stage makeup. Why had the Negro actors blacked their faces? She wanted to ask someone, but felt too awkward.
Then she caught sight of Minnie. “Chloe!” the other woman shrieked, “Chloe!” Her old friend, still in sequined costume, wrapped her long, ta
n arms around Chloe, hugging her close and weeping. “I’ve missed you so,” she whispered into Chloe’s ear.
Chloe wiped sudden tears from her own eyes. “You were wonderful. The show was great. I can’t tell you how happy I am for you.”
“I’d never have gotten here without you,” Minnie whispered.
“Yes, you would have.” Chloe squeezed her friend close once more with pride. At least Minnie had made good their escape from Ivy Manor.
“See those men over there.” Minnie pointed to the right. “That’s Eubie Blake and Noble Sisson. They wrote the play. Mr. Blake is from Maryland, too—Baltimore.” Then Minnie looked up at Roarke. “Mr. McCaslin, sir, so glad to see you, too.” She offered him her hand and he shook it.
“My pleasure, Minnie. You’ve done very well for yourself.”
Minnie beamed at him. “I hear you’re making lots of money on Wall Street.”
“For other people, unfortunately,” Kitty put in. “He’s so good at being a broker and I don’t have a penny to invest.”
Frank Dawson appeared at Minnie’s elbow. “I recognize this lady.” He took Chloe’s gloved hand and kissed it. “My compliments, Chloe. You are lovely as ever.”
“It’s good to see you again, Frank,” Chloe replied, wondering if he and Minnie were still an item.
Roarke stared hard at Frank, but the black man only lifted an eyebrow. “As soon as Minnie changes, we’re off to a blind tiger in Harlem. Would you like to join us?” Frank invited.
“What’s a blind tiger?” Chloe asked.
“Blind tiger is another name for a speakeasy,” Roarke replied with disapproval. “I think Chloe is fatigued from her journey—”
“This is a nightclub in Harlem,” Minnie urged. “Come on, Chloe, you’ll enjoy it.”
“Roarke, I’m fine. Please, let’s go.” Impulsively, Chloe clung to his arm, not ready to admit defeat. We just need some more time together. That’s all. “I’m too keyed up to go back to the hotel.” There was a pause while everyone looked at Roarke.
“Very well,” Roarke said with grudging grace.
Kitty heaved an audible sigh of relief. Chloe’s own relief was less evident but equally as strong.
Within minutes Minnie had changed into a breathtaking, spangled emerald-green gown and Roarke was hailing them a cab. The five of them squeezed inside. Roarke and Frank perched on the drop seats, their backs to the cabbie.
While Kitty kept up the flow of conversation, Minnie covered Chloe’s hand with hers on the seat. Chloe squeezed Minnie’s hand in return. Hope blossomed again. Minnie had achieved her goal. Chloe would find a way to reclaim Roarke as her friend. I must. “I’m so happy for you, Minnie,” Chloe murmured again.
“It’s like a dream come true. And it all started that day Mr. Crowe picked you out of that crowded employment agency.”
“I remember.” But the events felt as though they’d happened to someone else not her. “I was sad to hear Madame Blanche went back to Paris.”
“Me, too. But working for her made all the difference for me. Are you happy in D.C. with your daddy?”
Noting that Minnie had successfully rid herself of her accent, Chloe nodded. “For once, Daddy was honest with me. I think losing that election opened his eyes to what was really important. He helped the Democrats get what the troops needed and now he’s working on making sure our boys come back to good jobs. I act as his hostess.”
“I see.”
Minnie didn’t sound convinced, but their exchange ended with their arrival in Harlem. As the taxi sped on, Chloe caught a glimpse of Mrs. Rascombe’s house and a wave of nostalgia swept through her like an ache, a need. She wished she could walk inside and sit down with her old landlady.
Minnie must have guessed her thoughts. “Mrs. Rascombe passed away during the flu epidemic in 1918. I went to her funeral. I meant to write to you.”
Chloe blinked away tears, filled with sudden sadness, a sense of loss. “She was a good woman. Good to me.”
The taxi pulled up in front of a drugstore. Roarke extended his good arm and Chloe took his hand and emerged from the cab. She looked around for their destination and was surprised when Frank led them into the tiny drugstore and to the rear and around the corner to a door. With a grin at Chloe’s confusion, Frank tapped an “SOS” on it and it swung open.
Chloe let herself be ushered inside. Again, people in evening dress—both white and black—milled around. Loud voices and louder jazz hit her like a physical force. As they were taken to a table, many people greeted Minnie as “Mimi.” Chloe tried to take it all in—the raised voices, the boisterous music, the scents of food, the shrill laughter. It was too much of everything.
When they slid into a large corner booth, she leaned over to whisper into Roarke’s ear, “Let’s not stay long. I’d like to go somewhere quiet where we can talk.”
Roarke acted as if he hadn’t heard her.
She leaned closer. “Roarke, I’ve missed you. Can’t we spend a few moments alone this evening?”
He didn’t reply. He turned to Kitty and said, “I’m tired. Can you see Chloe home?”
Kitty gripped his bent arm. “Roarke, don’t you dare leave—”
“I thought it was you.”
Chloe instantly recognized the voice. Shocked, she looked up as Drake Lovelady stepped close to their booth. “Drake? What . . . I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Drake chuckled. “I called earlier today and your father told me you were coming up to see a musical and that an old friend of yours was in the cast. I decided I’d come up and see if I could spot you at the theater. I did and followed you here.”
“Chloe, are you going to introduce me to this handsome man?” Kitty demanded archly, leaning her cheek on her hand and batting her eyes outrageously.
Chloe felt Roarke’s body stiffen beside her. She glanced around the table, her gaze lingering on Roarke. “Drake Lovelady, these are my longtime friends.” She made the introductions and everyone squeezed together in the large corner booth to make room for him beside Chloe. There was no way Roarke could leave now; the thought made Chloe glad.
As her friends eyed her speculatively, Chloe felt herself blushing with more than mere embarrassment. She didn’t have a tendre for Drake and she’d never expected him to pursue her like this. She wanted to say to Roarke, “We’re just friends.” But saying that presumed Roarke would care that she had no romantic feelings for Drake.
The band started a lively melody for the newest dance, “The Charleston.” Drake took Chloe’s hand and drew her to her feet. “Let’s show these New Yorkers how this is done.”
Chloe glanced back at Roarke, but he was looking pointedly the other way. She allowed Drake to sweep her onto the crowded dance floor, where they began stepping to the lively tune. Drake had taught her and the others at Mrs. Henderson’s informal dances just a month ago. Mrs. Henderson had been shocked at the wild movements of the dance, but had permitted it, saying it unfortunately suited the times.
Forcing herself not to keep glancing back at Roarke, Chloe counted the beats and kept her hands and feet moving wide and free. She had to lift her slim skirt a few inches to do this. Drake grinned at her and then pulled her close, cheek to cheek. Frank and Minnie danced nearby and called out to Chloe and Drake. A stranger had claimed Kitty and she waved happily at Chloe, dancing enthusiastically with a flirtatious expression. It was so “Kitty” that Chloe laughed out loud in spite of herself. The combination of the dance and the high-stepping tune were irresistible. Her spirits rose, in spite of her concerns about Roarke. She wouldn’t give up. Sometime tonight she’d steal a moment alone with him. With that determination, she gave herself up to the moment.
But when the Charleston ended and the three couples, flushed and exhilarated, returned to the table, it was empty. Roarke had deserted her. Chloe felt her happiness drain away, leaving her shaken and wilting. There could only be one explanation. Roarke wasn’t just abashed because of his bent arm and scars. It
was obvious he couldn’t stand to be near her.
Drake gripped her arm. “Your friend left us?”
Chloe nodded automatically as a door inside her heart slammed shut.
“I would never behave so foolishly,” Drake murmured in her ear, “if you looked at me the way you looked at him.”
Chloe couldn’t speak. What had she done to send Roarke away? Why did he despise her? And, more important, how did Drake’s comment make her feel?
Drake nudged her back into the booth, sat beside her, and lifted her hand to his lips. Frozen in a pain she couldn’t name, she made no move to pull her hand away. Drake smiled at her. “Did I tell you how beautiful you are tonight?”
She glanced into his blue eyes. “No.”
“Well, you are and I’m going to enjoy being the envy of every man here tonight.”
She looked down at her lap, his fulsome compliment embarrassing her.
“You’re so sweet, so innocent.” He chuckled low in his throat. “I won’t disappear on you, Chloe Black.”
She merely shook her head and tried to look knowing and worldly like Kitty, but knew she’d failed. Her last chance to regain Roarke had failed, too. And it hadn’t been only about regaining Roarke. She’d just lost herself.
Monday morning after he’d attended the theater with Chloe and Kitty on Saturday, Roarke strode through the crowded sidewalk of Wall Street. He entered the tall brick building where he’d worked for the past few years and rode up the packed elevator. He looked neither right nor left but kept his eyes on the changing numbers above the door. He’d learned not to look at strangers. If he didn’t, then he didn’t have to suffer their shocked stares or answer their stupid, prying questions.
The sympathetic look on Chloe’s face when she’d seen his scars Friday evening would haunt him long enough without adding to it. But deep inside him, he carried a worse scar—the knowledge of his own failure. He was almost thankful for his ravaged face and stiff arm. People could attribute his refusal to go home after the war to that alone. And it gave him an excuse to shun casual socializing here. His scars made everything easier.
