Rose, Exposed

by Afton Locke

  The same bellhop that carried their bags on arrival crossed the lobby to greet them. Hairs rose on the back of Rose’s neck, but she had no idea why. Mary didn’t appear a bit afraid despite the fact he looked at her more than her mother.

  “Mrs. Carter, I have a message for you,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “Your husband is ill and asks that you return home at once.”

  She clutched her purse. “Oh, dear. I hope it’s not serious.”

  Carl raised a placating hand. “It’s not. He just doesn’t want to be alone.”

  “It’s probably the gout again.” Mary sighed, ruffling her blonde hair. “He certainly has poor timing. The art show is tonight.”

  “I’m sorry, girls. We shall have to leave this afternoon,” Mrs. Carter said.

  Disappointment hit Rose in the belly harder than a large rock. She and Leroy wouldn’t enjoy a fine hotel bed after all. It was just as well, she supposed, given the danger.

  “That’s not necessary.” Carl smiled. “We will look after these young ladies as if they were our own. We’ll even escort them to the steamboat tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Carter took a ragged breath and pursed her lips. “That’s very kind, but young ladies should always travel with a chaperone.”

  Mary touched her arm. “Please, Mother. Can’t we stay? We’ll be good. Won’t we, Rose?”

  Rose thought of her upcoming tryst, but the lie rolled off her lips easily enough. “Of course we will.”

  Carl grinned with a leer that reminded Rose of a wolf’s. “Then it’s settled. Mrs. Carter, I’ll come up in half an hour to fetch your luggage.”

  * * * * *

  Rose and Mary walked the streets of Baltimore that afternoon.

  “Isn’t this amusing?” Mary’s blue eyes glittered with exhilaration. “I’m almost glad Mother went home.”

  “What should we do?” Rose asked.

  “Anything we please,” Mary replied with a shrug. “Although Mother did warn me to avoid cutthroats, vagabonds and…what was it? Oh, yes. Hoodlums.”

  Rose linked arms with her. “Now I know what I like about you, Mary. I think you’re the only person I’ve ever met who doesn’t try to tell me what to do.”

  “And let’s not get too close to the water.” Mary gripped her arm harder. “It looks rather choppy today.”

  “All right.” Rose laughed. “We wouldn’t want you to have nightmares of drowning, would we?”

  After walking for a while, Mary stopped in front of a beauty parlor and studied the big drawings displayed in the window. They portrayed women with modern hairstyles—short with flattering waves.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” Mary asked, touching the glass over the picture of a blonde.

  Rose nodded, studying the one with dark hair. “You aren’t thinking…”

  “Let’s do it! If we’re going to attend an art show about Maryland’s modern woman, we should look like one.”

  Before Rose could protest, Mary grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her through the door. The world they stepped into smelled of chemicals, where the sound of snipping drowned out the conversations. Dozens of mirrors bounced their reflections around the room.

  “We would like fashionable haircuts and permanent waves, please,” Mary told the hairdresser, a small man who smiled wide enough to show all his teeth. “Just like those pictures.”

  Rose’s heart thudded. White hotels and restaurants were one thing. There, people viewed her at a distance. Having someone inches from her head, examining her hair, was quite another.

  “You go ahead, Mary.” She gestured to the row of chairs in the waiting area. “I’ll just sit over there and watch.”

  Mary clutched both her hands. “But you’re my best friend, Rose. We must do it together. Please?”

  Best friend? She’d never had a friend, much less a best one. Rose’s eyes grew damp with gratitude to finally have what she’d always longed for. How could she refuse? Besides, shorter hair would mean less to iron.

  “All right, but please do it quickly before I change my mind,” she told the hairdresser.

  Mary went first, sitting in a chair before a table cluttered with more tools than Leroy probably used as a carpenter. Rose watched as long hanks of golden hair fell to the floor. The small man put metal rollers in Mary’s hair next.

  “Oh, my!” she exclaimed almost every time he clamped a roller to a cable hanging from a frightful looking permanent wave machine.

  After he left Mary’s wave to set in a wreath of steam, he approached Rose’s chair and whistled as he brushed out her hair. When the brush slowed, she caught his gaze in the mirror.

  “You have interesting hair, miss. It’s very…thick.”

  Rose’s palms perspired against the chair arms. “All the more reason to cut it.”

  “Would you like permanent waves as well?” he asked.

  “No, thank you.” Rose had more than enough waves of her own.

  When he’d finished brushing her hair, he studied her profile. His face came so close to hers she felt his breath against her cheek. It smelled faintly of garlic. He’d done the same to Mary, of course, but not with this intensity.

  Why had she ever agreed to this?

  “I shall make your hair a little longer in front than the back,” he finally said. “It complements the shape of the jaw for your kind, no?”

  Rose almost urinated in her seat. “My…kind?”

  “Yes, the mouth sits a bit forward in women with a touch of the colored blood.”

  No! Her nails dug into the chair arms hard enough to break them. Caught at last. She knew she should never have agreed to this. What should she do? Run out of the shop?

  “Of course, it is of no matter to me,” he chattered on, “as long as the money is green, no?”

  When Rose dared to glance at Mary, her friend’s usually pale face was red as a tomato.

  “How dare you suggest such a thing!” Mary exclaimed, reaching for the clamps attached to her rollers.

  The hairdresser rushed to her side, flashed another toothy smile and patted everything back in place. “Calm yourself, miss. I am mistaken, of course.”

  A weight pressed around Rose’s chest, making it hard to breathe. Was it possible to save this disaster? She had to try.

  “You certainly are mistaken.” Rose raised her chin as high as it would go. “I’ve never been so insulted in my life.”

  “I do apologize,” the man murmured, patting her hand.

  While cut locks of her hair fell around her shoulders, she took a deep breath. This had been the closest call she’d had so far. Even though she’d survived it, her heart was as heavy as soggy oatmeal when she glanced at Mary.

  Their friendship was based on a lie. The thought of Rose being partly colored had filled the girl’s face with disgust. It was one thing to realize Mary avoided and sometimes even feared other colored people. Rose had made all sorts of excuses for her such as how she’d been raised. But that accounted for most prejudice, didn’t it?

  Maybe Leroy was right. Maybe a lie was worse than nothing. The exhilaration of being on the town was over for her now. She could only look forward to seeing him tonight.

  After what seemed hours, Mary’s hairstyles was finally complete. She and Rose looked in the mirror together and Mary giggled as she ran her fingers through her short blonde locks.

  “I’m exhausted, but aren’t we fabulous?” she asked. “We’re the images of true modern women.”

  “We do,” Rose agreed, touching her own hair.

  A stranger looked back at her. Did the style make her appear whiter or blacker? Whiter, she decided. The thought didn’t excite her as much as she thought it would.

  “You don’t look very happy,” Mary said. “You hate it, don’t you?”

  Rose forced a smile. “No, I just need to get used to it.”

  They walked outside and wandered the streets some more until they ended up at the waterfront on Pratt Street. Dozens of schooners an
d bugeyes crowded around the pier, crisscrossing the sky with a dense network of lines and masts. Industrial buildings with big letters painted across their fronts loomed everywhere.

  Mary waved a hand in front of her nose. “This place smells of fish.”

  “The seafood from the Chesapeake Bay comes in here.” Rose sniffed the air. “At least the spices smell nice.”

  Mary looked around. “Is it a safe place for us to be?”

  Rose shrugged and sat on some crates. “As safe as any, I suppose.”

  After hesitating a moment, Mary brushed the dust off the rough wood and joined her.

  Boat engines throbbed and working men called out to each other while sunlight reflected on the water with blinding brightness.

  “We look so sophisticated,” Mary said. “I bet everyone notices us.”

  Rose barely saw the men stooping to lift crates and tying and untying lines. Leroy was the only admirer she cared about.

  “Mary, would we be friends no matter what?” she asked.

  “Of course.” Her eyes danced. “Let’s prove it.”

  Rose frowned when Mary pulled a pair of manicure scissors from her purse.

  “Do you know what blood brothers are? We could be blood sisters.”

  Rose gulped. “Oh, no. We can’t do that. Wouldn’t the sight of blood make you faint?”

  The girl would do more than faint if she later discovered she’d have colored blood flowing through her veins for the rest of her life.

  Mary stared at the clippers and put them back in her purse. “I suppose you’re right. My mother would kill me if I got blood on my dress. She’ll be upset enough about my hair.”

  “Mary, there’s something I must tell you.” Rose squeezed her eyes shut. The lies had to stop, no matter the consequences.

  “You look so serious. What is it?”

  When Rose glanced at the expectant blue eyes, she changed her mind. There was no predicting what Mary would do when she heard the news. Rose might find herself stranded here in Baltimore or Mary might act reckless, endangering herself. Better to wait until they returned to Oyster Island.

  “Nothing. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

  Rose sighed and stood, wondering if she’d ever have the courage to do the right thing.

  * * * * *

  That night, Rose and Mary drifted through the art exhibits depicting Maryland modern women in paint and sculpture under gleaming spotlights. Talented students had captured the ripple of wavy hair, the flowing swirls of elegant gowns and eyes full of intelligence and excitement. Being exposed to so much art and so many artists in one place made her ache to pick up a paintbrush.

  The only thing that bothered her was the art subjects were all white women. What did it matter? Tonight, she was white too.

  Mary pointed to a poster about the competition and grabbed Rose’s arm. “Look. The winner gets a trip to Paris. Wouldn’t that be thrilling?”

  At the same time, the classical music switched from a slow, mournful tune to a bright, fast one.

  “Oh, yes.” Rose’s feet nearly left the ground when she wondered how it would be to fly across the ocean as if she were a bird and visit a foreign country—a place where people spoke a different language and ate different food. Each day brought her more and more excitement. Any more of it and she might explode.

  “We’re the most beautiful women here,” Mary said.

  Rose had to agree. Mary’s floor-length, ice-blue evening gown flowed, resembling water, as she walked and Rose had barely recognized herself in the mirror earlier. Unlike the dance gown, this one hugged her body. It had a halter neck and two bands of fabric that crossed over her back. The deep rose of the satin, combined with her short hair, made her skin resemble that of an elegant alabaster statue. She couldn’t wait to show Leroy.

  Voices around her, exclaiming over the exhibits and discussing the theory of art, faded to a steady babble. She sipped fruit punch she barely tasted while she watched the clock on the wall. Only one quarter hour until ten. In fifteen minutes, she’d be in Leroy’s arms, which would be the most exciting part of the evening yet. It would be a relief to finally take off the white mask she’d worn all day.

  And that wasn’t the only thing she’d take off. The thought of his strong, dark fingers peeling away this gown squeezed her core with spirals of heat. Would he like the fact she hadn’t worn any step-in panties tonight with her stockings? The stockings were confining enough but necessary with evening attire.

  More importantly, how would it feel to have a soft bed under her when he thrust inside her? Probably not as rough and good as that brick wall in the alley.

  “Your hair is very becoming,” Carl the bellhop told Mary for at least the third time that evening. “You look so grown up and sophisticated.”

  His gaze had never left her for more than a moment while he served beverages and hors d’oeuvres and kept the area clean. Unlike the drinks served at the summer dance, these appeared to be nonalcoholic.

  Mary blushed. “Thank you.”

  Rose took her elbow and steered her away from him. “That man is so creepy. I think you should ignore him as much as possible.”

  Mary shrugged. “I suppose he is, but he seems harmless enough.”

  “Because he’s white?” Rose blurted out.

  A small crease appeared on her friend’s forehead. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Now was not the time, Rose reminded herself. “Nothing. My head hurts quite a bit. I think I’m going to turn in early.”

  Mary’s eyes widened with concern. “Oh, my. Are you ill? I’ll come up too and help you.”

  Rose held out a hand. “No. No. I’ll be fine. I just need some quiet.”

  “But you’ll miss the awards ceremony.”

  “Please stay and enjoy it. Since we aren’t part of the competition, I don’t mind missing it.”

  “If you insist.” Mary shrugged with good-natured defeat. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell you all about it. I promise.”

  “Good night.” Rose kissed the air near Mary’s cheek, amazed at how second nature these white gestures had become to her.

  Upstairs, Rose heard a knock on her door promptly at ten. Her nipples hardened inside the satin bodice of her evening gown as she answered it. Leroy came in wearing a bellhop uniform.

  It reminded her of the summer dance when he’d worn the chauffeur uniform. One look at him and Paris didn’t seem so exciting anymore. He couldn’t afford to follow her there. The streets would be empty and every brick wall would be a painful reminder of being alone.

  And what about the close call at the beauty parlor? She couldn’t pretend to be white forever. This trip had been exciting, but living a lie for the rest of her life held little appeal. Her mouth went dry and swallowing didn’t help.

  Could she really live without this man after tonight?

  She touched the decorative buttons on his sleeve. “Where did you get this?”

  “I didn’t want to attract any attention, so I borrowed it from the laundry room.” He set the bundle of his own clothes on the floor. “What the hell did you do to your hair?”

  She locked the door behind him. “Do you like it?”

  “I don’t know.” He stood behind her and brushed his lips down the back of her neck, making her shiver. “It does give me better access to your sensitive skin.”

  Then he faced her and ran his hands over the planes of her breasts, hardening her nipples to protruding points. The silky fabric formed such a thin barrier, it was as if she were naked. He slid his thumbs over them until she writhed under his touch like a snake.

  “You look so beautiful.” His gaze traveled from her breasts to her face. “Rose, I’ve been thinking.”

  Her heart hammered as if it were a carpenter. If she admitted she’d been thinking too, they’d probably get into an argument about marriage. The evening they’d planned so carefully would be ruined.

  She put a hand to his mouth. “No thinking. Just fuck me.”

 
He raised his eyebrows as his hand drifted inside her bodice, tweaking one nipple until it ached.

  “The awards ceremony only lasts an hour and Mary will be back after that,” she told him.

  Rose kicked off her evening shoes, closing her eyes with pleasure when her toes sank into the deep plush of the carpet. Then she pulled the straps of her evening gown off her shoulders and let it drop to her feet in front of him.

  He smiled and brushed his fingers across her pelvis. “You naughty girl, wearing nothing but stockings.”

  His fiery gaze coated the tops of her inner thighs with moist heat.

  “Care to take them off?” she asked.

  His voice was husky. “Leave them on.”

  Without looking away, he wrestled off his costume. The big bed with turned back sheets beckoned them.

  “Finally,” he said as he pulled the covers back even more, “I get to make love to you the way you deserve.”

  As soon as they were in the bed, her hands danced across his chest and wide shoulders, drinking and savoring his fire-hot skin. The velvet head of his stiff cock brushed across her belly, turning her cunt to melted butter inside.

  He drove her head deep into the goose-down pillow when he kissed her. The scrape of his chin against her face built an inferno inside her belly that quickly spread. His aroused scent mingled with that of the lilies in the room, making her delirious with need.

  And she needed so many things at once—his lips between her legs, his cock in her mouth—but there wasn’t time. As if reading her mind, he slid downward inside the cocoon of covers. When his hands gripped the insides of her thighs, she trembled with need, hot cream bathing her opening.

  Leroy acted as if he had all the time in the world, nibbling the ends of her labia and sweeping his tongue in lazy circles across her entire cunt.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  “Treating you like a princess.”

  He always treated her as good as royalty, she realized, even when she hardly deserved it. Although he knew he had no chance at happiness with her and was probably down to his last dollar, he’d still come here to keep her safe. Mary would leave her when she learned the truth about her, but Leroy would love her no matter what happened.