The Dollhouse

by Fiona Davis

Darby nodded.

  “That gives me a couple days to find us a place together. You can talk to Mr. Buckley at the club and get a job. By this time next week, we’ll be two girls out on the town.”

  Relief poured through Darby. “I was a terrible Gibbs girl.”

  Esme hugged her hard, so she could barely breathe. “You certainly were.”

  “You’re using my sink.”

  Darby stared at Candy through the mirror but didn’t stop brushing her teeth. She’d woken up the day after her expulsion in a daze. The sinking feeling in her stomach was worse than the one she’d felt when she first arrived at the Barbizon. Kicked out of Gibbs, all the money gone. The afterglow from Esme’s excitement had dimmed overnight.

  And now here was Candy, claiming a sink, when there were three sinks available to Darby’s left.

  Grogginess at the early hour draped around Darby like a nubby blanket. She couldn’t stop staring, nor did she stop brushing her teeth. Candy’s hair was done up in pink sponge curlers, and a smudge of mascara marred the pale skin under one eye. The imperious set of her chin reminded Darby of Mr. Saunders when he was displeased. Her mother would do anything to make his jaw relax, whether it was pleading, teasing, or pouting.

  Darby had several choices. She could scurry out of the bathroom, apologizing profusely. She could move down one sink and continue brushing her teeth.

  But she’d be out of the hotel in less than a week, and Candy no longer had any power over her. In fact, she never had.

  Candy stamped one foot. “You deaf? I need my sink. I have a go-see in two hours.”

  With a slow deliberateness, Darby turned off the faucet and tapped her toothbrush a couple of times to dry. She leaned over the sink and opened her mouth, letting the mixture of toothpaste and saliva drip out of her mouth into the basin in a thick, wet mess.

  She turned around, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gave Candy a smile.

  “All yours.”

  Candy’s screeches followed her down the hall.

  Stella poked her head out of her room. “What’s going on? Another cockroach in the shower?”

  “Candy’s having a bad day, I guess.”

  Stella laughed. “What else is new. Hey, where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I got kicked out of Katie Gibbs.”

  Stella’s hand flew to her chest. “What? When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Stella held out her arms and pulled Darby into them. “My dear girl. You don’t deserve that. What can I do?”

  An unexpected lump formed in her throat at her friend’s kindness. Stella had tried to look out for her, from the very beginning. Darby couldn’t get any words out to answer.

  “Come with me.” Stella led her up the stairwell and opened the door to the sky terrace. Back when the Indian summer was in full swing, girls in ruched one-piece bathing suits would gather on warm afternoons, but this morning all was quiet. Darby plopped down on the nearest chaise longue and looked out into the distance, where the Chrysler Building stretched into the sky, bright and gleaming. Being up so high above the city made her troubles seem less dramatic.

  Darby filled Stella in the best she could, ending with a reenactment of Candy’s horror when she’d dribbled in her sink. “That was fun, I have to admit.”

  “You’re not the same girl you were before.”

  Darby shrugged. “I don’t know about that.”

  “No. You’re a grown-up now.”

  “Wait’ll my mother finds out. I’ll regress to an infant.”

  “Why?”

  “No refund. She put her heart and soul into me improving my lot in life as a Gibbs girl, and I couldn’t even last two months.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, Esme wants me to work in the club and for the two of us to try singing together, like an act.”

  Stella squinted, whether from the idea or the bright sun, Darby wasn’t sure. She shouldn’t have brought up Esme’s name.

  Darby pulled her robe tight around her. “I wish my father were alive.”

  “Were you close?”

  “We got on like crazy. My mother doesn’t understand me at all, not that she tried very hard. We don’t have much in common.” The sun shone on Stella’s hair, highlighting the gold strands among the auburn. “She would have loved to have you as a daughter. You’re pretty and stylish, like her.”

  Stella fiddled with the rhinestone bracelet on her wrist. “Pretty only goes so far.”

  “All I know is I’m headed for deep trouble. My mother hates failure. She got so mad at my father when he got fired. Even when he was dying, she couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him.”

  “She does sound like a pill. Why did he get fired?”

  “Something happened at work. His boss said he was too nice.”

  “Too nice?”

  “He was innocent, in a way. Trusted everyone, I guess.”

  “Your mother seems to have very high standards.”

  “You got that right.” Darby sat upright and swung her legs to the side. She was done feeling maudlin. She had to come up with a plan, decide her fate. Whether it was defying her mother or managing Esme, there was no more time to wallow in self-pity. “I have to figure this out.”

  Stella reached over and patted her knee. “Don’t think too far ahead. That’s my go-to remedy in a time of crisis. Do something this morning that will make you happy.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Pop down to the diner with me and have an egg sandwich? Buy a new lipstick?”

  Something that made her happy. Darby smiled.

  “Thanks. But I think I know what will do the trick.”

  Sam took Darby’s hand as they entered Washington Square Park. She’d found him in the kitchen of the Flatted Fifth, grinding spices in a mortar, and hadn’t had to say a word. He saw the look on her face, took off his apron, and together they walked west while she told him the story of her meeting with Mrs. Tibbett, stopping only to buy two coffees at a corner deli.

  She took a sip to conceal her delight at the nonchalant way he’d taken her hand. As if they had been together for a while and did this kind of thing every day. Like she was his girl.

  “How did you feel after you found out?” he asked. He’d taken the news easily, thoughtfully, without any of the awkward gestures of Maureen or the sweet pity of Stella.

  “Panic. Then relief. I was happy not to live through another eight months of secretarial accounting and pretending to answer the phone.”

  “Okay. So it’s a good thing. What’s next for you, then?” He stared over at the fountain, where a man with a guitar sat playing, surrounded by girls wearing blue jeans and tight tops that would have sent Mrs. Eustis into a tailspin.

  What if she’d read this all wrong? Sam might be relieved she was out of his hair, and hoping she’d be on her way to Ohio on the next train out.

  “Mother will want me to come home so she can torture me for letting her down.”

  “And what do you want?”

  Darby cocked her head. She’d never been brave enough to seriously consider the question until now.

  For seventeen years, she’d done what others wanted. Her mother had been so brittle with rage that Darby hadn’t dared to speak her mind. Mr. Saunders’s presence hadn’t helped the situation, and she’d slowly tucked her real self inside, like a turtle being poked by a stick.

  “I owe my mother a lot of money, to pay back the tuition, and I feel very guilty about that.”

  He looked down at her. The guitar player strummed something in a minor key and sang about lost love. “That’s not what I asked you, though.”

  “Right, but that’s a big part of it, what I should do versus what I would like to do. And Esme is very excited. I saw her i
n the elevator when I was on my way here. We couldn’t talk for long because Mrs. Eustis got on at the next floor, but Esme said she was working on some scheme, that she had my back.”

  “What’s Esme’s scheme involve?”

  “She wants me to work at the club and sing with her, try to get some gigs.”

  “Typical Esme.”

  Darby laughed. “I know, but I like the way she doesn’t let anything or anyone hold her back. I could use more of that myself, I’ve come to realize.”

  “For now, leave that all be.” He touched her chin lightly with his index finger. “What do you want?”

  Her love of books had stayed the same, no matter if she was a Barbizon guest or a Gibbs girl. “I want to work with words, with writing. I met a girl at the Barbizon who works in publishing, and that sounded like fun.”

  “If you want to work with words, I have no doubt you’ll make it happen somehow.”

  The simple conviction of his delivery brought tears to her eyes. “So you don’t want me to go back to Ohio?”

  “What?” He tossed his coffee cup into a nearby trash can in an easy arc. Darby did the same but missed by a foot.

  “Oops.” She picked it up and dropped it in. “I thought you might be tired of me hanging around and wouldn’t want me working at the same place you do.”

  He took the scarf from his neck and looped it around Darby’s, pulling her in closer to him and kissing her on the lips. “No. I don’t want you to go back. But the whole point here is that you decide what you want. Do you want to stay?”

  “Yes.”

  And she did. Her first decision, made on her own, was that New York would be her home. The second was that she’d find Charlotte as soon as she got back from London and charm her way into a job. If she had to work waiting tables in the meantime, that would be fine. And one day she’d repay her mother.

  “I think I know what I want,” she said.

  Sam didn’t ask her to elaborate, just kissed her again. “And I want to watch you get it.”

  “Should be a crazy trip, I must warn you.”

  “I like crazy. Do you mind if I come along for the ride?”

  She swallowed hard. “I would love that.”

  “Good. Because I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  New York City, 2016

  Rose’s father had banged his head and broken a hip trying to walk unassisted, and was on sedatives and painkillers after spending several hours in surgery. The nurses and doctors warned her that the recovery would be difficult. Of that she had little doubt. Her father was a shrunken figure in the hospital bed. Jason had insisted on staying with her and taking her back to the Barbizon. He wanted to cook her dinner. She couldn’t let him see where she was staying, so she conceded that he could make her a quick meal in his apartment. She’d have a bite and go home.

  She expected his apartment to be in one of the modern, bland condos that were springing up like Jack’s beanstalk around town, but instead he lived in a floor-through in a Gramercy Park brownstone, one of the poshest and most coveted addresses in the city.

  He gave her a small glass of bourbon. “This will help.”

  “Do you think he’s in terrible pain?”

  “The doctor promised to keep him medicated and the nurse said he’d sleep through the night.” Jason spoke as he stirred a pot of soup on the stove. “You can go back first thing in the morning, but for now you need to eat and get some sleep.”

  “My poor dad.” She took a sip from her drink and exhaled as it seared her esophagus. “He used to stroll in the front door after a day at school and call out my name and insist I tell him everything that happened that day. I’d tell him all the silly details of a nine-year-old’s life and he’d listen so carefully, like I was discussing state secrets.”

  “Try this.” Jason handed over a bowl and a spoon. She tasted the soup, butternut squash with a hint of cinnamon. And something else.

  “You’ve been experimenting with spices.” She took another spoonful. Delicious.

  “I have. Sam’s book inspired me.”

  She gestured around the room, a mixture of modern furniture with a few antiques. “How did you end up here?”

  “My grandmother lived here for years, and she left it to me. I moved in after my mother died.”

  “I had a feeling the china cabinet wasn’t your pick.”

  He looked at it and laughed. “No.”

  “My father’s going to die, isn’t he?”

  Jason didn’t answer.

  “He hit his head, broke his hip. How can he recover from that? I have to face the facts. That’s what the doctor hinted at, right?”

  “That is what he said. I’m sorry, Rose.”

  She was glad he was there. That she had someone near to confirm the underlying message the doctor had given her, the tone that seeped out from under the inventory of body parts and injuries.

  Jason continued. “They’re going to keep him on heavy sedatives, he won’t feel any pain, and he won’t be confused. He seemed very peaceful by the time we left, remember that.”

  She nodded. And burst into tears.

  He came around from the other side of the counter and stood close, wrapping his arms around her. Her head fit perfectly into his shoulder, and she wept. When she was done, he passed her a napkin to wipe her eyes.

  “Sorry about that.” She balled the napkin up in her fist.

  The heavy weight of his hands pressed on her shoulders. She wanted to be tight against him again, to feel the body of another person with its muscles and contours. Several years ago, she’d read a book by a woman with autism who had invented a “hugging machine” that pressed against her on all sides and offered a relief from anxiety. That’s what she wanted from Jason. To be enveloped and enclosed, to shut out the awfulness of the day.

  She put the napkin on the counter and placed her hands around his neck.

  He gently removed them.

  “Have you ever covered a war and fallen into something because you felt so bad, and it made you feel good? Have you ever done that?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think you’re in the right frame of mind for this.”

  “You know what I’m talking about, though, don’t you? Where it takes away some of the pain?”

  “I do know.”

  “Then let this be that.”

  She pulled his head gently toward her and kissed him. He stayed very still but didn’t pull away. She continued, enjoying his lips against hers, reaching her tongue out, rewarded when he parted his lips and gave a short intake of breath. Rose moved her hands to his waist and pulled him into her and he took her face in his, his tongue exploring her mouth and moving to her neck. She gasped as he teased the curves of her ears. He knew his way around a woman.

  And that’s what she wanted. He led her to his bed, asking if she would regret this tomorrow. She insisted she would not and knew she wouldn’t. Jason was an unexpectedly graceful lover. He savored every inch of her, relished bringing her almost to the edge, then retreating and teasing her, his eyes sparkling with a delicious cruelty. His technique was unlike that of any other man she’d known, and for moments at a time she was transported. She returned the favor, enjoying the satisfied look on his face afterward.

  “So there’s that, then,” he said, rolling onto his side to trace one finger along her belly.

  “Yes.” She thought of Bird. “I should be getting back.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am. Thank you.”

  “I aim to please.”

  She kissed him lightly. “I bet.”

  She grabbed her phone and called the nurses’ station at the hospital. “He’s resting peacefully,” she reported to Jason.

  Rose slipped on her panties, turning away slightly, then yanked on her j
eans. “I’ve really got to go. Back to real life. And we should probably lay low until the Barbizon project is finished up.”

  “Worried about the ethics of this?”

  She sighed. “Always.” If he only knew how unethical she really was.

  “What happened with Gloria Buckstone?” He sat up and put a pillow behind his back, as if he had all the time in the world.

  The vision of Gloria’s black leather boots, which hugged the shin and ended right below the knee, flew into her head. Rose closed her eyes, remembering the look on Gloria’s face as she leaned against her desk, her mouth set into a firm line. It was what had made her the star she was, her way of incorporating the coyness of a twenties film queen with the granite determination of an undertaker.

  Rose’s sweater was lying on the bedside table. She pulled it over her head. “What rumors have you heard?”

  “Rumor has it that Buckstone set you up for a fall.”

  “Nothing that glamorous. The banking documents we got on Senator Madden seemed suspicious. I told Gloria we should wait to make any accusations, that they might be false.”

  Jason nodded, encouraging her on.

  “I cared more about the facts than being first. But she didn’t want to wait.”

  In fact, Gloria had laid into Rose when she’d expressed her concerns. Told her she was smart and capable and if she wanted to rise in the company, she’d have to be more sure of herself. Take risks. Her words had stuck in Rose’s head, like an anti-mantra: “The only person who’s scared is you,” Gloria told her, “and it shows. If you want to report the news, you have to be the one in the driver’s seat. Now, drive.”

  Rose looked at Jason. “Gloria mentored me, helped me make my way up. I owed her. But I wanted corroboration, a second source.”

  “Understandable.”

  “We aired it anyway, and were vilified when the documents turned out to be fake. I was asked to resign and Gloria was suspended. She pushed the story despite my doubts and then she never said a single word in my defense when we were busted. My hunch was correct, but that was no consolation.”

  Jason nodded. “Until a week later when the story turned out to be true. At which point you and Gloria were vindicated.”