The Silver Shoes

by Jill G. Hall

  Winnie’s eyes lit up, and she gave her friend a squeeze. “Yes, doll! Ooh, I knew that color would be perfect!”

  “It’s my favorite. Thanks for the gift.”

  Winnie smiled proudly. “Made the headband, too. Those pearls are to die for.” She fingered the necklace and moved to Clair’s hair. “And that bob! It so suits you. Where’ve you been?”

  Clair frowned. “In prison.”

  “That big talker still panting?”

  “A date’s been set for the spring.”

  “You’re not going to marry him, are you?”

  Clair shrugged. “I have no choice. If not, I’ll never be able to get out.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’re here tonight. You must protest. If he insists, run away.”

  “Where would I go?”

  “You could stay with me in the boardinghouse.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” Clair would keep that in mind. “How’s it going with Rudy?”

  “He’s stuck on me.” Winnie giggled, looking past her.

  “Did you ever doubt it?” Clair laughed.

  Rudy came toward them with a grin and put their glasses on the table. “Hi, gal pal!” He grabbed another chair and sat down.

  “Boy, the joint’s jumping tonight.” Clair took a sip of her drink.

  Rudy nodded. “Varinska is reeling them in. She just finished her set.”

  “You mean I missed it?” Clair asked. Darn.

  “Don’t worry, she’ll be on again.” He waved across the room. “Want to meet her?”

  “Would I ever!” Clair had never been near anyone so exotic before.

  Varinska sauntered toward them in her gypsy regalia, ignoring the man who reached toward her to try and get her to sit with him.

  “Darlink!” She smiled at Rudy.

  “Have a seat.” He stood, and she settled into his chair.

  “Can I have a drink?” she asked.

  “You know the rules.” He frowned at her.

  Varinska tilted her head dramatically to the sky. “Performers no drink when work.” Her heavily accented voice resonated in a slow cadence. “Cigarette me, Rudy.” She smoothed down her hair and leaned over toward him, exposing her décolletage, which was covered in coin necklaces. He didn’t even seem to notice.

  Rudy removed a Lucky from an enameled case in his coat pocket, lit it, and handed it to her.

  “Danke.” Varinska gave him a wry smile, stuck the cigarette in an ivory holder, and took a drag, leaving a tinge of crimson lipstick on it.

  The barman motioned to Rudy. “Excuse me,” he said, walking away.

  “Varinska, this is our friend Clair Devereaux,” Winnie said.

  The singer put out her hand. “’Ello.” With one eyebrow raised, she gazed at Clair.

  Starstruck, Clair had a thousand things to say, but all she managed was, “You perform so freely.”

  “I came to America for freedom. Free is vhat’s important. Keep no matter vhat!”

  “We were just discussin’ that!” Winnie said.

  Clair looked at Winnie with a grin.

  Varinska forced a bleak smile and sipped from Winnie’s glass. “Must rest before go back to stage. Show takes all strength.” She rested an arm over her brow, stood, and dramatically wandered through the crowd and out of sight.

  “Wow!” Clair smiled.

  The band began to play “Yes Sir, That’s My Baby.” Winnie grabbed Clair’s arm and pulled her onto the dance floor.

  Clair shimmied to the rhythm, enthralled by the exhilarating feeling of fringe moving on her body. She stepped one foot out and then the other, eventually swinging her arms back and forth, too. As she became one with the music, the force of her movements grew wilder. She leaned forward, whipping the pearls around her neck with glee, but her hand got caught in them, and they broke and flew off onto the wooden floor in all directions.

  “Oh, no!” Down on her hands and knees, the crowd continued to dance around her. Afraid someone might step on a pearl and slip, she rapidly gathered up beads and called for Winnie to help, but she was dancing and couldn’t hear her over the music. Clair scooted over to their table and tossed them into her bag. A man knelt beside her, scooped up a handful of pearls, and dropped them into her bag, too.

  She looked over at him and smiled a thank-you. He was a stranger. In the dim light, all she could make out were his eyes, radiant with laughter. Her heart pumped rapidly. She didn’t know if it was from the dancing, the excitement of the necklace breaking, or from being shoulder to shoulder with this young man. Together they followed the trail of pearls to a table, picking up beads as they crawled underneath it.

  They continued to fill her purse with the pearls until they could find no more.

  “Thanks!” she yelled over the music.

  Curtained by the tablecloth, the man pulled her to him for a kiss. He tasted good, salty and tart like olives. She knew she should push him away, but unable to help herself, she closed her eyes and kissed him back.

  A loud, shrill whistle shrieked twice. Not bells and whistles, but just a whistle. The band stopped playing and there were screams.

  “You’re all under arrest!” a man’s voice shouted.

  Clair started to lift up the tablecloth, but the young man pulled her back and shook his head at her.

  She heard Rudy’s voice. “Run! Don’t give them your real names.”

  “What’s happening?” Clair’s hands began to shake.

  The man spoke close to her ear, “A raid.”

  “I’ve got to get to Winnie.” Clair tried to scoot out from under the table, but the man grabbed her foot and pulled her back to him. Sounds like stampeding horses ravaged her ears, and she held him tight. Then more screams, the smashing of glass, and the roar of angry voices.

  Clair put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes as the man held her in his arms. After what seemed like an eon, the speakeasy became pitch-black. Loud footfalls and a beam of light from an electric torch streaked around their table, then disappeared.

  When it grew quiet, the man put a finger to his lips, lifted the cloth, and looked out. “Stay here,” he whispered.

  She peeked out while he walked the speakeasy’s perimeter.

  “The coast seems clear.” He picked up her purse and helped her crawl out from under the table. The floor was sticky beneath her shoes, and the speakeasy smelled of smoke, hooch, and danger. She looked up at him. He was half a foot taller than she was.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked.

  “Those that got caught are probably in jail.”

  “Rudy and Winnie? Varinska?” Clair couldn’t even imagine what her father’s reaction would have been if she’d gotten arrested. “I need to go.”

  “It’s not safe yet. The police will be keeping an eye on the building. Come with me.”

  His hand on the small of her back, he guided her, avoiding the broken glass. Winnie’s hat lay trampled on the dance floor, and Clair’s stomach clenched. Behind the bar, the young man’s hand groped, searching for something. A moment later he pulled a lever and a door flew open.

  “What’s this?” she asked, ducking to follow him through into a dark hallway.

  “Probably where they hide the stash.”

  She realized the crates lining the hall must be filled with liquor.

  They continued along until the path emptied into a back room. He lit a candle on the desk with a match. She could make out his face, his visage more handsome than she’d originally seen in the dim light of the club—wavy hair, a strong nose, clean-shaven face. He gazed at her with sapphire-blue eyes.

  Sitting beside her on a red velvet chaise, he asked, “Who taught you to dance like that?”

  “No one.”

  “You must be a natural.” His voice was rich, with a touch of an accent she couldn’t quite place. He kissed her again. This was it— heart-pounding, magnetic, full-body desire. Love! This was the way she had always dreamed it would be.

  He pus
hed her down onto the chaise. His lips on hers, his arms wrapped her up in an erotic heat that she couldn’t resist. His hands roamed and she let them. Furnace-hot, she encouraged him to remove her dress, revealing the lacy corset.

  “Oh!” He smiled and kept going, kept going, and kept going. The fever drew her to him on the velvet chaise. She wasn’t a bit afraid. She had never wanted anything more in her whole life.

  Afterward, he pulled a shawl from the back of the chaise over their naked bodies, and she drifted off to sleep.

  A clock chimed in the distance, waking her. The candle had gone out. She had no idea how long she had slept, but she knew her life had been transformed. The man continued to sleep, his breathing soft and slow. She inhaled the manly scent of him: tangy hair oil, sweet sweat, and sex.

  Gray light seeped into the room through a grimy window. The man slept on his back. His hair was the color of wet beach sand, and his lips formed a slight smile. A few lines creased the corner of his eyes. He might be a few years older than she’d imagined, but not too old for her. She couldn’t wait to get to know him better. Still asleep, he rolled toward her and put his hand on her arm.

  She noticed a shiny glint on his left ring finger, a band of gold.

  He must be married! How could he have made love to her if he was already married? Her recently ignited heart flickered and grew cold. What had she done?

  In silence, she dressed quickly, picked up her clutch, and slipped down the hallway back out into the bar area. She found her coat in the cloakroom, pulled open the heavy front door, and stepped into the fresh air.

  A quarter moon hovered in the western sky like a white parachute. Not a soul was in sight. She hurried up the stairs to the street. The man’s sensuous scent still surrounded her. How could she have been so naive?

  27

  Before Clair entered the suite, she ran her fingers through her hair and braced herself for a confrontation. To her relief, her father’s bedroom door was closed. In her room she looked in the mirror. Her red hair still bounced about her face; her eyes were still brown. Her cheeks were still milky white, and she touched them, their smooth softness reassuring. The outside visage remained the same, but everything else about her was different.

  The realization that sexual relations could be so wonderful suffused her with regret. She was so mixed-up. Lust, fear, and disappointment mingled with shame, guilt, and sorrow.

  But the man had been so beautiful. And now she had experienced what it was to have a lover. My God, she could never do that with Farley!

  She dumped the pearls from the clutch onto her satin feather pillow and deposited them into an envelope. Slipping out of the dress, she hid it deep in her trunk. She washed her face but opted not to take a shower.

  Under the sheets she closed her eyes, taking pleasure in his scent and replaying the night’s images in her mind. The jazz, the pearls flying, the threatening police whistles, the man holding her safe under the table with his kisses and caresses, the velvet chaise below her body—and the ring.

  Questions tumbled in Clair’s mind like ocean rocks. How could she face her father across the breakfast table? Would he be able to tell what she’d done? How could she get away, and to where?

  Their vacation cottage called to her, the one place in the world where she always felt at peace. It sat on a promontory where a sandy beach met lapping waves that darkened rounded stones. This time of year, the off-season enclave would be deserted and would provide the perfect respite.

  She pulled her valise from the armoire and started to pack. It wasn’t necessary to take much. Her dresser drawers were filled with swimsuits, blouses, stockings, and such. A favorite sun hat hung on the hall tree at the entry.

  Clair sat on her bed with tears in her eyes. Her father would be furious if she left the city without telling him. But she needed to be alone and consider her options. She had no idea how much time he would allow her. A month would be heavenly, but she couldn’t imagine her father would let her stay away that long. She grabbed the valise, threw some essentials into it, and tossed the envelope of pearls on top.

  She dipped her pen in blue ink and started to jot a quick message. It was so quiet she could hear the nib scratch across the page.

  Gone to cottage. Need time to think about Farley.

  Love, Clair

  She quietly closed her bedroom door. Glad for the thick carpets, she tiptoed down the hall, propped the note on his desk, ruffled through a drawer for his spare cash, and helped herself. Stealing out of the suite, she rode the elevator to the lobby and rushed outside. The street had already filled with folks hurrying on their way to work. A smokestack puffed soot, wilting the reddish-orange morning sky to a dingy brown.

  “Extra! Extra!” Nook stepped in front of Clair, his freckled face endearing. “Mornin’, miss. Paper?”

  Clair shook her head. “Not today.”

  He flipped it over and called, “Speakeasy Raided!”

  “I’ve changed my mind.” She handed him a coin and took a paper.

  “Penny for my thoughts?” He smiled his missing-tooth grin.

  “Sorry, Nook. No time today, but here’s another penny.”

  He caught it, jumped high in the air, twirled, and landed squarely on his feet. “Thank you, miss!”

  Clair’s eyes grew wide as she studied a photo. Police were piling folks into the back of a paddy wagon. Prominently displayed, Beatrice’s face looked out the back. Her poor parents would be scandalized. Clair imagined them in church next Sunday—her mother’s tearstained face lifted to the altar, her father’s head gazing down.

  Someone bumped into Clair.

  “Sorry!” the woman said, and kept on walking.

  Clair stowed the paper under her arm and started down the street. A vendor unpacking colorful fruit into his stall held an apple toward her. She wasn’t hungry but knew she might be later, so she accepted it and paid him. Fortunately the jeweler had just opened up, so she dropped off the pearls to be restrung.

  She walked the few blocks to Grand Central. The turquoise constellation ceiling rose high above her, and she couldn’t wait to be at the cottage under a real canopy of stars. She stood in line to buy a ticket and then waited restlessly on a bench for her train to be called. Wanting to keep an eye out for her father, she resisted the urge to go back to her paper.

  Finally she boarded the train, tossed her bag in the overhead rack, and settled into a window seat, making sure to sit on the east side for a better view of the Atlantic. Unrolling the paper, she searched for photos of Rudy, Winnie, and Varinska, but couldn’t identify them.

  SPEAKEASY RAIDED!

  Beatrice Beach Bernard arrested for assaulting an officer with her handbag. Glasses filled with alcohol were found on the premises, but no hidden liquor was discovered.

  Clair read the rest of the article but didn’t recognize any of the other names. As the train whistle blew, she relaxed back on the leather seat, watching the city disappear. She felt gratitude to the nameless man. If he hadn’t saved her, she might have been in the paper, too—or even in jail.

  Miles out of town, the scenery changed from sooty darkness and skyscrapers to acres and acres of farmland, and trees in the midst of changing to fiery fall colors. A cow grazed beside a large red barn, and chickens scattered as the train chugged past. Dust swirled around a pair of horses in a pasture as they kicked up their hooves. Her mother and aunt had grown up on a farm. Clair had always wondered what it would be like to live with rows of corn or wheat as neighbors instead of other hotel patrons.

  Her mother, the farm girl. Her mother, the tramp. Now that Clair was a sullied woman, was she a tramp, too?

  Her mind drifted to the previous night, and she relived each moment. Those deep kisses, his warm hands, and her desire-filled body beneath his. His strong shoulders above her. The tangy taste of his tongue, the velvet chaise beneath her, all of him—inside her.

  Had he known the raid was coming? Was that why he helped her, or was it preordained
destiny for them to be under the table at the moment the police arrived? Chances were she’d never find out or even see him again. Did he live in New York City? Perhaps she’d pass him on the street or in Central Park pushing a pram for his pretty wife. Inside would be a darling baby resembling him, with blue eyes and wavy hair, too.

  She wished she had at least asked the man his name. She’d call him “Mr. X.” It would be better than thinking of him as “him” or “that man.” If she had waited, she might have even inquired why he made love to her when he had a wife waiting at home. Clair already knew the answer, though. Why does any man have affairs or mistresses?

  Her father was different than most men and hadn’t stepped out with a woman since her mother died. Clair always believed it was because he had loved her mother so much. But now Clair wasn’t so sure. Once she had asked him if he wished for another sweetheart, but he said, “No, you’re my best girl.” It suddenly dawned on her that he could have been with other women without her knowledge.

  A marriage to Farley was out of the question now that she knew the thrill of true attraction. She tried to reprehend herself for letting go and submitting to temptation. In fact, now she understood what the priest had meant when he said that lust was a sin. But she couldn’t have pulled herself away even if she had wanted to.

  28

  Wind whipped Anne’s apartment, whistling as loud as a jet plane. She snuggled back into her cozy bed, glad she could sleep in. Sergio wouldn’t be there until the next day, so she had plenty of time to clean up her place. Being on such a creative roll lately, it had been impossible to keep it neat.

  The buzzer rang. Who would come by in this weather? She got up and threw on a big T-shirt.

  “Yes?” she yelled into the intercom.

  “Surprise!”

  “Sergio?” Her heart cartwheeled. Oh my God! He was a day early.

  “Si, it’s me.”

  “Come on up!” She buzzed him in, raced to brush her teeth, and ran her hands over her hair. Hearing his feet tromp up the stairs, she tossed a towel over the dishes in the sink and kicked a pile of clothes under the bed. When he knocked, she sauntered over and opened the door. With his windblown hair he looked as handsome as ever. It had been a month since their Michigan trip.