by Jill G. Hall
Sergio leaned across the table and took her hand again. “I’ve never met a girl like you.”
She swallowed the bread she was chewing. “I’ve never met a guy like you.”
“I need to ask you something. Please come to Italy with me. You won’t be sorry.”
But when they returned, would she just go back to San Francisco? “I need to check my finances.”
“I have miles saved up. I’ll pay for the flights, our accommodations, and meals. As I’ve told you, every artist needs to see Italy. Please come.”
Connie delivered their pasta. Sergio twisted the noodles around his fork, and so did she. Hungry, she longed to inhale it fast but took her time and slurped as loudly as possible. He laughed and noisily sucked a big mouthful of noodles in.
The people at the other tables gaped at them.
“I was the loudest!” Sergio yelled with his fist lifted toward the ceiling.
“No, I was!” Anne put her hand on her hip.
“No, I was!”
A man from the next table leaned over. “She was!” He raised his glass at Anne and turned back to his frowning wife. Her pinched mouth made her seem like a reincarnation of Mrs. Astor.
Anne stuffed a piece of garlic bread in her mouth and stared at the woman.
Sergio put his hand over his eyes.
The man laughed, used a bit of bread to soak up some of the sauce from the edge of his plate, and stuffed it in his mouth, too.
His wife glared at him. “Take me home.” She stood up and strode off.
He shrugged, took another bite off his plate, got up, and followed her.
A few minutes later, Connie slid a check next to Sergio. “Cousin, you need to go.”
“But we haven’t had our tiramisu yet,” Anne pouted.
Sergio looked at the other couple in the room. They turned their heads away.
“Okay. Sorry!” Sergio left cash on the table and helped Anne put on her coat.
“I didn’t mean to get us kicked out.”
Sergio laughed. “It was worth it! Connie will forgive me.”
“I doubt it.”
“He will. We’re family. I want to get home early anyway.”
“Why?”
“I need time to convince you to come with me to Italy this summer.” He pulled her to him and landed a big garlicky kiss on her lips.
41
It had been a few months since Clair and her father had moved in with Aunt June. Fortunately there had still been no word from Farley. The days had shortened, and the cold nights lasted longer. Thanksgiving and Christmas had come and gone without the usual decor and festivities.
Clair’s father continued to lie on the sofa and brood. Early on, Dr. Johnson had made a house call. He opened his black bag, examined her father, and shook his head. “Time and rest is all he needs.” But that had been ages ago, and her father still hadn’t recovered. Aunt June and Clair had a silent agreement not to spend precious cash on the doctor just to receive the same instructions.
They had also decided it best for her father not to learn Clair had found the letter. His pride would be damaged if he found out they knew he had planned to take his own life. She had begged her aunt to divulge her mother’s secret, but all she said was, “I promised your father years ago I’d never tell you.”
“What happened to that photo I saw the first night we were here?” Clair asked. “It seems to have disappeared.”
“Your father doesn’t like to be reminded of her, so I put it away.” “May I see it?”
“Of course. It’s in the top bureau drawer. Look at it whenever you wish.” Aunt June patted Clair’s arm.
Clair had asked him questions that might release the secret. However, whenever she mentioned her mama’s name, he would frown and not say a word. So she left the topic alone. She didn’t want him to get more upset.
After breakfast, Clair kissed his cheek, his gray hairs scratchy on her lips. “Out for a stroll. I won’t be long.”
“Isn’t that frock too fancy?”
“No, Father.” For her outing today she needed to look respectable. She had cobbled together a drop-waist dress with lace trim at the bodice and skirt hem, and had even put on her knotted pearls. Memories of that night with Mr. X kept her from selling the repaired necklace, but she knew she might need to soon.
Clair had to take care of the family now. Before the holidays, enrollment had dropped and Aunt June’s school had let her go. During the day they sat in the apartment and played Authors, their favorite card game, unable to get her father to join in. At night they didn’t light the apartment, to save money.
They had all begun to lose weight. Aunt June had a deep cough that shook the bed and kept Clair up at night. Aunt June said they’d get by, but Clair knew if she didn’t do something, it was only a matter of time before they ended up in a breadline, too.
She had vowed to find Winnie today in hopes she could help her get a job. Clair had been by Macy’s several times in search of Winnie, but she hadn’t been there.
Clair trod down the flight of stairs in front of the apartment to the sidewalk. A group of men crowded around a Model T trapped in the mud, attempting to push it out.
Strong winds pushed cold gusts from the harbor onto Manhattan. It had poured for five days and nights straight. Even though she wore her long coat with the fur collar, Clair was still chilled. Draping a woolen shawl over her head, she continued on her way. She quickened her pace, gingerly avoiding puddles from last night’s rain. Clouds rolled in, covering her with more darkness. Another storm was on its way. The tip of her nose felt frozen, and she could see her breath. She kept walking, even though the pavement under her thinning boots was cold on her feet.
A whiff of chestnuts from a nearby stand caused her stomach to rumble with hunger. It had been days since she’d eaten a decent meal. How she longed for fresh eggs—poached, broiled, or baked, simmering with butter.
She made it to the shoe-shop window as the owner raised the aluminum cover. Every chance she got she stopped by to admire the silver shoes for a few moments. As she passed the business next door, the nice young Italian barber waved at her, and she smiled and waved back. He probably didn’t even remember her. The bob had begun to grow out.
She turned, and a tall man in a hat came toward her on the sidewalk. Could it be Mr. X? She kept walking toward him with a vigorous heartbeat, but then as he got closer he nodded at her, and she realized it wasn’t him at all. Over the months she had imagined seeing him everywhere.
Clair took a shortcut down an alley and rambled toward the Waldorf. A tabby snarled and skittered across her path, chasing a mouse. The cats, too, were hungry.
At the hotel, Mr. O’Shaughnessy stood at the entrance. Clair hid in the shadows across the street and gazed up at the window of their old suite. She wondered who lived there now, imagining her comfortable bed, the spacious parlor, and her fingers gliding over the ebony-and-ivory keys. Had the new residents kept the piano? She had resented being a caged bird then, but now she longed to go back to that life. All the luxuries she had—all the food they could eat— caviar on toast for breakfast if she wished.
“Got a penny?” A dirt-smudged hand flew toward her.
“No, Nook.” She gave him a wistful smile. “I’m sorry.”
She started to pass him, but he hurried along beside her. “Would you like a penny for your thoughts?” He grinned.
Slowly she recited, “I’m thinking it ’twas a bright night. Or I’m thinkin’ the moon had shone not right.”
“Good enough.” He pulled a coin from his pocket and handed it to her.
She shouldn’t take it, but she did; every cent counted these days. “Thank you.”
He bowed low and blew her a kiss.
At Macy’s, Clair sighed as she passed the candy counter, riding the elevator up to the employment department on the top floor. A woman sat behind the desk with a pencil sticking in her hair. Clair took off her coat and straightened her cloche hat
.
“Hello,” Clair told the woman. “I’m looking for my sister. I went to the address we had from her last letter, but she’s moved, and nobody there knows where she’s gone. She had said she worked here, but none of the staff have seen her today. Would you please be so kind as to give me her address?”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t think we give out that type of information.”
Clair ran a handkerchief under her watery eyes as if catching a tear.
“But I came all the way from Chicago with some sad news. Our papa passed away.”
The woman frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m new here, and as I said, I’m sure it’s against our policy.” She looked at the door and smiled. “However, under these circumstances, I’m sure Macy’s would make an exception. What’s your sister’s name?”
“Winifred Waters.”
The woman shuffled through a pile of note cards and pulled one out. “Oh. She doesn’t work here anymore.”
“Can you give me the home address written there?”
The woman nodded, pulled the pencil from her hair, wrote down the address, and handed the slip of paper to Clair.
On the way out of the office, Clair crossed paths with Mr. Smithers. He glanced at her with a surprised look on his owl-eyed face. Clair smiled back at him and sashayed by. Maybe she could be in the movies, too.
Out on the sidewalk, she studied the address. It was too far to walk. She rode a bus to a nearby street, walked the rest of the way, climbed the steps, and knocked on the door.
A gray-haired lady answered and looked Clair up and down. “We don’t got any rooms available.”
She smiled at the woman. “I’m looking for Winifred Waters. Is she here?”
The landlady pointed to the staircase. “Last door at the end of the hall.”
Clair passed over the hooked rug and glanced into the parlor, where a trio of ladies played cards and another knitted on a faded sofa. Clair felt their eyes on her back as she ascended the stairs. She knocked on the last door.
“Boy, am I happy to see you!” Winnie squealed, giving Clair a hug and drawing her in. Simply furnished, the small room had an unmade single bed, a nightstand, and a dresser piled with stacks of movie magazines. “How did you ever find me?”
“Told Macy’s personnel department that I was your long-lost sister.”
“Well, you are. I’ve missed you so!” Winnie quickly pulled up the chenille bedspread and began to untwist the white rags from her hair, letting the curls bounce down to her shoulders. Instead of the emaciated appearance of most people on the streets, Winnie’s body, wrapped in a torn robe, had increased in size. “I’ve been to the Waldorf looking for you, but no one there would tell me where you’d gone.”
Tears filled Clair’s eyes. “We’ve fallen on hard times.” She dropped onto the edge of the bed, breaking down in sobs.
“There, there.” Winnie held Clair while she cried.
After a minute, Clair pulled away. “I’m sorry.”
“If you can’t cry on my shoulder, whose can you cry on?” Winnie pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dried Clair’s tears. “Better? I’ve got just the thing to cheer you up.”
“A cup of tea?”
“Something much better.” Winnie gave her a devilish grin.
Clair raised her hand. “Dear me! Not alcohol. That would make me feel worse.”
“Not booze.” Winnie opened her nightstand drawer, took out a small paper sack, and handed it to Clair.
Clair put her hand inside, pulled out a chocolate disk with white sprinkles, placed it on her tongue, and closed her eyes. The nonpareil melted in her mouth. She swallowed and opened her eyes. “You’re the best friend a girl could ever have!”
“Such a good friend I even crashed your wedding.” Winnie giggled.
Clair helped herself to another candy. “You’re not the only one who crashed.”
The girls broke out in hysterics. It felt so good to laugh again.
“Was he okay?”
“He was fine. Only a big bump on his head.”
“A big bump on the big lump.”
They broke out in laughter again.
“We were supposed to set a new date, but then he disappeared.”
Winnie smiled. “We didn’t need that bluenose anyway!”
Clair nodded. “What happened to you the night of the raid?”
Winnie hugged herself. “We used Rudy’s exit plan. He grabbed me, and we slipped out the back way.”
“Didn’t the police realize he owned the speakeasy?”
“Yes, probably, but you know that Rudy.” Winnie grinned, rubbing her fingers together and nodding. “He knows people, and cash is king.”
Clair got the picture. “Do you remember a tall young man from that night?”
“Who?”
“My pearls broke, and he helped me gather them up. Did you see him?”
Winnie shook her head. If she probed too deeply, Winnie would get suspicious and Clair would be too embarrassed to share the details of what they had done that night. She changed the subject. “I’m sorry I cried so much.”
“This should cheer you up, too.” Winnie picked up her purse from the floor, rummaged through it, and offered Clair a few bills.
“I can’t take that!” She pushed it away.
“Let me help.”
“You can. Help me get a job.”
“Work? You?” Winnie’s eyes widened.
“Yes, a real job, something steady. Do you still have acquaintances at Macy’s?”
Winnie laughed. “We didn’t exactly part on very good terms.”
“I’m sorry.” Clair frowned. “Did Mr. Smithers fire you?”
“Nothing like that.” Winnie put her hands on her hips. “I quit!”
“You did?”
“I’m getting ready for my debut.” Winnie raised her head up.
“You’re going to be a debutante, too?”
“No, silly! At Rudy’s place.”
“But I had assumed it had closed down.”
“No, at the new Rudy’s! Opening tomorrow. After the raid he decided to go legit. It’s a real classy joint like he always said he’d get. It used to be owned by a theater company that did Greek and Shakespearean dramatizations. They left the back room filled with all sorts of crazy costume and set pieces we can use, even abandoned the Singer sewing machine.”
Clair smiled and ate another nonpareil.
Winnie continued, “I’ve made up a dance routine. And, of course, designed a fabulous costume with a fancy hat. Rudy says I’ll knock ’em dead.”
Clair knew about Winnie’s hats and hoped this new one wouldn’t fall into the audience and really kill someone. “Congratulations!”
“Maybe Rudy will hire you. We could use some help making costumes.”
“But I don’t know how to sew.” A tailor had always repaired Clair’s wardrobe.
“It’s a cinch. We’ll teach you. Rudy probably can’t pay much. Not until the crowds start coming in. What fun it would be to have you there! I’ll talk to Rudy. Come down tomorrow. You can stay for my debut, too. Like I’ve always told you, I’m going to be a big star!”
Clair would be relieved to have a job, but she could never tell her aunt and father she worked in a speakeasy-type business, even a legitimate one.
42
Clair stared, astounded at the theater’s lofty marquee: Rudy’s Rollicking Review! Featuring Varinska the Vamp, Rudy’s Cuties, and introducing the Wonderful Winnie Waters. Acrobats, contortionists, and more . . .
No secret password was needed to get inside this building. Clair entered through a marbled lobby and into the cavernous theater space. Winnie hadn’t been fooling. This place was posh; rows of plush seats sloped down toward a real stage with burgundy velvet curtains.
A pianist in the pit played an introduction to “Puttin’ on the Ritz.” Clair knew this tune by heart, and her fingers ached to feel the piano keys.
“Hello?” Her voice
rang out as she walked down the aisle toward the music.
The piano abruptly stopped.
She found her way down to the pianist.
“May I help you?” The man’s vibrato voice resonated in the key of D.
“I’m looking for Winnie.”
“Not here yet.” He shook his head.
Clair frowned. “She told me to meet her here at ten this morning.”
“She’ll be here soon. You can wait for her downstairs in the dressing room.” He tilted his head to the left of the stage.
“Thank you, kind sir.” Clair smiled at him.
“Don’t mention it.” He stood and bowed. “Mordecai at your service.”
Clair tried not to stare. He stood about Nook’s height, but with the features of an adult male. He must be a midget like she’d seen at the circus. It was a miracle that his small hands could play so well. Glancing down, she noticed blocks tied to the piano pedals.
She nodded and walked off as Mordecai played and sang, “Jeepers creepers, where’d ya get those peepers! Jeepers creepers, where’d ya get those eyes?”
Clair laughed aloud. She yearned to join him in song but instead found her way backstage and descended a flight of stairs. She stood in the grimy basement’s doorway. There were cigarette butts in glass jars, peanut shells on the floor, cobwebs in the corners, and clothes piled on the floor. The odor of kerosene permeated the space.
Across the room, a girl rocked her feet up and down on a treadle sewing machine. One of her hands expertly moved a wheel while the other guided fabric beneath the machine’s arm.
A dark-haired young woman wearing horn-rimmed glasses looked up from her hand sewing. “Clair?”
She had no idea who the woman was.
“Clair! It’s me, Bea.” Her voice had a high squeak.
“I didn’t recognize you.” Clair couldn’t believe it. The girl who had been a flapper looked mousy in her dark suit and glasses.
“What’re you doing here?” Bea walked over, put a hand on her hip, and squinted through her glasses.
“Winnie asked me to help with costumes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Certain.” Clair nodded. “And what are you doing here?”
