“Henry,” Jo said. “One of the bartenders. The blond one, there. He’s not a bad dancer, and he’d gnaw off a finger for one dance with you.”
“Don’t be mean,” said Araminta. “I’d love to.”
Jo smiled and stood. “And don’t be too hard on him,” she said. “A good bartender’s hard to replace.”
Araminta’s admonishing face followed Jo all the way around the dance floor. It was enough like old times that Jo smiled the whole way.
• • •
She visited the Kingfisher early the next afternoon, a few hours before it opened to the public. It was her first time there since she’d come back to the Marquee; the bright press of the daytime streets still made her nervous, and she wondered briefly if the damage had been done, and she’d only ever feel comfortable at night.
There were some professional courtesies she was experiencing for the first time these past few weeks; elite entrances were one of her favorites. (The others—late hours, free drinks—she had been living for too long to think much of, even now.)
Without the crowds and the smoke and the music, she felt a little like a ghost in her old home.
Jake was in the cellar, kneeling beside a flat of wine and marking inventory on a sheaf of paper. When she knocked on the nearest barrel he looked up, grinned, and sat back on his heels.
“No free drinks for the competition,” he said.
“You’re all manners.”
He handed her the inventory, and for a while they worked together quietly, Jo ticking off the bottle names that he called out. Jo decided to start doing this with Henry as well; it was a handy way to keep inventory and keep company at the same time.
She was still trying to discover how people related to each other, and how you met the world when you weren’t trying to hide something from someone. It was a lesson slow in coming.
After a little quiet she asked, “How did you fall into this line of work?”
“Recruitment brochure, same as you.” Then he paused and glanced over his shoulder at her. “My mom did piecework with some other Irish girls, couldn’t have me underfoot. My dad worked in a hotel—easier to bring me. I learned it young. I didn’t want to work under my father, but it’s hard to tend bar out there in dry establishments.” He gave her a wry smile. “This seemed like the smarter gig.”
“And so calming,” she said.
He laughed. “I’m missing a bottle of the French here. Remind me to box somebody’s ears.”
She made a note.
“Your information led me to the right place,” she said finally. “I have some of them back.”
He smiled. “Glad to hear it.”
“You should stop by, sometime when you can get away. They’d like to see you. We’re on the prowl for honorary family at this point.”
“What about the others?”
Jo shook her head and shrugged. “We’re at a dead end on the young twins. At this point I’m almost worried enough to put an ad in the paper and let my father find me if he dares. I have to keep looking until I know they’re all going to be all right.”
He stood up, brushing sawdust off his clothes with the flats of his hands, and took back his inventory.
“You know,” he said, flipping through the pages and pointedly not looking at her, “I wonder what it must have been like to see you coming through the door the first night you ever went dancing.”
She didn’t understand.
“We were four kids. We looked like easy targets, that was all.”
He glanced up. “But what were you thinking, standing there?”
Nothing, she thought. She had been beyond thinking—she just remembered terror, and anger, and pinching shoes, and the sense that she’d come across the first good idea of her life.
“I was thinking we’d be lucky if half a dozen of the men could dance,” she said.
He grinned and shook his head, and she watched him stop just short of saying “Liar,” and by the time she left she had his promise to stop by.
She wanted Jake to do more than just stop by, someday, but she didn’t think now was the time to broach the topic, even if he had already mentioned it himself.
It was probably rude to poach bartenders from right under their employers’ noses.
• • •
The next two weeks passed quietly.
Doris and the others came to the Marquee nearly every night, and Jo’s heart jumped every time she saw them.
If there was something missing—if she wished for Ella’s blond head and the twins’ matching glares and Rose and Lily trying nervously not to be seen—that was all right, for now.
She would get used to it. She’d gotten used to a lot of things recently.
And it was enough, in the meantime, to look up at the stairs and see her family.
• • •
At the end of the next week, Jo placed a small advertisement in the back of the Times, using a post office box as a return address.
She was more nervous these days about leaving any trail by which their father could find her than she had been in those first desperate weeks of being alone.
She had too much to lose again.
The ad said only: PRINCESSES SEEK SISTERS, FOR GOOD TIMES AT HOME.
Please, she thought as she handed it over, Rose and Lily, please see this. Please be looking for us still. Please recognize that I’m calling for you.
• • •
Doris got a postcard from California.
Ella already had a small part as the younger sister of the leading lady. The girls were getting feature work in dance scenes.
“We’ll have to arrange some outings to the movies soon,” Sam said. “I’ve always wanted to know some movie stars.”
Doris patted his hand absently, and Violet grinned over at him with a hopeless puppy love that Jo could already see coming.
Jo would need to find Violet a fella sooner rather than later, which would be fine, except that she was running out of bartenders.
(Araminta hadn’t seemed bowled over by Henry, but Henry didn’t mind, so long as he could dance with her once or twice a week and pine the rest of the time.
“Better men than you have tried,” Jo warned him, but there was no talking to someone when he was in love with Araminta. It would burn out sooner or later. She’d let it be.)
Ella had also written about their new names: on the silver screen, Ella would be “Olivia Bryant,” and the twins were “Flo and Jo Banner.”
Mattie tried to talk them out of Jo as a name, Ella had written, but there was nothing doing. Please apologize to Jo, when you find her—I hope by the time this card reaches you that you’re all together again. Please write and tell me everything. Much love always, Ella.
We’re not all together, Jo thought, and as long as you’re a country away, we never will be.
But that was a cruel thought when they sounded so happy, and so she only said, “There go three more Hamiltons.”
“And Father was so worried about the family line,” Doris said as Sam took her hand for the quickstep. “That’ll teach him.”
“I like boats,” said Jo as they passed, and Doris laughed all the way to the dance floor.
• • •
Finally, Jake stopped by.
The girls had come out that night, and Jo was glad; even before he’d gotten his coat off, he had the satisfaction of rushed thank-yous and kisses on the cheek, and to see some of them collected happily again.
“Jake, dance with me,” Doris said, “I’ve never seen you dancing.”
“You’ll soon see why,” he said, and then paused and frowned. “Sorry, what’s your name?”
Jo laughed and made some introductions that were eight years overdue.
He wasn’t going to light the town on fire, Jo decided after watching his quickstep w
ith Violet, but he was far from awful.
Still, after he’d brought Violet back to the table, Jo saw Violet give Sophie a so-so face.
That suited Jo, too; it was good to stay a little cold these days, even with those you thought were your friends. People had a tendency to surprise you, otherwise, and she’d had quite enough surprises recently.
“Jo?” Jake was asking, his hand out for hers.
She glanced at Doris, who nodded encouragement.
New lives for everyone. There was no reason, any more, for Jo to turn down dances.
There was nothing left to be afraid of.
“Sure thing,” she said.
It was a waltz, and for a minute or two she and Jake danced companionably. He was a smooth dancer, and his hand was warm, his thumb just brushing the tops of her fingers.
Then he said softly, “I heard back from my man in Chicago.”
He was a brave man to break that one out in the middle of a dance floor, she thought, but she couldn’t quite make herself say it.
Instead she breathed, “Tell me.”
“He couldn’t find them,” Jake said, “either one. They came into town, that’s for sure, but there’s no reaching them now. Some people said Lou went underground and Tom got picked up, some people said they left town again.” After a second, he added, “Together.”
Missing, then. No traces.
Either Lou and Tom had decided to start a new married life in some other city, or Lou was alone, and in so much trouble that Jo would never find her.
Either way, if Lou wrote home to tell her, Jo would never get the letter.
Lou was gone now, truly gone.
“Guess I’ll cancel my full-page ad in the Tribune,” she said, but it was the joke she’d had ready—the last reflex before the news really set in—and her voice cracked on the last word. Her fingertips went cold under his, and the knot in her stomach tightened so hard she feared, for a moment, that it would pull her entire body down around it.
He must have known how the news would go over. She appreciated his kindness, now, in drawing her away from the others so she could find out alone.
He didn’t seem surprised when her open hand tightened against his back, or when she didn’t give him any other answer, or when they stayed in the embrace until the next song began.
It was a foxtrot, and Jo thought that was fitting.
When she closed her eyes and turned her forehead to his cheek, he only hesitated a moment before he held her closer.
“Jo,” he said, “how can I help?”
She said, “You can’t,” quietly, her voice so hard and final that he shivered.
She was sorry but didn’t dare be kinder. Sometimes it was best to stay a little cold, even with people you knew were friends.
• • •
Four nights later, Doris managed to maneuver everyone out onto the dance floor during the waltz.
Jo was watching Sophie dancing with Mr. Walton (that was going somewhere, and Jo was debating whether to let it), and she didn’t realize until she saw Violet and Sam dancing together that Doris had done it all to get Jo alone with her.
“All right,” Doris said. “What happened with Jake the other night, General?”
Jo smiled at the nickname but faltered.
“He was trying to find Lou,” Jo said. “But no luck. His friend in Chicago thinks she went underground, or disappeared out of town, but there’s no way to know anything, and no sign of her now.”
Doris looked a little ill. “God. What if she’s not all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” Jo snapped, “I’ve got the worrying all covered, Doris.”
Doris flinched. “Sorry.”
She sighed. “I just—I never thought that it would be a mistake to get Lou out of that house. If I had just waited, she’d be all right by now, but I was so anxious to manage it all.”
“You did everything you could,” Doris said, leaning closer. “And when it went sideways, you warned us. But we all did all right for ourselves, I think—Lou got her shot, and here we all are. We did all right. I’m sure the others have, too.”
Free, Jo thought, as I always wanted, and now we’re all starting again.
“I’ve been the General for a long time,” Jo said.
Doris said, “You’ve been our sister even longer.”
That was a comfort—a strange thought, but a comfort—and Jo was still smiling when Doris said, “Watch out, or Jake’s going to fall for you.”
“I don’t think so,” Jo said. “I think both our hearts’ desires took the road to Chicago a little while back.”
Doris didn’t say anything to that (Jo was grateful), but when the song was over and everyone came back, she and Sam had one of their silent conversations, and then Sam was asking Jo for the Charleston.
“Not this time,” Jo said. “I’m shirking work sitting here. Tomorrow night, sure thing.”
Sam smiled. “All yours,” he said, and swiveled to face Rebecca, who laughed and said, “Second-string, I see how it is,” but took his hand anyway.
Doris watched them go with the kind of smile Jo had always hoped to see on them, on any of them—a smile that was open and untroubled.
Jo would have to work to be happy with what she could have. It was no good turning useless over pasts and small things.
She went to the bar to glad-hand a pair of city councilmen she recognized. Half the reason she read the paper these days was to catch up with the clientele.
Then it was checking in with Henry (“Not mixing tears with the champagne, I hope?” “No, General”) and greeting a few of the most finely dressed ladies.
The Charleston was almost over when she saw Myrtle standing on the stairs.
“At last,” she was saying as she moved through the crowd, her voice pitched to carry, “I was wondering when you’d take me up on my invitation.”
Myrtle was turning to look behind her, ushering a young couple to stand beside her—
But it wasn’t a young couple, Jo knew even as she thought it.
It was a young girl in a dancing dress, and another with her hair slicked back and wearing trousers, and Jo recognized them at once, out of long habit and long wishing.
She was too happy for dignity—she waved with both hands overhead, like a drowning swimmer, and when Rose and Lily saw her waving they nudged each other and leaned in to say something to one another out of the corners of their mouths.
They had become twins, Jo thought, though it seemed a strange thing to realize only now, when they couldn’t have been more differently dressed, and when the truth was so obvious. They’d always been twins. Jo was getting imaginative in her old age, that was all.
By the time Jo reached them, Doris had seen them, too, and Jo only had a moment to pull them into her arms before the others descended (Myrtle stepping back to give way), and it was a flurry of crushing hugs and kisses on the cheek.
Lily had adopted bright red lipstick to go with her new black slacks, and her kisses happened in the air, to preserve the color.
“You look scandalous,” Jo said, but it was a compliment and Lily only beamed.
“The men don’t know what to make of it,” she said, “but for some reason the women go wild!”
“Some women,” said Rose, and she and Lily shared a fleeting smile.
Doris was crowding Jo from behind, gasping, “Lily, what are you wearing?” as Rose laughed, and it gave Jo a moment to cup Rose’s chin and get a good look at her.
She was thinner—they both were—and there was something flinty behind the eyes that hadn’t been there before, and Jo’s stomach sank to think of anything awful happening to them.
“Where have you been?” she asked, every word a plea.
Rose shook off Jo’s fingers, looking embarrassed. “Nowhere, General.”
&n
bsp; Jo tried not to look too stung. “I’m not asking as a general,” she said. “I’m asking as someone who was worried about you.”
That got a flush. “We’re all right,” Rose said. “Don’t worry about us.”
Lily appeared at Rose’s elbow. “We got your message in the paper,” Lily said, “but we thought for sure it was a trap, at first.”
Rose said, “There are plenty of people in this town who don’t mind setting traps.”
Jo glanced down at their hands—Rose’s fingertips were red and callused, and even though Lily’s hands were in her pockets, Jo could guess that these twins hadn’t gotten so close to one another by keeping separate jobs.
They had been factory girls after all, at least for a while, and from the looks of things it had been rough going.
She didn’t push them. General Jo would have, but some things were too fragile; reunions were one of them.
“Come and dance,” she said. “We’re at our regular table. Catch the ring on Doris’s finger, and see what Rebecca’s wearing, still.”
“I can’t believe she married him,” said Lily. “She hardly knew him! What a way to go about it.”
“He’s a nice fellow,” Jo promised, “and he came through in a pinch. Even I like him. Now, stay and have a decent drink. You don’t know how long we’ve all been waiting to see your faces.”
Rose and Lily linked hands without looking (Lily smiled at Jo, Rose not quite), and moved past Jo toward the sisters’ table.
“Thank you,” Jo said to Myrtle when the twins were out of hearing.
“Not my idea,” Myrtle said, around the cigarette holder clamped in her teeth. “The cat dragged them in. Jake pointed them out to me as two of yours, and I thought I might as well bring them over—they seemed so lost that I pitied them, that’s all.”
Jo let it pass. If Myrtle wanted to do a good deed, Jo wasn’t going to stop her, and if Myrtle didn’t want to be thanked twice, Jo was happy not to thank her.
“There’s a nice whiskey at the bar,” Jo said instead. “Even Jake thinks it’s top-shelf. Come and have a taste of some quality, as long as you’re here.”
That offer Myrtle was happier to accept, with a wink at Henry, who was already smiling ear to ear at the sight of two more Princesses who had come home.
The Girls at the Kingfisher Club Page 24
