A moment later he said, “I never knew his associates in Chicago—not in the loop out there. But I have a few old friends there—they might know where to find someone who doesn’t mind being found. So if he’s in business or Lou really is at a decent place, I could send someone to look. It’s better than nothing.”
It was more than Jo had hoped for. She’d take it.
Jake looked a little steely across the desk—maybe worried about what Tom and Jo had gotten Lou into—but he was still willing, and it would do.
“What do you want to say?”
Jo said, “ ‘Come home.’ ”
twenty-five
IT’LL GET YOU
Doris and company showed up in force at the stairs of the Marquee.
It was good to see them. It was so good to see them that Jo could almost forget the ache of Rose and Lily (still ghosts) as soon as she fixed eyes on Rebecca and Araminta again.
The band was in the middle of a Charleston, and even as Jo made her way to them from the other end of the dimly lit club, she could see Doris’s eyes shining and Rebecca tapping her toes.
Rebecca was in a different gold dress, and Araminta had another long strand of beads wrapped around her neck, and Jo couldn’t help laughing. It was comforting to think that even if some things had changed so much, some things never would.
When Doris saw Jo, she grinned and led the others down the stairs.
(Doris seemed to have gotten pretty good at taking the lead since they’d all run away, Jo thought, trying not to be jealous and almost getting there.)
Rebecca and Araminta threw themselves into Jo’s arms. Jo inhaled the familiar scent of soap and primroses and felt the same unraveling knot as when she’d seen Doris and Sophie and Violet and known that those sisters, at least, were safe.
Araminta pulled back sniffling and wiping her eyes, but Rebecca was only squeezing Jo’s arm and beaming and looking around at the room.
“I can’t believe you run all this,” she said.
Rebecca was still candid, then.
Jo said, “Nah, I’m only the host—you know it’s the bartenders who actually run the place. I like the new dress.”
Araminta groaned. “Can you believe it? I nearly threw it out the window when she showed me. All the dresses in the world and this is the one she picks.”
“It’s not the dress that counts,” said Rebecca, “it’s the dancer. And”—turning to Jo—“Araminta should be happy anyway—at least I bought these.”
She and Araminta each held out one foot, and Jo had the satisfaction of finally seeing her sisters in dancing shoes that fit. Araminta’s were apple green, and Rebecca’s were red, and somehow Jo couldn’t stop smiling.
(They were such a little thing, but they weren’t—they were the freedom that came after the prison.)
“We put them on in the apartment before we came down,” Rebecca said, and Jo heard what Rebecca was really trying to say (we’re happy, we’re safe).
Araminta glanced down and saw Jo’s shoes—black velvet—and smiled. “Not bad,” she said, “even if your dress is still a little old-fashioned.”
“Not all of us work at Bloomingdale’s,” Jo said. “Now get on the dance floor before Rebecca has a fit.”
Rebecca laughed, but she was disappearing into the crowd, already looking for a partner. Sophie wasn’t far behind her, and Violet slid by a moment later, stopping just long enough to peck Jo on the cheek and say “Hi, Jo” on her way past.
(It sounded like the first time Violet had ever called Jo by her name. Jo couldn’t remember if it was.)
Jo realized Sam had come with them, a beat too late to be polite about it—she wasn’t used to looking for men who weren’t Tom or Jake—and when she grasped his hand in greeting he was grinning slyly.
“You’ll get used to me,” he said.
“He keeps saying that,” said Doris, “but I’m still waiting. Where should we sit?”
Jo had set aside their table, and by the beginning of the next song, Doris and Sam were already on the dance floor, and Araminta was getting settled for the long wait before the waltz.
The champagne came right on time (Jo made a note to thank Henry for keeping a sharp eye), and the room seemed to be tending itself well enough that Jo could risk sitting beside Araminta.
Araminta smiled and rested her head for a moment on Jo’s shoulder.
“I didn’t realize how good it was to see everyone,” she said. “When we were all crammed together all you ever wanted was enough room to breathe somewhere quiet for a minute, but when I saw Sophie in that hiring line, I’d never been so happy to see someone in my life; I could hardly stand.”
Jo knew the feeling.
“I cried when Ella said she was leaving,” Araminta said. “Don’t tell Rebecca—she was so happy for them. She said she’d known this day was coming since the first time Ella saw a movie poster, and if Rebecca says it it’s probably true. But it was so close after we found them again, I couldn’t help it.”
“I won’t tell.”
Araminta smiled. “Doris said you were running this place all by yourself. Is it exciting?”
“It is,” said Jo. “And so long as I keep the cops happy, it’s exciting in a good way and not a way that ends with me in prison.”
Araminta raised her eyebrows. “Did you run out of the frying pan and into the fire?”
“Not yet,” said Jo. “If the cops got me tomorrow, I could at least make a phone call. It would have been impossible if Father had still had hold of any of you. Sometimes I think there was no way out of that house but the one that happened.”
“Maybe not,” said Araminta. “But still, now look at us.”
Jo glanced at the crowd, picking out her sisters without thinking.
It had been a long time, and they were different women now than they had been, but she could still single them out of the hundreds; she knew just how they held their shoulders, how their fingers behaved in their partners’ hands.
(She’d been in practice, all this time.)
It was nice that she could still look out for them, even if they weren’t hers any more.
There was a little empty space, near the center of the floor, where strangers were dancing where Rose and Lily should have been.
“Maybe if I had tried to be your mother instead,” Jo said, “this would be easier.”
The words surprised her so much she actually looked at Araminta as if she had spoken them instead, but Araminta was looking at her with heartbroken understanding.
Jo wished she could pull the words back.
But Araminta only said, “Things will work out, General,” and smiled, and looked out at the dance floor. “Who should I pick for the waltz?”
“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 pap
er. 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.”
“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 with 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.”
The Girls at the Kingfisher Club: A Novel Page 23
