Glitter and Gold (The Canary Club Novels Book 1)

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  “Do I look like a maid?” Vinny growls, stepping toward him. Vinny is big, taller than JD by a solid four inches, and thicker everywhere. He’s not fat—not by a long shot, but he’s that natural kind of muscular that makes him look a bit like a grizzly bear. His dark, disheveled hair doesn’t help the matter, nor do his coal black eyes and square jaw.

  Now JD turns, glass in hand, and crosses his legs at the ankle as he leans against the waist high wall. “That’s your job, isn’t it? To clean up Dutch’s messes?”

  Vinny moves to step forward again, pushing back his blue tweed suitcoat to expose the gun holstered under his arm. I stop him with one hand to the chest.

  “I’ll do it, will you come keep me company?” I ask, stepping between them so he has to look at me. Truth is, I want to get him alone, to say all the things I’ve been holding in since I found out I was coming home.

  Covering my hand with his own, I feel him relax. “Sure thing, doll.”

  He follows me down the hall to mother’s bedroom. I’m not sure what I expect, but when I open the door, my head swims. The bed is askew, blankets strewn about the floor, covered in blood and vomit. The dressing table is overturned, the vanity mirror shattered, glass shards littering the white carpet.

  I freeze, taking in the sight, and Vinny steps around me, rubbing my arm as he passes.

  “I’ve seen worse,” he mutters as he strips off his jacket, draping it across the arm chair near the closet and starts picking up glass.

  “So have I,” I admit. But not recently, and not in this room. “Remember when we were little and we used to hang the blankets from the bed posts and make forts?”

  “We’d hide in there for hours, you’d read books out loud while I made towers outta playing cards.”

  I can’t hide the grin spreading across my face at the memory. “You were so good at that. I could never even get to the second layer. I always thought you’d be a builder someday. Or an architect.”

  Now he frowns, turning away. “Never had the ambition for that.”

  I snort. Ambition was never his problem. His problem was that he dropped out of school at fourteen because he couldn’t get along with the other kids. Not that the fights were all his fault, usually he was defending himself. But they only punished the winner, and he always won.

  Walking to the dressing table I upright the vanity chair and take a seat. “I got your letters,” I admit sheepishly. “The nuns tried to hide them from me, but I found them.”

  He doesn’t look back at me when he responds. “You never wrote back.”

  “I did, actually. I wrote all the time,” I say, my chest heavy, trying to find the right words to defend myself. When he finally looks at me, there’s something in his eyes, pain maybe? Something else? He’s always so hard to read. “I never sent them. It was like being two people in one body. There, I was just Masie, just another girl. I could dream normal girl dreams and pretend that someday I’d have a normal life. And then there’s this version of me, the one who will always be Dutch Schultz daughter. A target or a pawn or whatever he decides. I guess I just wanted to just be her, just for a little while.”

  He crosses the room, dropping to his knees at my feet and leaning forward, resting his head in my lap the way he’d done so many times before.

  “I missed you,” he whispers. “I missed having someone look at me the way you look at me.”

  I run my fingers through his hair. “I missed you too. I’m so sorry. I never should have left. I never should have let them send me away.”

  “Nah, I wanted you to go. I wanted you far away from all this. But I wanted you back too. And now that you are, I never want you to leave again. That’s selfish, right?”

  He never talked about the business in his letters. He’d talk about the new play that just opened or the shell he found at the shore or the way the river smelled in the morning. He’d talk about being lonely, or feeling guilty, or wondering about the mother who abandoned him when he was only five. I got a letter every week, not very long, not very eloquent. Just whatever he was doing or thinking in the moment. As if he just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t forget him.

  As if I could. He was the first boy I ever loved. Being back here, I wonder if I ever really quit.

  “Selfish is hiding away, pretending to be someone you aren’t just so you don’t have to deal with your life,” I say, tugging his head back by a fistful of hair. “I’m home now. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Pulling my hand free he jerks his head toward the room, “Good. Then let’s get moving, Mas.”

  Squatting down, I help him, first with the glass, then the bedding. Together we sweep up what we can, mop up the rest with towels, bundling the soiled linens in a wicker basket for the maids.

  “Where is Butler? And the maid?” I ask, hands on my hips as we deposit the bundle in the kitchen and head for my own room.

  “That’s a very good question,” he says, following me as I open the door.

  My room is exactly as I remember, the soft white blankets and furry pillows piled high beneath the gauzy canopy. The furniture is all white and gold—mother’s favorite. I wonder if she liked the purity of it, or if it reminded her of the thick snow-covered hills she grew up in. Pulling back the drapes I let the light stream in, cracking the window to drive away the hint of stale air. A vase of dead, once pink roses sits on the nightstand. They’d been a goodbye gift from Vinny when I went off to school.

  Like so many other things, I’d abandoned them and never looked back. Even when I came home for Christmas, it was just for the day. I could never bear to sleep in this place, not with Daddy away at his mistresses’ apartment and mother locked away in her own sullen mind. Even JD had been no comfort—too lost in the glittering parties and rich cronies to devote any real time to me. So I’d come and gone in a whirlwind, taking only enough time to watch Vinny from across a crowded street. He’d been in a group of people headed into a jazz club, a cure red-haired dame on his arm.

  To this day I can recall with perfect detail the feeling of being punched in the stomach, having the wind sucked from my lungs until they burned with it. Not that I had any right to be jealous. I’d had flings of my own from time to time. Distractions really. And besides, it isn’t like we were a couple—not really. Yet seeing him with someone else—thinking of him with someone else—made me hurt so bad I thought I’d be sick from the pain.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and catch him staring at me, his expression unreadable, as always.

  “Say what you want to say, Vinny,” I challenge.

  He shakes his head. “Not the time, not the place,” he says cryptically, ducking out my door.

  Flopping backward, I kick my heels against the edge of the footboard until my shoes finally fall off. I don’t realize how tired I am until my eyes flutter closed, the sweet relief of darkness washing over me.

  I’m not sure how long I sleep, only that a tap at my door wakes me. It’s Vinny, once again in his jacket, his face stern. “Masie, he’s back.”

  Rolling off the bed I don’t bother to put my shoes back on as Vinny follows me down the hall. The carpet is thick and soft and eats my footsteps as I head toward the sound of Daddy’s voice on the terrace.

  “There’s my girl,” Daddy booms cheerfully as I approach. He opens his arms and I step into his embrace obediently. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  JD is seated at the table, a cup of coffee in hand, looking more haggard than he had earlier.

  “I’m glad to be home,” I lie on reflex. There’s no good that can come from me reminding him that he had ordered me back, or that I’m worried sick about mother—even more so because of his blaze tone—or even that I’d rather be anywhere, absolutely anywhere but here.

  “So what’s happened? Butler said it was a family emergency?” I ask finally, fighting to keep my tone neutral.

  As if on cue Butler appears, a tray of food in hand, which he sets in the center of the table.

  “And where on e
arth have you been?” I ask flatly, allowing my frustration to seep into my voice just a touch.

  “I’ve been at the store, miss. Is there something you needed?” His mouth twitches behind his thick black moustache.

  With a sigh I know better than to press, better than to take my anger out on him. He’s been with the family since I was in diapers—no, even before that. More often than not it was him bandaging my skinned knees, him helping me with my homework. And while he’d never disrespect me in front of anyone, if I get mouthy with him, I know he’ll make me pay for it in a million little ways later on.

  With a casual flick of my hand I wave him off, “Could you take my luggage to my room?”

  He nods once, then bows, leaving the four of us alone on the terrace.

  “You should eat something,” Vinny whispers.

  I shoot him a glare, but reach over and pluck a grape from the bundle, popping it into my mouth, earning me a satisfied smirk.

  Daddy’s head snaps up from the paperwork he’s holding, his eyes swinging to Vinny as if he only just realized he was there.

  “Vincent, I need a moment with my family.”

  JD licks his bottom lip, his eyes flickering up to me from his cup of joe. I open my mouth to protest. Vinny is as much a part of this family as anyone, and whatever is going on, he has just as much right to know.

  At least that’s what I’m going to say when I feel his hand graze my lower back. “Yes sir, I’ll wait at the car,” he says without argument and walks out.

  Once he’s gone I find I can no longer control my tongue, “Daddy, what’s going on? If Mother is ill, surely he has as much right to know the details as we do.”

  Daddy puckers his lips, tugging on this tie until it falls loose around his collar. “Not this. Vincent’s a good kid, but he ain’t blood, sweetheart. And we’re gonna have to keep this quiet.”

  It’s not just his words that send a cold chill through me, but the way he seems to crumple, falling into a chair beside JD, clasping a hand on the table for support. He ages twenty years in an instant, and in that instant, I feel genuinely sorry for him.

  “Your mother, she took some pills,” he says, his voice low, hardly a whisper. “The doc managed to bring most of it back up, but there’s been some permanent damage.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

  His eyes swing up to meet mine and he pushes out the chair across from him with his foot, motioning for me to sit. I obey, if only to keep my knees from giving out and dropping me to the concrete.

  “I’ve arranged for her to go to a hospital upstate. They specialize in this sort of thing.”

  “What hospital? Can we go see her?” I continue to prod.

  He shakes his head, “It’s the Rockford Asylum. And no, you can’t see her. Not for some time, at least.”

  I fall back in my seat, sure I’ve misheard, “Asylum?”

  My gaze swings to JD, who is staring at Daddy in abject horror.

  “Look, what I need you two to know is that she’s safe. She has people watching her around the clock. And they have some new treatments…” Daddy trails off, leaving me to fill the silence with the sound of my own breathing, too fast and too heavy. My pulse pounds inside my ears, my mouth going dry.

  Now he stands, looping his thumbs through his suspenders, “And you need to understand that I have had to make some tough decisions in the last few hours.”

  It’s JD who speaks this time, his words echoing my own thoughts, “What sort of tough decisions?”

  Daddy straightens, rising to his full height. In that instant he’s recovered himself, he’s once again strong, an immoveable force. “Your mother’s condition is a weakness we can’t afford. If people knew…” he hesitates, “It undermines me, undermines my authority.”

  Mother’s craziness is bad for business, that’s what he’s saying. And I’m almost too stunned to respond.

  “And, it makes her a target. I get it. So, we keep it secret. Tell people she’s at a spa or visiting family in Europe,” JD says, shrugging.

  Daddy shakes his head, “No, she’s been absent too long. People are already whispering, wondering, making up whatever story fits their agenda. No, we need a more permanent solution.”

  “What do you suggest?” JD snaps, earning him a stern look.

  “I don’t suggest anything. I’m telling you what I’ve decided. As of today, your mother, is dead.”

  My heart stutters painfully in my chest as he continues, “The doctor signed a certificate, we filed it when I got back to town this afternoon. There will be a funeral on Saturday…”

  “Wait, but she isn’t dead. How can you think this will work? What about when she recovers and wants to come home?” I demand, my voice high and practically a scream.

  His expression says it all. She isn’t going to recover, despite the experimental treatments he alluded to. She’s never getting better. She’s never coming home.

  “If she does recover,” he says gently, “I’ll set her up in a little house in the country, a place she’ll be happy. But not here. Her time here, as part of this family, is over.”

  Pushing away from the table I struggle to stand as my stomach twists into knots inside me. Looking to JD for support, I find him stone-faced.

  “You can’t possibly be serious. You can’t possibly think we’d go along with this?” I demand.

  “I am, and you will both do as you’re told,” Daddy says, straightening his tie. “End of discussion. Your mother is dead. And not Vinny or the maids or anyone else is to know any different, do you understand me?”

  “Or what?” I spit. “You’ll have us put away too?”

  I know the instant that he moves my words are a mistake. In my anger I’ve gone too far, stepped over that frail, thin line that keeps him in check. Bracing for the blow I close my eyes, but the strike never comes. I open my eyes to find I’m face to face with JD, who’s stepped between us, grabbing me roughly by the arms.

  “Masie, get a hold of yourself,” he says, shaking me roughly. Then, turning back to Daddy he nods once, “We understand. We’ll do as you say.”

  Daddy cracks his neck, as if to release the pressure he’d built up in anticipation of attacking me, “You’d better.”

  And with that, he storms off, leaving me blinking back tears and staring slack-jawed at my brother. As soon as the front door closes JD releases me and I crumple to my knees.

  “Look,” he says, turning his back to me and looking out over the city, “maybe, this is for the best.”

  “How is lying to the world, telling them all that she’s dead for the best?” I demand. “This is just his way out of the marriage. He couldn’t divorce her, so this is the next best thing.”

  JD scoffs at me, “Do you really think being married ever stopped him from doing whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted? No, but mom, she never wanted this life. She was miserable—had been for a decade. This isn’t his way out, it’s hers. You can see that, right?”

  “He thinks she’s going to die in there, die for real.” I’m cold, numbness washing over my skin in waves. “She’s never getting better, is she?”

  Crossing the terrace JD sits beside me, wiping his hands on his pinstripe slacks and draping one arm across my shoulder, pulling me close. “I dunno, Mas. But I know that maybe being away from here, away from him and all this, maybe she’ll find some peace. I hope she will. And as for the lying, well, we can go along with it or end up in a hole with all the other people who’ve crossed Dutch Schultz.”

  I blink up at my big brother, seeing for the first time just how much he’s changed, the shadow under his eyes, the hair thinning around his temples. Barely eighteen and going of forty.

  “Do you think he’d really do that? To us?”

  Without hesitation he nods, “I really do.”

  I don’t leave the penthouse for the next two days, opting to lock myself in my bedroom and shut out the world. Delivery men come and go from the foyer, dr
opping off flowers, baskets of fruit, and other various condolences. I can’t stand it. The smell of freesia and rose permeates the apartment and I keep my window wide open against the assault, the bustling sounds of the city lulling me to sleep each night and waking me each morning. Lying on my back on the fur rug, I stare up at the crystal chandelier until my eyes burn from the light.

  JD doesn’t disturb me, though I hear the occasional excuse being made to visitors. Things like, taking mother’s death hard, and inconsolable in her grief.

  But it’s not grief that holds me in its throws. Its rage and resignation, a sort of helpless frustration that I can neither stomach—nor reconcile.

  I hear Daddy creep into my room, there’s a stillness to him, a deepness of his breath that I can feel as if he’s displacing the air. I sit up, drawing my knees to my chest on the bed.

  “Hey, princess.” He begins, taking a seat beside me. “How you holdin’ up?”

  How does he think I’m holding up? He just stole my mother from me, and maybe worst of all, he’s made a liar out of me. I’ll never be able to tell anyone. Not friends or lovers or even people I consider family. It’s as if he has locked a part of me away with her.

  “As well as can be expected,” I mutter, not lifting my chin from my knee.

  He sighs, drawing a heavy arm across my shoulders. “I know you’re angry. But you gotta trust me, this is for the best.”

  “You keep saying that, but it doesn’t feel true.”

  I feel him tense, and know I’ve struck a nerve. My own body stiffens, waiting for his response.

  “The day I married your mother, I swore to protect her forever. For better or worse. Maybe I wasn’t always the husband she wanted me to be, but I did the best I could.”

  I have to bite my tongue against the accusations that spring to mind. All the times he lied, all the times he cheated. The times he hurt her and the times he watched as she hurt herself.

  “I’m not perfect. None of us are. We do our best to keep the people we love safe. And sometimes, it’s an ugly job. Sometimes, we gotta get our hands dirty.”

  “Like Vinny?” I ask, trying to keep my tone soft.