Glitter and Gold (The Canary Club Novels Book 1)

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  “Glad you’re up. I wanted to talk to you before I had to go to my meeting today,” he says, taking a sip of coffee.

  His tone is mellow, but even so, I step gingerly, as if walking on eggshells, to my seat. Butler arrives, pouring me a cup of joe and handing me a plate of eggs before vanishing back to the kitchen.

  “About last night,” I begin, a speech all prepared in my head.

  He cuts me off. “That’s what I want to talk about.” He holds out a folded newspaper, “I want you to take a look at this.”

  I accept it, scanning the articles until I see my name, then back tracking. “The brightest addition to the new crown jewel of the city is the bright young canary Masie Schultz, who crooned the night away at the event. With a voice that could make angels weep, or bring a crowd full of jazz lovers to their knees, she stole the show—no small feat with so many starlets and celebrities in attendance. Here’s hoping her performance will be repeated, as the town is buzzing to hear her perform again.”

  I almost drop the paper, my eyes darting up to daddy’s face. He splays his hands over the rest of the stack, “They all say the same thing. I’ve already had a half dozen calls today from the well-to-do clients wondering when they can come see you perform.”

  I lick my lips, unsure what to make of the attention—and worse yet, unsure what he’s making of it. When he smiles, it’s as if a weight is lifted from my chest.

  “We’ll need to get you a full wardrobe, of course. You can get whatever you need. I want the photographer to come by tomorrow to take photos for the new posters. And you’ll accompany me to dinner to meet with some of the other investors tonight. They are dying to see you in person.”

  I take a deep breath. “What about school?” I ask. Until this moment I was sure he’d send me away again. That’s when I see something flicker across his face that I’d never seen before. A look I can’t describe. Then the realization hits me.

  I’ve just become useful. Another weapon in his arsenal.

  He waves his hand, “School is for doctors and lawyers. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, if we play our cards right. I bet in a year we can open another club, bigger and brighter, with you as the main attraction, of course.”

  My own club. I sit back in my seat, trying to let it all sink in. Maybe I can do it. Maybe I can help save the business, get daddy back on his feet. At this point, I’m not even sure I have a choice.

  “Why don’t you go down to the club after lunch and get some rehearsal time in. And take a look at the dressing room, let JD know if there’s anything you need. I’ll assign you a full-time guard, of course.” He stands, walking out of the room with the papers tucked under his arm, muttering, “Just perfect how things work out.”

  It’s then that it really hits me.

  For better or worse, this is my life now. There’s no more hiding at boarding school. No more sheltered innocence. I’m taking my place in the family business. It’s not what I planned, or what I hoped for, but it’s what I want—at least for now. Not the fame or the clubs or the posters. I want to keep my family safe. I will keep them safe. Maybe I can’t save them from themselves, but this, this small thing, I can do.

  After all, even a caged bird can sing.

  My Louis-heeled dancing shoes may not have been the best choice, I realize in retrospect as I clack down the pavement near the waterfront. Even spending my last nickel on the street car hadn’t saved me the long walk through Chelsea and my toes are already sore and numb. It’s unseasonably cold tonight, my legs and arms breaking out in goosebumps despite the heavy mink draped across my shoulders—a recent gift from my fella, JD.

  Making my way down 14th street, I turn south toward the park stretched out along the shore of the Hudson. Most of the crowds have gone, leaving the benches empty, staring longingly across the reflection of the city lights dancing on the water. The wind blows and I hold a gloved hand to my snappy cloche hat, shivering against the cold. Inhaling, I force my shaking muscles to relax. The city hums around me, vibrant and pulsating. Scads of people flee into the shadows, down darkened alley ways or into non-descript green doors, seeking sanctuary or love or freedom or release. The city offers it all and more, anything you want, all your dreams and desires on a silver platter, yours for the taking. That’s why people flock here, drawn by the big lights and the promise of Broadway. The city is a siren, and you’d have to be deaf to ignore it’s call.

  Maybe not even that would save you.

  “You’re late,” a voice calls out, a shadow of a man stepping from behind a tall oak tree.

  I smile, unable to stop the warm flush that rolls over my skin at the sound. As if I wouldn’t know that voice anywhere. As if it hadn’t somehow become the sound of every thought in my head.

  Spinning once I land in a perfect pose, one leg bent just slightly, shoulder tucked close to my chin to create a silhouette I’d seen once in a moving picture, “Did you miss me?”

  Stepping into the glow of the street lamp he grins, his dimples magically appearing in his cheeks, raking one hand through his amber hair nervously. “Always.”

  Gifting him with my best sultry smile I close the distance between us in two perfectly measured leaps and throw myself into his arms. Lifting me from my feet he holds me so I’m just above eye level, and I have to lower my mouth to his.

  When he releases me, I wrap one arm through his and he leads me toward the railing that separated sand and shore. Together we gaze out across the river, marveling in the sight. It never gets old, this feeling. Somehow both infinite and infinitesimal at the same time.

  “You remember this spot?” he asks finally, jerking his head.

  There’s something off about him tonight, I realize slowly as I sweep a closer gaze over him. He’s dressed in his best hand-tailored pin-stripe suit, a thin blue tie around his neck—that in itself isn’t too odd, since he probably has business later. He’s always been a snappy dresser, lord knows he has wonderful taste in…well, everything. One hand tucked in his trouser pocket, he fidgets, his face is pink with warmth despite the cool breeze. No, it’s his far away expression that has my hair on end, as if something serious is weighing on his mind. It’s an expression he doesn’t wear often, one that I know he tries to shield me from.

  I narrow my eyes suspiciously, “Course I do. This is where we met.” Turning my back to the railing I lean against it, pointing across the road. “That’s the club I was dancing at that night.”

  “You were stunning. I’d never seen a dame move like you,” he says, brushing a single finder down the bare skin of my shoulder. “Like water flowing over rocks.”

  Despite his compliment, I can’t help but shudder against the memory. Being forced to entertain the bell bottoms at a dump like that isn’t exactly something I like to think about. Sure, it’d paid the bills—mostly—but I don’t miss coming home every morning soaked in sweat and whisky and worse things. And those were the good nights. I didn’t have much going for me, some schooling for sure, enough to know that a pretty face will take a dame further in this life than a diploma. But no money, no family connections that could offer me more respectable employment. All I could count on was my looks, my charm, the easy, flirtatious nature I’d so carefully cultivated. How many nights had I spent watching Clara Bow or Greta Garbo from the cheap seats, how many times did I practice their gestures, their mannerisms in the broken mirror above my bathroom sink? Far too many to count, and yet just enough to adopt their glamourous allure for myself. Just enough to catch the eye of the man who would change my life completely.

  On the night I’d met JD, I’d been heading home after a particularly long evening when a couple blotto sailors decided to grab me and have a little fun. He’d come to my rescue right here, on this very spot, like a real-life knight in shining armor.

  If knights in shining armor carried pistols and brass knuckles.

  “You saved my life that night,” I say, not bothering to hide the gratitude in my voice.

 
“And you’ve saved mine every night since then,” he whispers, making me move to face him fully. “Though, truthfully, I think you could have taken them,” he laughs, “You were clawing at them like a wild jungle cat. I’m pretty sure they have permanent scars.”

  Now I know something is wrong. He never sweet talks me like this, not even when we’re alone, tangled in warm cotton sheets. A sliver of panic stabs into me.

  “What are we doin’ here, baby?” I ask, sliding my hands beneath his jacket and up his shirt. “Everything jake?”

  Covering my hands with his, he kisses me again, this time desperately, ravaging my mouth until his breath comes in ragged gasps and my lips are pleasantly swollen.

  When he finally breaks away he tucks a tendril of my black hair behind my ear, “It’s been two years, did you know that? Two years tonight.”

  Glancing once more at the now abandoned club with its boarded windows and broken glass, I almost can. For our first anniversary he’d bought the place, then took a match to it and collected the insurance money—which he then used to purchase the massive ruby necklace now dangling between my breasts. There has never, in the history of the world, been such a beautiful blaze.

  I have the newspaper report about the ‘accident’ framed in my room.

  It’s in that memory that I finally understand. It’s our anniversary again. Maybe this year he’s going to let me demolish the whole building. And I could, I could tear it down brick by brick with my bare hands.

  “Sorry, baby. You know how bad I am with dates,” I say, batting my false eyelashes until he grins. Then I carefully wipe my crimson-smeared lipstick from his mouth with my thumb. “But I have a gift for you that you’re going to love.”

  This time when he grabs my hand, its rougher, no trace of playfulness at my suggestion. I brace myself for the worst.

  “Things have been tough lately. Dutch is looking to expand into a new area, with a new club—which means deals with the labor unions, new investors, and of course, more time working the angles. Plus the new prosecutor from DC has been sniffin’ around, making thigs very hard on the business.”

  This isn’t news to me. I may pretend to be a dumb dora around his father Dutch and the rest of his cronies, but I hear more than they’d probably like and I understand twice that. Once in a while I’ll drop a subtle idea, an off-hand comment that I hope JD will pick up on. More often than not it works. More than once he’s been struck by inspiration while I’m dangling from his arm. It makes me excited for the time when Dutch passes the business to JD.

  Oh, what a team we’ll make.

  “I know, you’ve been working so hard,” I offer, still unsure where the conversation is going, but preparing a dozen scenarios in my head as he goes on. Reaching up, I rub my thumb in the space between his eyebrows, making tiny circles to relax the frown lines I find there.

  He seizes my hand, drawing it down until it hovers over his heart. “It’s dangerous, June. Maybe more than it ever has been.”

  I pull away, pointing a finger in the middle of his chest, “If you’re trying to scare me off, JD, it’s not going to work. I’m not some fainting lily, I know what I signed up for when I got involved with you.”

  He grins again, “I didn’t figure it would. But, I need you to understand, to know what you’re getting into. This life is no place for a lady, not even one with claws.” He pauses, a faraway look settling into his eyes. “Some people can’t do it. Even if they really want to, even if they love you more than anything. Sometimes, it’s all too much.”

  It’s his mother that he’s thinking about, his poor, fragile mama. The stress of this life broke her, and so now he’s pushing me away for fear of the same happening to me. Straightening, I seize him by the suspenders, pulling him against me so roughly he has to wrap his arms around me to keep his balance. “Firstly, I’m no lady. Secondly, if you’ve got something to say, you’d best just be out with it, or I swear to the good lord, I’ll shoot you myself.”

  Releasing me, he pries my hands free and takes one step back. My hands ball into fists at my sides, ready to knock some sense into him if I have to—if he tries to leave me.

  Then, he drops to one knee, pulling a small, golden ring out of his pocket.

  “June West, will you marry me?”

  I’m so stunned I can’t remember how to speak. A million thoughts had run through my head, but this, this was never even a dizzy daydream.

  JD Schultz, wealthy son of one of the most powerful men in the city, proposing to me, a nobody former dance hall girl from Jersey. Never in a million years.

  Then, another thought hits me, dousing my excitement like a bucket of cold water. June West. He’s proposing to me, but not really to me at all. He’s proposing to the person he thinks I am, the person I’ve fought all my life to become. The imposter inside my skin.

  “Well, you gonna say something June? Or are you just gonna make me sit down here all night?”

  Blinking, I look down at JD’s face, grinning and excited. JD, who knows me better than anyone, yet somehow doesn’t really know me at all. I stomp down all my doubts, all the insecurities creeping through the cracks.

  “Yes,” I say, weakly at first. “Of course, yes.”

  Sliding the glove off my hand, he slips the ring onto my finger. It’s a little loose, but the band, pink, yellow, and white gold woven into a braid with a diamond set in the middle, is warm from being in his pocket and it almost hums against my skin.

  Rising to his feet, JD wraps me in his embrace, swinging me in circles until I’m too dizzy to stand on my own.

  I shake my head, forcing myself to think through the whirlwind of it all. Forcing myself to think ahead.

  “We’ll tell Dutch tonight at the club,” he cocks his head to the side. “If that’s alright with you?”

  I nod once, feeling my face droop as I examine the ring.

  “What’s wrong? Not a big enough rock for you?” then he pauses, his laughter dying. “Wait, I know what this is about.”

  My head snaps up, “You do?”

  Taking my hands in his he kisses my knuckles. “Of course, I should have thought of it before. I mean, I know I would normally ask your father’s blessing, and we’d tell your family first. I didn’t think about any of that. I didn’t think of how hard it would be for you, not having a family of your own to share this with.”

  JD had a reputation for being a bit of a cat about town before I’d come along, but once I got to know him I wondered if those rumors were just that, rumors and innuendo, because I’d never seen him behave as anything but a gentleman. Even now, his kindness steals the air from my lungs, makes guilt burn inside me. For being the son of a man like Dutch Schultz, for being second in command of a powerful family of criminals, he has a soft streak a mile wide. It’s one of the things that made me fall for him—even against my better judgement.

  I draw a heavy breath, “Curse of being an orphan, I guess.”

  He lifts my chin with a fingertip, “Well, you’ll have a family now. I mean, Dutch may not be the father-in-law you hoped for, but Masie is gonna be over the moon to finally have a sister. She already loves you like family anyway.”

  “Yeah, family,” I mutter, gnawing at my bottom lip.

  That night we arrive at the club like a couple of Hollywood starlets walking the red carpet. It’s not much of a change, JD and his sister are Manhattan royalty ever since he took the reins at this place, his father’s jazz lounge and speakeasy, and Masie became its headlining singer.

  The band is loud and despite it being a notorious watering hole, despite prohibition still firmly in effect, the music pulses loudly, as if daring anyone to try to stop our fun. It’s a small place, and it feels even smaller thanks to the crowd. The entire place is packed with bodies like sardines in a can. The who’s who of the city frequent this gin joint, and I’ve seen more than one actress or baseball player wander in, soaking up the booze and music and chaotic revelry until they were drunk with it all. Rumor had it
that even Ernest Hemmingway, that notorious journalist, had come in late one night.

  JD orders a bottle of Montebello champagne and we pop the cork at a table near the back of the room, quickly joined by a horde of hangers on.

  Pouring the bubbly into wide rim glasses, he raises a toast, “For my lovely June, the summer of my life.”

  I blush, and he offers me a sweet wink. Though he makes no official announcement yet--I’m sure he wants to tell Dutch first--but one of the flappers notices the rock and makes a comment, her eyes widening.

  “What’s this, now?” she squeals, taking my hand and showing it to her date, who whistles.

  “You finally gone soft, JD?” another jokes, slapping him on the back. “Settling down with one dame, what, did ya lose a bet?”

  I make a face at him and JD chuckles. “Oh, I think she’s the one who lost the bet here.”

  “Nonsense,” I challenge, draining my glass. “I never lose a bet.”

  “Congrats, fella.” Another says, offering a toast. “To JD and his voluntary confinement.”

  After a few more drinks JD tugs me out onto the dance floor and we break into a riotous Charleston.

  Several songs and several bottles of champagne later JD pulls me to the side. My gaze follows his and I see that Dutch has finally rolled in from the back entrance, one of his latest floozies on his arm. I’m comfortably warm, finally allowing myself to wallow in the excitement of the evening, and with just a bit of an edge thanks to all the bubbly. My face is sore from all the smiling and I massage the sides of my mouth with my thumbs, trying to force myself to sober up enough to talk to the man without falling all over myself.

  JD pushes his way through the crowd, holding his hand out for me to join him. Masie’s on stage, crooning out a soft, slow number that has all the couples hoofing it to the dance floor. We make a straight line, only stopping on occasion when JD has to pause to acknowledge someone or shake a hand.