Glitter and Gold (The Canary Club Novels Book 1)

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  Finally, after almost a week I force myself to emerge—to face the daylight. Mama is still at work, so I take the money from her drawer to do some grocery shopping. When I get home and put everything away my stomach is growling. It’s only then that I realize I haven’t eaten anything but small sandwiches and scraps for the past five days. I tie on mama’s worn out powder blue apron and set to fixing supper. The bounty is meager, potatoes and peas in a basic stew, but it smells heavenly thanks to her always well-stocked spice cabinet. Setting the tarragon and dill back in the pantry I close the door, the hinge askew enough that I have to lift and lean into it.

  By the time mama gets home, a basket of laundry tucked under one arm, I’m setting the table.

  “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise,” she says, setting down the wash and stripping off her coat and hat.

  “We haven’t had dinner together in a while,” I mutter moving the warm stew to the table.

  She catches my arm as I head back into the kitchen for the pitcher of water. “You alright, Junebug?” brushing the hair back from my face she cups my chin in one hand, “I know I hurt ya last night with what I said. I’m just lookin’ out for ya baby.”

  I nod, “I know.”

  We sit to eat and she rambles on about her last few days, all the gossip about her mistress and how she’s supposedly stepping out on her husband. She talks about the butler being fired for stealing the good silver, even though everyone knows the ner-do-well son was actually behind the theft. She talks, and I listen, all the while not listening at all.

  “So, you gonna tell me what’s got you so glum?” she asks finally, sliding her now empty bowl away.

  I frown, pushing bits of potato around with my spoon. “Just like you said, can’t count on fellas for anything.”

  Mama leans across the table, covering my hands with hers. “Baby, I never meant to make you so blue. I know I shouldn’t…” she hesitates, shaking her head. “My problems aren’t your problems. You’ve already gone further than I could have dreamed. You got good schoolin’, got yourself a fine fella who buys you nice things. Don’t let my past determine your future.”

  I stare at her for a moment, debating whether to ask about my father. I can’t help but wonder if the accusation is true, if she knew about his other family. Finally, I shake my head. It doesn’t matter, not to me. The past is the past and it can’t change anything now, can’t hurt me any more than it already has. But if she really did love him, I don’t want to cause her any more pain. I wish someone had spared me the same fate.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. When he found out the truth about me, he hit the road. Don’t know what I was thinking, reaching that high. Maybe I should just go back to dancing for tips.”

  Scooping up our bowls I stomp to the kitchen, tossing them into the sink with a clatter. Mama comes up behind me, draping her arms over my shoulders, “I’m sorry, baby. I truly am. You deserve better.”

  “I lied to him. When he asked about my family. I didn’t know how to tell him the truth so I told him my parents were dead,” I admit, my hands shaking. “I’m sorry mama. I messed things up bad this time.”

  She sighs, “Well, it doesn’t make it alright, but I understand why you did it. Lord knows I’ve done it all your life, using your daddy’s name, pretending I was your nanny to get you the better things in this world. I didn’t exactly set a great example.”

  I shake my head. Typical of her to absolve me of my sins. But even her forgiveness isn’t going to fix it this time. Maybe I will apologize. Maybe I will go to his place right now and beg for forgiveness.

  Maybe, I’ll accept any place in his life that he’s still willing to offer.

  No, as much as I love him, I don’t think I can live that way. It’s just not in me.

  A knock at the door startles me and mama pats my shoulder as she goes to check it out.

  I stay at the sink, closing my eyes and taking deep breath after deep breath, squelching the tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

  There’s an exchange of hushed words, then the door closes. “Junebug, someone’s here to see you,” she calls from the living room. Wiping my face with the edge of the apron I step out of the kitchen.

  Mama moves, turning toward me with a bouquet of daises in her hands. JD takes off his hat, holding it to his chest.

  “I’ll just pop over and have a cup of tea with Mary next door,” Mama says, offering me a pointed glance.

  “Thanks, Mama.”

  Once she’s gone, JD steps further into the house, glancing around. “Nice place.”

  One hand on my hip I snort, “It’s a dump.”

  His timing—as always—is impeccable. Just as I begin to heal, he comes to twist the knife again. I watch him with wary eyes, keeping a careful distance.

  “Reminds me of the house we lived in when I was little, before the penthouse. It’s homey.”

  The urge to run to him is strong, making the fact that I keep my feet firmly beneath me a minor miracle. I didn’t realize how magnetic he’d become to me, but looking at him now, I feel it. He walks into a room, and I’m just drawn to him by a force beyond my control. The realization makes me determined to fight against it all the harder. “How’d you find me?”

  He jerks his head, “Albert remembered the way.”

  I roll my eyes. Of course he did. “Well, you come to throw some more tables? I ain’t got much, but you’re welcome to make whatever mess you want.”

  He sighs, tossing his hat on the table near the door, “I didn’t come to fight, June.”

  I rub my neck, hoping I don’t look as haggard and weak as I feel. He’s probably here to reclaim the gifts he’s given me, to take back the few precious items he’d lavished on me in the last forty-eight months. I’ll drop them all in his lap if he demands it. “Then why are you here?”

  “Because I don’t like the way we left things.”

  I raise one eyebrow. Don’t hope, a voice warns. Don’t let yourself dare to even consider it. “Oh, you wanna stay friends, is that it? Cause I’ve got plenty of friends, JD. I don’t need another.”

  My hurt pride is like a fresh wound, and just having him here makes it ache painfully.

  “Damnit, June, why does everything have to be a battle with you?”

  I chew the inside of my cheek, considering his words before answering. “Because it always has been, my whole life. Just one fight after another.” He wouldn’t understand that, I realize. I doubt he’s ever had to fight for anyone or anything in his whole life. The thought only feeds my anger.

  “Would you just let me apologize?” he asks, crossing the room in the blink of an eye and pulling me into his arms.

  Before I know what’s happening he’s kissing me. I push him away roughly, drawing in a deep breath. Then I rush forward into his arms. He kisses my lips, neck, shoulders, even gently laying kisses on the lids of my closed eyes and the sides of my cheeks.

  “I love you, you bear cat. I love you,” he whispers over and over.

  Something inside me melts, an icy wall so carefully constructed of his cold words and cruel glares. “I was going to tell you that very morning,” I admit finally. “I wanted you to know, to lay share all my secrets with you. I just never got the chance.”

  “I don’t know where we go from here,” he admits. “But I’d like to find out, if you’re willing.”

  “I’ve got a few ideas,” I offer playfully.

  He grins and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds. Maybe it will always be like this, sunny days broken up by storms. But as long as the sun shines again, maybe I can deal with anything else that happens.

  Things fall into a sort of uncomfortable normalcy after that night. We’re back at the club most nights, JD is busy as ever and there’s talk of Dutch looking to open up a second speakeasy. JD’s excited because it will mean taking the helm of the Dry Spot on a more permanent basis. We don’t talk of marriage any more, and he doesn’t give me the ring back. It makes me a little n
ervous, but I throw myself into helping him run the club. As it turns out, I’ve got quite a knack for it. He handles the books and I deal with scheduling the staff, making the booze orders, and dealing with the weekly payouts. In his own way, I know he’s trying to show me that he trusts me. And while I appreciate it, I’d still feel better to have that ring back on my finger.

  Dutch continues ignoring me, seemingly completely oblivious to my presence even at the penthouse where I slowly begin staying again. Masie doesn’t ask any questions and I don’t offer any answers. It’s almost a month to the day later when JD shows up at the house in Jersey in the middle of the day with a bundle of roses.

  “What’s all this?” I ask, inhaling the sweet scent of pink petals.

  “I have a surprise for you, come on.” He scoops me up, carrying me and the flowers out the front door and into the back seat of his car. There’s no driver today, and I can’t help the excitement building inside me.

  This is it. My second proposal. The one that comes with no secrets or lies. The proposal that proclaims that he will accept every part of me forever. I press my lips together, fighting to tamp down the bubbling excitement.

  He hops in the front and drives toward the tunnel. The whole way he chats about the club and all the changes he wants to make now that Dutch is handing control over to him. I just listen, reveling in the bliss of what’s to come, occasionally rubbing the tender petals between my fingers. We pull up to a row of apartments a stone’s throw from Central Park. Pulling over to the curb he gets out and opens my door, holding his hand out to me.

  The entrance is a revolving door, a door man in a black and red uniform and cap stands watch as he draws me inside. We cross a giant compass inlaid in the marble and granite floor as we move toward a pair of brass elevators on the far wall. The elevator operator opens the doors for us. Everything inside shines and reflects the glowing gold light inside.

  “June, this is Rudy, the day operator,” JD introduces.

  The dark-skinned man smiles, “Miss West.”

  I smile, “It’s nice to meet you Rudy. Please, call me June.”

  He nods, “Miss June.”

  JD pulls me into his chest, drawing my attention to the needle at the top of the elevator indicating the floors. We hit 11 and stop, Rudy drawing the doors open.

  “Have a nice day,” he offers.

  As soon as he’s out of sight I whisper, unable to contain the fit of giggles bubbling to the surface, “JD, what are you up to?”

  Producing a key from his vest pocket he takes my hand, leading me to the only door in sight. I wait, chewing my bottom lip as he turns the key in the lock and it clicks open. He steps back, gesturing for me to go inside first.

  My first step echoes in the vast space. The walls are creamy white, the ceiling light blue. The room itself is massive, yet only a pink and gold paisley printed sofa with a white fur blanket draped across the back and mating chair sit in its center, a round, dark wood table between them. I spin on my toe, waiting for JD to explain.

  “Well?” he asks, a hopeful grin spreading across his face.

  I look around, “It’s very…big.”

  Now he laughs, “Big? Is that all you have to say about your new apartment?”

  I blink, sure I’ve misheard. “My apartment?”

  “Yes,” he says, stepping forward and spinning me around so he can lead me by the shoulders. “The kitchen is over there, and there are two bedrooms, in case your mother wants to come stay.”

  Breaking free of his grasp I turn. “My mother?”

  He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “I…thought you might want to bring her here at least to visit.”

  I’m so stunned that it takes me a minute to process his offer. I can’t decide whether to be flattered or outraged. Isn’t this exactly what Dutch suggested? That JD keeps me as a mistress, a plaything to keep his bed warm while he looked for a wife? When I finally look up at him, he must read the alarm in my expression because he holds up a hand.

  “I know how uncomfortable you’ve been staying at the penthouse with Dutch there. I though this might be better. A place you can make your own.”

  My place. Not ours. Not our home.

  He takes a step back, “So why are you looking at me like you’re about to throttle me?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  Stepping forward again he takes a deep breath, taking my hands in his, “I know. And I don’t want you to think this is me trying to push you away, it’s not. I just want you to be happy, June. I want to give you the world.”

  Staring into his eyes I can feel his sincerity. Dropping the bundle of flowers, I fling myself into his arms and let him kiss my doubts away.

  A few hours later I shift, stretching out on the hard floor, only the soft fur blanket between my skin and the wood. I’m not sure how long we lie there, in the calm, placid warmth of after before he finally speaks.

  “June, you know I’m crazy about you. This,” he waves his hand around, “it doesn’t have to change anything—not if you don’t want it to.”

  I sigh, rolling over until my back presses against his bare chest. I wish that were true. More than anything I wish that were true. “I was expecting a proposal, not an apartment,” I admit. “I kinda miss that ring on my finger.”

  He brushes back the hair from my face, stopping to pry the familiar ring from his pinky. Taking my hand, he slides it back on my finger, sealing it with a kiss. How had I not noticed he was wearing it before now? Had he had it on him this entire time?

  “You still wanna marry me?” I ask, suddenly feeling like a lump of clay, soft and ready to be molded.

  He tucks his chin against my shoulder, “You know I do, June, but…”

  His hesitation makes me roll to face him. “But what?”

  “My father, you know how he is. He’ll never allow it.”

  I shrug, “So we elope. Nothing he can do to stop us.”

  “He can cut me off. June, I don’t have anything of my own, not a single penny he doesn’t control. If he decided to close the wallet, what kind of life could I possible give you? What sorta future would we have then?”

  I sit up, covering myself as best as I can with the corner of the blanket which I fold over me, “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, as much as I want to, I can’t marry you. Not now. Not for a while,” he says, rolling to his knees and leaning over me to retrieve his trousers from the sofa.

  “But you just said you loved me,” I hear myself whine, holding up my ringed hand.

  “I do love you, and someday, I’ll marry you. I swear I will. But I need you to be patient,” he says, beginning to dress.

  “How patient?” I demand, my whine now more of a shrill scream. “Patient enough that Dutch forgets that I’m not white enough to marry his son? How long do you suppose that’ll take? Because I’m thinking just the other side of hell freezing over.”

  “Look, just let me put aside a little scratch. I’ll keep working at the club, I’ll skim where I can, make some dough myself, and then, when the time is right, we’ll jump ship, you and me. How does that sound?”

  I roll his words over and over in my head. He’s sincere, there’s no doubt. Always a bit of a dreamer, this one. I’d been too once, not that long ago. But our last fight is still there, too fresh inside my head to forget. The question is, is he just fooling himself into thinking he can ever escape a man like Dutch Schultz? Or would he string me along until I’m too old and worn out to catch another man’s eye, then leave me behind when he finally runs out of that seemingly endless hope for our future? Or even worse, would he let me get so tangled up in him that I lose any pride, any sense of myself I might still possess, until I’m willing to take whatever scraps he’s able to throw my way?

  He must be studying my expression because when I don’t answer he scoffs, “Really? You don’t trust me? That’s rich.”

  I grab his shirt off the sofa and lob it at him. He catche
s it with one hand. “I love you,” I scream, all my fear and frustration finally boiling over. It’s not a romantic declaration. It’s a curse.

  A curse on the both of us.

  Half-dressed he stoops back down, resting his head on my knees, “I’m not going to hide you away, June. That’s not what this is. Things will be like they’ve always been. We’ll let Dutch think that you’re just a fling if that makes him feel better. Then, someday, when I take over the business—or whatever happens—we can get hitched. Until then, is it so bad, the way things are now?”

  “You’re asking me to put my whole life on hold, to sit by the sidelines, to play the doting arm candy, and hope you do right by me eventually,” I say, forcing myself to calm.

  Rolling to his feet, he buttons his shirt and slings his jacket over his arm, “No, June, I’m telling you that this is how it has to be, if you want to be with me. I’ve told you that I love you, and I’ve told you what I’m willing to do to make it work for us. But if you aren’t willing to trust me, then, I guess this is where we part ways.”

  So that’s it, the final ultimatum. It’s this or I hit the bricks. Gathering a throw pillow from the sofa behind me, I lob it at him.

  He catches it, laughing. “I’ll take that as a maybe. Why don’t you come down to the club tonight? I’m closing the place up, we can stick around after everyone leaves and have a couple drinks.”

  “Don’t count on it,” I bark, rolling onto my side away from him.

  I wait, expecting him to beg or at least try to convince me, but when I roll back over, he’s gone and I’m alone in the darkness. Only the soft click of the door closing to announce his departure.