Speak Easy, Speak Love

by McKelle George

  Well. Claude was rather more astute than he let on.

  Claude laughed tightly. “If I were her, I’d certainly consider that some dago mobster with a rum business was more useful than a prep graduate from Lancaster,” he said. “Though I’m useful, too, I guess, when she wants to go to luncheons and beach parties. We’re all useful, little tools in her box that she can call upon at will. You know that, don’t you, Prince?”

  “That’s enough,” said Prince, voice flatter than flat.

  “Look here.” Claude strode off the porch, passing between Benedick and Prince. “I watched him go into her room with my own eyes.”

  He disappeared around the corner. After a beat of grudging hesitation, Benedick went, too. Prince, taut as a rope, came up by his shoulder. The window to Hero’s room was lit, and to Claude’s credit, two shadows moved just past the gauzy curtain. One with John’s slick hair and one with Hero’s bob.

  “I told you,” said Claude. “I said it, and there he is.”

  “Get off your high horse,” said Benedick. “Even if that is John up there with Hero, they could be talking about anything. She could be setting him straight after threatening you, for all you know.” He froze as the pair of shadows moved together. Before he could gather the brains to suggest they go inside, the vague silhouettes had pressed together in something that very much resembled kissing.

  Damn, damn . . .

  “Prince, come on,” Benedick said desperately, anything to stop him from watching this. Too late. Prince’s eyes were unblinking, absorbing the devastation like a sponge.

  And then a moan slid out the still-open window and slithered over the grass toward them like a poisonous snake to bite Prince in the heart.

  Claude choked on a breath, then clenched his teeth.

  Benedick grabbed him by the shirt and pulled at Prince, who stumbled easily, following as Benedick dragged them both around the house and into the foyer.

  “All right, let’s not think anything rash,” Benedick said. “Let’s all . . .”

  He wasn’t sure what to say.

  For a moment no one said anything, no one even appeared to be breathing, and then Prince was up the stairs, moving quickly, considering his injury.

  “Wait, Prince.” Benedick chased after him, Claude following close behind. “Just let it be.”

  But as they approached, John burst out the door, looking recently kissed, from his slightly swollen mouth to his rumpled collar. Hero followed seconds after, trying to grab his sleeve. “John, please wait, don’t just—”

  They both froze. John turned positively scarlet at the sight of Prince in front of him. Hero tugged on her nightgown. “Oh. Boys. Hello, fancy meeting you here.”

  The tension in the hallway grew solid and flexed its muscles. Benedick’s hands opened, as if he might need to catch something.

  “What . . .” Prince spoke first.

  Hero huffed a little breath. Whatever she was going to say, John stopped her with a warning look. “Don’t,” he said.

  A spark of outrage lit in her eyes but cooled a second later, as if she’d overturned a rock and found a snake. “How could you?” she said quietly. “How can you just leave?”

  John’s expression remained like granite. He jerked his jacket in place and moved away from her. Benedick braced himself, but Prince, who’d looked keen to slug his brother in the face, now bore an uncanny resemblance to glass recently in contact with a hammer. He stepped back, out of John’s path.

  Claude was less acquiescent. Perhaps because John glanced at him, his expression so blatantly knowing and unapologetic, Claude made the mistake of grabbing him by the arm. “Now, see here, you bastard—” The voice of an imperious king.

  John’s arm was free, and Claude was knocked back first into the wall before he could finish his sentence. Benedick darted forward at the same time as Prince. Benedick braced Claude upright as his eyes fluttered dizzily. Prince barricaded himself in front of his brother.

  “Enough!” Hero snapped. “For God’s sake, what has gotten into all of you?” She hurried toward Claude first. “Oh, you big dumb darling. We’ve got ice downstairs. John, if you please, you’re no longer welcome.”

  Benedick inwardly cringed to hear her voice change. She addressed Claude as a beloved pet and John as an adult with adult problems like hers.

  Claude shook himself off. “I don’t need any ice,” he said thickly, and stalked off to his room.

  Hero didn’t go after him. She rubbed one temple, glanced back at her room. “Can you take care of this?” she asked Prince, fluttering a distracted hand, then disappeared through her door.

  For those living in a speakeasy, rough mornings were par for the course. Yet out of a very impressive roster, this one claimed the championship without breaking a sweat. The mood around the breakfast table was dreary the way swimming pools were wet. A tide of fresh misery swept over the table when Hero, all bedroom eyes and bedroom hair, a pale pink dressing gown barely hanging on her shoulders, shuffled in and plopped into her seat with a yawn..

  Last night Benedick had brought Claude the ice he’d refused and tried to cheer the poor sap up. The gist of his heartache: He’d hoped, after such declarations on his part, after such kisses and so on and so forth . . . But that wild girl had kept her heart to herself, while taking all of his. Claude had decided to take his broken heart and return to the Vanderbilts, who would welcome him with open arms and crustless sandwiches and suntans, and he wished Hero every future happiness. As any true gentleman would.

  Prince, on the other hand, when Benedick had gone looking for him, had pretended to be asleep with such stubbornness Benedick had let him be.

  Beatrice noticed the change in the room after Hero sat down; of course she did. Benedick had almost knocked on her door last night for no reason except a strange certainty that any problem would feel less heavy with her around. She lifted an eyebrow at him in question. He shook his head at her: I’ll tell you later.

  Only Uncle Leo, enthusiastically going after his biscuits and gravy, seemed unaffected. He swallowed a large bite and eyed each of them. “We’re a quiet bunch this morning! Isn’t anyone excited for the party tonight? Maggie, you look half ready to cry into your coffee.”

  “Oh, I—” She straightened, made a valiant attempt to smile. “I’m nervous, is all. My audition is tonight.”

  “Audition? Tonight?” Leo set down his fork. “Maggie Hughes, you won’t be singing?”

  Maggie became intensely interested in her breakfast. “Not this time, no.”

  Leo frowned. “You’ll stick around for the toast before you leave at least?”

  “I can’t.” Maggie was practically whispering. “I’ll miss my train—”

  Claude stood up so quickly, the rest of her sentence stuttered to silence. “I’m leaving as well,” he said, kicking his chair out. “I already called for a cab.”

  “But—” Hero struggled to speak. “What about—”

  “Something rather important has come up.” Claude adjusted his vest. “Everything is paid for. I hope you enjoy the party, at my expense, and have a wonderful birthday, Miss Stahr.” He walked out of the room.

  Hero blinked, then glanced at Prince, her usual habit in moments of confusion or distress. Prince remained quiet, his expression so callous Benedick winced. He couldn’t recall the last time Prince had so much as frowned at Hero.

  Hero flinched and pressed a hand to her chest as if someone had torn out her heart and kicked it viciously across the room.

  Prince stood. “I had a bad night,” he said, barely audible. “I think I need a walk before enduring the coming festivities.”

  “Prince,” Hero said, rising to follow. He not only didn’t acknowledge her but moved deliberately faster to get out of the room.

  Don’t do it, Benedick thought, but of course Hero went after him. Benedick sighed and set down his fork. He caught up just as Hero grabbed Prince’s shoulder and spun him toward her. He turned, hiding the pain of the move
ment, only to press back against the wall as if standing too close to her would burn him.

  Beatrice came to stand beside Benedick. “What’s going on?” she whispered. Benedick reached for her arm, a request to wait, a promise to tell.

  Hero crossed her arms. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “I said I was tired.”

  “But you . . .” Hero trailed off, blushing, rather than admit she expected him to come to her defense.

  “I’m allowed not to bend over for you for one morning without the world collapsing,” Prince said. He wouldn’t look at her.

  She took a deep breath. “But it’s more than that—”

  “I don’t know, Hero. I really don’t,” Prince said. “If you can’t figure it out on your own, I can’t help you.”

  “Would you at least—”

  “No!” His hands flew up in disgust. He sighed, turning away. “Stop treating me like—like a tool you can whip out whenever you need a problem fixed.”

  “Prince?” The gentleness of her voice was worse than her frustration. His eyes widened; then his whole expression shadowed and grew teeth.

  Benedick jumped in before he could bite. “Prince, I know Maggie would appreciate a ride to the train station, and I’m a garbage driver.” He tugged Prince toward the door. “Let me talk to Claude. I’m sure he’s only tired. Or his parents caught up to him.”

  “Fine.” Hero grabbed Beatrice’s arm and pulled her in the same fashion toward the stairs. “I’ve got my own list of things to do. None of them involve boys. Maybe we’ll see you at the party; maybe we won’t. Come on, Beatrice.”

  Beatrice looked back at Benedick over her shoulder, getting farther away by the second. She lifted her shoulder apologetically. Benedick waved. Stupidly. It was just that knowing she existed somehow gave him a curious sense of center in this otherwise crumbling ruin of a day.

  CHAPTER 27

  LOVE ME! WHY?

  If Hero minded Claude’s absence, she hid it behind the important goal of looking, as she put it, as murderously devastating as possible. “It’s my birthday, isn’t it? Mama’d go to the damn party, and so will I.” They bathed and powdered, then helped Maggie dress up for her audition and waved her off at the train station.

  At least, since Claude was hosting the party (or had been?), there were actual caterers to set up the food on pristine white tablecloths, decorators to arrange the massive bundles of gardenias, Hero’s favorite flower.

  There was a harpist, along with a string quartet, Claude’s solution to Maggie’s absence. They had to lug Hey Nonny Nonny’s beat-up piano out of the way to make room for the harp, and Beatrice was surprised to discover a bit of resentment toward the collared gentleman who sat behind it, where Tommy had once pounded out jazz. Maggie deserved the biggest stage with the biggest spotlight, and that wasn’t Hey Nonny Nonny; but Beatrice missed her.

  By the time she and Hero went down to the party together, the drive was filled with cars. Hero looked the way she always did, which was to say, no working candles for a mile around. Her red hair, faded to a rich auburn, had been coiffed so perfectly the curved ends on her pale cheeks appeared sculpted. A jewel-studded band sat behind her ears, an intricate brooch on one side. The pearls on her neck and wrist were incandescent with her ivory dress. Beatrice was amazed at how quickly Hero seemed to refind that inner zest.

  “Are you ready?” asked Hero at the door.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “I can hardly take my eyes off you.”

  “Soon as we find a mirror, that will change.”

  Beatrice’s dress was her own for once: a simple Sunday gown that had been her mother’s. It was barely recognizable after Hero got done chopping off most of the top and all of the sleeves and shearing an open line up the seam. The hem hit Beatrice’s calves except for a slit up the right side that went past her knee. Beatrice brought her hands up to her bare shoulders and wished for a shawl. Hero said it would ruin the effect, though Beatrice wasn’t sure what effect she was meant to be giving off. Her hair remained the same stubborn curly length, but Hero had parted it on the side and arranged it in ripples over Beatrice’s ears, in a way that almost looked bobbed.

  Hey Nonny Nonny had been polished to a shine, draped in white sheathes of fabric and flowers. The basement was full of people. Beatrice heard, “My word, Beatrice!” and turned to see Uncle Leo and the boys waiting not far off from the entrance, waiting for them probably. She tried not to be too offended at his surprise.

  Behind him, both boys were dressed in shiny tuxes. Prince looked a little rumpled, but grand, his cravat shifted to the left, while Benedick looked as if he’d come out of the womb in a tux. Only after Uncle Leo said her name did Benedick even react, as if he hadn’t recognized her. His narrowed eyes blinked, and his face slackened, as if an invisible hand had reached over and plucked the muscle control from his brain.

  Prince let out a low whistle. “Wow,” he said, “you look . . . lovely.”

  Instead of curtsying, Beatrice dipped into an old stage man’s bow, and everyone laughed. Except Benedick, who said, “You look great, too, Hero.”

  That went without saying, and Hero’s smile said as much.

  “As divine as your mother,” said Uncle Leo.

  “Thanks, Papa. Too bad for you boys”—Hero linked her arm in Beatrice’s—“I’m not sure we can be tempted to keep any male company tonight. Isn’t that right, Bea?”

  Keeping male company was not typically something that swayed Beatrice either way, but in the space of her silence, Prince made a little scoffing noise. Hero prickled, the arm around Beatrice’s squeezing so hard she felt as if it might pop off.

  “And neither of us is very impressed by the present offerings,” Hero added, pulling Beatrice away. Now Benedick frowned, too, and Beatrice thought maybe for a minute she might sneak away. One of the offerings didn’t seem so bad.

  Beatrice didn’t recognize most of the faces in their journey across the room. Vanilla beer served at the bar and champagne passed around in crystal flutes. Everything smelled of perfume and gossip.

  Hero went into it like a lioness.

  Nothing soothed a battered ego like a nice salt bath of admiration after all. “You know, this will be more fun without some tiresome date hanging on my arm,” she said, gaining steam. “I can do as I please—”

  Claude appeared in the center of the room, flute in one hand, the other extended, as though he were onstage about to begin his act. Hero’s arrival was his cue. He looked distinguished and breathtakingly handsome in his suit. He raised a hand and instantly had the room’s attention. In that moment it was easy to picture him as a future politician. “Ladies and gentleman, our guest of honor has arrived. Welcome again to Miss Hero Stahr’s eighteenth birthday soiree. I’m your host and Miss Stahr’s latest devotee.”

  The word latest carried an edge. He was smiling, but something about his congeniality felt wrong to Beatrice.

  As the crowd clapped and cheered, Claude held out a hand to Hero. “You are going to dance with me, aren’t you, love?”

  “I don’t know what to say.” And it was clear she was talking about more than his offer to dance.

  “As long as it isn’t no, I don’t care much what you say.”

  That fast she took his hand, and Beatrice moved out of the way. Men. Fickle as the weather . . . She craned her head around, looking for Benedick. He’d know what was going on.

  “Any boys catch your fancy, Beatrice?”

  She turned. Uncle Leo winked.

  “My fancy is notoriously hard to catch,” she said. “You look handsome, Uncle Leo.”

  “You flatter an old man. Looking for someone?” He caught her eyes wandering past him. She blushed, especially when he made a show of coughing and tipped his head toward the far corner of the room, where Benedick and Prince stood together. “Anna and I tried not to play favorites with the boys, but it was no secret I had a soft spot for Prince, and Anna just adored Ben.”

/>   “Did she?”

  “When she got sick, he spent hours at her bedside, telling her stories. Sometimes it was the only thing she’d listen to.”

  “He must have loved her, too.”

  “You can’t tell at first glance,” Uncle Leo said, “but he is one of the most tenderhearted boys I know.” And then he wandered on without giving her a chance to respond. What do I care for the softness of his heart? she might have asked if Uncle Leo had let her. What do I care for his heart at all?

  A thought that left her rather unbalanced, her presumably logical and scientific mind spluttering, and then, out of nowhere, came a blessed distraction in the form of Conrade Minsky helping himself to the peach-apple punch.

  She strode over and tapped his shoulder. “You rat.”

  He turned. “Miss Clark. We meet again.”

  “You underhanded rapscallion.”

  “Yes, that’s what I thought you called me.”

  “I’m positive we didn’t invite you.”

  “I never received my gold-embossed card, no,” he said. Like Benedick, he looked perfectly at ease in his snazzy clothes. “But I happened to run into Mr. Blaine earlier today at the train station, on his way to Rhode Island. I thought it was a shame to let a few hurt feelings ruin a good birthday party.”

  He paused. Beatrice waited nonchalantly, as if she knew exactly whose feelings had been hurt and over what. “And you convinced him to return, your good deed done for the day? I suppose it doesn’t hurt that you were able to weasel in here under Claude’s arm.”

  “You continue to wound. All I want is a dance with you. Or maybe two, if you enjoy it the first time.”

  “You seem very confident that I will.”

  “Think however you like.” His teeth flashed in a brief grin.

  “I always do.”

  He lifted the small dance card from her wrist and looked over his choices. “The two-step,” he mused, “by ‘That Mysterious Rag.’ That sounds like a dance for us, doesn’t it?”

  “Careful how you throw around that pronoun.”