Sirens

by Janet Fox

  I made my way slowly through the vast hallways, up marble staircases, twisting and turning; it was such a huge place, it was easy to get lost. Teddy almost always took me to the same gallery. Now it was up to me to see if I could figure out why, and what it was he wanted me to understand.

  We had often lingered before the paintings of Winslow Homer. Boats, the ocean, tropical scenes, beaches, fishing. Placid and restful, in pale washes of sand beige and teal blue, soft clouds, soft features, these paintings were meditative.

  I sat now in the gallery for over an hour, thinking about our last visit to the Met.

  “I love the water, Josie,” Teddy had said.

  “Why?”

  He’d looked at me. “Maybe I should be more clear. I love these scenes of the water, not just any place.” His eyes grew clouded. “I’ve seen the ocean look very different.”

  “When you were on your way over there, you mean?”

  “On my way back.” His eyes still had that gray cast. I wanted to bring back the blue, the blue of his eyes like the blue seas in Homer’s paintings.

  I took his hand. “I’m glad you’re home, Teddy.”

  He looked at me as if he didn’t know me and said, “Sometimes, you know, I can’t figure out what’s right. I’m just not sure anymore.” Teddy stared like he was seeing straight through me. “Maybe someday, Jo, you’ll have to do something for me. It’ll be the right thing, I promise. Okay?”

  I couldn’t say anything; I didn’t understand. As far as I was concerned, right was right.

  And then the storm passed, and his eyes cleared, and he took me for ice cream.

  Teddy loved these Homer paintings. Maybe it was just that these scenes seem so peaceful. Was that all it was?

  I wandered through the museum until about three in the afternoon or so, and decided there was no harm in walking back to the apartment down Fifth and through the park.

  Teddy had been in trouble. When he disappeared, I was the only one he’d confided in. Everyone thought Teddy died, killed himself, drowned in the ocean. Only I was sure—and Danny Connor believed—he was still alive.

  I walked in the shade of the trees in Central Park, pigeons cooing around me. It was a still day, silent except for those pigeons, warm but not hot. A soft breeze rustled the leaves above my head; the city noises disappeared; the grass smelled sweet and green. I had stepped into another world, still and calm, like the world in Homer’s paintings.

  I was down around Sixtieth or so when I saw Melody up ahead, in about the same place I lost her last time, only now she was heading downtown, like she was on her way back to the apartment. I paused.

  What was Melody doing, spending every afternoon, as near as I could tell, in or around Central Park?

  And then it dawned on me, and instantly I was sure I was right: she had a lover. That had to be it. That was why Teddy took her out of town. Melody was seeing someone, and it wasn’t a happy romance or she wouldn’t have been so upset all the time. Maybe he was a married man, someone her parents wouldn’t approve of. A star-crossed love would explain everything.

  I followed her but at a distance. She stopped at the apartment entrance and talked to Ed, and then walked on, downtown and to the east. I was about three minutes behind her.

  “Hey, Ed.”

  He looked visibly relieved to see me. “So glad you’re back, Miss Josephine. Did you enjoy the museum?”

  “I did.” I decided to fish. “Anything new around here? I thought I saw Melody just now.”

  “Miss Melody went over to Lexington to do a bit of shopping. But there is someone waiting upstairs.”

  I groaned. “Mr. Rushton?”

  “Not this time, miss. It’s Miss Louise O’Keefe. I believe she is a friend of Miss Melody’s.”

  “But…didn’t Melody want to see her, then?” An odd feeling grew in me.

  “Miss O’Keefe asked if she could wait for you.” Ed’s smile faltered. “I hope I did the right thing, letting her in. I didn’t see the harm.”

  “No,” I assured him, “no harm. Thanks, Ed.”

  Louie was leafing through a glossy magazine in the living room. “Jo!” She bounced up as I came in.

  “Hi, Louie.”

  “Sorry about last time, okay? You know, out at the mansion.” She watched me, those big dark eyes like searchlights.

  “Sure. Me, too.” I forced a smile.

  “Listen, honey. I’m here on a mission. From Danny.”

  “Danny?” My muscles tightened.

  “Okay, so don’t interrupt, I gotta remember the exact words.” She paused and went on as if reciting. “He wants you to know that he’ll do whatever it takes. He heard about that business, and that’s what he said, though he didn’t tell me what business. But he said, Gee, it was too bad, that business. And he wants you to know—and this is what he told me—that he’s ready to step in. To help you. That’s what he said.” She paused. “He also said I should tell you that the two weeks are almost up.”

  I stared at her, silent.

  She pushed a curl behind her ear. “I’m just delivering a message, doll.” Her eyes didn’t move away from my face.

  “Fine.” I sank into a chair. Danny was threatening me directly. Now that Pops was gone, it was all up to me.

  “Fine?” Lou asked. She twisted her pearls around her finger. She hadn’t yet removed her gloves; she hadn’t thought she’d be staying. I could tell what Louie was asking me, underneath her message.

  I tried my most serious, earnest tone. “Lou. Listen. I have no interest in Danny Connor. I give you my word.”

  She was quiet for a minute before she gave a small laugh. “No problem, hon.” Then a smile broadened on her face. “So. Let’s go do something, just us gals. Let’s go out…wait a sec. I know. Shall we go surprise my brother?”

  “Charlie?” Now my heart beat a little faster. “Where?”

  “At the Algonquin. Waddaya say?”

  It was my turn to smile.

  CHAPTER 31

  Lou

  I’m a patient person.

  I didn’t believe a word of what she said, natch. Who would believe that a girl like Jo could have no interest in Danny Connor? But I was willing to play along, ’cause that would make it easier for me in the end.

  When Danny told me to go get her, take her out on the town, I asked him, “Why?”

  “I don’t need to explain myself, Louise. Sam will drive you in.”

  I ran the bracelet around and around my wrist. “Sweetie, why don’t you come along?”

  He looked at me with those stormy ocean eyes of his. “I have things to do here. I’d like you to have an evening off.”

  I got it. He wanted me out of the house. At least he wanted me out of the house and in the company of that Jo Winter, so I knew he wasn’t going sniffing around her back door. “Okay, hon. Do you want me to stay at the Algonquin, then?”

  Danny hesitated. “That might not be a bad idea.” Then he leaned over and kissed me something wicked. “But I’ll miss you.”

  Oh, my pounding heart. Whoever said love can’t kill? I thought I might melt away right there.

  I remember thinking, Jo Winter, you watch your step. There’s no chance I’m letting you take my man away from me, not a teeny-tiny chance.

  Thinking is not a crime, buster, remember that.

  CHAPTER 32

  JUNE 1, 1925

  There was music from my neighbor’s house through the summer nights. In his blue gardens men and girls came and went among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.

  —F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, 1925

  Jo

  “I need to change my clothes before I go anywhere,” I said. The walk downtown from the Metropolitan had me feeling limp and bedraggled.

  Lou shrugged and checked the clock. “No hurry. Charlie’s there until five.”

  She followed me into my bedroom, and kicked off her shoes and flopped across my bed, resting her chin on her hands. The childli
ke gesture made me pause. I asked without thinking, “How old are you?”

  “Me? I’m twenty-one.”

  I stood, one hand on the closet door, stunned. “Twenty-one! I thought you were at least Melody’s age. Maybe older.”

  She gave that throaty laugh. “Yeah, I know. I look older. Or, more like, I act older. Well, I’ve seen my share. Our parents died when Charlie and me were kids. I was fifteen. I kind of raised him.”

  “I’m sorry.” Fifteen. At fifteen, I was daydreaming about the romantic heroes of the books I read, like Mr. Rochester or Mr. Darcy. I never thought I’d meet a real Moll Flanders. At this thought, my stomach gave a lurch, and I ached for Louie. For what she must have put up with, or had to endure.

  She went on. “It was a little rough. I mean, I had the neighborhood: the old people who sat outside and looked after things, the others who gave us food and whatnot. They were kind of an extended family. We were all Irish in this New York neighborhood, all together. But really it was just us, Charlie and me, until I found Danny. Then he took care of things.” She turned over on her back and stared up at the ceiling. “Now Danny takes care of every little thing for me and my brother.”

  I watched her in silence, chewing my lip.

  She turned her head. “It’s okay, doll. Really. Now, what are you wearing?”

  I pulled a little peach silk chemise from the closet. She nodded and waved her hand. “Go.”

  I headed for the bathroom. “I’m going to shower. I’ll be fast.”

  “Take your time,” she called.

  After twenty minutes or so I came out, toweling my hair, dressed. Louie was standing at the closet door. “Nice rags.”

  “Melody gave me all of these dresses and things. Her hand-me-downs. They are nice, aren’t they?”

  Louie nodded. She picked up a pair of shoes while I put on what little makeup I had. I watched in the mirror as she wandered to my dresser and began idly opening the drawers. “Mind if I snoop?”

  I was there in an instant. “Yes.” Teddy’s scarf, and its contents, still lay in the bottom drawer.

  Louie looked at me in surprise. “Sorry.” She shrugged. “I was just, you know….” Her eyes betrayed hurt.

  But I didn’t move.

  She went back and sat on the bed, looking down at her hands. “I’m sorry. I get so little girl time, you know? Danny, he keeps me in tow. I was tickled pink when he asked me to come here.” She paused and looked up at me. “I kinda felt right off that we could be, you know, friends.” Her eyes, big and round, welled.

  I went and sat next to her. “It’s just…. Don’t worry about it.” I patted her arm. “I know we could be friends.” Did I? I wanted a friend….

  She smiled. “Really? Okay. That’s great.” She raised her eyebrows. “You ready?”

  “Sure.”

  We went down in the elevator together, and when we reached the lobby, I stopped. “Darn! I forgot my purse.”

  “You don’t need money,” Lou said, marching toward the door, swinging her own beaded purse from its drawstrings. “I’ll take care of all that. Or rather, Danny will.” She laughed.

  “I just want it, you know,” I lied. “It has my lipstick and stuff. Things. Wait here a sec, okay?”

  “Want me to go back up with you?” She stopped dead and looked at me, as if she knew what I was up to.

  “No, no. I’ll be right back.”

  It took me only a couple of minutes. I made Joey wait—with the door closed—until I finished. I gave Lou a big smile when I got back down to the lobby. I really did hope we could be friends. It was just that I still had to protect Teddy. I still had to keep my promise.

  And I couldn’t let on to Louie what was really going on, not just yet, not until I was sure about her. I could not let on that I might still need to play along with Connor.

  I knew that Louise O’Keefe might understand that kind of sacrifice. But I also knew she would never forgive.

  Louie leaned toward me, grabbing my arm, as we walked into the Algonquin lobby and stood gawking. People swirled about us, dressed in the latest and most expensive fashion. A woman with a feathered hat pulled her small dog on a leash through the lobby, the dog in a fast trot. A couple snugged against the concierge desk, and I watched his hand slip along her waist as she pulled closer to him. A man in a hat pushed back off his forehead slouched inside one of the telephone booths, his cigarette bouncing on his lips as he talked into the receiver.

  Louie whispered, “Danny got Charlie this job. Danny knows the manager. Okay, so he knows everyone. He’s even got a suite upstairs. Anyhow, when Charlie needed something besides his music, you know, something that might really pay the bills, I asked, and Danny answered.” I looked at her; she shrugged. “Like I said, he’s been really good to me. To Charlie and me. Which is what counts.”

  We walked toward the dining room. The parquet made a tap-tap sound under my feet; the carpets muffled all noise.

  “Hello, Miss Louise.” The maître d’ gave a small half bow.

  “How’s everything today, Jacques?” she asked. She pronounced it “Jack.”

  He nodded toward the corner. “Charles is working out just fine. Would you like a table?”

  Louie leaned closer to him. “We’d like a table somewhere hidden. You know, where we can spy on him.” She looked at me and winked.

  “Certainly.” He led us to a table behind a square oak column from which we could peek over at the group in the corner of the Rose Room. As we walked by Lou leaned toward me and whispered in my ear that the writers of the Round Table had nicknamed themselves the “Vicious Circle.” She giggled, clapping her hand over her mouth and staggering. “Vicious,” she repeated. “Don’t they look it?”

  The Round Table group consisted of all men today, none of whom I recognized from the last time, and they were having a fine time, laughing, smoking, drinking, and looking anything but vicious and all seeming to talk at once. Though it was late afternoon yet, and a public place, I assumed from the gaiety and loose behavior that alcohol was involved in those tall glasses, although it might have been tea. These were my idols. But I had eyes for only one person in the room, which brought my brain to a standstill while my heart galloped on.

  Charlie O’Keefe.

  He wore his waiter’s uniform—white shirt, black pants, a half apron—and leaned back against the wall, his large dark eyes tracking everything that happened at his table, waiting to respond. He reminded me of a cat, coiled and ready. He was strong and capable. I sucked in air.

  Lou touched my arm. “Jo?” She began to giggle. “You’re not looking at those Round Table types, are you.”

  I pursed my lips, suppressing a giggle of my own. “No, I’m not.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” Louie sat back, a grin crossing her face. One soft auburn curl peeked out from her cloche and met the corner of her lip. “Josephine Winter likes my little brother.”

  The rush of heat from my throat ran right up into my cheeks. “I guess so.”

  “You guess so? Honey, I’d say you were smitten.”

  I shrugged and stared down at my hands, trembling but folded neatly on the white tablecloth.

  Louie leaned over to me. “I’m thrilled. Now we can be like sisters.” Her eyes shone; I thought about how she feared that I might go after Danny, and I was glad.

  I grinned and then looked again at Charlie, who was filling water glasses, moving carefully between chairs. But he sensed my eyes on him; he raised his head and stared back at me and kept pouring, watching Lou and me, until one of the patrons shouted “Hey!” as water topped the glass and drenched the table. Charlie went to work at once, apologizing, mopping, removing offending linens, while Louie and I dissolved into helpless laughter and the Round Table patrons decided it was time to abandon their refuge.

  Poor Charlie.

  Or, at least, I thought it was “poor Charlie,” until I saw that his guests weren’t truly upset; one of the men slipped him a folded bill and another clapped him o
n the back, while a third, passing our table, said, sotto voce, “I’d have dumped the pitcher, too,” and tipped his hat to us with a grin, saying, “Ladies.”

  Once the Round Table crowd left, Charlie’s stint was finished for the day, and he changed out of his apron and arrived at our table just as we finished our order of tea and petits fours.

  He was flush with good cheer. I looked away as he sat down, pulling over a chair so he could join us. I tried not to let him see my eyes; they’d reveal everything I felt, including how wrong I felt for mistrusting him.

  “Hi, Jo!” he said. “What a nifty coincidence.”

  Louie dissolved into another fit of giggles. I rested my forehead on my palm.

  “Have you two been drinking?” Charlie asked, appalled.

  “No,” Louie answered.

  “Of course not!” I replied at the same time. At which point I had to pinch myself to keep from laughing out loud.

  Charlie looked bemused and shook his head.

  Louie collected herself. “Charlie, Jo hasn’t been around town since she’s come to live in the city. I’m betting she hasn’t seen the real New York with the eyes of a grown-up. I was thinking: let’s give her a tour of Broadway. Maybe we could take in a show.”

  “Excellent!” Charlie said, and he reached over and covered my hand with his own.

  My eyes met Charlie’s then, and my smile met his, and my heart—well, it’s impossible for me to say what his heart did, but mine was thumping like a drum. His warm hand rested on mine for what seemed like forever. I didn’t want to believe, at that moment, that he’d choose loyalty to Danny over me.

  There were tons of shows to choose from, but in the end we went to a magic act by that magician, Howard Thurston, at Louie’s urging.

  Right off the bat, I was kind of shaken. The posters showed Thurston holding a skull, surrounded by ghosts and nasty-looking devils, and the question: DO THE SPIRITS RETURN? I thought of Teddy right away.

  Which was most peculiar seeing as Teddy was not a ghost. Not dead, really. Only pretending.