by Janet Fox
So. That’s when Pops got involved in the bootlegging. With Teddy’s help. I leaned back against the bench. I was weary, deep-down-in-my-bones weary, and sad. That, I’d never guessed.
Beggar man, thief.
I looked at my watch. It was almost one now. I didn’t want to read anymore at the moment. My world had already been turned upside down enough today. If I sat here another hour or so, then it would be all right to head on. The sun slipped between the leaves overhead and warmed the back of my neck, and irresistible drowsiness stole over me. I had to close my eyes, had to. I folded my hands around the journal and closed my eyes, just for a second.
The laughter of children woke me. That and a feeling that I was being watched prickling the back of my neck.
I swiveled on the bench, caught the retreating back, the blond hair in sunlight, and thought, Teddy? He vanished into the shade of the trees around a curve in the path as I sat frozen. Teddy. He was here.
My hands still clutched the journal. The nannies had returned with their charges, all gathered in their usual spot, the children running through the grass and shrieking in pleasure, scattering the birds and filling the air with happy noises. I adjusted my cloche and tucked the journal away.
As I lifted my head again, I saw Melody. She was up the path, about a hundred yards or so, sitting on a bench with her back to me as the path curved. I sat still and pulled my cloche lower over my eyes. I didn’t want her to know I was spying on her.
She was meeting her lover, I was sure of it. I looked up the path and down again, searching for the likely candidate. An elderly gentleman approached, leaning on a cane. A young man—but no, he walked right on by her, whistling, winking at me. Couples strolled by arm in arm; a woman in a boa walked her dog; pigeons fluttered and dropped. No lovers. I turned back toward Melody.
She was staring at the children. Her head turned as her eyes followed one child in particular. A tow-headed boy who ran headlong across the grass, yelling at the top of his lungs, his legs pumping, his face lit with joy. He had to be about four, maybe five. He had a familiar look, an expression….
I put my hand to my mouth. I knew.
One of the governesses stood and stretched and called, and the boy ran to her, Melody’s face turning so that her eyes could track him. The boy reached his chubby arms up for a lift, and the governess hoisted him into the sky as he laughed; then she set him down again and took his hand to walk him home.
I pressed my fingers against my lips as they walked away, retreating, as Melody’s head turned so that she could follow them with her eyes.
Oh, poor Mel.
She rose from the bench and walked briskly away in the opposite direction, back toward the apartment.
Melody did not have a lover. She had a child. A child she’d given up. A child she could watch only from afar.
Melody, the flapper, who hid her mistakes behind a veil of pleasure. I felt the tears in my eyes. The reporter from The Times had heard the rumors. Now I understood Aunt Mary’s concern: she wanted her daughter to give up the child, but Melody wouldn’t, not really. And good for you, Mel, I thought. Good for you for loving so fiercely. Melody had a child, and she couldn’t let go; her heart held on tight to the boy with blond curls who clung to the hand of a nanny, unaware his mother was only a few feet away.
And the father? Well. That was an open question.
And then…someone else greeted the nanny. Melody was long gone. Someone approached from the other direction and greeted the child with fatherly affection.
John Rushton.
John Rushton, who’d been so openly condescending toward Melody. Who treated her like she was his inferior. Rushton, who’d treated Melody like she was trash when he should have been looking in the mirror at the real villain, the villain who stole her heart, her future, and her child.
I felt nothing for him but disgust.
I sat still for a long time, until the sun tilted west and I knew I had to make my way across town or miss my opportunity. My heart broke for Melody. I despised Rushton. And Teddy—he’d known and had tried to help in his own way. This series of revelations was unexpected, so much so that I felt stunned.
But I stirred myself. Now I really had to go. My timing was critical.
I walked down the streets that were alive with midafternoon activity, feeling more nervous with every step. What if Charlie rejected me, turned me away, told me he couldn’t help? I had no other options.
It was a long enough walk that I had plenty of time to worry. I stopped in front of the Algonquin and tugged on the ends of my gloves. Well. We’ll see just what Charlie O’Keefe thinks of me now.
CHAPTER 37
Lou
So, Detective. Now you see the point, don’t you? No? Then keep listening, sweetheart. Remember what I said about coincidence?
That afternoon, after my night in the Algonquin suite, I saw her.
“Hang on a minute, Sam.”
I turned right around in the backseat. I figured she wouldn’t notice me watching her through the Packard window. ’Cause there she was, like right out of a nightmare, standing in front of the hotel with a suitcase in her hot little hand.
I couldn’t help it; my eyes got watery, and my throat sported a lump the size of a baseball.
I’d spent a night in the suite instead of going back to the mansion after a long day of shopping. Danny had sent Sam to fetch me out of the hotel. Sam made it clear that I needed to get a move on, Danny wanted me home.
That was so unusual that as soon as I saw her standing there I was sure Danny was moving her into the suite in the Algonquin in my place.
Okay, so maybe he was putting her there so he could come in and give her the business over Teddy, or maybe she’d gone there to see Charlie. But carrying a suitcase? That meant only one thing, the green-eyed monster yelled in my head. Danny was starting something with Jo, and the baseball in my throat grew to the size of a watermelon. And then darker thoughts began to tickle my brain.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said to Sam. “And can we take a drive once we reach the island? I want to walk on the ocean side. Put my toes in some real ocean water.”
“Mr. Connor, he said—”
“I know, Sam. But I need a walk, first. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”
“Sure, Miss Louise.”
Good old Sam. Little did he know what I was conspiring, there, in the backseat of the limo.
Yeah, I know, Detective, but like I said. Thinking ain’t the same as doing.
CHAPTER 38
JUNE 6, 1925
A woman in the 1920s “knows that it is her American, her twentieth-century birthright to emerge from a creature of instinct into a full-fledged individual who is capable of molding her own life. And in this respect she holds that she is becoming man’s equal.”
—Dorothy Dunbar Bromley, “Feminist—New Style,” Harper’s Monthly Magazine, October 1927
Jo
I made my way through the grand lobby, feeling smaller with every step. I was not here under Louie’s wing; the valise I’d borrowed was worn; the dress I’d chosen, a longish dark gray shift with a dropped waist, was about a year out of style. No one was looking at me as near as I could tell, but I felt as though every eye followed me, disapproving, reading my intentions, whispering behind gloved fingers.
How much more disapproving they would be if they knew what I was about to ask of a single young man.
I stopped at the entrance to the Rose Room. It was clear that Jacques didn’t recognize me.
“Yes?” he asked, with barely a glance up from his worksheet.
“A table for one, please.”
“You are here for lunch?”
“Tea. And something to eat.”
He looked me up and down, his eyebrows raised in disdain, then escorted me to a table, leaving me at once to attend to other matters.
Charlie was in his usual spot, but I couldn’t see him well, as I’d been seated at the far side of the room
and two fat pillars stood between the Round Table and me. I ordered tea and cakes and kept my eyes and ears open; I couldn’t afford to have Charlie slip away.
I worried that I was there too late, but after finishing what I’d been served I saw that I’d eaten too quickly.
“Anything else, miss?” the waiter asked.
“No,” I answered.
“I’ll bring the check straightaway.”
Then I would have to leave. Long before I could get to Charlie. “Wait,” I said. “I’d like some soda water.”
He nodded, looking troubled, then leaned forward. “We don’t allow alcohol here, miss,” he whispered.
“What?” I was stunned that he’d thought I wanted a drink.
“In case you’ve got a flask.” He pointed at my leg, and I realized he thought my long skirt might hide a garter with a tucked-in flask. Asking for soda water was the cue, as Melody had told me.
I pulled myself upright. “I have no flask,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
His eyes widened, and he said, fast, “Sorry, miss. It’s just, you know.” He nodded his head toward the Round Table, again populated by all men, who again were jovial and, I wagered, drinking alcohol. “We’re not supposed to let it happen, but there are certain types who can get away with…” His voice trailed off, and he left to fetch my soda water.
“Certain types.” I had a clear feeling that “certain types”—men—could get away with just about anything. But that a woman alone was suspect. Despite the suffrage, despite the rise of the flapper, despite the fact that women could work, could live independent lives, despite our being able to fling off corsets and adopt comfortable clothing, despite all our modern conveniences, not much had changed for women. Melody, in her rant of a couple of weeks earlier, was right. Nothing had really changed.
Melody had to give up her child. Louie had to give up her soul. What did I have to give up?
In a way, I realized, Pops had the right idea. Marriage, a good marriage, was still the only option available to girls like me. Ma, Aunt Mary, they’d made their marriages their careers. For a girl who didn’t marry, at least not straight out of high school, what other prospect was there?
Something shifted in me in that moment. I’d always been so sure that if I thought something through I’d be right, and I’d always thought I knew which side to choose—the right side. But everything came in shades of gray. Everything and everyone. The guys Teddy met and lost in France. The immigrants with their dreams just off the boat. Pops and his desire for riches. John Rushton and his brother. Melody and her child. Lou and Danny Connor.
Even me, Josephine Anne Winter. My life was not planned clear and simple; it was not written down. There were no magic formulas to follow. Adding “a” and “b” would not necessarily lead to “c”. If I was to get anywhere in this life, I would have to take risks; I’d have to face the fires. I’d have to be willing to be wrong.
I had to ask Charlie for his help, but I wasn’t going to be ashamed of it. Maybe a flapper wasn’t just a “floozie,” as Pops would say.
And maybe I was turning into a flapper, and that was just fine. Maybe a flapper was a girl who could stand up for herself and admit she didn’t know it all.
When the waiter came back with my soda water, I stopped him. “I need to get a message to my cousin,” I said, nodding my head in Charlie’s direction. “I have to meet him when his shift is over.”
The waiter relaxed into a smile. “You’re Charlie’s cousin? Why didn’t you say so? Sure. What’s the message?”
I told him and watched as he crossed the dining room, watched as he whispered in Charlie’s ear, watched as he pointed in my direction. Charlie’s face lifted toward me, and my heart did a little fluttery dance as I met his dark but unsmiling eyes.
Then I sipped my soda water slowly, feeling both relief and a new kind of anxiety at what Charlie would say.
He wasn’t done until after five, and I’d depleted much of my meager stash of money ordering a second soda water. I hadn’t dared take out the journal and read it in public, now that I knew what it might contain. Charlie came and sat down at my table.
“Your cousin, eh? Well, I guess that’s better than being your enemy.” He was tense but not unkind. “Let’s go. We can sit in the lobby—there’s a nice quiet corner.”
The corner was occupied by two great soft chairs pulled close. Our conversation was muffled by the thick carpeting and drooping potted plants. Charlie and I sat facing each other, knees just touching. He leaned toward me. “Okay, Jo.”
“First of all, I’m sorry. I thought you had something to do with it. With the break-in.”
He smiled almost at once, relief flooding his features. “Oh. Okay.”
“I thought you were in Danny Connor’s pocket.”
He tensed again. “I’m not. But…”
“What?” I felt my mouth go dry.
“I thought you were gone for good.”
I swallowed. “I’m sorry,” I repeated.
“Sure.” He looked at his hands, flexed his fingers. “I tried to put you out of my mind. I asked Connor for help.”
I couldn’t speak.
“So he did. He got me a job. A big one. Full-time musician at a place that pays big. I’ll be a headliner.”
“Oh! That’s great, Charlie. Really. That’s what you want.”
“Yeah.” He looked at the floor. “Trouble is, it’s in Chicago.”
“Oh,” I said again. And again, “Oh.”
Charlie looked at me. “But now you’re here.”
I swallowed hard.
“You came back. I thought you were done with me. You know, because I’m just a waiter…trying to be a musician…just some guy. Some guy you thought had double-crossed you.”
“Charlie,” I started.
He interrupted. “Look, I leave at the end of the week.”
The end of the week. “You’re not just some guy to me, Charlie. I like you.”
He lifted his face, and his dark eyes bored into me. “You do?”
I nodded.
“Really?”
I nodded again.
“Because you, you’re better than me, you know.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m not, Charlie. I’ve been all wrong about things.” My cheeks felt like they were on fire. “So wrong I need your help.”
Something flicked across his face, but then he said, “What do you need?”
“I need help finding a place to stay.”
His eyebrows shot skyward. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I had to leave. I was afraid for my aunt and uncle and cousins. My being there, it put them in danger.” I hadn’t told Charlie about the fire; now I related the whole story.
“Jo—why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” He looked angry.
“It wasn’t until the break-in that I really began to believe it all wasn’t an accident. That I might be the target.”
“Why?” His eyes searched my face, and his hand reached for mine.
I hesitated. I had to trust him, but I still told him only part of it. “I have something of my brother’s that everyone seems to want.”
“I see.” He searched my face. “Can I ask what it is?”
“His journal. Charlie, it may have some information that Danny Connor won’t like.”
Charlie leaned back, pulling his hands away. “Won’t like because…”
“I’m not certain yet. But John Rushton thinks Teddy might have implicated Danny Connor in the 1920 Wall Street bombing.”
Charlie let out a low whistle. He leaned his head back and studied the ceiling. Then he shook his head. “You said ‘might have.’ Do you know for sure? Have you read the whole thing?”
“Not yet.”
He leaned forward again. “I can’t believe it. Connor’s no angel, that’s for sure, but that bombing? Nah. No way.”
“But Teddy did work for him. And Teddy was a believer, at least for a while.”
> Charlie nodded. “I remember when I met Teddy. It was when Louie took up with Danny.” He pursed his lips. “I was fifteen, and kind of not connected with the real world. One day Louie and I lived in a pretty bad place downtown. The next we lived in this hotel, and then in the mansion, the one you’ve seen, out on the Island.” He looked down at his hands, working his fingers together. “It wasn’t real clear to me what Lou had to give up for me, you know. I didn’t get it back then. She made sure I kept going to school. She had to grow up way before—”
“I know, Charlie. She’s told me. She’s all right with it.”
“That’s because she loves Danny. She believes in him.”
“But that doesn’t mean he’s a good guy. That doesn’t mean he isn’t involved in the bombings.”
“I don’t buy it. You know, I think he’s too worried about his reputation to get mixed up in that. He wants to be seen as the Irish savior.”
“All I know is he and several other people want to get their hands on this journal, and that makes me a target. So I need to find a place to stay.” I looked at my hands, knotting them together in my lap, with my knees pressed tight. “My own home is gone, and I don’t know this city as well as you do.”
Charlie leaned forward again. “I’ve got a great idea. Trust me.”
I looked up into his dark eyes.
He smiled. “Trust me, Jo. I’ll treat you with respect like I would my own sister. Even if I’m glad you aren’t.”
Charlie walked me straight to one of the ladies-only hotels in Midtown, saying he could vouch for it. He pressed a twenty into my palm and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Then he waited outside while I went in.
The matron looked me up and down, and I could hear the word “flapper” hanging in the air, but I paid for a week up front, gave her my best schoolgirl smile and polite speech, and she let me take a room. It was spotless and right next to the bath.
I settled in for a few minutes, then found Charlie outside. He was leaning against a lamppost. At the sight of his wolfish body my heart gave a quick leap, and when he saw me and smiled it did a little dance right in my chest.
