The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

  Chapter 1

  February 1925

  If there was only one thing Mimi Waters was good at, it was getting me to do things I wouldn’t normally do.

  She was waving a golden tube of lipstick under my nose, saying, “Come on, just try it! I’ll show you how to do it and everything, just try it. Please? I promise it’s the bee’s knees, Hazel MacClare. You’ll love it.”

  I’m sure I will. “I don’t know, Mimi,” I said hesitantly, refusing to take the lipstick that was still being waved in front of my face. “What if my mother sees me wearing it? She’ll have kittens! She’ll think I’m a…flapper.” I whispered the last word, afraid someone would overhear even though I knew Mimi’s mother wasn’t home and her maid was downstairs in the kitchen.

  Mimi laughed, a rich, infectious sound that pulled a smile to my lips and had me fighting not to join in.

  She couldn’t have cared less if anyone accused her of being a flapper. She was one. But I knew her mother wasn’t thrilled—her dark expression every time she looked at Mimi told me everything. But Mimi—whether she had her mother’s approval or not—did exactly as she pleased.

  “Oh, Hazel,” Mimi cried, laughing and waving her hand at me. “No one cares at all about that sort of thing anymore.” She fluffed her bobbed hair proudly before adding, “You wouldn’t believe how many girls have their hair bobbed now. I don’t know why you don’t join the fun.”

  As she smoothed the edges of her glossy, curled black hair down around her chin, she grinned widely at me and then laughed again.

  Mimi looked almost exactly like Clara Bow—bobbed hair, round, rouged cheeks, thin eyebrows angled towards her temples and lips painted red and shaped like a cherub. Her pale green dress was low-cut and stopped just below her knees. She wore no stockings, which I found more than a little scandalous. I couldn’t imagine going out without them on.

  “You know I’ve got that concert at the end of the summer,” I reminded her, still gazing up at her. “What do you think they would do I just waltzed in there with my hair cut off? And never mind my mama! She’d disown me in a heartbeat.”

  “Then you could live here,” Mimi said without missing a beat as she finally lowered the lipstick. Her lips quirked a little. “We have a spare room. I’m sure my mother wouldn’t mind.”

  I frowned slightly, momentarily distracted. “A spare room? But what about Leah?”

  Mimi’s eyes widened a little at the mention of her sister, but then she shrugged and said, “We’ve just heard that she’ll be gone for longer than we thought. Apparently her illness is severe.”

  My frown deepened but not wanting to doubt my friend, I let the subject drop and eyed the tube of lipstick still clasped between Mimi’s hands.

  Her grin, I noticed, was back when she saw what I was looking at and she promptly uncapped it, saying, “Just this once! We can take it right off, I promise.”

  “Oh, alright,” I relented with a heavy sigh, making Mimi squeal with delight. Then I raised a finger and sternly added, “But you’re doing it and you’re making sure it comes completely off before I go home. Understood? I can’t let Mama see me with lipstick on.”

  She bobbed her head eagerly, her wide grin splitting her face.

  When she was finished, I stared at myself in the mirror.

  My lips were red as a cherry and looked smaller and plumper than they usually did. Half of me never wanted to know what I would look like dressed as a flapper; the other half was desperate to see it.

  I hadn’t fully understood the appeal of being a flapper, not even when Mimi debuted her cropped hair last month. But as I stared at my vibrantly painted lips, I could almost understand. Almost.

  Mimi rested her hip against her vanity, rolling the capped lipstick between her dainty, bejeweled hands.

  “You know,” she began slowly, her tone casual as she kept her eyes on the lipstick, “I can show you what you’re missing.”

  I tore my eyes away from my reflection to gape up at her, unsure if I was terrified or thrilled at what she was proposing.

  “Oh, come with me!” Mimi said in a rush, pushing off the vanity and clasping her hands before her, pleading. “For just one night, Hazel, please. It’ll be fun, I promise! I know the best joints, the best drinks. Just this once?”

  I eyed her distrustfully.

  Looking back at my reflection in the mirror, my mouth capturing my full attention, I said, “Trying makeup seems innocent enough, but going to clubs?”I shook my head. “That’s just too risky for me.”

  I thought of the meeting I had the following day with the director at Carnegie Hall and my stomach flipped with nerves. I couldn’t jeopardize my concert.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t been curious,” Mimi said with a roll of her wide, brown eyes. “And I know you’ve known I go since I cut my hair.”

  “I did know,” I admitted, finally getting to my feet and meeting her gaze. “But that doesn’t make it alright. It’s illegal and if the police ever raid the speakeasy…” I trailed off, worry gnawing at me. “You’d be thrown in jail. You’ll be in the papers! Do you want that? You’d be the gossip at the dinner parties like Clementine Gibson was when she ran off with that singer from Harlem.”

  Mimi shrugged, a sly grin on her face. For some reason, it made my stomach lurch.

  “But I know where we can go where we won’t get caught,” she assured me, tapping her button nose, a knowing gleam in her eye. “I know the joint the senators and congressmen go. I’ve seen them there with their mistresses. It’s their club and they wouldn’t dare let the police raid it.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked with a slight frown though excitement was building up inside me. I wanted to go. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I wanted to know why my mother forbade me from listening to jazz music. I wanted to know everything.

  Grinning ever wider, Mimi simply said, “Come with me and find out.”

  Yes. “No,” I said firmly, shaking my head. I had my musical career to think about and I refused to risk it on a silly desire to be a flapper for a night. “No. Now help me take this off. I’m going home.”

  “Going one time isn’t going to tarnish your shiny reputation,” Mimi said as I got to my feet and began looking for a cloth to take the lipstick off. “All you have to do is go once and you’ll never have to go again. We’ll leave and I’ll never ask again. We can pretend like it never happened.”

  And if I do like it? Pausing in my search, I whirled around to glare at her.

  “And why do you want me to go with you?” I demanded, sounding angrier than I intended. I quickly checked my tone and forced myself to sound calmer as I asked, “Why would you ask me to risk everything for one night of illegal drinking?”

  She shrugged, looking mildly disconcerted at my outburst.

  “I get lonely sometimes,” she confessed in a small voice and I felt my willpower against her weakening. “It’d be nice to know someone for once.”

  “Surely you’ve met someone since you’ve started going?” I raised my eyebrows in inquiry and Mimi gave me a guilty look.

  “Well, yes,” she admitted sheepishly. “I’ve met some people.” Then her eyes lit up and she said, “There’s this one fellow and he plays the saxophone.” She let out a tiny sigh and I tried to ignore the strange bite of jealousy I got at her words. “He’s wonderful, Hazel. If you go with me, I can introduce him to you!”

  I was becoming irritated at both Mimi and myself. Why couldn’t I just tell her no and walk away?

  Pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes, I said, “I have to go to Carnegie Hall in the morning. The director asked to speak with me.” I lowered my hand and opened my eyes, fixing her with a burning stare. “I cannot affo
rd to get arrested at a speakeasy.”

  “But I promise it won’t get raided,” Mimi reassured me, reaching out and grabbing my hands. I tried to ignore the little skip my heart did at the touch and worked, instead, on breaking free from her grasp. “They go there, too! Why would they raid their own club?”

  Hands finally free, I shrugged then renewed my efforts in searching for a cloth. “I suppose it would make themselves look good. Now help me take this lipstick off. I’m going home.”

  But to either my dismay or pleasure, Mimi dropped into the now vacant vanity stool, crossed her legs and folded her arms over her chest, jaw set.

  Oh no. Dread filled me. I knew that look and that meant that Mimi was about to get her way. As usual.

  A wicked grin spread across her face as my shoulders sagged in defeat.

  Leaping to her feet, she promptly shoved me back down into the stool and said, “Let’s get you dolled up, Hazel MacClare. You’re going dancing.”

  I pulled uselessly at the low neckline of the borrowed dress, desperately wishing it were higher, but the dress refused to oblige and I was left feeling absurdly exposed. I bowed my head against the frigid wind and pulled my coat tighter around me as I trailed after Mimi.

  “I look ridiculous,” I said crossly as Mimi led the way towards the speakeasy.

  The streets were still fairly crowded despite the late hour and I could feel the curious stares of the colored people as we walked past them. I wanted to curl in on myself and beg Mimi to take us home, to tell her that we weren’t supposed to be in Harlem, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

  “No you don’t,” she replied dismissively without looking back at me. “You look wonderful. Now let’s hurry.”

  We had gotten a taxi from her house on Seventy-Fifth Street and she had had the driver drop up off in Harlem, a few blocks from the club. Or so Mimi had claimed. To me, it felt as though the streets were only getting longer and our destination further with each step we took.

  “It’s under a barber shop,” Mimi told me, sounding slightly breathless as we hurried along the sidewalk. “It’s not small, but it does still manage to get crowded. It’s a favorite with our people.”

  “Well, what does the owner sell?” I wondered, irritated as we crossed yet another street. “Liquid gold?”

  Mimi laughed then abruptly turned right, bounded down a narrow set of stairs and disappeared into the darkness below where I could hear the faint sounds of Harlem’s staple jazz much.

  I paused uncertainly at the top of the stairs, hand clutching the cold wrought iron railing, just barely able to make out Mimi’s slight form as she knocked out a five-note pattern on the door. Then, looking up, I saw the dark windows of the barber’s shop above me and understanding dawned on me.

  “Ah,” I said aloud as the door below opened, bathing Mimi in a warm light.

  “Hazel,” Mimi said excitedly, looking back and beckoning me forward. “Come on!”

  With some reluctance, I stepped slowly down the stairs and followed Mimi inside, unsure of what to expect. But I was pleasantly surprised with how inviting and cozy the club looked.

  The room was dimly lit with brass wall-sconces adorning the dark, wood-paneled walls. The ceiling was low with wooden crossbeams running its length. There were no paintings, only photographs of people that I assumed were past patrons. I swore I saw a picture of Gloria Swanson by the door, but then Mimi grabbed my hand and pulled me onwards.

  It was just as crowded as Mimi said it would be, with scantily clad women draping themselves over finely dressed men and dancing madly to the music. Everywhere I looked, I saw a familiar face, people I danced with at parties and sat across at dinners. It surprised me to see so many faces I recognized, despite Mimi’s comments earlier saying that this was a club for our people.

  I spotted Edith Crabtree and Mabel Hill, frequent attendees of my mother’s parties, sitting with a couple of young men I recognized but couldn’t remember their names near the bar.

  Quickly turning my head so that they wouldn’t spot me, I then ducked under the cloud of cigarette smoke hovering above me and followed Mimi towards a round, empty table beside a row of booths.

  The music, though loud, was not unpleasant. A good portion of the patrons were out on the floor and, given the way Mimi was tapping her fingers on the table, I sensed she wished she was out there, too.

  “Right, what would you like to drink?” Mimi asked, voice raised above the music and chatter. “As your first alcoholic beverage, I feel it only right to get you the best.”

  I shrugged, completely overwhelmed by it all. I didn’t know where to look or what to think. There were people kissing and hanging on to one another. Women were wearing dresses shorter and lower cut than the one I was wearing and had men touching every inch of bare skin they could reach. None of them seem to notice me or how out of place I was, which made me feel only slightly better.

  “Get whatever you think is best,” I said when I realized she was staring expectantly at me.

  And just like that, Mimi was gone, disappearing into the crowds and leaving me struggling to take in the club alone.

  The ladies were gorgeous, the men handsome. All of them were dressed in the finest clothes New York had to offer. With them barely sparing me a second glance, the knot of unease in my stomach that had tightened upon first entering the club loosened slightly and I was able to sit a little more relaxed in the chair as I looked around the room.

  Mimi was right, I observed as a woman dressed in a long, dark blue sequined dress sauntered by, a handsome, olive-skinned man with slicked back, shiny black hair on her arm. The patrons were our people. High class, snobbish tarts and ruddy-faced, crisply dressed old bores. And they would do whatever it took to keep their world secure. This speakeasy would never fall.

  Mimi finally returned nearly ten minutes later, two cocktail glasses filled with orange liquid topped off with a slice of orange in hand.

  She slid neatly into her seat and pushed one of the glasses towards me.

  “Drink up,” she said, raising her glass and staring pointedly at mine.

  I did as I was told and took a sip.

  It was absolutely revolting and I set it back down immediately while, across from me, Mimi downed half of hers. Then she glanced at me, an impish smile on her face, and smacked her lips appreciatively.

  “Delicious,” she said and I pulled a face.

  “I think I’ll stick to coffee and tea,” I remarked, pushing the drink towards her, eyeing it with disgust, which made Mimi laugh.

  “It’s not that bad,” Mimi insisted. “Compared to the others, this one’s actually quite good.”

  “I’m afraid to know what the other taste like, then,” I said, scrunching my nose in distaste as Mimi downed the rest of hers. “What is it called, anyways?”

  She wiped her mouth daintily with a napkin that I hadn’t noticed she had before she set her glass aside and leaned against the table. Her dark eyes were on the other people in the room, as if she was looking for someone in particular.

  “It’s called a sidecar,” she finally answered, looking back to me. I didn’t miss the disappointed look on face before she wiped it away with a dazzling smile. “The others, as I said, aren’t terrible, but this is the best one. At least, I think it is.” She nodded towards several of the well-dressed men across the way from us. “They’re senators and they choose the drink this joint is famous for.”

  I waited for her answer, but when she wasn’t forthcoming, I prompted her.

  “Scottish whiskey,” she finally said. “It costs a fortune for the owner to ship it over from Scotland. But his patrons are politicians and that’s what they like. So long as they keep the wrong police off his scent and the harbor clear, they can get whatever they want.”

  Curious, I asked, “But how, exactly, does he get away with it? Surely there are some police officers were actually uphold the law and would arrest him?”

  Mimi looked pensively around the room,
her finger running idly along the rim of the cocktail glass as she stared at the politicians across from us. “They do. But they have to tell their superiors, who also happen to come here every once in a while. No matter how hard those righteous officers try, they just can’t seem to pin him down.” There was a note of derision in her voice then, without warning, she was laughing so hard that tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks and, subsequently, began smearing her makeup.

  Aware of the unwelcome attention she was drawing from those nearby, including the blue sequined woman and olive-skinned man, I tried to quiet her down but was entirely unsuccessful. Only when I threatened to leave did she finally stop.

  Mimi wiped gracefully at her tearstained eyes that were bright with mirth and said, “Alright, I’ll tell you the joke some other time.” She pointed to my unfinished drink and asked, “Are you going to finish it?”

  When I shook my head, she snatched it up and quickly drained it.

  Once my sidecar was gone, Mimi sat the empty glass back down then got to her feet, her expression expectant as she looked down at me, hand outstretched.

  I forced myself to ignore the flutter in my chest as she said, “Come on. Let’s dance, shall we?”

  I wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about dancing in front of everyone, especially when the only dances I knew how to do were ones meant for more formal occasions, like at the Brown’s Christmas Ball. All the same, I allowed Mimi to drag me out into the dancing crowds and, together, we got lost in the music just like everyone else.

  I would never have admitted it aloud, not to anyone, but I was enjoying myself far more than I had ever expected to. I didn’t want to leave and when Mimi took us back to our table after what felt like hours, my feet aching and heart racing, laughter on my lips, I nearly said so. But then she disappeared briefly and returned with more drinks: another sidecar for her and, to my immense relief, a glass of water for me.

  As she took her seat, I watched her eyes scan the club, linger on the man behind us, before coming back to me, where she fixed me with a wide smile.

  “Golly, tonight’s been fun,” Mimi exclaimed as she fanned herself. She then lifted her sidecar to her lips and took a sip. “And coming here isn’t too terrible, is it?”