I almost thought that perhaps Mimi wasn’t in, but I could hear the faint sounds of a gramophone playing so, without giving myself time to think about it, I tested the door handle—and found it unlocked.
Pushing the door open, I called out for Mimi, and when she didn’t answer, I closed the door behind me and tentatively started up the stairs.
Standing outside Mimi’s door, listening to the gramophone playing faintly behind the closed door, I lifted my hand and knocked softly.
“Mimi?” I called out. “It’s Hazel. Are you alright?”
When I got no response, I put my hand on the handle but didn’t open the door.
“Can I come in?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Stepping into the room, I closed the door softly behind me and inched slowly towards her bed.
She was lying on her side with her back to me, curled up in a ball. She sniffled and I realized immediately that she was crying.
“Mimi?” I said hesitantly.
“Yes?” Her voice was strangled sounding and, still, she did not face me.
I kept myself at a distance as I asked, “Are you alright? Has something to your mother?” I thought of her sister Leah, who was still out in the countryside, recuperating from a bad illness that had left her close to dead. “Is it Leah?”
Mimi let out a short burst of laughter then sighed heavily before falling silent once again.
“Can you tell me at all?” I pressed, lowering myself down onto the edge of her bed. I thought about putting my hand on her shoulder in a show of solidarity against whatever was upsetting her, but thought better of it. Instead, I placed my hand in my lap and waited for her answer.
Finally, she sighed again and, back still to me, said, “I can’t tell you a single thing. And even if I did, you wouldn’t believe me. I can’t really believe it myself.”
“You can tell me anything,” I assured her.
She laughed again and, finally, rolled to face me.
Her face was swollen and red from crying, her mascara running down her face. Her usually slick black hair was mussed and tangled and I swore I saw the shadow of a bruise on her jaw, but then she tilted her head down and I decided that it had simply been a trick of the light.
“I really can’t,” she said, her voice emotionless. There were fresh, unshed tears in her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. She dropped her eyes and picked at a thread on the bodice of her dress.
“Have you gotten bad news or something?” I asked, desperate for answer. I wanted to help her, to ease whatever was troubling her. It was almost physically painful for me to see her in such a state. I had never seen her so quiet and depressed before. This wasn’t the Mimi I knew and loved at all.
In response, she heaved another great sigh and I feared she would start crying again, but instead, she bobbed her head mutely.
Not saying a word as I watched a few tears leak from her eyes, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my handkerchief, handing it over wordlessly.
She took it gratefully and dabbed daintily at her eyes, as if that would help keep her ruined mascara from running even more.
Not allowing myself time to think about it, I asked, “Would you like to go out tonight? We can stay out as long as you like.”
Mimi perked up immediately, fixing me with a disbelieving half-smile.
“Really?” she asked as she handed the soiled handkerchief back and I nodded, teeth gritted as I thought of everything that could go wrong if we were caught.
But to my surprise, while I was still anxious about the club getting raided and Mimi and I getting arrested for being there, I was actually eager to go back. I enjoyed the music and watching people dancing and having fun. I even (though I wasn’t sure I could admit it aloud) enjoyed the alcohol.
Then her face fell and her lower lip was trembling with suppressed emotion.
“We can’t go there,” she said in a small voice, dropping her eyes again.
“Why not?” I wanted to know.
She looked at me, though she barely lifted her gaze to do so.
“I’ve had a bit of a… disagreement with the owner,” she explained hesitantly before quickly adding, “But that’s all I’m saying on the matter, so don’t ask me.”
“Then is there some place else we can?” I asked and she nodded, her excitement returning.
“There’s this place down in Lower Manhattan called the Red Clover,” Mimi told me, sniffling slightly. I almost pulled my handkerchief back out but she used the back of her hand instead to wipe her nose. “I’ve only been there once before, but it’s the cat’s pajamas and the only other place I’d go.”
Not pressing the issue about the other club and its owner, I nodded once then got to my feet, hand extended to her.
“Shall we get ready, then?” I asked her and a broad smile lit up her tear-stained face.
Mimi took my hand and I pulled her to her feet.
“I’m making you look like a real flapper tonight, Hazel MacClare,” she warned me, pulling me towards her messy wardrobe where dresses were hanging lopsided on the hangers and lying at the bottom of the wardrobe, spilling out onto the floor below.
I balked, worry creasing my brow.
“You aren’t going to cut my hair, are you?” I asked, terrified.
Mimi laughed, a genuine sound that warmed me.
“Golly, no!” she cried, still giggling. “I don’t want to incur Mama MacClare’s wrath!”
I allowed her to sit me down in front of her vanity and get to work on making me look like a genuine flapper.
By the time she was done, the sun was setting across the rooftops of the city, turning the sky a burnt orange as a few brave stars began popping out along the skyline.
“There,” she said when I had pulled on the pale pink sequined dress she had let me borrow and a long gold necklace that glittered with rubies. “All you need is a headband, but there are a few left in Leah’s old room. There’s some that’ll match your outfit perfectly, just wait here.” And then she was gone, leaving me to wonder about the girl in the mirror staring back at me.
She certainly wasn’t me, with her dark hair curled and pinned up into a faux bob, or with the dark kohl and mascara smudging her brown eyes. Her cherry red lips were smaller than mine and even her eyebrows were different than my own, looking thinner and longer. The cheeks were rounded with a great deal of rouge that I was half-tempted to wipe off but resisted.
Mimi returned a few moments later in a whirl, holding a slim golden headband that, without warning, she slid into place.
“Now it’s time for me to get ready,” Mimi said as she sat before her mirror and fixed herself up. “We’re gonna be the envy of everyone tonight, Hazel MacClare. All the boy’s are gonna wanna dance with us!”
I laughed a little with embarrassment as heat crept into my cheeks at her words.
After Mimi donned a black and red beaded dress and slipped into her shoes, she paused one final time to check her lipstick before she stuck the tube in her handbag and snapped it shut.
By the time we arrived at the Red Clover, the sky was inky black and the nightlife of the city was flooding the streets.
Chapter 4
The Red Clover was hidden beneath an old bookstore and was a great deal smaller than the one Mimi usually took me too. There was something more comforting and homely about the Red Clover, though, I observed as Mimi and I settled down at a table near the stage. It was currently empty, but it was early still, so I knew the band would be coming out soon.
“The drinks here aren’t quite as good as at the golden sparrow, but they’ll do,” Mimi remarked before getting to her feet and disappearing, leaving me to wonder what exactly a golden sparrow was.
She returned several minutes later, drinks in hand, just as the band appeared on the stage.
“Your drink,” she announced, pushing the cocktail towards me. “Enjoy.”
“Mimi,” I said and she looked at me expectantly. “What’s a go
lden sparrow?”
Mimi looked momentarily surprised before she threw her head back and laughed heartily.
“Golly, didn’t I tell you the other club’s name?” she asked when she had sobered a little and I shook my head. “Oh, well, the Golden Sparrow is the other club.”
“And why couldn’t we go there tonight?”I asked and Mimi’s expression darkened slightly.
Biting her lower lip, it took her a long moment to respond and, by then, the band had struck up a lively tune.
“We’ve had a bit of a… disagreement, the owner and me,” Mimi explained. “I didn’t think it’d be a good idea if I saw him tonight, that’s all.”
I almost laughed. Why on earth would the owner bother with Mimi? I asked myself and nearly asked her, but thought better of it when I remembered her crying earlier. Whatever it was, it was obviously serious.
“I didn’t realize you and the owner were that close,” I said instead.
Mimi snorted. “We aren’t terribly close. But I do speak to him quite a lot.” She ran a finger over a diamond encrusted ring on her right hand almost absentmindedly. “When I do, though, he’s usually nice. It’s how I know so much, you know?” She looked at me then I saw the sadness deep in her eyes.
She fell silent then and I took a few sips of my sidecar, listening to the band rather than pressing her for more information.
To my surprise, however, she broke her silence by saying in a quiet voice, “He’d be hanged if they ever caught him.”
I frowned deeply, momentarily confused. “Who would they hang?”
Mimi looked up at me, her eyes wide and almost unseeing. But then she blinked and focused on my face. “The owner. He’s a terrible man and he’d be in an awful lot of trouble if they ever caught him.”
“But he’s just a bootlegger, isn’t he?” I wondered and I didn’t miss the dark cloud that passed over her face. “Why would they hang a bootlegger? Surely he would just get thrown into prison like all the rest of them?”
Mimi shook her head, her lips pinched into a thin line. She looked as though she was having some internal struggle with herself. But then she sighed, gave herself a dismissive shrug, and said, “There’s a lot he has to do to keep his business going. They’re things that aren’t legal, like getting information out of potential rivals. And then he’s gotta deal with his enemies and the like. He pays off a great many powerful people to keep their hunting dogs off his scent and there are quite a few policemen he offers discounts to for keeping the harbor clear for him to import his whiskey. It isn’t pretty or right, what he does, but he’s gotta do it.”
“So he’s dangerous,” I said slowly, understanding dawning on me. And she was clearly around him often enough to know all of this.
The band struck up a new song with a fast beat that sounded more like Irish than Harlem’s usual sound, but I ignored them, my mind focused on Mimi and the bootlegger.
Mimi nodded fervently at my words as she dug around in her handbag for her lipstick. “He is. I wouldn’t dare think of crossing him if I could help it.”
She pulled out her lipstick and a compact mirror to reapply her fading lipstick before she jumped a chair to sit next to me.
“Hold still.”
With deft hands, she fixed my own lipstick before capping it and replacing it in her handbag and moving back to her chair.
I considered her words as she watched the band perform. I remembered her crying, her reluctance to tell me what had been the cause of it, and horror and dread filled me as I suddenly understood.
“Are you… are you helping him?” I asked and her head jerked in my direction, eyes wide with a little too much feigned ignorance.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice taking on a higher octave, which only happened when she was trying to lie.
“You said you had gotten into a disagreement with the owner,” I reminded her, jabbing my finger at her. “Why would you even know who he was unless you were helping him?”
Mimi scoffed and waved her hand dismissively at me. “I argue with a lot of people, Hazel. He isn’t anything special.”
“Then tell me his name.”
Mimi stiffened and pulled her handbag closer to her. “No,” she said.
My eyebrows rose in query. “Why not? If he’s just a common bootlegger whose hands are maybe a little dirtier than the rest, surely you can tell me?”
“And have you send the police after him?” Mimi shook her head, looking furious. “I don’t think so.”
I sighed then, mostly in an attempt to diffuse the situation and show Mimi that I wasn’t trying to attack her for information. “You know that if anything happens to you, I’ll never forgive you?”
My heart squeezed painfully at the very thought.
To my surprise, Mimi’s dark mood was gone as she laughed, her face lit up with genuine humor. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Hazel MacClare. You’re gonna be stuck with me forever.”
“Good,” I said fiercely.
Turning in her seat to get a better look at the band on stage, Mimi took a moment before letting out a cry of glee, making me jump.
“Ooh, they were at the Golden Sparrow last week!” she exclaimed as I the main singer began a slow tune. “They’re wonderful.”
I wasn’t impressed, but I also hadn’t really been listening to them.
“Who are they?” I asked her.
“The Corcoran Brothers’,” Mimi answered. “They only sang for about an hour last week, but that singer? Ooh, he’s got a voice like honey.”
I grinned then really listened.
She was right, I noticed as the singer crooned away. He did have an amazing voice. And the music itself wasn’t so bad, once I got past how strange it sounded. It was a mixture of Irish melodies and jazz tunes. Oddly, it worked.
He was quiet handsome, too, I thought idly. They all were, with their blond hair and tall, proud statures.
By the time they had finished up their performance, Mimi and I had drank our way through two sidecars and were working on our third. My head was beginning to spin a little, but I didn’t think I would lose my balance if I stood. To my chagrin, however, Mimi waved the brothers’ over when they stepped off the stage.
They obliged, though I watched two of the five members disappear into the crowd as another band took the Corcoran Brothers’ place. The other three approached our table with expressions that ranged from nervous to apprehensive to arrogant.
My eyes had met the singers’ and, to my surprise, he turned pink and looked away quickly.
Mimi had moved her chair so that we were now brushing shoulders and the other two drew up chairs from a nearby table and sat down across from us. The main singer was much slower and, as he took the chair beside me, was careful to keep a sizable distance between the two of us. He was practically in the other’s lap.
“Golly, what a treat,” Mimi crowed, bumping into my shoulder and smiling conspiratorially at me. “The Corcoran Brothers’ are sitting with us.”
“Mimi,” I warned in a low voice. “Don’t.”
“Ah, it’s alright,” the one beside Mimi said with a good-natured grin. His was accent was thick and I struggled to understand him. It took every ounce of concentration I had to make out his words. “I’m Liam. These are my brothers, Connor and Frankie.”
Connor smirked, leaning back comfortably in his chair while Frankie, who was the one sitting beside me, quickly looked down at the table, cheeks flaming red.
Connor clapped him on the back, almost sending him face-first into the table.
“I’m Mimi.” She beamed widely at Liam, who grinned crookedly back, before jabbing her finger into my arm. “This is Hazel.”
“Ow!” I cried, offended as I rubbed at the sore spot vigorously. “That hurt.”
Mimi waved me off then leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table as she asked, “Do you play a lot?”
“Sometimes,” he replied. “And then sometimes, we go weeks with nothing.
We haven’t gotten any permanent place to perform, so it’s a bit hard.”
“Don’t worry,” she told him bracingly. “You’ll be recording songs and being played on every gramophone in America before you know it.”
Connor seemed to really like that idea and even offered to buy us a round of drinks, which Mimi immediately accepted while I turned him down.
“I think I’ve had enough for one night,” I told him, but he kept pestering me.
“Just get her one and if she doesn’t drink it, I will,” Mimi said after several minutes of me telling him no. It was infuriating that he didn’t seem to comprehend what that word meant.
Connor shot me a smirk and got to his feet with Liam following after him.
“I’ve just seen someone I haven’t spoken to in ages,” Mimi said abruptly. “I’ll be right back.”
And then she, too, was gone, leaving me alone with Frankie, who looked as though he wished he could be anywhere else than sitting at that table with me.
“So…” I picked at a deep, jagged scar on the table. “You did really well up there.”
Frankie looked at me for the first time since sitting down.
“Thanks,” he said after a long, awkward moment.
“I play the piano,” I blurted and Frankie seemed genuinely interested. “But I’m sure you do, too.”
“I don’t, actually,” he said. “Liam knows how to play, though. He’s pretty good.”
“Does he have any favorites?” I wondered and he shrugged.
“That’s something you’d have to ask him,” Frankie said, turning pink again. “I don’t know a thing about composers.”
“Why didn’t you ever learn?” I wondered. “Surely your brother wouldn’t have minded teaching you.”
“He didn’t,” Frankie admitted, “but I don’t have the skill for it.” He held up his hands, looking sheepish. “They aren’t nimble enough.”
The Golden Sparrow Page 5
