Ingenue (7 page)

Getting in trouble with Puccini—no, no, no, Lorraine did not want that. Puccini had only hired someone as young as Lorraine because he was an old friend of Ernesto Macharelli, Carlito’s father and the right-hand man to Al Capone. Puccini did
not
know about Carlito and Lorraine’s plan regarding Gloria and Jerome. It was Lorraine’s job to make sure things stayed that way. If Puccini found out about Tony’s murder, it would get back to Ernesto. And Carlito had made it clear to Lorraine that he wanted to keep his slipup from his father most of all.

Lorraine swallowed hard. “No, Puccini. It’s not.”

He gave that a moment to sink in, then showed off those yellowish teeth once again in what was almost a smile. “How about you take the night off, doll—clear your head a little?” He turned away, making it clear that Lorraine didn’t have a choice in the matter.

It was only once she was a few blocks away that Lorraine released the breath she had been holding. She stopped walking for a minute, ignoring the annoyed huffs of anyone who had to move around her. She had messed things up today, all because of Gloria. How typical.

Puccini could have done much worse. As long as she cleaned up her act, he wouldn’t punish her or tell Carlito about her mistakes.

And a night off wasn’t exactly the worst punishment.

Once she reached Broadway, the sidewalk became crowded. Groups of young people waited for tables at
chic
cafés, while others puffed on cigarettes and talked loudly. In front of her was a group of men who couldn’t stop talking about an upcoming game at the brand-new Yankee Stadium. Outside Webster Hall, women in gowns of every imaginable color and men in tuxedos stood around waiting for some sort of show. Everybody looked happy and fabulous and Lorraine hated them all.

Inside her fourth-floor apartment, she dumped her bag, shucked off her heels, and headed straight to her bedroom. She dropped her black dress to the floor, pulled on a short white nightgown, brushed her teeth, and washed off her makeup.

And then, not five minutes after arriving home, Lorraine crawled into her silver-framed bed. She pulled the silky bedspread over herself. The sun had barely even set, but she was ready for this day to be over.

As she reached for the lamp, her eyes caught on a flyer hanging on her wall.

Unlike the Gloria who’d come into the club desperate for a job, or the Gloria who had fled Chicago with her boyfriend the piano-playing killer, the Gloria on this flyer was a girl Lorraine
knew
.

She switched off the lamp, dropping the room into shadow.

But she could still see the flyer. A blinking light illuminated the words
LOST GIRL
. The light blinked again, and Gloria’s bright eyes glared at Lorraine in accusation.

Lorraine rolled away, buried her head in her pillow, and released the racking sobs that had been mounting in her chest all day. But the tears weren’t just about today. They were about
everything
. She wished she could climb into that flyer so that she and Gloria could be the good girls they’d once been. Back before Lorraine had any idea what it was like to have a thug threaten her, back when she still thought she and Gloria would be friends their entire lives.

But her tears stopped suddenly when there was a loud, menacing knock at her door.

CLARA

Clara was nervous.

She took a sip of her coffee and frowned. This shop wasn’t the classiest of joints. A single old man was working behind a smudged counter. She couldn’t fault her old roommates for choosing a cheap place, but this one was just a dump.

Leelee and Coco had been her very best friends. It was living with the girls in their tiny apartment on Bank Street that had taught Clara how to really let out her wild side. The two of them knew Clara better than anyone did, even Marcus.

So why was she so worried?

Clara had run into them a few days earlier. She’d been leaving the Brooklyn Museum, about to take a stroll in Prospect Park, when she’d heard two female voices call her name.

Clara froze—she’d recognize those voices anywhere—and plastered a smile on her face. Leelee and Coco looked as fashionable as ever: Leelee in a tight pink sailor dress and Coco in an embroidered white dress with a floral design picked out in lace. Unlike Clara’s, her roommates’ dark bobs were perfectly maintained. Leelee had a doll-like face and wide blue eyes, while Coco was all sharp angles and mystique.

“Darling!” the girls squealed simultaneously, kissing her on both cheeks.

Clara hugged them back, shocked but genuinely glad to see them.

Leelee giggled. “Clara Knowles! What are you doing kicking around here? After the wardens dragged you off, we thought they threw away the key.”

Clara’s roommates always referred to Clara’s parents as prison wardens. Though maybe they were talking about the time she’d actually been in jail.

Clara thought it best to turn the tables. “Whatever brings you to Brooklyn?”

Leelee shrugged. “Someone said this museum was nice. But it’s just like any other museum—lots of old things that we’re supposed to be impressed by.”

Coco asked, “But why are
you
here?”

Clara smiled. “It’s kind of a long story.…”

Coco put a hand on Clara’s arm. “Of course it is, sweetheart. We’re just on our way to meet Beverly and Wendy at the Fat Black Cat. Come along and you can tell us all about it over a drink!”

Leelee giggled again, even though nothing was funny. “It’ll be just like old times! We’ll break out the champagne!”

Clara remembered the Fat Black Cat well: its beat-up booths and roaring band, all buried under a constant cloud of smoke. She’d even met Harris there once or twice. The smallest part of her was curious to see whether the place had changed since she’d been gone … but the new Clara didn’t spend her afternoons in speakeasies.

“Sorry, girls, I can’t. I actually have an important meeting to get to.”

Her ex-roommates narrowed their eyes. What could be more important than a good time with booze and old girlfriends?

“It can’t be
that
important,” Coco said.

Leelee giggled. “Important!” she repeated.

But Clara stuck to her guns. “I really can’t!”

Coco gave an elegant shrug. “All right. But we absolutely
must
get together soon. How about Thursday?” She grinned, catching Leelee’s eye. “There’s the sweetest coffee shop that just opened up on MacDougal called the Smoking Kettle.…”

The Smoking Kettle was a fitting name for the place, Clara discovered, since the coffee tasted as if someone had left it on the burner until they damn near burned the house down.

Bells on the door chimed as Coco and Leelee breezed in. They took off their hats and smoothed down their bobs in easy, identical movements. Leelee wore a two-tone dress in brown and red with a large bow on the shoulder. Coco was dressed more simply in a lemon day dress with orange satin details at the waist. Clara’s short-sleeved floral dress was positively drab by comparison.

Leelee and Coco both bent to kiss her on each cheek. Leelee gave a happy sigh. “Oh, Clara, I’m just so nostalgic right now! It makes me want to cry, boo-hoo. We’ve missed you so much.”

Coco nodded. “We truly have.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Clara said, and realized she meant it.

The girls were still standing, so Clara pointed to the two empty chairs. “Want to sit down and order some coffee?”

Her friends exchanged a cryptic look. “Oh God no,” Coco said, adjusting her purse strap, “the coffee here is
terrible.
”

“We thought we’d try the back room,” Leelee said. “It’s more private.” The pains Leelee was taking not to giggle were obvious. “Way more private.”

Before Clara knew what was happening, Leelee and Coco had each grabbed one of her hands and pulled her to her feet, dragging her down the narrow hallway toward the men’s and ladies’ rooms. Leelee pushed open a door marked
EMPLOYEES ONLY
and led the way through a tiny space crowded with a large sink and racks of dirty mugs, plates, and silverware.

A black man in work clothes looked up from the dishes he was washing. “Now, where are you ladies off to?”

“We’re going to see my mother at the beach,” Coco replied. “I’ve got to let her know that she left the oven on.”

The man nodded and removed a set of keys from his pocket. He unlocked a door beside the sink, and Clara could see that it led to a dark staircase going down.

“Enjoy yourselves,” the man said as he closed the door behind them.

Walking down the steps, Clara heard the smooth sound of a saxophone improvising a solo. Light streamed in through a row of narrow windows close to the ceiling, revealing dust and scratches on the dark hardwood floor. Most of the guests at this hour were businessmen in suits, though there was one group of girls reclining in a booth and sipping gin. There was no stage—the bass player and the saxophone player just set up next to a piano in the corner.

“This is a speakeasy?” Clara asked, though it obviously was.

The very kind of place she’d sworn to abstain from.

Coco laughed. “As if you don’t know a speakeasy when you see one.”

“Or do you only recognize it from the bottom of the ladies’ room floor?” Leelee said, nudging Clara with an elbow to the ribs.

Leelee wasn’t trying to be rude. It was true—the three of them had spent practically as much time puking up all the gin they’d guzzled as they had drinking it in the first place. But how could Clara explain to Coco and Leelee that she wasn’t that girl anymore?

Leelee ran an open tube of red lipstick over her rosebud lips. “It’s called the Pink Potato.”

Clara stopped in her tracks. “Why didn’t you tell me where we were going?”

Coco pulled her by the arm. “We wanted it to be a surprise, Clarabella! You used to love surprises.”

“I used to love a lot of things that I don’t like anymore,” Clara replied, putting her wide-brimmed hat back on her head. “I should go. I can’t spend my time in places like this anymore. It reminds me too much of—”

Leelee put her hand to her mouth. “Of that pig Harris, of course! I’m so sorry, we weren’t even thinking.”

Coco reached over and grabbed the hat off Clara’s head. “
Please
don’t leave,” she said. “I’ll simply
die
if I have to go any longer without hearing what you’ve been up to.”

Clara exhaled. She couldn’t have expected Leelee and Coco to know not to bring her here. And she couldn’t just abandon her friends because she was feeling jittery.

“All right,” she said, taking her hat back from Coco. “One drink.”

Leelee and Coco clapped happily and slid into a booth. The waiter looked surprised when Clara only ordered water, but Leelee and Coco were polite enough not to comment.

Once the girls had their drinks, Coco leaned forward. “So what happened between you and Harris? Everyone knows he went to Chicago to bring you back.”

“It was creepy,” Clara said. She told them the whole sordid tale—how Harris had sent her cryptic notes, how he’d shown up at her cousin’s engagement party. But though Leelee and Coco gasped and touched her hand in sympathy at all the right points, Clara noticed their eyes wandering over to two handsome men at the bar.
Nothing changes
, Clara thought.

When the waiter returned, the girls laughed and ordered more drinks.

“We’re going to get sloppy!” Leelee announced.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon,” Clara said.

“Down here it’s
always
midnight,” Coco said.

Their second round arrived, and Clara began wishing she’d left when she had the chance.

“So,” Leelee said, tracing her fingertip along the top of her glass, “was it tough seeing Harris again? Scummy or no, he
is
a sheik.”

“It wasn’t as bad as I expected. You see”—Clara couldn’t stop her shy smile—“I’ve met someone else.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Leelee squealed. “I met someone, too. I went out on the sweetest little yacht the other day.…”

After Leelee’s ten-minute story about dancing with a Valentino look-alike at a party and how he said
she
looked like the silent film star Louise Brooks, the conversation veered back to Marcus. Clara’s old friends were full of questions—about what Marcus looked like, what his father did for a living, how much he was worth. Leelee and Coco squealed at the Cartier bracelet on Clara’s wrist but were far less interested in the story behind it.

“What about the deb cousin?” Coco asked. “Did she wear those dresses with the high collars? Did she convince you to join her weekly prayer circle?”

Clara gave an uneasy smile. Clara had thought Gloria was a complete square at first, too, but she’d been wrong. Gloria had a shocking amount of moxie. Much more than it took these two to get drunk every night and allow rich men to take them to parties and the theater. Gloria would never fit into the tiny box Coco and Leelee were trying to put her in. So why try explaining?

“Well, her room looked like someone poured a bottle of Pepto-Bismol all over it,” Clara said. “Oh, and her best friend was a real wet blanket. I think raccoons have a better grasp on how to use eyeliner.…”

From that moment, Old Clara was back—or some shadow version of her, anyway. Clara played the role Leelee and Coco wanted her to play, feeding them snippy answers to their questions, taking shots at every single debutante who had befriended her in Chicago. No one escaped the barb of her wit, and soon her friends were red-faced with laughter. Poor Leelee could barely breathe.

Clara gave the girls a smile, but inside she felt emptier than her silver flask.

Once Leelee had finally caught her breath, she stood up. “Well, I’m off to the ladies’ before I wet myself.”

“I’ll join you,” Coco said, scooting out of the booth. “And when we get back, we want to hear more about this absurd deb ball!”

Clara slouched down in the booth while they were gone. She couldn’t wait to get out of there and go to meet Marcus for dinner.

All through her time in Chicago, she had missed her wild New York life. But now she couldn’t understand why. If this meeting with Leelee and Coco had shown her anything, it was how grateful she should be that she’d found Marcus. She had received a chance at a
real
relationship, rather than one based on booze and pointless yarns.

Marcus loved her. He wanted to be with her—in fact, he wanted to be with her so badly he’d even had his parents get her accepted into college. He wanted her to live near him instead of so far away. If anything bad could be said about Marcus, it was that he loved her
too
much. But that wasn’t bad. It was good. It was everything she’d ever wanted.

So why hadn’t she jumped at his offer?

Clara noticed Leelee and Coco standing next to a man sitting on one of the wooden stools. Had they even gone to the ladies’ room?

And then she recognized the young man.

That slicked-back brown hair and oh so
au courant
designer suit, that insouciant slouch and tipped-back hat—it could be none other than Philip Helmsworth. Back in the old days, he had come out on the town with Clara, her roommates, and Harris Brown. Harris’s friends were no better than he was—the fact that Philip was married hadn’t stopped him from sleeping with Coco on more than one occasion.

Clara couldn’t believe that her friends were flirting with the pal of the man who had broken her heart. The man Clara had
just finished
telling horror stories about. She gathered her things, stood up, and headed for the stairs.