A Fine Imitation (16 page)

“You know, I could ask the same things of you,” he said. “I don't know where you were born. I don't know your family.”

“But I am not a stranger from abroad.”

“You are to me.”

“You've been in my home. I'm hardly a stranger.”

He sighed. “Why do you care? You hired me to paint, I'm painting.”

“I'm curious,” she said.

“There are some things I'm curious about, too.”

“Oh?”

“Is this why you were crying the other night? Because he leaves you alone?” he asked.

Vera opened her mouth, but no words came out. She ought to express outrage, to get out of her chair, fling her napkin to the floor, and walk right out. But instead she stared at the place setting before her, unable to lift a finger. Hallan dropped his head and exhaled hard then stood.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have asked something like that. Come on, let's get out of here. I'll take you somewhere I can buy you a proper drink.”

Vera took a sip of her water. “You really do say so many things you shouldn't.”

“At times,” he agreed. He held out a hand, and she noticed that, despite an obvious effort to scrub them, there were traces of blue paint at the cuticles. A soft sky blue. In her mind, that hand traced the arc of Giovanna Tornabuoni's back in the air. Those eyes gazed in wonder at Esmeralda dancing on the screen in the movie house. To her surprise, she took his hand and stood.

“Let me call my driver,” she said.

“It's a nice evening, let's walk.”

“I still need to call and let him know not to come back for me. We're not going too far, are we?”

He smiled. “We can always take a cab.”

“Oh. Right.”

She called George and told him not to bother returning to the restaurant, and asked the maître d' to put the bill on Arthur's account. Then she and Hallan strolled out onto the sidewalk. She took his arm, and Hallan led her confidently off to the left.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Fun little club. They have music and a show, then dancing after. Plus real drinks. Does that sound all right?”

“Of course.” Vera's stomach tingled. She wanted to write the sensation off as hunger, since she had left her steak behind. But she knew it was anticipation. She had heard of these places, and Arthur went frequently with business associates. They were not the sorts of places men took their wives, though. Other ladies, yes. Wives, never.

They turned the corner onto the next block. Ahead of them, a man sat on a blanket. In front of him was a sign that said
VETERAN: PLEASE HELP, GOD BLESS
, with a can set out for coins. The sight of his face, red, raw, and pockmarked, sent an involuntary crawl under Vera's skin. Part of his leg was missing, and he had tucked the excess trouser material under the stump of his thigh. Hallan spotted him at the same moment, and he halted. He stood still for so long Vera began to worry, but she did not know if speaking to him would make whatever reaction he was having better or worse. At last, he let go of Vera's arm, dug into his pocket, and put money into the can.

“Thank you, sir,” the man said. The skin around his mouth was tight and shiny, and the words came out muffled and hard to distinguish. Hallan only nodded and continued on.

Vera threw some coins into the can. “Thank you for your service,” she said, unable to look the man in the eye. He called a “thank you, ma'am” to her as she walked past.

She caught up to Hallan, whose gaze was stony. “It's so terribly sad,” she said. “Some days it feels so far behind us, and some days it's everywhere, isn't it?”

He did not respond. She took his arm again, and they walked a few blocks before she could feel the muscles under his jacket relax. Though she wanted to ask if he had served, she thought mention of the war might darken the evening. Perhaps the war explained his reluctance to talk about his life. She did not want to cause him any heartache after he had been kind enough to want to show her a nice time in the wake of her disappointment. She supposed the question was an empty one anyway. He was more likely than not to have been a soldier.

She remembered well how empty of men the city had seemed throughout the war. During that time, her thoughts would occasionally drift back to the young men she and Bea had sat by the lake with. How many of them had gone? Had any of them come back? She might not recognize them. She had never heard from Cliff again after that autumn. What horrors might have followed their sweet exchange of letters? The war may have damaged him as it had damaged the man sitting by the street that night. She glanced back over her shoulder for one more look before they turned the corner and left him behind.

Hallan led her into a sleepy little shop, and they walked to the back wall. There, hidden near the corner, was the door to a staircase leading down to a corridor with brick walls. As they entered, it was quiet, but the sound of muffled music and laughter increased as they continued. At last they came to the other end, where a huge man stood in front of a barred metal door.

“Password?” The man's bristly mustache barely moved as he spoke.

“Dempsey,” Hallan said. The man nodded and pushed the bar away, then opened the door. Smoke and noise billowed out into the corridor, swooping over Vera and Hallan. The urge rose in her to turn and run, but she gripped Hallan's elbow harder and they stepped into the club.

If her mother disapproved of the skirts some girls wore in the streets, the dresses in the club would have sent her to an early grave. Vera had slips that covered more leg, and rather more chest as well. She felt as if she had walked in wearing Queen Victoria's wedding dress instead of her blue dinner gown. The earthy smell of damp brick carried an undercurrent of sweat and drugstore perfume. Vera worried the scent would sink into her clothes and hair, letting anyone she passed in the Angelus on her way home know that she had been somewhere she had no business being.

She wanted to tell Hallan she had to leave, but the wailing of the trumpet and the riot of conversation meant she would have to yell it, and she did not particularly want to announce her discomfort to the room. More familiar with his surroundings, he nodded to a nearby table. But before they could cross to it, a woman nearby let out a shriek that temporarily rendered every other sound in the club inaudible.

“Emil!” The woman leapt into their path and threw her arms around Hallan's shoulders, jolting Vera to the side. “Lucy, come here, this is the artist I was telling you about.”

“Hello, Jenny,” Hallan said, disengaging himself.

Jenny raised a painted-on eyebrow. “Ooh, and he brought high society with him. Is this one of the people from the building?”

Before he could answer, another woman, clad in a slinky silver dress with clattering beads, tottered over in pin-thin heels. “Is this the artist?”

“That's what I just said.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Lucy is a little dim.”

Lucy slapped Jenny's bare shoulder. “I am not! Don't listen to her.” Lucy looked Vera up and down, her dark red lips drooping into a frown. “I thought you said he was single.”

Hallan laughed. “Ladies, let me find my friend a seat.” He directed Vera to the empty table, and the other two women promptly dropped into the available chairs across from her.

Vera leaned in and lowered her voice. “You've certainly been quick to find your way around the city. How is it that you already know passwords and girls after only a few weeks?”

“I know someone who moved to the city several years ago. The same friend who mentioned the Angelus mural to me. Had some good recommendations about nightlife.”

“Who? Someone I might know?” Vera asked.

He shrugged. “I doubt it. Word about the mural made its way around the art world pretty quickly. I was just the lucky one you hired.”

“So,” Jenny said, adjusting the straps of her shimmery green dress. “You're from the building where Emil is doing his painting?”

Vera sat up, putting on her best cool expression. “I am.”

Jenny pursed her lips. “A real rich lady, huh?”

A smile flickered on Hallan's face. “That's not very polite, Jenny.”

Vera leaned in to him again. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

His lips brushed her ear as he spoke. “I'm going to enjoy watching you eat her alive. Come on, you're not afraid of this girl, are you? You're not afraid of anyone, from what I've seen.”

Vera sat up, a new confidence rising in her chest. She fixed her stare on Jenny, who wilted slightly.

Lucy laid a hand on the table, oblivious to Vera's glare. “You know, I'm always so curious about what rich ladies do all day. Me, for example, I'm a telephone operator. I gotta do it, I got no choice. But I've always had something to do. You don't work, do you?”

Jenny took a drink from a passing waiter and took a long swig from the glass. Her eyes narrowed in challenge. “Yeah, what do you do all day?”

Vera did not answer right away. First, she pulled off her gloves and settled them in her lap with her purse, as she had been taught since girlhood to do. Then, she reached across the table and lifted Jenny's drink from her hand. Vera drank its contents in one smooth gulp. She placed the empty glass in front of the startled girl.

“Rich ladies drink,” Vera said.

Hallan laughed and clapped his hand on the table. “Looks like we're ready for another round. Allow me.”

Jenny and Lucy declined, casting glances back at Vera as they fled for the safety of the other side of the club.

“I don't think that's what they were expecting,” Hallan said.

“It seems you have quite a knack for attracting an interesting sort of lady,” Vera replied.

“Somehow they find me. So? Another drink?”

“Gin and tonic, please.” Vera wrinkled her nose. “Whatever that was smelled like perfume and tasted worse.”

Hallan waved over a waiter and ordered two cocktails. The gin was harsher than what Vera was used to. But then, Arthur got all of his liquor brought in from Canada. The stuff they were serving in this club might have been made in the back room. Still, it was recognizably gin, and she enjoyed the looseness that came with finishing the drink.

They watched a few acts, the first a trio of dancing girls and the second a dewy-eyed soloist. A black horn player wailed through a raucous set, each note blazing. When the stage shows were done for the evening, people trickled onto the dance floor. The tempo slowed with each song, and couples draped themselves over each other, swaying to the music. Vera was finishing her second cocktail when Hallan stood and extended his hand.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

Vera nearly choked on her drink. She set the glass on the table and glanced around the room. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“No one knows you here, believe me. And you can't have a night out without dancing, can you?”

“It's only…I don't know many of the popular dances. I haven't been out in some time.”

He gestured toward the musicians. “This is a waltz. A girl like you, I know you can waltz.”

“You're not going to give me any peace until I agree, are you?”

“No, sorry to say.”

Vera sighed and started to put on her gloves, but he slid his warm hand into hers to stop her. An electric tingle ran up her arm.

“You don't need gloves,” he said. “Let's go.”

She stood and they wound through the tables to the dance floor. He wrapped an arm lightly around her waist, and she placed her arm on his shoulder. At first, she held her back stiff, but she relaxed at his confident lead.

“You're a good dancer,” she said. “So, I've discovered that you know how to behave in polite society, even if most of the time you choose not to. And now I can tell you've been trained to dance.”

He pressed his cheek to hers. “Is that enough to satisfy you?”

The hair on the back of her neck stood at the feel of his breath on her ear. She knew she ought to pull back, but she did not. “I still don't know anything, not really.”

“Ah, but you've seen my art. That's all there is to know. The whole truth about me is in those paintings.” He pulled back and searched her face. “Look at that, you've got some little freckles on your nose. ‘Glory be to God for dappled things.' ”

“Oh, goodness. I thought I powdered those.”

“You did. But this close I can see them.”

“Wretched things.”

“I like them. Shows you're actually real.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “Why would you say that?”

“Everything about you is so cool. So still.” He laid his cheek on hers again. “You're a beautiful icicle.”

Vera cleared her throat as the song ended. She took a step back, disentangling herself from his arms. “I ought to get home.”

He squeezed her hand. “Indulge me. One more dance.”

“No.”

She crossed back to the table and picked up her gloves and purse. He followed, taking hold of her elbow, but she spun around.

“Mr. Hallan, I don't know what you are trying to do, but you ought to know I'm not like the silly girls you meet at these places. I am a married woman.”

“But you had fun tonight.”

She blinked hard. “That's quite enough. I'm going home. Would you be so good as to come up to the street with me? I need you to hail me a cab.”

“Vera, I didn't mean any harm—”

She strode to the metal door that led to the brick corridor. He followed, and they exited onto the street together.

“Will you please listen to me?” he asked.

“I've heard enough, thank you.”

He threw up his arms in frustration and turned to hail a cab. The yellow and black car pulled up to the curb, and Vera climbed in. She moved to close the door, but Hallan blocked it.