Blackberry Winter: A Novel (21 page)

V
ERA

S
itting at the table with Lon was painful. Not because of the pressure of the corset binding my waist or the heat of his gaze, like fire, on my chest. No, it was seeing the faces of the people I’d worked with, the faces of disappointment. Lou, the old jolly doorman, once a father figure to me, looked away as I walked in on Lon’s arm. Two maids whom I’d counted as friends, Jenny and Vivien, gave me sour looks in the lobby before turning back to the sconces they were dusting. I didn’t blame them for feeling betrayed. Primped and pressed in clothes that didn’t belong to me, I stood for everything we all detested about the upper class and their penchant for taking what they wanted. But I couldn’t worry about that now. I felt a lump in my throat and closed my eyes, long enough to see Daniel’s face, his soft cheeks, those blond silky curls hanging over his blue eyes. He always waited there in the dark quiet of my mind.

“What’s the sad look for, dollface?” Lon asked before prying open a crab leg with his teeth. A drip of butter rolled off his chin. “Why don’t you eat?” he said, pointing to the decadence laid out on the table.

The tears were coming. I couldn’t stop them now. “I’m sorry, Mr.—I mean, Lon,” I said. “It’s my son. I miss him terribly.”

“Now, now,” he said. “I’m sure he’s just fine.”

Just fine?
I dug my fingernails into the upholstery of the chair.
How can everyone be so dismissive about a lost boy? A child of three is missing, and no one cares.
I buried my face in my hands, feeling Lon’s warm, moist hand on my shoulder a moment later.

“I’ll make some calls in the morning,” he said, trying to console me.

“In the morning?” I cried, looking up at him. “I beg your pardon, but couldn’t you call tonight?”

Lon shook his head. “All the offices are closed, darling,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

I nodded.

“Now,” he said, “let’s get you upstairs. You can relax there.”

I stood up hesitantly, dabbing a crisp cloth napkin against my cheek to blot a fresh tear. Lon held out his hand to me, and I took it reluctantly. He gave it a suffocating squeeze as he led me through the restaurant out to the lobby. I saw the elevator ahead. Servants weren’t allowed to use the guests’ elevator, with its ornate trim and shiny brass knobs. But I’d stepped inside it before, the first time I’d been a guest of the hotel. With Charles. I’d ended up in a bed of soft down. The bed where Daniel was conceived.

Four Years Prior

Charles picked me up at seven. A week had passed since he had exited the dance floor in such a hurry, ushered away by his prickly sister. I’d thought of him every day after that, particularly in the
evenings, after my shifts at the restaurant, when the apartment was quiet. That night, I slid into the front seat of his Buick. It smelled of finery—leather; good, sweet-smelling tobacco; and cologne. “Hi,” he said, grinning. I felt my heart race faster the moment our eyes met.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers sent a chill down my neck. A
good
chill.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I said. “How’s your mother?”

“Much better,” he replied. “Pneumonia. The doctor was able to catch it just in time.” He tilted his head to the right, peering deeper into my eyes. “I’ve been feeling terribly, leaving you at the dance hall like I did.”

“Don’t think of it,” I said. “Your family needed you.”

He shrugged. “Well, it wouldn’t have killed my sister to be a little kinder. Don’t be offended by her, though. That’s just Josie. She disapproves of every girl I’ve ever taken out.”

“Oh,” I said, looking at my lap.

Charles inched closer to me. “That came out wrong,” he said. “I don’t mean to imply that she disapproves of
you
, Claire. She’s just, well…”

“A snob?”

He smiled playfully. “Why, yes.”

“It’s all right,” I said.

He stepped on the gas pedal and turned the car into the street. Nobody I knew had a car. I relished the sound of the engine and the jazz playing on the radio. “Why don’t we head over to the Cabaña Club? We could grab some dinner, and maybe try our luck with dancing again.”

“I’d love that,” I said, pressing my cheek against his shoulder.

Seattle looked glorious from inside the Buick, its windshield
like a pair of rose-colored glasses blurring the world outside into a lovelier place. From my comfortable seat, I did not see the shadowy apartment buildings where dozens of poor families I knew dined on stale bread, nor did I notice the trash-strewn alleys where young children played jacks, unattended, while their mothers, as mine had, worked late into the night in the homes of the city’s elite. Instead, I let myself dream about what it might be like to live in Charles’s world, a place where life was handed to you, pressed and polished, on a platter.

Charles pulled over to the side of the road, leaning across the seat to peer out my window. I didn’t mind him hovering so close.

A Closed sign hung over the door of the club. “Rats,” he said. “Well, how about we just head over to the hotel instead? It’s a beautiful night. We can have dinner on the balcony of my parents’ suite.”

“Your parents’
suite
?”

“Yes,” he said. “They do a lot of entertaining there. Father uses it a few nights a week when he works late and needs quiet. Or when he’s had it out with Mother, which happens more often these days.”

“Well, I guess,” I said shyly.

Charles drove to the entrance of the hotel, just a few blocks down the street, pulling the car into the circular drive, smooth as silk. He handed the keys to a valet and nodded to the doorman. We walked straight into the elevator, where Charles hit the button for number seventeen.

I gulped.

“First time in an elevator?”

“Yes,” I admitted, feeling a tugging sensation in my stomach as we jerked upward.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, pulling me toward him with both hands on my waist.

I looked up into his eyes. “What happens if it…falls?”

“It won’t,” he said, squeezing me tighter. “I promise.”

When the elevator jolted to a stop, the doors opened, and a man in a white suit stood waiting. “Good evening, sir,” he said to Charles, before tipping his cap at me. “The suite is ready for you. Will you be dining inside or out tonight?”

Charles turned to me. “Does the balcony sound all right?”

I nodded, so caught up in the grandeur of the moment, I forgot my voice.

The steward slid a key into the lock and held the door open for us. I followed Charles inside, and gasped at the sight. Tufted silk sofas, oriental rugs, drapes made of velvet the color of rubies—the place looked like a palace, or at least how I’d always imagined one to look.

Charles slipped off his jacket and tossed it nonchalantly onto a sofa to our right. He walked to the bar by the far window and flipped on the radio, letting the soothing sounds of big band seep through the air, before selecting two martini glasses from the cabinet. I watched as he unlocked another cabinet and pulled out two ornate glass decanters, pouring liquid from each into a shiny silver shaker. Next he scooped ice inside, then closed the top before shaking the vessel with an expert hand.

When he handed me a glass, I marveled at the thin layer of ice at the top. I was careful to keep my hand steady or risk sloshing the drink all over my dress. I stole a look at myself in the reflection of the window as I held the drink to my lips. Fashionable. Like I belonged. I swallowed the ice-cold liquid, so strong a fit of coughing ensued.

“Sorry,” I said, setting the glass down on a side table. “I guess I wasn’t expecting it to be so strong.” I scolded myself for the naive comment.

“The first sip is always the hardest to take,” Charles said, popping a green olive into his mouth. “After that, it goes down like butter.”

I picked up the glass again, and after a second sip, and a third, the drink had lost its bite, just as he had promised. My cheeks felt warm and my head light. When I finished the glass, he refilled it. I stood at the window staring out at Seattle, sparkling, effervescent. The spring cherry trees on the street below had just burst into bloom, and from the seventeenth floor, they looked like cheerful clouds of pink lining the streets. The city was full of promise, which is exactly how I felt. I felt the stubble of Charles’s chin on my neck as he perched his head over my shoulder to share the view with me.

“It’s beautiful out there, isn’t it?” he whispered into my ear.

“Yes,” I said.

A crescent moon hovered low in the sky, like a painting hung just for us.

“Where would you want to go,” he said, “right now, if you could be anywhere in the world?”

I thought for a moment. Caroline and I had talked an awful lot about Paris. And New York. But in that moment, I didn’t want to be anywhere other than where I stood.

“Right here,” I whispered, turning to face Charles.

“Me too,” he said, taking my face tenderly in his hands.

As he leaned closer, the steward cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but dinner is here, sir. Will you still be taking it on the balcony?”

“Yes,” Charles said, weaving his fingers into mine. He showed me to the balcony, where a table, two chairs, and a half dozen carefully tended stone urns filled with flowering plants waited. Like a magician, the steward produced two plates from a cart
somewhere behind us. I sank my fork into a tender piece of fish, its buttery flesh yielding to the tines. A bite of steaming hot roll was washed down with a sip of red wine. I squinted, unable to make out the French words on the label, just the date, 1916. I’d been a scrawny little girl then, chasing my younger brother and sister around the dusty streets outside the ramshackle building we called home. To think this wine was being bottled at that very moment.

“I haven’t forgotten about the woman in your apartment building,” he said.

My heart swelled. “You haven’t?”

“No,” he replied, pulling an envelope from his pocket. “I talked to my father. He owns a new housing development in West Seattle. They all have yards, new appliances. I think it would be a perfect place for her, and her children.”

“Oh, Charles!” I cried. “Your father agreed?”

He shook his head. “No, he refused. He doesn’t believe in handouts.”

“Oh,” I said, confused.

“I’m taking care of it myself,” he continued. “I don’t need my father’s permission to do a good deed. I have my own funds. She can move into her new home next week if she’d like.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “That’s so very generous.”

He handed me the envelope. I lifted the flap and peeked inside to see a stack of bills. “Charles!” I couldn’t wait to give her the money. I’d passed her on the stairs the other night, and she looked so tired, so gaunt, I worried she might pass out right there.

“After you told me about that poor woman, I couldn’t get her—or your—words out of my head. I’ve been thinking, Vera—together, we could do a lot of good for people.”

I beamed and couldn’t help but sway as the radio played a slow melodic song.

“Dance with me,” Charles said, standing up and reaching for my hands.

He helped me to my feet. I pressed my cheek to his chest, and we moved in time to the music. “I’d like to spend every day like this, with you,” he said. “Forever.” My lips met his and a force rivaling electricity surged through my body. He lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom, laying me atop a down comforter as soft and enveloping as whipped cream. I sank into it willingly, and didn’t protest as he nestled his body next to mine. He kissed me again and again. I closed my eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of being loved. Truly loved.

Upstairs in Lon’s suite, I walked to the window, looking down to the street below. There might as well have been bars attached to the glass. I felt caged, jailed. He hovered behind me, his breath rapid and warm on my neck. “I miss my son so much,” I cried.

“Now, now,” Lon said, turning me around to face him. “Tomorrow we’ll find your son. Tonight, we’ll find”—he paused, unfastening a button on my dress—“each other.”

His touch repulsed me, but I didn’t push his hand away. With his wealth, we could plaster the city in posters, litter the streets with leaflets, hire a search team. “Promise me you’ll help find Daniel?” I searched his eyes. “You’re my only hope.”

“You have my word,” he said, confidently running a finger along the sash of my dress.

Lon turned out the light, and I held my breath as he pulled me toward the bed.