Bright Young Things (16 page)

16

“YOU‧LL NEVER GUESS WHAT THE NEW GIRL DID LAST night!”

Letty had just stepped out of her bedroom, wearing a charcoal-colored dress she had borrowed and was thus a little long for her. She looked even more petite than usual and was feeling rather delicate for reasons she could not yet quite pinpoint.

“What did the new girl do last night?” Fay asked as she walked out of the kitchenette and over to the plum couch, where she sunk down next to Paulette. A black silk eye mask was pushed up on her forehead, beneath the curve of her pale blond hair, and she was still wearing the usual knee-length kimono.

“She jumped onstage and sang an impromptu song with the band!” Paulette announced, as though she still couldn‧t believe it. “The crowd loved it. Amory Glenn was there, and later she found a way to flirt with him.”

Fay‧s lower lip fell and her eyes glistened. “Good girl!” she exclaimed. “It‧s those big innocent blues.”

“Amory Glenn?” Kate exclaimed, emerging from her bedroom. Her frizzy dark hair was tucked under the folds of a white turban, and her long, slender features were already made up. “You brilliant little dog!”

But her roommates’ glee at her conquest only made Letty feel embarrassed. Last night, it
had
seemed very grand, but she‧d woken up this morning in a different mood. In her dreams, Cordelia had been a kind of princess, and she had mocked Letty from a passing carriage, and when Letty had opened her eyes and heard Paulette‧s noisy breathing beside her in the bed they shared, her life hadn‧t seemed quite so bright as it had before. If she retold the story of jumping on the stage at Seventh Heaven, then she would soon arrive at the part where the song ended and she realized that Cordelia was gone again. The memory made her throat tight.

“I‧ll tell you all about it later.” She mustered a small, brave smile. “It‧s just that it‧s such a beautiful day, I can‧t bear to be inside …,” Letty offered, a bit lamely, as an excuse.

“Oh!”

“But—”

“Tell
us,” chorused her roommates, as they pushed themselves up and inclined themselves toward her. But she was already hurriedly crossing the alcove by the entry. She pulled a cocoa-colored felt cloche over her bob and pulled open the door.

“I‧ll be back later!” she called with a frantic wave of the hand, and then she went out of the dim basement and into the day.

As she came up onto the sidewalk, her embarrassment and sorrow began to ebb, and with it her desperate need to flee. She paused there on that narrow, curving street, in the kindly shadow of the two-and three-story brick townhouses and the tall trees in full leaf overhead.

That was when she saw Grady Lodge across the street, leaning against his black roadster, with his hands in his pockets.

A floppy cap created a wedge of shadow on his face, but it could not hide the patient yearning in his deep-set gray eyes. He was wearing the tweed trousers of a knickerbocker suit, his rust-colored socks visible to his knees, although the jacket was nowhere in sight. That was what they called “natty,” Letty supposed, except that everything about him was just slightly askew.

“Hello there!” he called.

Feeling bashful again, she glanced behind her, but the curtains to her apartment remained drawn. Seeing him in the daylight was peculiar, but she was happy now to have been given a direction. With a little feint of surprise, she let out an “Oh … hello!” and then crossed to him.

He reached out for her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“How did you know where I live?” she asked when he brought his eyes up to look at her again.

“Your friend Paulette told me last night,” he explained. “Maybe she felt sorry for me, when she realized how many hours I‧d sat at the bar waiting to talk to you …”

For a moment he appeared to lose himself in looking at her, so Letty simply smiled in a girlish way and waited for him to say something more.

“… and when I woke up this morning, I thought perhaps, you being from Ohio and all, you would like a tour of the city.”

Reasons why not brimmed in her throat. But the day
was
lovely, just as she had told her roommates, and she had after all not ventured very far beyond Greenwich Village. Cordelia seemed to be going everywhere, and why shouldn‧t she? “Well, all right, but I haven‧t got the whole day,” she said, trying not to sound too eager.

A grin filled his boyish face. “I‧ll take you for as long as you can spare.”

Hurrying around the side of the car, he opened the door for her, posing in a courtly way until she was settled in. Once he‧d secured the door behind her, he came around and started up the car. For a brief while she felt nervous and a little shy, sitting in a car with a stranger, but eventually the sights drew her in. They drove down blocks where every storefront was filled with flowers by the bucket, and streets where the signs were in red Chinese lettering.

Perhaps sensing how foreign these sights were to her, he said, “You‧re awfully brave to come all this way by yourself.”

“Oh … I didn‧t,” Letty replied. “I came with a girl named Cordelia, but we don‧t know each other anymore.”

Grady glanced at her. “I‧m sorry,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I could help you find her?”

“That‧s very kind, but—but—I don‧t think she cares about me anymore. You see, she came in the club last night, but left as soon as she caught sight of me.”

“I can‧t imagine anyone not wanting to know you.”

“Oh, that‧s very kind,” Letty told him, pushing aside the melancholy that had crept into her dreams. The day was so pretty and the city so full, and she didn‧t want to be sorry over anything—and anyway, it felt good to tell someone about Cordelia and her unkind departure. “I‧ve made better friends since then,” she said brightly.

When she announced she was hungry, they pulled alongside a street vendor‧s cart and Grady bought hot dogs, and they ate them as they drove up and down the shady roads and grand tunnels that ran through the big park at the center of the city.

“This is what they call the Central Park …” Grady‧s attentive gray eyes traveled from the road and back to her.

“It looks like it goes on forever!” Letty said between bites of soft bread and juicy meat. “How many blocks is it?”

Grady paused and then admitted, “I don‧t know …” He reddened and gave her one of his easy smiles. “But I promise I‧ll find out. Many, I suppose. It‧s its own little kingdom; you can get lost in there, you know.”

The canopy of green over her head rustled in such a peaceful, quiet way that for a moment she forgot that she was in a city at all. Elegant women with mincing walks followed poodles on leashes, and children clutching balloons begged for treats from their fathers, and all the while the sky above remained an impervious blue. She had taken long drives before, but never ones that were so aimless and leisurely, and never ones with such grand scenery.

They changed directions, going downhill somewhat and driving through the low-lying areas by the water, past loading docks and factories puffing smoke and little forgotten structures crammed onto the island at its edges. Ferries made their way across the river, and men smeared with grease idled in front of garages.

“I apologize for having taken this route,” Grady said, chagrined, as they motored through a particularly industrial patch.

“But why would you be sorry?” Letty exclaimed. Whatever filth lay heavy in the air, she could not help but feel thrilled by the very multitude of smokestacks and brightly colored tugboats, the distant yelling of working men, the far-off blaring of maritime horns. “I think it‧s beautiful here. In fact, it‧s such a nice day, I wouldn‧t mind putting my toes in …”

“Not here!” A shade of worry crossed Grady‧s face at the very suggestion. “No, no, no—the water and the shoreline here are dirty in ten different ways. I would
not
let you go down there, even with an army of bodyguards, even with a fleet of Sherpas to hold you up above the muck.”

Letty put her elbow against the back of her seat and gazed behind them at the receding view of the water. The area that they were heading into now was one of higher buildings, and the river, though still pungent, was no longer so visible. Disappointment bore down for a minute on the corners of her mouth, but it passed quickly, and the sentiment of what he had said began to sink in and create a decided glow along her cheekbones. For Grady—though he was only a writer, and though his humble face did not create such wild disturbances in her breast—thought that she was worthy of being carried like a queen.

“I know a pretty spot where we can go down close to the water—I still don‧t believe you should put your toes in, but maybe for a look-see.”

So Letty smiled, and they sailed on. He took them on a looping route, through streets whose sidewalks were crowded out with produce stands, streets where the smell of onion was heavy in the air, streets paved with cobblestone.

Eventually they puttered to a stop under the shadow of an enormous bridge.

“Where are we?” she said, as he helped her out of the car.

“Just a place where I like to come and gaze at the borough of Brooklyn, from time to time, when I‧m thinking of Walt Whitman …” Grady closed his eyes and inhaled a deep, contented breath.

Letty‧s legs felt a little wobbly after so long in the shaking, rumbling automobile, but Grady offered her his arm. As they headed toward the water, she saw the spans of two other enormous bridges, stretching all the way across the river to where she could just make out the houses and factories and piers on the other side.

As they walked, she listened to the lapping of the water and the scattering of debris underfoot—but the tranquility was broken by the sound of two thunderlike claps. A shudder passed from the sides of her skull down to her toes. The howling of two or three dogs followed, as if in furious confirmation that some very violent deed had been done.

“Oh!” she gasped, and she put her hands up against Grady‧s chest.

They hurried forward and saw a car parked under the wall of the bridge. A man‧s wide back faced them—he was bent, examining something, so that his large rear was pointed toward the span above. Then he stood, lifting the sleek, limp body of a creature and hurling it onto a pile of similar, lifeless forms. When Letty gasped again, the man glanced briefly in their direction.

“Get out of here,” he said in a tone that was equal parts gruff and weary, before looking away. He opened the door to the car, and the howling started up again. For a minute or so he struggled, and then slammed the door, holding tight to a dog‧s leash. At its end was a very skittish greyhound, long legs quavering and eyes rolling in terror. The man pulled, jerking the frightened animal away from the car and cocking his gun.

“He‧s going to kill that poor animal,” she whispered desperately to Grady, who had already put his arm around her, gently trying to goad her back. But her chin had begun to quiver, and her feet were quite stubbornly planted. “Look!” She couldn‧t find words for what they were about to witness.
“Do
something.”

“I don‧t think—” he began, as the greyhound shook and whimpered.

“Stop him!” she persisted. “Listen—the dog‧s
crying.”

The man, whose white collared shirt had grown see-through in places with sweat, and whose jowls were shaded by stubble, raised his gun and fired twice. The dog‧s elegant legs collapsed, and then the whimpering was over.

“Oh!” This time Letty‧s cry had become low and guttural—true wailing. The succinct cruelty of the big man‧s movements was so terrible that for a moment she felt it was her skin that had been ripped apart, her own blood that would now begin to spill.

Inside the car, a lone dog yelped, its paws clawing desperately at the window.

The man straightened and shook the casings out of his gun. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and produced another handful of shining bullets, which he slipped one at a time into the chamber, before clicking it closed. “I told you to get out of here.”

Grady glanced down at Letty, his eyes glazed with fear. “I think we should go.”

She gave a furious shake of her head.

“Why are you killing those dogs?” she demanded, walking several lengths toward the big man.

“Because they‧re old, and they don‧t run fast anymore, and they‧re no use to me now,” he replied, with a kind of resigned menace, as though it were obvious and he were irritated at having to explain himself. Then he opened the car and grabbed the leash of the final dog, who jumped to the ground and began dashing in circles around the man until the leash had ensnared both of them.

Untying himself required several clumsy attempts, and perhaps after that Grady was not quite so frightened of him. “She looks pretty fast to me,” he told the big man.

“Yeah, well, everyone runs fast when they‧re scared for their life,” the man muttered back.

“Do you operate a racetrack concern, sir?” Grady continued, returning to his usual buoyant, educated way of speaking, and putting on a smile.

“Something like that,” the man replied, yanking at the leash and pulling the dog closer to her fallen brethren.

“Mister, please don‧t kill that dog,” Letty implored.

“Don‧t give me that act, princess.” The man cocked his gun. Letty brought her hands to her face, bracing for tears.

“Stop!” She heard Grady‧s steps as he hurried forward. “Please stop. What do you want for her? A dollar? Five? Please don‧t kill that dog.”

Cracking one eye, and peeking through her pinkie and ring finger, Letty caught a glimpse of Grady as he begged the man. The greyhound whimpered, her head swaying back and forth, her paws scraping the ground in agitation.

“You‧ll take her off my hands?” the man said eventually.

“Yes,” Grady replied.

Letty‧s hands fell from her face, and she clasped them in front of her heart.

“I‧ll never hear from either of you again?”

“No.” Grady shook his head perhaps a few more times than were necessary.

Letty rushed forward and bent on her knees, taking the dog‧s face in her hands; her lovely brown eyes were wary for a few seconds, but then once the man had handed Letty the end of the leash, she began gently pawing the front of Letty‧s dress and licking her face.