Golden Girl (6 page)

“Paul Robeson!” Now it was my eyes trying to pop out. “You sing on the radio! You’re one of my mama’s favorites!” I remembered sitting with Mama in the Imperial’s parlor and listening to the deep voice rolling out of the radio, so strong it felt like it could sweep away all the troubles the Kansas dust storms had rolled in. This wasn’t dance music or blues. This was what they called spirituals: deep, serious, slow, beautiful music. I’d never heard anything else like it.

“You’ll have to thank your mama for me.” Mr. Robeson smiled, charming and easy. My cheeks heated up.

Jack remembered to hand Mr. Robeson back his shirt. “Thank you,” he said as he took it. Lines of sweat ran down Mr. Robeson’s face and chest, and he was breathing hard. But if he was hurt, he wasn’t letting on any. He just buttoned
his shirt and pulled his suspenders up as though he did this kind of thing every day. For all I knew, he did. I’d’ve believed anything about this man right then. “Now, I’ve got a question for you, young lady,” he said as he finished tucking his shirttail in. “Did I hear your name was Callie LeRoux?”

“Yes, sir.”

He bent down and looked at me close and hard. I didn’t know what he was looking for, and I tried not to squirm, but it wasn’t easy. I’d lost my hat somewhere and torn my gloves, and my stuffed brassiere was a lopsided mess. I really didn’t want anybody looking at me right now, let alone somebody this famous who’d just saved my life and Jack’s. “I knew a piano player back in Harlem who went by the name of LeRoux,” he said finally. “Any chance you might be related?”

There are words that root you to the spot. Jack’s eyes went round. It felt like a long time before either one of us could remember we spoke English. “My papa was a piano player,” I croaked.

“Thought so. You look a bit like him.”

Was it possible? I still couldn’t get my head around the idea that this man knew about the fairies. Could he really have met my papa? A sick, horrible feeling crawled through me, because I’d had people try to trap me like this before, and I did not want Mr. Robeson to be another trap. I didn’t think I could stand it if he was.

But he didn’t say anything more about my papa. “Let’s get you two out of here before Amerda comes back with reinforcements.”

Mr. Robeson strode off back toward the prison and New York City. Jack and I looked at each other, each of us trying to see if the other had a better idea. Neither of us did, so we followed him.

I’ll tell you what, that man had some long legs. Even Jack had to trot to keep up with him. I’d gotten my breath back, and at least some of my brains, enough to start wondering about what I’d heard go by between him and Amerda.

“How come the Seelies know you, Mr. Robeson?”

His face went hard. “They made me an offer to come sing for them sometime back, and I turned it down.”

“You turned them down?” squawked Jack. Nobody turned the fairies down. They could make all your wishes come true, or at least make you think they had come true. All the fame and fortune Ruth Markham thought she was getting for handing over Ivy Bright? She’d have it. She might not live very long after she got it, but she would have it.

“You get around a little, you find out that people who offer you the whole world usually want everything you’ve got in return. I gave up believing that kind of promise a long time ago.” The anger in those softly spoken words sent shivers down my spine. “Anyway, the Seelies, as you call them, seemed to take it as a kind of challenge, and they’ve been sending their people around after me ever since. Amerda was their latest attempt, and you walked into the middle of it.”

Which meant Amerda hadn’t really wanted Ivy Bright at all. She’d just been trying to set things up so that Mr.
Robeson would jump in and try to save the brightest little star in Hollywood. Except Jack and I got there first.

And got caught
, I added to myself.
And now they know who I am, and that I’m hanging around the movie studios
. My head felt seasick, and a giggly little thought in the back of my brain started up another imaginary letter.
Dear Mama: Guess what …?

We were back in New York by now. The hollow, unfinished buildings with their jagged tops and their long shadows fenced us in. I didn’t like it here anymore. Those fake buildings could all be hiding more monsters. Without thinking about it, I crowded a little closer to Jack.

Mr. Robeson looked the whole long way down at me. “Now, suppose you two tell me how you came to draw the attention of Amerda and her kind.”

“I, um, well …”

“I work here,” said Jack quickly. “I’m a script boy.” His head must have been spinning too. Usually Jack makes up much better explanations.

Mr. Robeson’s face screwed up, like we’d just offered him a rotten lemon. “And I suppose you wanted to get into pictures?” he said to me.

“No! Nothing like that. I mean, I
am
looking for work, but not acting work. Kitchen work, maybe. Housekeeping, things like that.”

Mr. Robeson squinted down at me, trying hard to figure out the story behind what we were telling him. I wasn’t
so sure he liked what he was figuring either. I bit my lip. I didn’t really want to talk about any of this. Not with those buildings and all their holes and hiding places around us. Anybody might be listening, and for us “anybody” covered a whole lot of ground. Mr. Robeson saw me looking at that fake New York and he nodded like he understood. He didn’t ask any more questions, but he did pick up the pace, so Jack and I were all but running to keep up. That was okay by me. Amerda and her brother might not be able to touch us, but sure as the California sunrise, they had Seelie kin. Those kin had other kin and friends and maybe a few enemies on the lookout for some fun. They could put their heads together and find a way around the bargain Mr. Robeson had made. After all, they’d only promised to leave him alone, not us. They could all turn up spoiling for a fight any second now.

It came home to me cold and ugly that Jack and I had made a mistake walking in here without a real plan. We’d been putting that off until we actually found the Seelies. Well, now we had found them. Problem was, they’d found us too. Fear leaned in on me again and brought all my shakes back.

We finally reached the gate to Overland Avenue. Solly was gone. Instead, the shack was occupied by a black man reading what looked like a schoolbook.

“Good evening, George,” said Paul. “Does Michael have the car out?”

“Evenin’, Mr. Robeson. I think so. You need to go
someplace?” He eyed me, then Jack, then me again. He didn’t like whatever he was thinking. I was pretty sure I didn’t like it either.

“These two need to be driven back home.”

“Oh, sure. Lemme call over.” George picked up the phone and dialed. Mr. Robeson took me and Jack each by the arm and led us toward the gate.

“Now,” he said firmly, “you will go straight home and into your rooms. You will not stop for anything or open the door to any strangers.”

This was a little too much for Jack, who’d been on the bum pretty much since he was twelve. He pulled himself up as far as he could and tried to look tough. He went a fair way toward doing it too. “Listen, we really appreciate your help, Mr. Robeson, but it’s not like we’re babies or anything.”

“No, you’re not. But you are in danger and you need to take care. And stay out of here.” This last was said to me. “If you’re really looking for work, you can come see me tomorrow morning. I’m staying at the Dunbar. Maybe I can find something for you.”

Jack was making a face, and I got the feeling he was hoping I’d refuse. I wasn’t sure why, though. Mr. Robeson might just be a regular human, but he could fight off the Seelie fairies and twist a bargain so tight they got lost in it. If we told him about my parents, he might be able to help.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Thank you.”

Before I could say anything else, a big white Cadillac
pulled up to the gate. The chauffeur who climbed out was a bent old man in a gray suit and peaked cap, but he gave Mr. Robeson’s hand a hearty shake like they were longtime friends. “What is it I can do for you tonight, Mr. Robeson?”

Paul explained how we needed a ride. Michael agreed right away and gestured us into the back of the white car. We scrambled up onto the plush seats. I was used to cars that choked and popped when they started, but the Cadillac just cleared its throat politely as Michael pulled into traffic.

“Holy smokes!” I flopped back in the seat. “You ever see anybody like that? I mean anybody?”

“Nope, I never.” Jack took off his cap and scrubbed his hair. “I wonder what his story is,” he added in a whisper, so Michael wouldn’t hear. “Do you think he could really have met your pop?”

I wondered too. He sure hadn’t told us anything like the whole story. But then, we’d been pretty skimpy with our own set of details, so I guess I couldn’t blame him. “He’s got something going for him,” I whispered back. “Otherwise he’d be singing for the Seelies, not wrestling ’em.”

“I guess.” Jack looked out the window for a long time at the city lights going past. “Do you think Ivy Bright’s okay?”

Guilt closed my mouth. I’d almost forgotten about Ivy, the original bait for the original trap. I’d sent her home, but she’d been tricked and magicked and scared. None of that could have done her any good.

No way, no how was I going to go using any magic right
then, but I did open up my inside eyes to peek a little, just to find out if there was any magic flying around the vicinity. Just a quick peek couldn’t hurt, I told myself.

Unfortunately, it didn’t do a whole lot of good either. All I felt was city—no magic, no fairy gloating. That could mean something, or nothing at all. There was just no telling. But from the way Jack was holding his face, I figured this was not the time to try to explain all that. “I think she’s okay,” I told him.

“Good,” Jack said softly.

We both had too much to think about to talk after that.

Michael let me off in front of Mrs. Constantine’s boardinghouse and headed out to take Jack back to Ma Lehner’s. We had to stay in two different houses. In the City of Angels, where they’ve seen just about every shade in God’s paint pot, not even Jack could convince any woman who advertised “clean and respectable accommodations” we were brother and sister. Women like Mrs. Constantine had reputations to protect, so they looked at you a lot closer than the guard on any gate.

I climbed up the creaky steps to the crooked porch. Whatever old Mr. Constantine had done for a living, he couldn’t have been much good at it. If he’d left his widow any kind of money, she wouldn’t have had to take in boarders like me. I had a hunch Mr. Constantine did not exist, or that he had never married her. She could have pegged the
Mrs
. onto her name to keep up appearances. But my mama had done the same thing, so who was I to get snooty about that?

I was so tired, all I wanted right then was to get this stupid, lopsided stuffed bra and my ruined stockings off and crawl into bed. I turned the knob and pushed on the front door, but the door didn’t open. I stared. Slowly it occurred to me that it was after midnight. Mrs. Constantine locked the door at twelve on the dot, and if you weren’t on the right side of it, it was just your tough luck.

I dropped onto the porch swing and buried my face in my hands. The car and Jack were long gone. I was going to have to stay out here all night, and then Mrs. Constantine’d kick me out in the morning, because I wouldn’t have any kind of good reason for being out past curfew and she had been clear about this being a
respectable
house. She’d been real nice, and she’d been looking after me just like you would a person who was real to you, not just a stranger in a back room. I didn’t want her thinking I was a liar, or a tramp. Tears pricked my eyes. It was a little thing after all that had happened, but it was also that last straw everybody talks about. Especially when my shoulder hurt so bad where the crocodile woman had gotten hold of me. Because of that stupid prophecy and my parents and maybe a whole bunch of other things I didn’t even know about yet, she and Rougarou and all the other Seelies were out there someplace, making plans about how to come get me, and I couldn’t even get into the house to hide under the bed.

“Dear Mama,” I whispered to my hands. “I’m sorry. I’m trying. I really am, but I don’t know what to do.”

A porch board creaked.

“There she is,” said a soft, familiar voice. “Callie LeRoux. There she is.”

The porch creaked again. From around the corner of the house, a shadow slid along the warped boards, and a man’s silhouette followed it.

“Is this what you want, Callie LeRoux?” It was the bum, the one who’d tried to stop me on the way to the studio that morning. His crooked hand opened with a jerky, painful motion to show a door key lying on his palm.

“Here. I’ll make it a present to you.” He held it out.

I’d’ve as soon touched a live rattlesnake as anything this man had to give. “You get outta here! I’ll scream and have the whole neighborhood down on you.” That might have made a better threat if I’d been able to talk louder than a whisper.

“Sure you will, sure you will,” the bum crooned. “Because you don’t know me yet, do you, Callie?” Then, to my surprise, that raggedy man swept off his broken-down
hat and began to sing.
“Let him go, let him go, God bless him …”

The song plowed straight through my brain, tossing up memories left and right. I was in a dusty honky-tonk. A lean man at the upright piano coaxed “St. James Infirmary Blues” out of the keys. Later, that same man in evening clothes and a flowing cape stood beside my Unseelie grandparents and looked down on me with a big, fake smile on his face. Later still, he stood in the middle of fire and ruin and gunshots, with me as good as dead, and he laughed about it.

“Oh, no, no,” I whispered. I wanted to back away, but there was no place to go. He had me, trapped, alone in the dark.
“Shake!”

“Now you see me.” The bum bowed low. His white eye gleamed like a pearl in the porch light. “Your uncle Shake. What’s left of him, anyway.”

“But … but you’re dead.” Last time I’d seen Shake, a boardwalk amusement park had been burning down around him, and I’d whacked him hard upside the head with a cast-iron frying pan. That kind of thing tended to make a person dead in a hurry, even a fairy. I’d gotten out, of course, and so had Jack, but we’d had help from outside. I just plain never stopped to think that Shake might have gotten out too.