Sirens (18 page)

Houdini, who has a genius for contriving, and then getting out of dangerous situations, was in the most ticklish position of his eventful life yesterday afternoon.

—“Houdini in Sealed Coffin 91 Minutes,”
Youngstown Vindicator
, August 6, 1926

Jo

The elevator door slammed open, and Melody walked straight into the library and right past me without missing a beat. She opened the hidden cabinet, yanked out a bottle and a glass, poured some of the brown liquid into the glass, and knocked that drink back without a second’s hesitation; then she refilled.

“Mel…”

She whirled on me, pointing her index finger at me while she still held the bottle by the neck. “Don’t.” Her face was twisted, contorted, all that pretty girlish charm lost to some inner demon. She knocked back the second drink.

This was not the Melody who’d welcomed me to New York, who’d outfitted me from head to toe, who’d partied at the speakeasy.

It hurt just to look at her. Tears sprang into my eyes, and Melody turned away, putting the bottle back in the cabinet only
after topping up the glass yet again. Then she settled into a chair opposite, watching me, swirling the scotch around and around.

“I bet you think I’m really sick,” she said.

“I think you have a problem,” I whispered. “And not just with the booze.”

“Yeah, well, Miss High and Mighty, you’ve got no idea.” She watched me with narrowed eyes. “What makes you so special? How come you think you’re so right?” She took a gulp. “Why do you think you’ve got it rough and you alone, you little Goody Two-shoes?”

That hurt. “I don’t think that way at all.”

“Oh, sure. Perfect Teddy up and disappears, and it all falls on you now, doesn’t it? Which must make you bloody annoyed.”

“That’s got nothing to do with you.” I felt angry now. I wanted to give her my sympathy, but she was making it hard.

“Are you sure?” She leaned toward me. “You asked me a few days ago why you were sent here. You have no idea why you’re here, in this apartment, right now, do you?”

Something in the way she said it made my insides freeze. I lied, “Pops thinks I should find a husband. He sent me here because he thought your parents would help me meet the kind of man…” I couldn’t finish. It was all a cover, a lie.

She snorted. “Something like that.” She took a sip, staring hard into her glass.

I leaned forward, sliding closer. “Something like what, Mel?”

“Find a something, that’s for sure.” She nodded. “Women got the vote, right? We’ve got all this freedom? Sure thing. Let me fill you in on a small surprise. Nothing’s really changed, Jo. We’re still property. We’re still being laced up good and tight. We’re still
being told what to do, how to think, what to feel, and oh, by the way, put on a good show, girls. ’Cause if you step too far out of line, look out. Somebody’s gonna take away everything you care about. Somebody’s gonna tell you you can’t have what you want. Somebody’s gonna break your heart.”

“Mel.” I didn’t know what to say.

“Aw, honey. Maybe I can just get over it, huh? I bet all it’ll take is me reciting that line, you know, the cure from that Frenchie psychologist. Coué, or whatever his name is.” Her voice went up a notch as she parodied. “‘Every day in every way I’m getting better and better.’ Hah!” She tossed back the last of her drink, slammed down the glass, and stood and stalked out of the room.

I sank back, stunned. Somebody had broken Melody’s heart, no doubt about it. And she’d kept all that emotion locked up good and tight, so that I hadn’t seen it until now.

The shadows were long and I would have turned on a light, but I kept thinking, trying to piece it all together. It was dark in the library when Chester came home. He turned on a lamp, looked up and saw me, and started.

“Cuz! Sitting alone in the shadows?” He grinned, then shook his head and put up his hands, wiggling his fingers as if he was conjuring evil. “The Cates family has already gotten to you.”

“Stop.” I couldn’t put up with Chester’s obnoxious behavior at that moment.

“Whoa, sorry. What bit you?”

Maybe Chester could enlighten me, at least about Melody. “Your sister has a serious problem.”

Chester turned and paced away from me before answering. He sat down and drew his hands behind his head. “Yes. She does.”

“What do you know about it?”

He shrugged, but kept his eyes cast up, addressing the ceiling.

“Chester, come on. Don’t you want to help her?”

“Jo, nobody can help Mel now. She made her bed, and now she’s got to lie in it.”

I snorted. “What does that mean?”

He moved his eyes to meet mine. “It means Melody made a mistake. One she’s going to pay for the rest of her life. And that’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

I shook my head. He didn’t want to help his sister; he refused to tell me anything but wanted to know what I knew. I disliked him for what he’d done when we were kids; now I was beginning to detest him. Only one thing might make him open up. I thought about how helping Melody was worth my taking a risk. “Okay, Chester. Have it your way. You can forget about learning another thing about Teddy.” I bit my lip. If he called my bluff, I might have to tell him something.

We watched each other in silence. It was so quiet I could hear the
tick, tick
of the small brass clock on the bookshelf across the room.

“I’ll think about it,” he said. Then he got up and left.

There was no family dinner that evening. Uncle Bert was working late; Aunt Mary had to attend some social function or other. Melody and Chester stayed put in their rooms. I ate alone at the great polished dining table, served by Malcolm, who did his best to make me comfortable even when he was clearly feeling the brunt of the awkward silence. I went to my room, uneasy with the weight of the sadness that hung over my aunt and uncle’s house.

And at last I had my room to myself and knew I wouldn’t be disturbed or spied on. Teddy’s journal was waiting for me, maybe to give me answers to my questions. I closed my bedroom door and sat on the floor next to the dresser as I unwrapped the scarf and opened to the page where I’d left off.

The next entries were made after Teddy’d returned home and were short and filled with gaps.

December 12, 1918

They all look good. Ma and Pops and Josie. Makes me feel like I did the right thing. Went to war to take care of them.

January 5, 1919

Marched in the parade. All those folks cheering for me. Felt like a fake. I am a fake. A fake who wanted to get home and got lucky.

Some guy said, “Seventy-seventh. Sounds like it was a lucky number for you, mate.”

Yeah. 77. My lucky number.

They’re calling it “the lost battalion,” the 77th.

Little do they know.

January 20

Will I ever feel normal again?

April 10

Went to Coney Island. Love the beach there, even when it’s cold. The sea, especially when it’s calm, reminds me of the prairie, reminds me of that summer, of the time before.

Made me feel better.

May 1

Rushton’s made good on his promise. Gave me a heck of a nice position. Moving to New York to start up. Sad to have to leave Josie, but seems to me I’m making her sad all the time, anyhow. Maybe the city will pick me up.

May 15

Job with Rushton going okay, now I’ve settled in. Uncle Bert and Aunt Mary are genereous to let me live with them. Rushton’s okay, even if he’s rich.

Which is the hard part. Everything’s changed. I’ve changed. I think about Willie O., who talked about how his folks were spat on when they arrived from Ireland. How his pop couldn’t find a job, how they called him a dumb paddy.

You know, that son of a dumb paddy took a bullet—for what? For freedom? Whose freedom? John Rushton and his rich-guy friends?

May 17

I’m concerned for Melody. Tried to tell her not to grow up too fast, but she’s a looker and knows it. She flirts and carries on. Sneaks out at night. Chester too young to be a help; I’ve taken to following her when I can, keeping an eye on her.

June 2

Josie came into town. Took her to the museum, to my favorites. I felt sorry later that I was such a wet blanket, but memories crept up on me.

I gripped the cover of the journal tight, remembering that day.

June 5

Went to a meeting today. Liked what I heard. About time these guys made themselves heard.

Bolshevicks? Nah. Just poor blokes needing a job, a voice, any voice.

July 20

Not sure I agree now with everything that’s being said. Feeling like I need to lay low, ’cause some of what they want to do I can’t buy into.

Still…it’s rough out there for the Irish, the Italians, the Jews. “Give me your tired, your poor….” Sure, right. Just shut the door behind you, and be sure to lock it and keep out the riff-raff, those funny-accented blokes.

September 10

Everyone’s astir with Melody’s situation. I should’ve been there. The one time I wasn’t.

November 1

A solution has been found, but Melody will pay the consequences forever. And I will, too, because I made a deal that cost me. But I had to. She’s family. I thought I was turning it all around. I thought I’d never have to play that role again.

This other business has gotten dangerous. I’m beginning to suspect their plan will hurt people. Don’t like it and have decided not to play that game any longer. I may sympathize with these guys, but I’m not willing to do what they’re asking.

And if John Rushton ever found out what I know, how I’m—

The page ended, at the bottom, in midsentence.

What was this? I flipped back and forth, trying to decipher what had happened, careful not to let the loose pages fall and scatter. The following pages looked like they had been removed, so the rest of the entry and those that followed for some months were missing.

I felt the sweat bead on my forehead as I searched, and then it caught my eye, a note in a different ink, written sideways in the margin on the last page before the missing ones. The note read:

J. Loved those library lions. First time.

What?

I leaned back against the dresser. What was this? What happened to Mel? Who was going to find out what? What business had he gotten mixed up in?

And what was with the note that was clearly addressed to me?

The library lions: Teddy had to mean the New York Public
Library. He took me there on one of our first trips into town. We had such a time, and afterward we went for ice cream and then a matinee.

He wanted me to go back to the library.

I lifted the journal and turned to the next written page. The entries went to odd things, tallying personal accounts, items of clothing purchased. Nothing else was revealed in those pages about Teddy’s “deal,” or the consequences, or Melody, or what plan Teddy disapproved of that had “gotten dangerous.”

I closed the journal. What had happened to Melody? What did Teddy have to do and what was he hiding from Rushton?

The missing pages that held the answers. The library lions were a clue.

I sat on my bed and looked around these lovely quarters. My aunt and uncle were invisible, keeping their status as upper-middle-class respectables; I thought about others around me who were invisible, busy with labor, slaving after the likes of the Cateses. And me, now.

I thought about what Teddy had said about those who needed a voice.

Like Malcolm, who served me and tried to make me comfortable when he himself was not. Or Joey, who should be in school, not filling his days with the mindless, endless up and down, up and down in a vertical carriage for wealthy clients. Or Ed, who braved whatever weather just to open a door and act pleasant, no matter what abuse he suffered. What did I know about them, these three, about their dreams and hopes?