Sirens (5 page)

I so hoped that was true. That that’s where he was hiding now.

The doorman coughed and looked me up and down, but Aunt Mary, now out and about, had left word and I was expected. I let the doorman haul my suitcase; I had to bite back a smile when he picked it up with a grunt of surprise. The elevator boy, in his smart red suit and cap, was years younger than I was, and he stared at me wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as if he’d never seen a country girl welcomed as a guest in these quarters.

The elevator cage opened with a clang directly into the foyer of the apartment, so it was no surprise to see Melody emerge from the living room, right behind the butler.

I hadn’t seen Melody since Teddy’s memorial. She was seven years my senior, and I’d always thought her a sophisticate. To say she’d changed in the last year would’ve been an understatement. She’d gone from sophisticate to worldly.

“Cuz!” She held me at arm’s length. Her forehead wrinkled as her thinly plucked eyebrows lifted. “What a quaint little outfit!” She turned to the Negro butler, who hovered over my suitcase, appraising, having tried to lift it once. “Go ahead, Malcolm. Take it to the guest room.” She waved her hand. “Shoo.”

“Hi, Melody.” I touched my hair. Hers was short, about chin length in front and shorter in back, and fell in thick blond waves across her left cheek, a diamond barrette fastened high on the other side. “So. Here I am.”

“Yes. Here you are.” She tapped her index finger against her berry-red lips, and seemed to come to a conclusion. “Let’s just get rid of that, shall we?”—she pointed at my coat—“And that”—she motioned at my hat. I shrugged out of the coat, unpinned the hat, and handed them over. She tossed them on a chair without giving them a second glance, then folded her arms. “Oh, dear.”

I surely wasn’t the fashion plate she was, in her sleek peach silk dress with its beading along the hem, and with her silk stockings and pale-colored low heels. I tugged at my middy blouse and fiddled with the waistband of the navy wool skirt.

“Cuz, you must let me advise you. You can’t go around New York dressed like that.”

The flush crept up my neck. She looked terrific, I had to admit.

“Honey, no big deal. We’ll have you square in a jiff.”

“Gee, thanks.” I folded my arms across my chest as if to hide the oversize blouse. Then I changed the subject. “Look, I need your help. Pops sent me here on a pretext, I’m sure of it. He said something crazy about my meeting a man.”

Melody burst out laughing. “Yes, my dear, that I can arrange.”

I waved my hand now, impatient. “No, Mel. There’s another reason for this sudden excursion to New York. Something Pops wouldn’t tell me. What am I really doing here, do you know?”

She looked surprised. “Staying for a time. Beyond that, I haven’t a clue. No one tells me anything.” She smoothed her brows with one finger. “Now, listen. I’m on my way out, and Mummy is off doing whatever it is she does, and Daddy is still at work and heaven only knows when he’ll be home, so it’s just you and Chester.” She paused. “And the help, of course.”

“Oh, great.” Chester. Three years younger than Melody. To say he was not one of my favorite people would be, well, an understatement. The scar on my back burned at the thought of spending time with him.

Melody read my mind. “Cuz. It was an accident. This you know.”

“Yes, Mel. I know.” That he hadn’t meant to start the fire was really beside the point.

She moved, impatient. “Look, I have to go. There’s all the alcohol you could want in the hidden closet in the library. You just have to press the hutch door, you know, push on it like this, ’cause it’s a fake—”

“I don’t drink.”

Her perfect brows furrowed. “Josephine.”

“Jo.”

She waved her hand. “Whatever you like to call yourself. Jeepers, you’re seventeen. Almost eighteen. Everyone drinks. You don’t? Well, fine. You want to know why you’re here?” She leaned toward me. “I would guess it has to do with your daddy and the business he’s in.” She pulled back, and her eyes went distant. “Too
bad Teddy isn’t here. He always knew what to do.” She snapped upright, turned on her perfect heel, the beaded hem of her dress splaying out around her knees. “Tomorrow, first thing—well, later, first thing, because morning is not my favorite time of day—we’ll tend to your hair.”

“I’d like that,” I said. And I would, too, as the unpleasant weight of my hair draped against my damp blouse. Just a purely practical matter. That it would be modern was secondary.

But Melody paused and smiled. “There. I knew there were a few outrageous thoughts in that smart brain of yours.”

I stood at one of the tall windows in the apartment’s living room and watched the day draw toward slumber while the city below woke as if from a long nap. The windows of this room looked east, and the sky I could see between the buildings opposite already had a purple hue, while the sun reflected burnt orange in their windows. The avenue below growled with life. Nighttime was not rest time here but another facet of New York’s glittering magic.

I thought again about my uncle’s other house, the one way up the Hudson, where the river ran below. That week when I was ten. I inched my hand up under my blouse and felt the scar that stretched across my back. The skin had seared to a sandpaper roughness. I thought about the playhouse.

How the playhouse was, and then wasn’t. How what was left after they cleared the rubble was a blackened stone square. How I had been inside. How I’d run in for my doll, to save her. How
Chester had been punished even though he hadn’t known that I’d run in for her, after he set the fire. How he set it for no reason. How he had been punished but not enough to my liking.

How much I loved the river, and how much I hated the flames.

Chester showed up in time for us to eat dinner together.

I shifted in my chair at the table. “Where are you in school?” I tried to make polite conversation, even if I didn’t like meeting his eyes.

“You mean, this year?” He smirked, leaning across the table over our soup. “School number four. In four years.”

“Ah!”

“Just left the last place. Seems I was cheating. Or failing. Or something. They packed me off without a wave or a bye-bye.”

I thought about my own classroom in the school that had housed me for three years, and how Miss Draper would surely wonder why I was missing, even if my classmates gave it no more than a passing thought.

He shrugged. “School is fine, if you like that sort of thing.”

I tried not to slurp. Chester, because he was a boy, and a wealthy one at that, had every opportunity, which he tossed off without a second thought.

“I’ve decided it’s high time I moved on anyhow.” He lifted his glass of wine and took a noisy sip.

I couldn’t look at him. “Move on to what?”

“Why, business. Banking looks good, since my dad can give me a position downtown. But heck, why not take up a little bootlegging
on the side? Might as well. Your father’s in on it.” He paused, and our eyes met. I saw the light in his eye, and my stomach turned so that I couldn’t swallow my food. “Right, Josephine?”

The blood rushed to my face.

Chester sat back, watching me, his brown eyes narrowed, his smile thin, hair slicked back and parted in the middle with careful precision, his wineglass raised. “Come on, Jo. It’s the best way to make a mint. No taxes, just straight-on profit. A man can become a millionaire in no time.”

“It’s illegal,” I muttered into my soup. It was the only thing I could think to say.

Chester snorted. “As if that matters. Are you that naive? There’s a speakeasy on every block in this city. The police are on the take. The biggest bootleggers ride around in bulletproof limousines. Illegal? Who cares?”

I cared, at least as far as my pops was concerned. My moral compass pointed toward the straight and narrow. And Chester, the last time we’d spent together, his moral compass was skewed by a desire to be reckless. I cared, but what could I do about it? If Teddy was here, he would’ve cared, too.

Teddy, if only you could be here, would be here…

Malcolm brought in the main course: a bloody filet in béarnaise sauce with sides of potatoes and snap beans dressed with almonds.

When Malcolm left, Chester leaned across the table toward me, a glint in his eye that made me draw back. “I know what’s going on in that sharp brain you’ve got. You’re thinking about Teddy and wishing he was here. Perfect Teddy. He wouldn’t have done anything illegal, now, would he? No, sir.” Chester grinned. “Why,
Teddy was destined for great things, wasn’t he. Senator, governor, maybe even…yeah, maybe even president. Yes. President Winter. Being groomed and heading for stardom. Perfect Theodore Winter, ready to become king.” Chester snorted. “Right.”

I sat still, my eyes now fixed on my plate.

“But the king has no clothes, does he?”

“What do you mean?” I whispered, lifting my eyes, my back stiffening.

Chester waved his fork in the air. “I mean, old Teddy went and disappeared, didn’t he? Kings die and become dead heroes. End of story.” Chester leaned over, punctuating his next words with his fork. “He should’ve thought that one through.” He turned his attention to his plate, sawing away at his filet.

I let the air out of my lungs. Bluffing. Chester was bluffing, which I should have expected. But for a moment, I’d thought Chester knew about Teddy, knew our secret, what I had done for—how I had lied for—Teddy. But no. I kept Teddy’s secret. I held on to the belief he’d be back. I’d promised Teddy.

After dinner Chester and I retreated to our separate rooms. I had my own private suite here—with a door I could lock. Melody had tossed a pair of pajamas on my bed, a thoughtful gesture. They were navy-blue silk with white pin dots, and came with a matching robe.

And the closet was packed with clothes, as promised. Pretty things, classy and smart, if more than a little revealing. Short dresses, slim and silky, in pale colors and trimmed in handmade lace or long beading or wispy frills. If they weren’t the very latest fashion, I wouldn’t have been able to tell. I looked at those dresses for a long time, rubbing the silk between my fingers, admiring the details,
but also feeling the blush creep across my cheeks as I imagined my near-nakedness when wearing them. They were nothing like the full-sleeved middy blouse and midcalf skirt I was wearing, and I looked down at myself with a rueful twist of my lips.

I actually couldn’t wait to try some of them on though I’d have to pick the ones that didn’t reveal too much, or expose that ten-inch scar.

My bedroom here was twice as big as my room at home. High ceilings, carved moldings, tall satin-draped windows that opened high above the noisy city so that the air they admitted was cooler and sweeter than the air down on the street. I had a private bath done all in black-and-white tile, and a medicine cabinet stocked with all the latest in personal items: deodorant, mouthwash, their smells spicy and antiseptic.

And Melody had left me a small bottle of perfume—CHANEL NO. 5, read the label—that smelled divine, along with a note: “Enjoy!”

I’d landed in a grand luxury. It was enough to turn my head. So why did I feel like I’d stepped behind bars?

An empty bookcase waited, and I unloaded my suitcase, setting the books in place by author. I took the silk scarf with its sacred contents out of my suitcase and sat for a long time with it cradled in my lap. I had to keep faith with Teddy; he’d return. I tucked the scarf and its contents away deep inside my bottom dresser drawer.

I pulled one of my books off my shelf as I tucked into bed, and smiled. A perfect choice, under the circumstances.

“About thirty years ago, Miss Maria Ward of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate…”