Swan Song (9 page)

“Thank you, Tommy.”

He doesn’t answer me. He’s all business as he walks me across the ice strewn street, into my building, and up the winding flights of stairs. When we reach my apartment door, I turn to him and feel my heart hammer in my chest. I don’t know what he intends or what I’ll do with what he has planned. All I know is I’m tired as sin and I want to lie down. Alone.

“Thank you for seeing me home,” I tell him, toying with my key absently. I feel nervous and it’s strange.

He steps in closer to me, invading my space and backing me against the door. “You’re welcome, Adrian,” he says deeply, his voice scraping across every nerve in my body like a match head over flint, threatening to ignite.

I lean forward, my breath rebounding off his and coming back warm and wet against my lips. His fingers push my coat open and his hand slides hot against my side. My body responds immediately to his touch, going loose and sinewy, tightening and melting all at once.

His mouths claims mine the way it did in his office, as though he already owns it. As though it’s his for the taking, and I’m not arguing. I’m not fighting. I’m grabbing onto him, balling my fists in the arms of his coat and pulling his chest hard against mine. I want to feel pinned against this wall. I want to feel crushed and a crazy, small part of me wants to see Addy again. I want to breathe in her lungs, see through her eyes, and feel the world for one painful, shining moment with perfect glaring honesty, but it doesn’t come. The wall is too smooth, his pressure too light, his hands too busy on my body, and even as I heat up inside with his every touch, part of me has already walked away. It’s spiraling dizzy down to the street, to the ally, to the dark. It’s staring into intense, glowing eyes watching from the shadows and I feel warm in a different way. I suddenly realize I’m sweating inside my coat in this drafty hallway and my heart is hammering in my ears.

I push Tommy back, wincing and touching my head as the pain slams into me. “I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper.

He steps back, his brow pinching and his hands taking hold of my elbows to hold me up, but also to keep me away from him. “Shit, you don’t look good.”

“I don’t feel good.” Something is wrong with me. So many things. Too many to sift through tonight.

“Give me your key, I’ll get your door open for you.”

“Thanks.”

He opens the door, then hands me back my key and gestures for me to step inside. I move slowly, afraid of the dizzy feeling that’s still haunting me. When I turn to smile wanly at him and wish him goodnight, he’s watching me carefully.

“You gonna be alright? Do you want me to come in?”

“No, I’ll be fine after I lie down. The girls are all here. They’ll take care of me.”

“Alright. Close the door. I’ll leave when I hear it lock.”

I nod my head, shutting it tight and immediately throwing the locks before resting my sweating forehead against it.

“Goodnight,” I whisper dramatically through the crack between door and frame, feeling so strange. Goofy almost. Drunk, though I only had one gin all night.

“Goodnight,” I hear him chuckle from outside. Then his footsteps slowly begin their descent, taking my pulse down with them.

“Adrian,” Rosaline whispers sharply.

I jump a mile in the air, nearly screaming from fright. “Rosaline, why?!” I exclaim angrily.

“Get in here. Now,” she demands, ignoring my indignation.

“What’s wrong?”

She steps into the light coming in from the window. It’s a small slanted, yellow shaft, but it shows me enough of her face for my heart to resume it’s pounding. She’s terrified and trembling.

“Alice is dead.”

Chapter Ten

I drop my clutch and keys loudly on the floor.

“What?” I ask shakily.

Rosaline shakes her head, her eyes wide as saucers. “She’s dead, Adrian.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t go back in there.”

“Where’s Lucy?”

“In the bathroom throwing up. She checked on her a moment ago and… Oh God, Adrian. Her eyes.”

I push past a Rosaline to hurry into the bedroom. We have two beds set up in here. One larger bed to fit two of us, usually Alice and Rosaline, and one small, cramped one for myself. Alice is on my bed lying on her side facing the rest of the room. I know she’s dead the moment I see her. There’s vomit on the floor beside her and she’s curled into the fetal position, her skin sharply white and tight over her bones. But it’s her eyes that let me know she’s gone. They’re colorless and empty, staring off into the distance blindly.

“Shit,” I mutter. I can feel panic rising inside of me. I need to squash it down, to be smart. I need help. “Tommy,” I breathe anxiously.

I run out of the room, making a beeline for the window facing out over the street. I yank on the frame, fighting against the frozen wood and cursing over and over again. Just as I’m considering busting out the glass, it gives way and I’m able to lean out. I see Tommy stepping back into his car.

“Hey, handsome!” I cry, careful not to use his name. My voice sounds shaky and horrified, dispersing in a puff of white, warm air in the freezing wind.

Tommy’s head snaps up to the window immediately, put on alert by my tone.

“Adrian?” he calls back. “Are you alright?”

“I—Yeah. I don’t know. I changed my mind. About the nightcap? Will you come back up?”

I can’t see his face in the dark at this distance, but I can tell he’s confused.

“It’s late. You aren’t feeling well.”

“It’s almost early,” I tease shakily. “Besides, I’ll feel better with you around. Come back up. Please.”

It’s the please that does it. The begging. He knows something’s up.

He walks hurriedly back across the street, disappearing into the building entrance below me. I slam the window shut and hurry to the door. I have it open when he comes bounding up the stairs, his face a dark mask of concern.

“What’s happened?” he demands, all business. When he walks in, he takes one look at Rosaline and gets the idea. She’s started crying silently, her face glistening with tears and her hands twitching at her sides. “Where?” he asks me gruffly.

“In the bedroom. Through there,” I whisper.

“Shut the door and keep quiet,” he tells me as he disappears into the bedroom.

When I shut the door, Rosaline grabs onto me and buries her face in my shoulder, silent sobs racking her body. I don’t say a word and I don’t hug her back. I just stand there going numb, shutting down.

I hear Tommy curse from inside the room then he reappears, his expression grim.

“How long ago?” he asks sternly.

Rosaline ignores him and continues to weep into my shoulder. I have to shake her to get her attention. “Rose. How long ago?”

“Um,” she sniffs, standing up straight and wiping her eyes. “Not even half an hour. She was here with Lucy when I got home from the club a couple hours ago. She, um, she was weird. Acting looney.”

“What do you mean?”

Rosaline shakes her head faintly. “I don’t know. She was saying crazy things. Talking to people who weren’t there. Calling Luce and I by the wrong names. She called me by your name once, Aid, yelling at me about some number she didn’t want to do. It was like she thought she was still at the club.”

“Mickey said she threw up in the car,” Tommy says. “And she threw up in there, but is that it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just those two times.”

“Sit on the couch,” he commands. He glances around suddenly, looking alarmed. “Where’s the other one? There are four of you, right?”

“Lucy,” I confirm. “Rose said she’s in the bathroom.”

“I’ll get her and bring her in here. Stay together and stay quiet. I gotta find a phone and call the doctor.”

“But she’s dead… isn’t she?” Rosaline asks weakly, sounding hopeful that maybe she’s wrong.

Tommy looks her hard in the eyes. “She’s gone. But we need the doc to tell us why.”

“Should we call the police?”

“Are you simple?” he asks her harshly, his eyes flashing dangerously.

I put my hand up and glare at him. “Easy. She’s upset, give her a break. I’ll talk to her. Just go get Lucy.”

Tommy storms out of the room in search of the bathroom while I sit Rosaline down on the couch. She slumps down hard, the wind entirely out of her sails. I gently brush her brown hair out of her eyes as her tears start up again.

“We can’t call the cops until we know what happened,” I tell her softly, hoping I won’t have to repeat this for Lucy. “We need to know if it has something to do with the club or with the Outfit. If it does, it’ll be handled privately.”

Rosaline looks up at me with worried eyes. “You won’t let them just dump her body, will you? What if they want to put her out in the woods somewhere or sink her in the river? You won’t let them, right?”

I stare back into her pleading eyes and know I can’t promise her that. So I give her what I can.

“I’ll sure try,” I whisper.

Rosaline nods then leans over to lay her head on my shoulder again. I take her shaking hands in my own shaking hands, and together they feel somehow solid. Steady. As though their mutual fear cancels each other out and we’re stronger because we both feel it.

Lucy comes walking into the room looking like a ghost. Her face is pale, her white nightgown flows around her with each step, but her eyes are hard. Rosaline and I are shaken up, but Lucy is different. Lucy, much to my surprise, is fightin’ mad.

“Scoot over,” she commands. “Your boyfriend told me to sit down and shut up.”

“I’m sorry, Luce,” I mutter, not sure what I’m apologizing for. About Tommy being harsh with her? About Alice dying so young? About bringing Alice into the club in the first place, putting her in harm’s way? I don’t know, maybe all of it.

Lucy sits down and waits beside us. We all fall silent, the only sound is Rosaline’s occasional sniff. The small apartment smells uncomfortably of vomit and the inside of an outhouse. It’s wafting out of the bedroom and filling the space with death and decay. With the entire contents of Alice’s body that she left behind when her soul vacated the space.

Tommy eventually returns with the familiar face of the German doctor on his heels, the same one who attended to Eddie when he was shot last month. I nod hello to him when he enters but he ignores me. Instead, he follows Tommy straight into the bedroom where I hear him plunk his black medical bag down and begin muttering indiscernibly. I hear Tommy’s voice every now and again, low and rumbling, impossible to understand from here but somehow still reassuring. Eventually Rosaline stops sniffing and I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. I wish I could. Though considering what’s happened in that bedroom, I don’t know how I will.

“Was she taking anything?” Tommy asks loudly, startling us all.

He and the doctor are standing in the room, their tall, shadowed figures looking down on the three of us.

“I don’t know,” I answer. “I don’t think so.”

“A sleep syrup,” Rosaline says, sitting up straight. “I don’t know what kind but it’s in the kitchen cupboard. Brown bottle.”

“You mean zis?” the doctor asks, holding up a brown bottle with no label and a small cork in the top.

“That looks like it, yeah. Where did you find that?”

“Under the bed,” Tommy says darkly. “It musta rolled under after she drank it.”

“Do you know how full ze bottle vas?”

We all shake our heads. No one knows. I didn’t even know she was taking it.

The doctor nods thoughtfully, looking at Tommy. “She must have procured it from another doctor. I did not prescribed her zis.”

Tommy nods in agreement. “Nicky. His doc.”

“Zis vas her boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Nicky who?” Lucy asks. “This is the first I’m hearing of a boyfriend.”

“She was dating some big shot named Nicky,” Rosaline tells her, sounding exhausted. “He drove her home in limos all the time. Bought her clothes. Took her out to the theater. She tried to keep him a secret, but how could she? I think everyone knew. I mean, he’s practically a Capone, for God’s sake.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Tommy interrupts, glaring at Rosaline. “Here’s what happened. Alice has been seein’ someone. He got her knocked up. She demanded he marry her. He’s already a married man with three kids so he says nothin’ doin’. Tells her to hit the bricks. She gets sad and scared. She gets a little too drunk, takes some sleep syrup to try and forget her troubles and BAM!” All three of us jump in surprise. “Lights out. Permanently.”

Lucy casts Tommy an angry look. “You want us to say she committed suicide?”

“No. I want you to agree she took the wrong drug with her hooch and it killed her. You can call it an accident if you want, I don’t care, but that’s what happened. Some guy, you don’t know who,” he says pointedly, making eye contact with each of us, “broke her heart and she made an emotional mistake. It happens a lot. It’s a damn shame and a terrible loss, but it is what it is.”

There are a lot of problems with this story. Problems like how drunk Alice was at the club
before
she took the sleep syrup. Like the fact that I don’t believe for a second that Alice was pregnant. Like the fact that she and I had the same headache and nausea symptoms just a couple weeks ago.

“Tommy, can I talk to you? Alone?”

Tommy shakes his head. “I don’t got time to listen to you cry over your friend, Adrian. There’s a lot still to do tonight, like call the cops and that chaps my ass.”

“Just for a second. With the doctor?”

Tommy frowns at me, but I have his attention. He gestures for me to lead the way into the kitchen. “What’s this about?”

“I don’t believe she killed herself,” I put up my hands asking them to wait when both men begin to speak, to tell me that’s the story and I need to stick to it. “I’ll say she accidentally did, that’s fine. Don’t worry about that. But she and I were both having headaches for weeks. We both felt sick a lot. Like throwing up. She actually did a couple times. Then we felt better just after Thanksgiving, but it started up again almost immediately.”

“What’s your point?” Tommy asks impatiently.

“My point is, I’m worried.” I look to the doctor. “Could it be something else that killed her? Could I be sick with it too?”

He eyes me shrewdly, looking me over for signs of something I don’t understand. “Vhat are ze symptoms? Nausea? Headache? Is zis all?”

“I get dizzy sometimes too. It gets hard to focus.”

“Vhen do you feel zis vay? In ze morning? Afternoon? Evening?”

“Always in the evening, always after I’ve been at the club for a while.”

“Hmmm. And you are a performer? Up on ze stage all night?”

“Almost entirely, yes.”

“Alice was too,” Tommy tells him. “She was in the chorus.”

The doctor puts his hand on my throat and begins prodding gently. “You eat at ze club?”

“Sometimes,” I reply with a shrug. “But not always.”

“Has anyone else complained of zese symptoms?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Not that I’ve heard.”

“Ze bright lights? Do zey hurt your eyes?”

I nod emphatically. “Yes.”

“Uh huh.” he removes his hand from my throat and steps back, speaking to Tommy. “It is headaches. A very severe headache can cause nausea, dizziness, ze sensitivity to light.”

“That’s it?” I ask, feeling annoyed. “You’re diagnosing my headaches as headaches?”

“Severe headaches,” he corrects, ignoring my tone and digging around in his bag. He hands me a brown bottle, one that looks eerily similar to what they found under Alice’s bed. “Zey could be brought on by ze lights or made vorse by zem. Ve don’t know. But I vill give you laudanum. It vill help. You take one dosage before you start vork. It vill keep ze headaches avay.”

“For how long?”

The doctor shrugs. “Maybe alvays. Or until you do not need it.”

“If I’m taking it to head off the headaches, how will I know if I don’t need it in the first place?”

“Some nights you do not take it. See how you feel.”

With that, he tips his hat to Tommy, snaps his black leather bag closed, and leaves the apartment.

I stare down at the bottle in my hand with an uneasy feeling in my gut. One that tells me this might have been Alice’s solution too, and I wonder if Tommy’s story about how she died isn’t closer to the truth than I’d like to think.

“I hate doctors,” I mutter.

“Me too,” Tommy agrees quietly, lighting a cigarette. “But they’re a necessary evil. Like taxes and toddlers.”