The Elementals (12 page)

Vaguely ashamed, Julian dug into his pocket and produced a five-dollar bill. He flattened it on the counter and pushed it toward her. “Sorry, Mrs. Bartow. It’s been a long trip; I’m tired.”

“Aren’t we all?” she asked, plucking the money from his fingers. She rummaged in a cash box beneath the counter but returned a key instead of his change. “Come back Friday if you want your money, or leave your laundry in a bag outside your door. It makes up the difference.”

Julian took the key with a nod. Even though the boarding house had tiled steps that led upstairs, he followed Mrs. Bartow’s directions down the main hall. From an open door, he caught a glimpse of a pretty boy shouting lines from
Hamlet
at a mirror. Foreign words drifted though a closed door, along with the scent of boiled cabbage.

Then a little rubber ball rolled into the hallway. Julian set his bag down and leaned over to claim it.

“Hey there, could you?”

A thick-faced man stood in the doorway, a baby squirming on his shoulder. He was anchored by a toddler at his ankles. She stared at Julian’s crutch as he returned the ball.

“It won’t hurt you,” Julian reassured her.

“Thank you, lad,” the man said as he nodded at the toddler. “She doesn’t know any better.”

Julian backed into the hallway again and tipped his head toward the man. “No harm done. Suppose we’ll be neighbors. I’m Julian Birch.”

“They don’t hardly cry at all,” the man swore. “Cyril Kiedrowicz. Pleasure.”

With a nod, Julian left Mr. Kiedrowicz to his children and finally found his room. Unlocking the door, he swung it open slowly to take it in. It was dark, with plain plaster walls and an ugly rag rug. Folded linens sat on the foot of the bed. There was a bare electric lamp, a small table and chair, and a bureau for his things.

Not that he had many. A change of clothes, his pocket watch, and a little amber piece of rosin. He didn’t own his own fiddle, and he wasn’t about to steal Dad’s when he left. But it bothered him to leave music behind completely.

So he’d slipped the rosin in his satchel. He liked to rub his fingers tacky on it; its warm scent comforted him. Taking off the satchel, he tossed it onto the bureau. Then he took in the whole of the room.

It wasn’t much. It didn’t smell like spiced apples, and the window let in very little light on account of the building next door.

But for now, it would do. Julian hung his crutches on the hat hook, then his newsboy cap right after. Putting himself to work, he unfurled the linens and made the bed. Rough sheets whispered under his hands. Instead of sunshine, the bedclothes smelled of lye soap. Even the scent burned. When he was finished, Julian opened the window.

At first, there was a hint of flowers on the breeze that slipped into the room. Warm oil and tar followed—not unpleasant, but definitely not like home. Julian heard snatches of conversations from the street. Falling back onto the bed, he tucked his hands beneath his head and listened.

“A million dollars. Can you even imagine?”

“I’m thinking I should powder my face and head down to First National. If Chaplin’s worth a million, I’m worth a thousand at least.”

Julian smiled to hear that, but it faded when new voices floated through his window.

A woman, sharp and angry, tossed out words like broken glass. “I don’t care who hears me, Ruth. I’d look Wilson in the eye and say it. Show me a mother happy to send her boy to war, and I’ll show you a communist.”

Julian felt the faintest pang beneath his breast, one that flared when he stopped to think about his family. His brothers were on their way to that war; his parents sat alone in the white farmhouse.

It wasn’t the leaving that gave Julian pause. It was the
way
he’d gone: in the middle of the night. Without a note. And sinfully, stealing the money his mother saved for emergencies. What if the hay cutter threw a tooth? What if Old Joe dropped dead? They needed a horse all year round for the farm to work properly.

Guilt blossomed in Julian until it pushed him off the bed. Grabbing his key and his crutches, he hurried into the hall. Julian almost asked Mr. Kiedrowicz if he had stationery but thought better of it.

“Neither a borrower nor a lender be,”
Julian heard his mother say, her voice a silky memory in his thoughts.

Mrs. Bartow didn’t look happy to see him again so soon. “Something the matter?”

“No, ma’am.” Julian shook his head. “Is there any chance I could buy paper and an envelope?”

Suspicion narrowed Mrs. Bartow’s eyes, but she opened an unseen drawer. Producing a bit of stationery, she held it out to him. “You can have these, but don’t make a habit of it. Sun Drug’s right around the corner if you need more.”

“I’ll head that way after supper,” Julian said, and went back to his room.

The lamp table wasn’t an ideal writing desk, but it would do. Then Julian realized he didn’t have a pencil. Or a stamp. He felt stupid, really—there were so many things he needed, and he’d planned for none of them.

Rather than wallow, though, he decided to fix it for himself. Without any help.

Julian put his hat back on. He locked the door carefully and avoided Mrs. Bartow’s dumbstruck stare when he came through the lobby yet again. She’d said the drugstore was around the corner
.

Stepping into the sunlight. Julian waited for an opening in the people who walked by, then melted into them.

He was on his own in the city. He would decide when to wake up and how far he could walk. Dinner was whatever he wished it to be. Unless he wanted to snap beans, he’d never have to snap them again. It was thrilling to be independent, though still tinged with regret.

He needed to repay his parents. Only then could he celebrate his freedom without reserve.

Rolling the quarter between her fingers, Kate jerked her head up when the door finally swung open.

Black feathers splayed out to fill the room; Handsome stretched his wings and turned in a slow, deliberate way. A crackling sound rolled from his gullet, and then in Mollie’s own voice, he said, “Nevermore!”

Mollie ignored him, sailing past in a merry flash. She smelled of pipe tobacco, something sweet and roasted. Spinning round, she laughed and dropped herself into the chair across from Kate. With a great, satisfied sigh, she sprawled back. “I’m home!”

“So I see,” Kate replied.

“Cheer up, you!” Unsnapping her purse, Mollie pulled out a bundle wrapped in paper and pushed it toward Kate. “I swear, I had a miserable time without you, so I brought you a treat.”

Kate touched the packet; the slightest warmth radiated from it. “What is it?”

“Half my steak and potato. It’s delicious. And!” Mollie dug into her purse again. This time, she emerged with two dollar bills. Brushing it against her own nose, she smiled behind them, as if they were a fan and she, a debutante. “To see myself home. Isn’t that dear?”

Curiously numb, Kate stared at the money. “That’s a lot for a ride home.”

“It was for a cab, not a streetcar. I told them they couldn’t escort me.” Mollie tugged Kate’s sleeve playfully. “You know how our imaginary ma loses her temper and beats us when she’s drinking.”

“Mmm.” Kate couldn’t find it in herself to go along. “Where did you go?”

Mollie hopped up to change. “Oh, here and there. I let them buy me dinner; they insisted on a couple of dances. Nothing terribly exciting.”

Quiet, Kate picked at Mollie’s wrapped leftovers. It’s not as though they were starving. Hot dinners every night, so far; muffins in the morning, and whatever struck their fancy at work. True, most of what they ate at The Pike was garbage, but ice cream and hot honeyed peanuts made for a delicious lunch all the same.

The steak didn’t even smell good, Kate decided, and pushed it away. “I thought we were in this together.”

“What?” Mollie started to undress, smiling in disbelief. “We are! That’s money in our bank and a dinner we don’t have to buy.”

Kate didn’t say anything. Her head and her heart and her belly were a chaotic jumble. She stared at the floor, listening to the whisper of crêpe de Chine.

“Don’t be cross,” Mollie said as she shimmied from her skirt.

“I’m not.”

“I couldn’t take you.” Untying her dress shield, Mollie studied Kate’s face. “It wouldn’t have worked, I’m sorry. You can’t string a man along when you’ve got a chaperone.”

“I didn’t
want
to go.”

As if she hadn’t heard Kate at all, Mollie said, “Honestly, I couldn’t have. You need a dress. I think I saw a sale sign this morning. Where was it?”

“I don’t
want
a dress,” Kate snapped. Acid bubbled over, unpleasant and ugly, burning at the edges. “I didn’t
want
to go, and I’m not the least bit interested in carousing with a bunch of sailors!”

“I wasn’t carousing!”

Suddenly standing, Kate held out her arm to Handsome. She shoved her elbow at him, trying to force him to climb on. When he rearranged his feathers and stared, Kate told him, “We’re going for a walk. Get on.”

“You can’t pick a fight, then leave in the middle of it.”

“I don’t want to fight.”

“A bit late for that,” Mollie said. The strap of her combination slid down her shoulder, and she jerked it back into place furiously. “Why don’t you say what you’re thinking, Kate? Think I’m a hussy, don’t you? I’ll have you know, they were both gentlemen of the first stripe and—”

“Yes, well, I didn’t want to share you! You’re my star and my muse and . . .”

Kate cut herself off, but with considerably less fire, Mollie pressed her. “Your what?”

“Friend.” Kate finished, without conviction. “My star and my muse, and my friend. You’re the only one I have, you know.”

An impenetrable wall sprang up between them, invisible but physical all the same. Turning away, Mollie slipped her arms into her dressing gown and tied it tight. All around them, the sounds of other people’s lives filtered into their room. A baby cried, a trumpet played, the same melody again and again.

Sick to her stomach, Kate scooped Handsome up like he was a chicken. Ravens weren’t meant to be held, and he protested with long, rattling squawks. He may have been angry, but his realness comforted Kate. She held him close as she went to leave.

“We’re buying you a dress,” Mollie said quietly. “I think you’ve forgotten you’re a girl.”

“I know exactly what I am,” Kate said, but the words were muffled against Handsome’s feathers.

She let herself out and hurried into the city after dark. Unfortunately, she had nowhere to go, so she planted herself on a bench and sighed. A horse cart trundled by, the pony’s shoes echoing hollowly against the pavement.

Streetlights glowed overhead, ringed with halos of moths. The poor beasts struck the glass again and again, trying to get to a flame that didn’t even exist.

Finally, Handsome freed himself and flapped up to sit on her shoulder. Pecking at a loose tendril of hair, he croaked right in Kate’s ear. “I can talk. Can you fly?”

“No,” Kate said. “But I wish I could.”

***

In the morning, Julian dropped his letter in the mailbox out front, then crossed the street to start his job search.

The Hotel Alexandria towered over him, all glittering glass and stone. Its lobby was a temple of luxury. Chandeliers glowed overhead, golden light dancing through heavy crystal beads. There were velvet settees, and angular ladies perched on them, deep in conversation.

When Julian passed, they stared—delicately, over their compacts, but that was all right. Julian stared back, at their fingernails. They were painted, some pink, others russet. And polished like apples, gleaming and bright. He’d never seen anything like it.

Waiting in line, he watched a bellboy ride his cart down a carpeted hall. He had the same look Sam wore when he was up to something, and he proved it when he reached the lobby. Hopping off the cart, he suddenly walked with measured steps, all innocence and dignity.

A man in a tuxedo emerged from a side door and turned back to lock it. In his free hand, he waved a top hat. It was beyond Julian where somebody would have to be first thing in the morning dressed like that. Even the president kept to his suit jackets and straight ties most of the time.

“Can I help you?”

Julian hurried to the counter. Even though the concierge looked awfully sour, Julian smiled at him anyway. “I’m looking for work . . .”

The concierge cut him off. “I don’t think we have anything at the moment.”

“Oh, um. All right. Thanks anyway.”

“Have a wonderful day,” the man replied, but he didn’t sound like he meant it.

Julian headed back outside. To be fair, they didn’t have a sign in the window, and mostly, he’d wanted to get a look at the inside of a hotel that fine. Curiosity satisfied, he made his way up the block.

Already it was warm. California didn’t believe in easing into a day. This time back home, the dew would have burned off. It would have been the golden hour, with the fields clean and gleaming, before the air turned the barn into a steam bath. Loosening one button at his collar, Julian kept moving and tried not to think about the heat.

A Help Wanted notice caught his eye, and he glanced at the sign above his head.
BETTIS SHOES
. The door was too heavy to push with one hand, so he backed into it instead.

An earthy rush of leather washed over him, the scent of new shoes rich and unbroken. A salesman came out of the back when the bells above the door jingled, and he stopped short.

“The sign says you’re hiring,” Julian said.

This time, he saw the eyes flick down a split second before reaching his face again. The salesman put on a fine smile but shook his head. “I’m looking for somebody to go door to door, son. It’s a big case to carry on a good day, and there’s a lot of walking up stairs and back down again . . .”

Julian tried to ignore the disappointment settling on him. “I understand. Thanks.” His smile lasted until he got outside. He probably should have thought about that—what kind of job it was. Then again, how was he to know unless he asked?

He passed a shuttered barbershop and a drugstore, then stopped at the next Help Wanted sign:
ZWEIFEL’S SANITARY LAUNDRY
. A spark of confidence lit in Julian. If there was one thing he could do, it was laundry. Lord knew he’d done enough back home.