Tiffany Girl (32 page)

“Reeve’s editor took a puff on his pipe. ‘Why don’t you see if you can find some of those Tiffany Girls.’ ”

CHAPTER

42

L
ooks like the Lead Glaziers and Glass Cutters’ Union is about to come to an agreement with the manufacturers.” Reeve’s editor took a puff on his pipe. “Why don’t you see if you can find some of those Tiffany Girls and see what they think about that.”

“Tiffany Girls?” Reeve stared at his boss. “What is it exactly you’d want me to ask them?”

“Well, for starters, they finished Tiffany’s chapel. You can ask them about that, and I’m sure they’ll also have plenty to say about the men coming back because, after all, once they do, Tiffany won’t need the women anymore, right?”

Reeve had been wondering that same thing. Miss Jayne had returned from the fair last week, but he didn’t really want to ask her if she expected to lose her job. It somehow didn’t seem right.

Ulrich picked up a piece of paper and fed it into his typewriter. “By the way, your boardinghouse satire has brought in a great many new women readers, so you need to ramp up the romance between Marylee and the bibliomaniac.”

Reeve tightened his jaw. “Marylee and the bibliomaniac are not attracted to each other.”

“ ’Course they are, and it’s time to capitalize on it. Women love
that kind of thing.” Hitting the carriage return lever, he slid the roller to the far left margin.

Reeve looked at the toes of his shoes. The house on Georgia Avenue was still for sale. The first thing he did every Sunday was check the paper to see if it was listed. He had a ways to go, though, before he had two hundred dollars. “What about that raise I was to get if the boardinghouse column was successful?”

“What about it?”

“I’d say it’s been successful, so how about it?”

Ulrich scratched his neck. “You’ll ramp up the romance?”

Reeve closed his eyes. “If I have to.”

“You have to.” Ulrich moved his pipe to the corner of his mouth. “The raise will be reflected next time you collect wages, but I’ll expect to see a new development in this week’s submission along with something on the Tiffany Girls by next week.”

Releasing a breath, Reeve answered in the affirmative and let himself out.

CHAPTER

43

Y
ou’re up early.” Flossie peeked into Mr. Wilder’s room. It was still as barren as ever, though Cat was curled up on his bed.

“I have a new assignment I’m working on.” He took a blank piece of paper and used it to cover up whatever he was writing.

She stepped into the room, crossed to his bed, and ran a hand down the cat. “I brought you something from the fair.”

Twisting around, he stood. “I’m sorry?”

She straightened. “I brought you something.” Extending her hand, she opened her palm to reveal a little ball of brown paper tied in twine.

He stood completely still, staring at her offering. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

“Right now? You want me to open it right now?”

“Right now.”

Swallowing, he took the ball and undid the bow. Inside nested a tiny metal figurine of a cat curled up much the way Cat was now, with its head on its paws and its tail wrapped around itself.

He gave a slow shake of his head. “Is this Cat?”

“It is.”

A flush rose up his neck and face, his gaze darting about the room. Fumbling, he pulled out his desk drawer and dropped the figurine inside, before quickly closing it.

She bit her lower lip. “It’s a decoration. You’re supposed to put it out.”

“Oh!” He jerked open the drawer, grabbed the figurine, then slapped it onto his desk.

Reaching around him, she moved it from the center of his desk to the right hand corner next to his clock. “There. Now it won’t be in your way when you work.”

“Right.” He backed up a step. “Thank you.”

She closed the drawer for him. “You’re welcome. I brought a little something back for everyone. I got your piece from a toy maker in the Manufacturer’s Building. I thought of you immediately when I saw it.”

“You did?”

“I did.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She ran her finger down the side of his desk looking at the writings he’d covered up. “Are you working on an article?”

“Sort of.” He stepped between her and the desk.

“Sort of?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

She glanced at her watch pin. “Not yet, but I probably ought to head out, anyway. I just wanted to give that to you. Everyone else already has theirs and I didn’t want you to feel left out.”

His fidgeting stopped. His gaze veered to the figurine. “Thank you. No one’s ever . . . I mean . . .”

Her heart squeezed. Every once in a while her father would go out of town, but he’d always returned with a little something in his bag for her. Had no one ever done that for Mr. Wilder?

He blew out a breath, then checked his pocket watch.

With a small smile, she stepped into the hall. “Well, I’d best be going.”

He followed her to the doorway. “Good day, then, and, um, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you this evening.” She walked down the hall and out the front door feeling his stare the entire time.

MOORISH DANCING WOMEN 
²⁶

“The Moorish women on the Midway Plaisance clicked the castanets when they danced.”

CHAPTER

44

R
eeve flipped through the pages of notes he’d taken on Miss Jayne. Since she was the inspiration for Marylee, he’d taken to watching her every move during dinner.

We had corn on the cob with our meal. Miss Jayne ate hers like a typewriter—one row at a time. That’s the incorrect way, of course. You’re supposed to turn the cob like a wheel and eat it all the way around bit by bit.

He skimmed down further.

Someone else is putting questions beneath the plate across from Miss Jayne. I have no idea who. Tonight she was given the question, “If you could ask Noah one thing, what would it be?” She wanted to know how he could tell the two mosquitos were male and female. Mrs. Trostle was quite shocked by the subject matter.

He rubbed his forehead. Adam didn’t need to tell the difference. God sent the animals to him.

Miss Jayne organized a World’s Fair night in the parlor. Everyone was supposed to bring something that would have gone in one of the fair buildings. Ever since she’s returned, her stories at supper have been fascinating, so I made an exception and went to the parlor. Only to watch, of course, not to participate.

Miss Jayne brought a set of wooden castanets which she’d purchased while she was there. When it was her turn, she strapped them to her fingers and said that the Moorish women on the Midway Plaisance clicked the castanets when they danced and wore nothing but a finely embroidered bolero—no blouse or corset underneath, only skin and chemise. Their skirts then hung from their hips instead of their waist.

Oyster, rogue that he is, asked her to explain the dance, then pretended to misunderstand until, finally, he beseeched her to demonstrate. I’d fully expected her to refuse. Instead, she stood, lifted her arms, closed her eyes, and began to sway as if a snake charmer had hypnotized her with his haunting tune. First her head, then her shoulders, waist, and hips undulated—all in time to the castanets snapping at her fingertips. By the time she finished I could scarcely breathe.