Chapter Twenty #2
“He has a job!” Bea yelled, losing the battle to control her temper.
A clatter of toppling pots from the neighbors reminded them both how thin the walls were, and Bea lowered her voice.
“He works like a dog, and that means that sometimes he can afford to buy me something pretty. I don’t care if you don’t like it.
You know how hard it is to find a nice fella, so why’re you trying to ruin this?
” The hurt in her words made Vivian want to take it all back, but she couldn’t.
Not if there was any chance she was right.
When she didn’t answer, Bea’s expression grew cold.
“I hate to say it, Viv, but jealousy’s not a cute look on you. ”
Vivian felt as if she’d been slapped. It was a struggle to keep her voice even. “Just ask him, Bea. That’s all I’m saying. You can yell at me all you want afterward, but just ask him.”
The two of them stared at each other. Finally, Bea gave a single jerky nod. “I will, just to prove that you’re wrong.”
Vivian smiled weakly. “I’d love to be wrong, believe me.”
“You are,” Bea snapped, spinning on her heel. The slam of the door behind her made the walls shake.
Vivian sighed, rubbing her eyes, then pressing her fingers against them so hard she saw stars. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep for days. But she and Florence had to be at work, smiling, tidy, and unremarkably on time, in just a couple hours.
The money from Honor was back in Chinatown, but the cash box under Florence’s bed had enough in it for a few cab rides. Vivian shoved a small bundle of bills in her pocket and began to hunt around for her hairbrush.
She had the cab drop her off several blocks from where she wanted to be, then dodged down an alley, listening for the sound of footsteps or any other indication that someone might be following her.
Peering around the corner, back the way she had just come, she scanned the crowd.
No one, as far as she could tell. Still, she wasn’t about to take any chances with Florence’s safety.
Skirting a stinking pile of trash and the rancid puddle that had gathered beneath it, she ducked down a second alley, before emerging and dashing across the street between two cars.
The drivers honked and yelled, but she was already past, quick footsteps carrying her through another alley where she ducked under countless lines of laundry before emerging on Spring Street.
The restaurant was just ahead.
The bell at the door tinkled when she opened it, and a few heads turned in her direction when she walked in.
The room wasn’t crowded. It was early in the day, after all, and this part of the city was a lot like the one where Vivian lived: anyone who could work did, keeping food on the table and the landlords at bay.
Most of the diners who were there were Chinese, many of them older men who spoke in animated voices that Vivian couldn’t understand as they gestured expansively with their chopsticks and poured each other cups of tea.
In one corner, a few younger fellows ate with the focus and speed of men who would have to be at work soon and needed all the calories they could get first. And a couple of young Black men sat at a table in the corner, sipping their drinks and eating slowly, with the droopy, exhausted look of folks who had just got off the night shift and might fall asleep in their plates if they weren’t careful.
A table full of gray-haired men scowled in her direction, and Vivian felt her face growing hot, wondering whether they objected to an Irish girl barging in or the fact that she was a woman wandering around by herself.
She wanted to scowl right back at them, but she wouldn’t make trouble or cause a scene, not in the Chins’ restaurant.
So instead she pretended not to see, keeping her expression carefully polite as she walked toward the kitchen.
Danny’s mother emerged a moment later, a tray covered in small, steaming bowls held in her hands. She stopped in surprise when she saw Vivian weaving between the tables, and her wary, worried expression made Vivian halt in her tracks.
Mrs. Chin sighed, then nodded. She paused as she passed Vivian to whisper, “Go on upstairs. Danny is with your sister.”
Vivian wondered about that moment, that look of disapproval or worry or maybe resignation. Had something happened to Florence? Had someone dangerous found their way to the Chins’ door because of her? But there was no way she could ask about it, not in the middle of the busy restaurant.
“Thank you,” Vivian started to say, but Mrs. Chin had already moved on with her tray. Trying not to look at the steaming food on the tables—how long had it been since she had last eaten?—Vivian made her way toward the stairs.
With customers in the restaurant, the rope slung across the bottom of the staircase sported a sign warning them in multiple languages to stay in the dining room.
Vivian took one last quick look over her shoulder, making sure no one had followed her in, before unhooking the rope on one side and scooting past.
The stairs were narrow and rickety, and the aromas of food chased her up until she came to the door at the top. On edge, nervous about what she would find, Vivian didn’t think to knock before she pushed the door open and stepped in.
“No, no,” Danny was saying as she entered. “Don’t put your thumb there unless you want it to break when you hit someone.”
“Well, what else am I supposed to do, detach it from my hand?”
Vivian was stunned into motionlessness as she took in the scene in front of her. Danny and Florence were in the middle of the sitting room as he showed her how to curl her fingers into a fist. Both of them were facing away from Vivian, and neither had yet realized they had an audience.
“Here, on the outside,” he said, adjusting the position of Florence’s fingers. “Not curled under the others. And when you swing, it shouldn’t come from your shoulder. Put the force of your whole body behind it if you want to do some damage.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Florence said, shaking her head and laughing. “I don’t exactly spend my time thinking about how to damage anyone.”
“I’ll show you. Try swinging like you’re going to sock some sleazebag right in the kisser. But do it slowly.”
Vivian’s jaw fell open in shock as she watched Danny step behind her sister, his hands going to her hips. As Florence swung her fist in a slow arc, Danny pressed one hip forward so that her body turned with the punch.
“See?” he murmured as he guided her through the motion again. His lips were right next to her ear. “Let your feet turn with it, too. If you use your whole body, you get more force behind the hit. And you’re less likely to hurt your shoulder or your wrist while you’re doing it.”
Vivian felt something pricking at her eyes as she watched them, something hot and confused and almost angry.
She didn’t want to know what the feeling was, too afraid that it would be ugly or pathetic or something else she didn’t have the energy to confront just then.
But she also couldn’t stand there and watch them any longer.
She let go of the door, which banged closed behind her.
Florence and Danny both jumped, turning so fast as they tried to step apart that their feet tangled together.
Florence had to grab Danny to stop herself from losing her balance, and he caught her in his arms in the same moment, so when they finally faced Vivian they were in an even more awkward position than they had been before.
The three of them stared at each other in wordless surprise before Florence yanked herself out of Danny’s grip. “Vivi!” she gasped. “Where did you come from?”
“The stairs,” Vivian said. “And I wasn’t being what you’d call sneaky about it, neither. Fat lot of good you are as a bodyguard, Danny.”
To her surprise, he looked embarrassed. He was dressed for a morning of work downstairs, but his tie hung in a loose knot under his open shirt collar.
He busied his hands with tightening that up and rolling down the cuffs of his sleeves, which let him do an excellent job of avoiding her eyes.
“No one’s getting past Ma without her making a big stink of it downstairs,” he said.
He spoke with his normal ease, but his cheeks were flushed. “I’d have heard trouble coming.”
“’Course you would,” Vivian agreed quietly.
Danny cleared his throat, glancing at Florence. “Did you … how was work last night?”
“Just fine,” Vivian said, trying to smile. “Bit dicey, but Honor kept everything in line.”
“She’s good at that,” Danny said, looking relieved.
Vivian hesitated. “You heard anything from Leo last night? Or this morning?”
“Leo?” Danny frowned, shaking his head. “Was I supposed to?”
“Thought he mighta called you for bail money,” Vivian said, trying to sound unworried and failing.
“Bail?” Danny’s eyebrows shot up, while Florence’s hands rose nervously to press against her lips. “What happened last night?”
“Nothing,” Vivian said. “I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ll just try to find a telephone today and give him a call, make sure he got home okay.”
“There’s one downstairs,” Danny said. “We pay for a line so folks on the block have somewhere to make calls. Why don’t you check on him now? You’ve got me all worried.”
“I’ll do that,” Vivian agreed quickly, happy for the excuse to get out of the room.
“Are you okay, Vivi?” Florence asked, clearly concerned.
Vivian managed a smile. “Peachy. Let’s get to work, okay? We don’t want to be late.” She glanced at Florence, with her hair still in a braid and her feet bare. “I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?”
She turned on her heel and left, closing the door behind her before either of them could say anything else. Standing with her back pressed against the door, she took three deep breaths. Then she forced her shoulders down and went downstairs.