Chapter Thirty
THIRTY
It was a beautiful night outside, fluffy clouds flirting with the moon, glowing silver in its light.
And it was a wild night inside, the smell of smoke and champagne hanging in the air as they made their way down the stairs toward the dance floor.
The sultry, humid heat of the night had made its way onto the dance floor, too, in spite of the electric fans that sent the fringes of their dresses trembling and raised goose bumps on Vivian’s arms.
The dancers spun around the room, heels kicking toward the ceiling and light flashing from their rhinestones. On the bandstand, Beatrice Bluebird broke hearts and mended them with every note she sang.
Vivian wound her way through the crowd, Florence’s hand in hers, until she reached the bar where Danny was making a group of girls blush and giggle.
She glanced at Florence, but her sister put her chin in the air and marched straight to the bar, plopping herself down on a stool and waiting for Danny to notice her.
It only took him a minute, and his expression softened when he saw her, as though he were looking at something rare and precious.
It made Vivian’s heart ache, but underneath the pain was a feeling of relief.
She didn’t want to be left behind, but Florence deserved to be cherished.
And even if it didn’t last, Danny was the sort of fella who could do exactly that.
Leo was waiting at the bar, exactly where she’d asked him to be when she called.
He bent his head to say something to Florence, who blushed and nodded, then he gestured to Danny, who produced two glasses of champagne a moment later.
Handing one to Florence, Leo spun around on his stool and held the second one out to Vivian.
Her fingers brushed his as she took it, and the heat of even that brief touch was like a breath of comfort going through her.
He gave her a smile, but he looked her over at the same time, as though checking to see that she was still in one piece.
“You all right?” he asked. “No trouble from … No trouble?”
“Not yet, anyway,” Vivian said, ignoring a little shiver of unease. She was getting too used to looking over her shoulder. She took a sip of her drink. “I wanted to talk to you about something else, though.”
He gave her a considering look. “Tell me on the dance floor,” he suggested.
Vivian hesitated, then nodded. “Flo, you gonna be all right until I get back?” she asked, setting her glass on the bar next to her sister.
“Mr. Chin will keep an eye on me,” Florence said. Danny, who was busy mixing up a pitcher of drinks, smiled.
The band was playing a smooth foxtrot, slow and sweet, that left plenty of breath for talking.
Vivian settled against Leo, glad for the warmth of his palm at her back, the soft pressure of his hand holding hers.
For a moment, she could forget everything that had happened since Pearlie’s death.
For a moment, the only thing that mattered was the music and the man she was dancing with.
Closing her eyes, she fell into the rhythm of the dance, trusting Leo to guide them.
She liked being able to trust him. There was so little in her life that felt easy or simple, but somehow, leaning on Leo had become both.
As he turned them across the floor, their bodies fitting together like the notes of the music, she told him about her mother and what they had learned that day at Hart Island.
Vivian’s voice broke a little as she explained about the missing record, and she had to stop talking.
For a moment, a gentle silence hung between them.
Leo didn’t press her for more, just held her close and waited until she was ready to continue.
“And I was thinking,” she said at last, “if we want to find that kind of record, maybe the best place to start would be the coroner’s office.
They’ve gotta keep track, right, of who comes to claim bodies? ”
“I guess so.” Leo looked thoughtful. “I never considered it before. But sure. I can get you in there to find out.” He smiled, and his voice grew a little more gentle. “You know I’m always happy to help out a friend.”
“What if…” Vivian didn’t have the courage to finish the question. She didn’t know what she would have done that day without Leo. What if she wanted to be more than just his friend?
The ache was there behind her heart again, and she had to look away.
As she did, she caught sight of Honor, shaking hands and schmoozing a table of suited men.
It was the sort of thing she did every night, the way she kept her club in business.
There was nothing remarkable in it at all, except for Honor herself, who moved like silk and jazz, who didn’t care what anyone else thought of her or her life.
And who made it plain that she wanted to live that life alone.
Vivian was tired of being alone.
“Leo,” she began, turning back, then hesitated. He raised a brow at her but said nothing. Afraid of what he might say, afraid of being told once again that she wasn’t enough, Vivian had to take a deep breath before she could continue. “Leo, would you like to go see a picture this weekend? With me?”
She had caught him off guard; she could tell by the way he stumbled, the only time she had ever seen him clumsy while dancing. The song ended as he was recovering his footing, but he didn’t let her go as the other dancers applauded and Bea took a bow, preparing to go on her break.
“I’d like that, Viv,” he said at last, smiling at her. “I’d like that a lot.”
They were still staring at each other when someone squealed his name. “Leo!” called a girl with dark hair and a dress so stylish it made Vivian want to squirm with envy. “Leo, you owe me a dance, cruel man. Where have you been this week?”
“Around,” he said, grinning as he let go of Vivian’s waist and turned toward the girl. But he was slower to release her hand, his fingers lingering on hers as though he had to force himself to let her go. “Don’t leave before I see you again,” he murmured to Vivian.
“Count on it,” she replied as she stepped back and the band started on a quickstep.
Bea had disappeared back into the dressing room, and Vivian would have followed.
But she spotted Honor going after her star singer.
So she turned and headed back toward where Florence waited at the bar, chatting with Danny as he filled a tray of glasses with gin and champagne.
“They said it looked like a suicide.”
Vivian stopped in her tracks, trying to figure out who had said it.
“How awful,” another voice replied with gruesome relish. “Did they say how?”
“Arsenic.”
Vivian spotted the speakers, two well-dressed women with jewels in their hair and cigarettes dangling from their fingers who were just heading toward the ladies’ powder room, gossiping as they went. Vivian changed direction quickly to follow them, her entire body jangling with sudden nerves.
“Absolutely tragic, for someone so young. And so promising, the papers said! He had set up his practice in an absolutely impoverished neighborhood, just a bit north of here, in fact.”
“How selfless,” the second woman agreed. “A handsome young doctor, done in by despair … that Fitzgerald fellow should write a book about it…”
The door to the powder room closed behind them, cutting off the rest of their conversation. But Vivian had already frozen where she stood.
Then she spun on her heel and ran back toward the dressing room.
“Bea!” She threw the door open, panting. “Bea, did you hear—”
She broke off. Bea was at her dressing table, turned around in her chair to look at Honor, while Alba stood nearby. All three of them were speaking in quiet voices, their heads close together. And all three looked up as Vivian burst into the room.
Honor’s face was impassive as always. Alba had a slight smile, sarcastic and brittle, and she lifted her chin as though daring Vivian to finish her sentence. And Bea …
Bea just watched her, waiting.
Vivian swallowed and let the door swing shut behind her. “Did you hear?” she asked quietly. She glanced at both of the other women, but it was Bea that her eyes settled on at last. “Seems that Dr. Harris is dead.”
“Really?” Alba drawled. “How did that happen?”
Something clenched inside Vivian’s chest like a fist, hard and angry and scared. “Seems he got his hands on some arsenic. Which is pretty easy to do, of course. Heard some gossips calling it a death of despair.”
“Imagine that,” Bea said softly. She turned back to her dressing table, but her hand trembled as she picked up her lipstick. “Guess that’ll be in all the papers tomorrow.”
Wading through the tension that crackled between the three women was like walking into a puddle and discovering it was actually a fast-flowing river. Vivian couldn’t find her footing. She didn’t know where to look or what to think.
“What—” she began, then stopped.
“I should get back to work,” Honor said smoothly. She headed toward the door, pausing by Vivian on the way. “Don’t be too upset about the doctor, Vivian,” she said softly. “I hear he wasn’t a nice fella.”
Before Vivian could think of what to say in response, she was gone.
She turned back to Bea and Alba, who were exchanging a look.
Alba grimaced and rubbed the small of her back.
“My poor puppies are howling, but I’ve gotta get back out there if I want to be able to afford this kid,” she said, giving Bea a pat on the shoulder as she went past. At the door, she turned back and smiled, one hand on the jamb.
“By the way, there’s something over there for you, Vivian,” she added.
“Bea mentioned that it was important to you.” She gave another mocking smile before the door closed behind her.
She had been looking toward one of the sofas, where a small package lay, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
Vivian hesitated. She knew what she would find in it, but the thought of seeing it was more than she could bear.
She took a deep breath, then unwrapped it quickly, before she had the chance to talk herself out of it.
The deep blue fabric of the dress seemed to glow against the plain brown paper, and the tiny dots of topaz and aquamarine caught the light until the whole thing shimmered like blue-and-gold fire.
Vivian stared at it, until it slithered from her nerveless hands and pooled back on the paper.
Quickly, shivering with dread that someone else would come into the dressing room and find her holding it, she wrapped it back up and tied the string once more.
Only then did she raise her head, unsurprised to find that Bea had stood up and was watching her.
“He killed my uncle,” Bea said quietly. “And I think he’d have done the same to us if he had the chance.”
Vivian nodded.
“We’re burying Pearlie tomorrow. Right next to my father,” Bea added, her voice breaking. She had to take a shaking breath before she could continue. “They sounded like each other when they laughed.”
Vivian stared at her. She hadn’t been able to pull that trigger, but she had wanted him gone. She couldn’t tell whether the sick, light-headed feeling rushing through her was guilt or relief. “Bea.” She could barely get the words out. “Which one of you—”
“You remember what Abraham said before?” Bea interrupted. “Don’t ask any questions unless you’re sure you want to know the answer. Are you sure?”
She wasn’t. She desperately wanted to know. And she desperately wanted to stay ignorant, to stay free of the burden that knowing would be. For a moment, looking at Bea was like looking at a stranger. Slowly, Vivian shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
Bea gave her a crooked smile. “They’re expecting me back on the bandstand.
Why don’t you find yourself a partner, and I’ll sing a Charleston just for you?
” She headed toward the door, but she turned back before she opened it, her hand on the knob.
Her voice was quiet as she spoke. “And thanks, by the way. I can’t say I like everything I found out.
But you were a hell of a pal to help me find it. ”
Vivian nodded again, not quite trusting herself to speak.
Bea seemed to understand. “See you out there, Viv.”
She left the door open behind her, and the brassy swell of the music filled the room, floating on the sultry summer air. Vivian paused there and took a deep breath.
Then she made her way toward the dance floor.