Chapter Three
Olive falls into step behind a couple pushing a baby stroller. The woman has one arm looped through her husband’s elbow. A line of pearl bracelets, almost to her elbow, clink together each time she leans in closer for a kiss and to exchange whispers.
Eyes drifting down, Olive spots the lime green dress hanging underneath the woman’s thick fur coat, brushing her ankles. The heels on her shoes clink against the sidewalk as she walks.
Emulating the slight sway in the woman's hips, Olive keeps pace with the couple, staying a few paces behind them. As hard as she tries, the worn soles of her shoes won't make a sound against the hard pavement. She looks up, eyes drifting across the windows of dress shops, restaurants, and salons. Her stomach grumbles.
Oh, my, Olive thinks. I'm late for tea with cousin Midge. Oh, but look at that pair of shoes. Olive is drawn to a shoe shop with Mary Janes on display. I simply must have them. She cranes her neck, staring at the price tag.
Is that all? Olive laughs out loud. Just a cheap knock-off; I wouldn't be caught dead wearing those.
"You all right, Olly?"
Davis, Roy, and Sammy are sitting in between trashcans of the stores. She frowns, her temporary reprieve disappearing in a plume of steam rising up from the street gutters.
"Did you finally manage to get breakfast?" Olive walks over to them, her hands on her hips. She wrinkles her nose, unsure if the stench of rotten eggs is coming from the trash or the orphans.
"Sorta," Davis says.
She raises an eyebrow. Each of them is chewing on a portion of a burnt bagel. Davis breaks his in half and holds out a piece to her. The sleeves on his jacket are too short and his wrists are exposed. There is no meat at all along his arm; his skin is practically hanging off the bones.
Olive turns up her nose. "I couldn't possibly, not with the dress I have to squeeze into later."
She looks at the boys; all three have stopped chewing and are staring at her with wide eyes. Sammy coughs.
Finally, Davis shrugs. "Suit yourself." He finishes the offered half in two bites.
Closing her eyes, Olive takes a deep breath through her mouth so as not to inhale the smell of freshly charred bagel. With one more pitiful glance at the shoe shop, she squeezes her way into the group of boys, sinking down to sit in between them. Despite their skinny bodies, their warmth seeps into Olive.
"Who has club watch tonight?" Olive removes her gloves, trying to wiggle feeling back into her fingers. She runs them through her hair, working out knots at the nape of her neck.
"Dunno," Davis says. "Charlie never did this week's schedule."
Olive straightens her back. "Looks like it's up to me, then."
Davis snorts, choking on the last bit of his bagel. "You?" He clears his throat.
"What's the problem?"
He shakes his head, failing at hiding a snide smile. "Carry on."
"Right. There’s a rally at Dickson's this afternoon. Sammy, Clarence, and Roy can work the crowd."
"Sammy couldn't pickpocket the blind, deaf, or dumb right now. He still has that cough; it would wake the dead. Didn't you hear him last night?"
"I'm a heavy sleeper," says Olive.
Davis runs the back of his fist over his nose. "Kept everyone else up all night."
"All night?" Olive scoots away and turns so she can look Davis in the eye. "So how is it no one saw Charlie leave?"
The other orphans stand, edging away as if they came too close to the lion's den.
"Spill it, Davis, or I'll knock your nose so hard you'll see stars for a week."
Davis stands slowly as Olive does. "What, and get your gloves bloody?" Davis taunts.
"You notice my gloves are already off." Olive's voice goes low.
"Coppers!" another orphan whispers.
Automatically, the group bends in a circle to feign a game of jacks. With coal-streaked coats and hair thick with grim, there is no denying they are street kids, but as long as they aren't causing trouble they won't get picked up. Coppers complain about the stench the homeless leave in their cars and will avoid the unpleasant scenario if they can. Nighttime is a different story.
The car passes, beady eyes staring at the group from under hard, blue helmets.
Olive stares at Davis, promising to pick up right where they left off after the cops move on. There is no Charlie to drag her away this time.
Davis sighs then licks his lips. "A few of us were still up when he left. He made us swear not to wake you. Said he didn't want to cause a scene—said you'd take it the hardest."
Forcing her eyes to the ground at the invisible game rolling across the cold sidewalk, Olive bites her lip.
"I…I can't believe he left. He could've been convinced otherwise. I think he still can."
The orphans go quiet, looking at Olive.
"And maybe he won't come back for just me—I know that," her voice cracks. "But if we all go, show him what he's missing. You were like his right-hand man, Davis. You'll come with me, right?"
"Olly," Davis shakes his head, "what if he can do better for himself in the mines? Who are we to hold him back?"
Olive’s eyes go wide. "You mean you won't even try?" Her voice grows louder.
"He's done enough for us, Olly. Let him be."
Staring at him for a moment longer, Olive finally breaks the impasse and snatches up her gloves. She slips them on, shaking hands making the job take twice as long.
"Olly." Davis puts a hand on her shoulder.
She shakes it off, anger threatening to take hold.
Be a lady, be a lady, Olive reminds herself. Tea with Midge, shoes from Paris, party tonight at the club.
Building the images up in her head, she stacks them like a wall around her, shielding herself from reality. Olive’s eyes lock onto a woman strolling across the street, walking her dog. Holding the studded leash between thumb and forefinger like a cigarette, the woman keeps a steady path, expecting those coming her way to part for her. And they do, giving wide enough berth even for the dog prancing next to her.
"Look at her—look at her…dog," Olive breathes.
Davis follows Olive's gaze. "What about it?"
"She wears it like an accessory."
Out of the corner of her eye, Olive can see Davis turn to look at her.
"You've finally gone off the deep end, Olly."
Olive tears her eyes away from the woman and her pup, glaring at Davis.
"We overlook all your trashed, fancy scarves and gloves, and we ignore the way you try to talk like them and even walk like them. But your daydreams are getting out of hand."
"What I do ain't none of your business, Davis!" Olive clenches her fists, ready for a more physical fight. All of her pent up frustrations of the morning surface, on the verge of bubbling out like an agitated bottle of champagne.
Sticking his hands in his pockets, Davis doesn't react. "Come on, Olly—you know what I mean," he mumbles. He slumps onto the sidewalk, his feet in the gutter. "You were supposed to be on lookout when Sid was sneaking into the barber shop."
Olive freezes, the cold growing over her heart, turning her numb.
"Instead you got distracted by a pair of flappers and followed them into the lobby of the plaza."
Olive wants to put her hands over her ears but she can't; the numbness is thick in her bones and she doesn't move. As the bellman of the hotel was pushing her back out of the door, Sid was being escorted out of the barbershop, a copper on each side of him. He must've made it all the way to a speakeasy because one of them was taking away the bottle of booze in his hand. They hadn't heard from Sid since, but the speak-easy was still up and running every night. Someone probably paid the cops off. It is not something street orphans have the luxury of doing.
"With Charlie around, well—he at least kept you in check. But we've been talking and…" Davis swallows hard. "We think it might be best if you move on, too. We don't want no trouble, like—you know—Sid had."
The champagne inside Oliv
e’s chest fizzles then goes flat. Emptiness replaces the numb, and Olive isn't sure which is worse. She takes a deep breath and turns on her heel.
"Where are you going?" Davis shouts after her.
"To get Charlie!" she yells over her shoulder. Charlie will fix this—he fixes everything. Glancing across the street at the woman walking her dog, Olive makes a sudden turn on the next street. "And I'm taking Moneybags with me!"
The Dreamer Page 4