“I’m so sorry.”
“He used to send me five dollars of his pay with a note that said ‘For Juilliard.’ Every month. My family believed in me, in my talent, to the point that they’ve all basically sacrificed themselves. All so that Mama could see me play onstage in some great music hall in France one day.” Grace shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it now but move forward.”
Her mother’s refusal to let her get a union card effectively blocked her from the more lucrative gigs at the bigger venues that had started to knock on her door. It also kept her from performing publicly at the nightclubs in Harlem. The bandleaders who were coming through town were starting to offer her real good money. But those jobs would’ve required her to go on the road. That Mama specifically wouldn’t allow. Not to play that “unholy” music, she had said. This happened during the worst of the Depression, which meant all the smaller, more acceptable venues and organizations that had been hiring her no longer had the funds to pay her.
No more paying gigs on top of Mama’s arthritis progressing and the porters union’s inability to finalize a contract with the Pullman company had devastated the family’s main income sources. It had also caused an irreparable rift between mother and daughter.
Finally, Grace had said “no more” and enrolled in a teachers college. Once Grace had finished college and was old enough to obtain a union card on her own, anyone who had the funds was no longer interested in hiring her to perform. To make matters worse, no one had the spare change to hire a piano teacher for their children. And for all the advice she had received about education being a “safe” degree for a Negro woman, none of the schools were hiring.
Grace had wound up right back in Mama’s seamstress shop, running the business side of the enterprise and helping out with the tasks that Mama was unable to perform physically or the assistants were too busy to do. The bookkeeping and managerial skills she had developed there had served her well in the military.
“What’s keeping you from restarting your piano career now?”
“I don’t know.” Grace stopped walking and frowned. This was a question she hadn’t pondered in a long while. True, part of her reluctance to rejuvenate her career had to do with taking away Mama’s source of control over her life.
Grace thought back to the volumes of sheet music she had written since she had left home. The truth was she had become more interested in writing the music than performing it. But she wasn’t going to share that desire with anybody. She was still coming to terms with it herself.
She shrugged, then started walking again. “Too many bridges burned in the more ‘respectable’ venues, I guess.”
“I refuse to believe that. Talent is talent. And you’ve got it in spades. Surely enough time has passed where either those booking agents are no longer there or they can let bygones be bygones.”
“Perhaps. Maybe when the war is over.” Grace stared off into the urban canyon that was Sixth Avenue.
“I used to book musicians before the war. Maybe when the war is over, you might consider letting me—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I appreciate the offer, but I was thinking about maybe making a career of it in the WAC. I think military life rather suits me.”
She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck, shimmying her shoulders in an almost faux shiver. “Now, about that cab?”
“Of course.” Jonathan stepped off the curb, holding two fingers up. Several cabs raced past them. Only one of them already carried a passenger from what they could see. The rest had empty back seats. Finally, one pulled over a yard or so ahead of them. But once they were close enough for the driver to get a good look at them, he quickly flicked on his OFF DUTY light and pulled off.
She watched Jonathan’s face harden in anger. Grace hadn’t seen him lose his cool that often. But now? He looked like he was ready to break something.
“Not even for a lady in uniform?” Jonathan exploded at the retreating vehicle. “Seriously?”
Grace placed her palm on his forearm. “It’s only a few blocks. We can stay warm if we walk fast enough. C’mon.”
“What just happened wasn’t okay.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t.” They looked into each other’s eyes until an understanding passed between them. Another gust of wind blew past. She shivered, then smiled. “It’s getting cold out here.”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
Grace’s long legs were the only reason she was able to keep up with Jonathan’s anger-fueled stride. The honking car horns, sirens, and other background noises that Grace fondly associated with New York filled in the silence between them. She felt compelled to grab his hand, give it a squeeze. But that definitely was crossing into “date” behavior. She was at a loss on how to let him know that his attempts at chivalry tonight were appreciated, even if a racist cabbie made his gesture futile. She shoved her hands into her pockets instead.
“Thank you for offering to get us a cab. Maybe we’ll get luckier later on, after we hit the clubs.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Jonathan looked straight ahead as he continued to march down the slushy sidewalk. He kicked a small clump of half-melted snow out of his path. “I shouldn’t have allowed myself to forget where I was. We’re not in Harlem.”
“No, we’re not.” This time, Grace did slide her hand into the crook of his arm. “But that doesn’t mean we should let a few idiots interfere with the good time we were having.”
“You’re right.”
They stopped once they reached the corner of Fifty-Second Street and Sixth Avenue. “Okay, Mr. Philips. This is your adventure. I’m following your lead. Which way do we go?”
“To the right. Let’s hit Club Downbeat.”
“Are you sure about this? The last thing I need is to be reported to WAC officials because I was spotted in a ‘disreputable’ place while in uniform.”
“Not if you’re with me. Don’t worry. It’ll be cool.”
“It won’t be your name printed in the newspapers if you’re wrong.”
“I know these guys. They won’t snitch. But to be on the safe side, we’ll go in the back door.”
Jonathan clasped his hand over her wrist, then led her to a side door just a few feet before the main entrance. He gave the door three shorts raps with his fist.
“Philips!” The heavyset bouncer who opened the door held out his hand to Jonathan. Jonathan greeted him by slapping the proffered hand in return.
“My man Mack! Good to see you.”
Grace stood back as the two men gave each other a quick hug.
“What brings you back to town?” That’s when Mack noticed Grace standing there. He looked her up and down. Then he let out a long whistle. “Well, hello there. I think I just answered my own question.”
“Calm down. I’m in town on government business. You know, the usual. And this is Miss Steele, a colleague and a friend. Nothing more. She told me she likes jazz but had never been down here.”
Mack tapped Jonathan on the shoulder. “Yo, man, she got a sister?”
“No,” Grace interrupted. “She does not have a sister. And she is capable of speaking for herself.”
“My fault, my fault,” Mack stammered as an apology. “You know how it is. Just making sure that I don’t step on any toes. No disrespect intended.”
Grace gave him a short nod in understanding. She didn’t say anything else.
“Mack, you’re making me look bad here.” Jonathan redirected the energy of the awkward exchange back toward him. “How about letting us in as a favor?”
Mack shook his head. “You know I can’t do that, man. This entrance is for talent only. I’ve known you long enough to know that you shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near an instrument.”
Grace stepped forward again, this time with a cocky grin on her face. “Stop your yapping and let me in then. I’m the talent.”
Mack held up his hands. “Whoa there, little lady. I don’t see any instrument.”
“I don’t need an
instrument. My talent is looking good.” Grace put her hand on the door and pushed it open. “Jonathan, are you coming?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mack held up his hands again. “Damn, bro. You’ve got a firecracker there. I don’t envy you at all.”
The doorway led them into a hallway backstage that was already filled with smoke. There was just enough light where Grace could see a few familiar faces.
Jonathan took her by the hand and led her into the audience. The trumpeter onstage had already started his performance. The main lights were dimmed, so they had to make do with sitting at a table in the back of the audience.
“Do you mind that we’re not near the front?” Jonathan held one of the chairs for her to sit.
“No.” Grace shook her head. “I don’t need to be on top of the stage to enjoy the music.”
Grace closed her eyes as the trumpet’s clear, mournful notes enveloped her. She peeked through her lashes a few times to get a good look at the man playing onstage. He was a young guy. But she had yet to put a name to the handsome, dark-skinned man’s face.
“Damn, he’s good,” she heard Jonathan mutter to himself.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Grace purred in response. “He must be new around here. I don’t recognize him.”
“Yes. I think he started coming around the clubs sometime last fall.”
“Mm-hmm.” Grace wasn’t really in the mood for talking. It had been so long since she had been able to soak up this kind of music. She tapped her fingers on the tabletop, imagining the flourishes she would add if she were accompanying the horn player on the piano. She reached down into her purse for some scrap paper. When she found some along with a pen, she began scribbling down musical notes.
Jonathan nudged her shoulder. “What are you writing there?”
His voice’s intrusion jolted her out of the creative haze she had been in.
“Nothing.” She stuffed the paper back into her bag before he could get too good of a look. “Just an idea that came to me.”
“You write music too?”
“No, of course not. Don’t be silly.” She forced a laugh to cut him off. Better to laugh at herself before he had the chance to laugh at her.
“There’s nothing silly about it at all.” He leaned in so that his eyes were level with hers. “As a matter of fact, I find it rather impressive.”
She stared back at him, her lips parted. But nothing came out. She paused a beat. And then another, waiting for his laughter to come. But it didn’t. The earnest expression on Jonathan’s face held. And then understanding flashed in his eyes.
“That’s why you stopped performing, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t what?” Grace looked away. She felt herself begin to flush. Even though both her skin and the room were too dark for him to have seen it, she cupped her hand around the back of her neck to hide the heat blooming there.
“At first I thought you must have come down with stage fright. Or something to do with your brother. But that isn’t it at all. It’s because you want to compose, isn’t it? But when your mother discouraged you from exploring your ideas, you gave up on music altogether.”
Grace really hated how Jonathan always found a way to see her in the moments that she most wanted to disappear. He was doing it again now.
“I think . . . I need some air.” She stood so abruptly that her chair tipped backward. The person seated behind her in the tight, cramped space was the only reason it didn’t fall all the way to the floor. She turned, further embarrassed. “Pardon me.”
Grace turned back to Jonathan, who was now also on his feet, his expression unchanged. His attention solely on her. The intense look on his face made him even more—she swallowed—appealing than usual.
“This evening—all of it—has been lovely. But I think it’s time to call it a night.”
He placed his hand upon her back as he led her toward the exit. “Of course. Let’s go.”
This time, they were able to successfully hail a cab. To their surprise the cabbie was a Negro woman. She didn’t balk when Jonathan gave her a Harlem address as their destination.
“My shift ends soon,” she explained as she turned north onto Madison Avenue. “I was heading back uptown anyway.”
Grace stared out the window as the cab headed north. She marveled at how different this part of Manhattan was from the block that had been her whole world while growing up. The darkened city streets were also a sight to see. Vehicles passed each other with dim headlights, and almost every apartment window was shuttered by blackout curtains.
New York still operated under a dimout order after dark. A necessity to keep merchant and troop ships safe from lurking German submarines as they moved in and out of New York Harbor. Troop ships like the one Grace and her fellow WACs would be boarding in the very near future. Possibly within the next few days.
Then it dawned on her: she was about to enter a very active war zone where the threat of death was very real.
“Oh God,” she gasped. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging both sides of her coat. But that did little to sway the panic attack that had begun to envelope her.
“What’s wrong?” Jonathan pulled her into his arms. His very sturdy, very safe arms. Grace turned to burrow her face into his chest. She felt like this was where she was meant to be all along. All the reasons she had cocooned herself with in the past as to why she should ignore the very real attraction between them evaporated. An attraction that had always been there, if Grace was being honest with herself for once. Ever since that night they first met.
“I pried too much back there, didn’t I?” Jonathan murmured the words into her hair. “Your reasons for giving up music are none of my business. I apologize. I—”
“Shh, just hold me.” Grace lifted her head. Her mouth was now against his neck. “Keep me safe. For as long as you can.”
“Always.”
WHEN THEY RETURNED to the hotel, the night clerk informed them that there weren’t any rooms available.
“How can that be?”
“A large group of soldiers are in town on leave—”
Grace cut him off. “I know. I’m one of them!”
Jonathan placed his hand on her shoulder. The gesture was enough to keep her from going into a full-blown rage. But it didn’t change the fact that she had no place to sleep tonight. She stepped to the side as Jonathan approached the clerk. All she knew was that it was too late to try to find another hotel or to attempt to go back up to base.
“No, it’s fine. She can stay in my room.”
“Sir, we are not that kind of establishment. This is a respectable hotel!”
Grace watched as Jonathan pulled out his wallet and slid a five-dollar bill toward the man.
“And I appreciate your understanding while we go upstairs and figure something out.”
The clerk sniffed as he pocketed the money. He eyeballed Grace slowly, taking in her off-duty WAC uniform. “You better have her out of here by morning or I will call the MPs.”
The threat caused a chill to snake up Grace’s spine. Jonathan took her by the hand and led her toward the main staircase. “C’mon.”
Once they reached the top of the stairs, Jonathan gave her hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry about that stick-in-the-mud. Don’t forget, I can call people too. Namely, the guy who owns this place.”
“Even so, it’s not your name that’ll be ruined if it comes out that I spent the night in your room, with you in it. I don’t like this. My parents’ apartment is only a few blocks away. Maybe Mama will—”
“No.” Jonathan stopped at room 204 and pulled out a key. He opened the door, gesturing for her to enter. “I’m the one who kept you out late. I’m the one who will make this right.”
Of course he would. Making things right was what Jonathan was good at. He had always looked out for her so far. Even when Grace didn’t want him to.
He followed her as she entered the hotel room. It turned out to be the tiniest r
oom she had ever seen. The narrow bed took up the majority of the space. But there was an armchair crammed into the corner.
“How in the world are we both going to fit in here?”
“Easy. You take the bed. I take the chair.”
Grace stared at the armchair again. It too, like the bed, was on the narrow side. “I don’t see how you plan on fitting into it to sit in it, much less to sleep in it.”
“I’ll manage. If I can’t make that work, then there’s always the floor.”
“Nonsense. I’ll go to my parents’ place. If you would get me my bag.”
“No,” he barked, surprising them both. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet. That is, if you . . .”
Grace lowered herself onto the corner of the bed. If she was being honest with herself, she was reluctant to end the magic of this night too. Not that she had intended for it to end this way, sharing a hotel room with him. But the longer she was here, the more she was beginning to warm up to the idea. “It’s okay. I can stay.”
“Great.” A boyish grin spread across his face that made Grace’s insides flutter. She returned the smile. “Make yourself at home.”
She nodded, then shifted her knees toward the small table beside the bed. She shrugged out of her coat first. Then she removed her watch—the one Tony had given her—carefully laying it out across the tabletop. That Christmas had been six years ago—a lifetime ago. Now here she was, on the verge of possibly making part of Mama’s dream come true.
Grace wondered where this next leg of her WAC adventure would land her. Would it be England? Or maybe even Africa? She dared not imagine that she would finally get the chance to go to France. That part of Mama’s dream had become her own. But to a different end. Instead of playing in the country’s world-famous concert halls, she wanted to see if she could hold her own among other artists in the most culturally renowned city in the world.
Achieving that would require Grace to be bold, bolder than she had ever been in her life. She had to stop playing it safe. She had to go with her gut and trust that it would guide her on the right path. But right now, her gut was telling her that she should not let this night end without tasting Jonathan’s lips against hers again.
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