by Kari Bovee
Joe shook her hands loose and stepped back a few feet to look from Grace to Felicity and then back to Grace. Her limbs turned liquid, and they started to tremble when the rage returned to his face.
Suddenly, Marciano turned to Felicity and slapped her hard with the back of his hand, sending her sprawling to the floor. Grace let out a yelp and lunged to help Felicity, but Marciano grabbed her by the waist, pulled her to his chest, and pressed his greasy lips against hers. Grace stiffened, her stomach lurching. As fast as he’d grabbed her, Marciano thrust Grace away from him so hard she reeled backward until her heel slipped and she slammed into the side of the bed, hitting the small of her back with all her weight. She crumpled to the floor in pain and pulled her knees up to her chest.
As soon as Marciano wiped his mouth and left the room, Grace slowly rose and hobbled over to Felicity. When she helped the woman sit up, blood trickled from Felicity’s nose and the left side of her mouth. She raised her hand to her lips and winced when she touched them.
“Are you all right?” Grace asked, her voice trembling.
Felicity nodded. “That was nothing.”
“Please come with me.” Grace begged once more.
“Mind your own business, girl,” Felicity said, unsteadily rising to her feet. “I know what I’m doing.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chet finally made it to the theater, winded and exhausted, with every single limb and muscle in his body spiking with sharp, stabbing pain. He made his way to the stairs that led to the offices and slowly climbed, his legs burning with fatigue. When he reached the reception area, he found the place quiet as a crypt. No Goldie at her desk, no phones ringing, no voices chattering as they often did in Flo’s inner sanctum.
He stood a moment, trying to catch his breath, when he heard something—the unmistakable sound of ice clinking against crystal and then a loud thump as the glass was set down. Chet opened the door to Flo’s office and saw the back of the man’s head. He was seated behind his desk, facing the star-studded wall. His hands hung limp down the sides of the chair, and a half-empty amber-filled glass sat on the desk.
Chet leaned on the doorframe to steady the swimming in his brain. Flo slowly swiveled the chair to face him. He looked haggard, like he hadn’t slept in days, dark half-moons under his glassy eyes, and hopelessly drunk. The glazed eyes sank into blackened hollows, and his cheeks sagged under the weight of his complete failure.
“It’s over.” Flo’s voice, slurred and heavy, broke the silence. “I’m as good as six feet under. The show’s a disaster. Marciano will ruin me.”
“Where’s Grace?”
Flo tilted his head, resting it on the back of the chair, and stared at the ceiling, his mouth hanging open. “He took her.”
Anger at Flo’s tone of acceptance tore through Chet, and he bit down on freeing the surge of violence he felt brewing inside him.
“We have to get her back,” Chet said through clenched teeth, “before—” Sudden exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he stumbled forward and sank into the chair facing the mahogany desk.
Flo glanced at him with dull eyes, pulled himself forward, and poured more whiskey in his glass. He slid it over in front of Chet, who grabbed at it and sucked down the liquid in the hopes that it would soften the hard, biting pain in his chest.
“What happened to you?” Flo asked.
“Not important,” he said, dismissing the question. “We need to find Grace. Where did he take her?”
“I don’t know. You were supposed to protect her.” Flo leveled his eyes on Chet and stared at him. “You were hired to prevent this sort of thing. It’s your fault. How could you have let this happen? Now the show has no chance of success!”
A shock vaulted through Chet’s body. “The show? Grace is being held by that monster and you’re worried about the show?”
“Molly can’t be recast. The public expects Grace. She was the only flawless part of the production.”
Chet stood, reached across the desk, grabbed Flo’s collar, and yanked the man to his feet. “You have caused Grace more pain than you know. You have used her and deceived her, and now it’s time to make things right, Flo. Forget the show. Forget the theater. We need to get Grace back.”
Flo couldn’t even raise his eyes to meet Chet’s. “Let go of me.” He shoved Chet away from him, sending him back into the chair, nails ripping at his chest and neck.
The two men stared at each other. An eerie graveyard silence crept into the room, the only sounds the pop of melting ice in a glass and their labored breathing.
The horsehair bristles of the brush made Grace’s scalp tingle as Felicity ran it through her long, lustrous tresses. The sensation brought back memories of Sophia, who had brushed Grace’s hair every morning and every night when they were children. The memory formed a lump in her throat.
“You did a beautiful job on the dressing gown,” Felicity said, breaking the silence and bringing Grace out of her nostalgia “You’re very talented.”
“Thank you. I think Joe will be surprised at exactly how talented I am. Did you notice the sleeves?” Grace asked.
Felicity stopped brushing and went to the wardrobe. She opened the doors and then took out the garment, examining the sleeves. She looked at Grace, confusion in her eyes. “The opening of the sleeves are sewn shut. I don’t get it.”
“You’ll see. I’ve made them longer than necessary. You can’t out-muscle a man like Marciano, but you can out-think him.”
“You sure this will work?” Felicity asked.
“It has to,” said Grace. Or he will surely kill me. “Were you able to give the boys the laudanum?”
“All but Lefty. He wouldn’t have a drink. But the others did. They’ll be sleeping like babies in about thirty minutes.”
“What are we going to do about Lefty?”
Felicity stopped brushing and met Grace’s eyes in the mirror. “You leave him to me. It will be fine.” She gently pulled Grace’s hair to the top of her head and secured it. She then formed narrow strips, coiling each one into a circle and then anchoring them with bobby pins. In fifteen minutes, Grace had three rows of coiled tresses from ear to ear at the back of her head. Felicity handed her a mirror.
Grace turned around and held the mirror up high above her head so she could see the reflection of the beautiful coif. “You’re talented yourself,” she said, swiveling back around in the chair and taking Felicity’s hand in hers. “Please, I’m asking you again, come with me, Felicity.” She put the mirror down in her lap and looked into the woman’s beautiful, sorrowful eyes. “If you stay here, he’ll just keep hurting you—or worse.”
Felicity shook her head. “I told you I’m not going anywhere. Now let’s get you dressed.” At the wardrobe, Felicity pulled out an emerald-green chiffon gown.
“This is one of Joe’s favorites.” She pulled it across her body and ran her hand down the front of it.
“It’s beautiful,” Grace said, trying to stifle the quaking in her voice. What if her plan didn’t work? What if something went wrong and she had to succumb to Marciano? What if he became so enraged he killed one, or both, of them?
“It’s going to be all right, sugar. We’ll get you out of here. Where you’ll go from here is up to you, but let’s not worry about that now.”
Grace gave a jerky nod of her head. Right. She had to concentrate on one thing at a time.
Felicity helped Grace dress. The garment plunged deep at the neck, and the waistline sat at the hips, the gossamer fabric falling in folds below the knee. The shoes, also Felicity’s, were black patent leather, heeled Mary Janes. After she dressed, Felicity led her over to a full-length oval mirror.
“The lamb to the slaughter,” Grace muttered under her breath. Her skin, pale as parchment, and the deep-emerald shade of the gown made the green of her eyes glow. She thought of Chet and how he used to look at her, his eyes so full of love and admiration. But what had those lovesick eyes gotten her? Nothing but a broken heart.
N
ow she had to fight for her own honor and dignity, for her very life. She narrowed her eyes at her reflection and raised her chin. There had to be a way for a woman to succeed in life without having to succumb to the needs of a man. Whatever it took, she would fight for her freedom.
She walked back over to the wardrobe and retrieved the man’s velvet dressing gown she had made over the past few days. Grace didn’t know how but Felicity had managed to find a high-quality fabric, a crude sewing machine, scissors, needle and thread, and with Sparky’s help, had snuck it into Grace’s room. Somewhat satisfied with her handiwork, Grace checked the braided, cotton tie and made sure that it was free of the loops at each side.
Folding the garment over her arm, she turned to Felicity. “I’m ready.”
“I’ll be just outside the door. Those boys should be real drowsy by now.”
After Felicity left to find Joe, Grace inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, trying to steady the fluttering in her stomach and the pounding of her heart. Suddenly, she was panicking. Should she be on the bed or at the desk? Afraid it would look too rehearsed if she were holding the garment, she considered hanging it up, but what should she do first?
Before she could decide, the door opened and Marciano walked in, triumph on his mottled face. “Felicity tells me you’ve had a change of heart,” he said, moving closer to Grace. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m really not all that bad.” His voice sounded like the hissing of a snake, and Grace swallowed hard, her mouth going dry as a desert.
“I . . . I made something I thought you’d like.” She held out the garment. “Felicity helped me with the fabric and sewing machine.”
Marciano narrowed his eyes and twisted his mouth, probably wondering how Felicity had gotten her hands on a sewing machine and that they had done all this behind his back.
“Flo has one just like it,” Grace added.
A grin spread on Marciano’s face. “Well, if it’s good enough for Flo Boy, it’s good enough for me,” he said, taking it and placing it over his arm as he rushed toward her and grabbed her around the waist.
Grace tried her hardest not to stiffen and recoil, but her stomach felt ready to heave. She giggled and wriggled out of his grasp. “I want you to try it on. You’ll be more comfortable. Here.” She placed her hands on his chest. “Let me help you.” When she slipped his overcoat off his shoulders, his eyelids drooped and a sneer crept across his face. He liked her touch. Maybe if she kept touching him, he wouldn’t touch her for a few minutes.
She took the dressing gown from him and draped it over a chair, and then slowly helped him out of his suit jacket. He reached out to touch her face, but she held up her hand and flashed a showgirl smile. “Now you be patient,” she whispered as enticingly as she knew how. “I want to see how you look in the robe before we go any further.” She did her best to speak slowly, seductively, but worried that her words came out choppy and stilted, and that he’d know just how nervous she really felt. It made her head swim.
“Now,” she said, looking deep into his black eyes, “turn around so I can help you into it.”
Marciano held his arms back, waiting for her to slip the sleeves onto his arms. She guided him into the garment, and then gently raised the dressing gown up to his shoulders. Then she quickly wrapped the cotton, braided tie around his chest and arms, and knotted it, pulling it taut.
“What’s this?”
“A game. You like games, don’t you?” Grace asked, grinning at him.
“Untie me.” He struggled to free his hands but couldn’t. They were pulled too tightly against his back, and he couldn’t separate them. “What have you done?”
“I’ve used my wicked sewing skills to incapacitate you. Your sleeves are sewn together at the cuffs. Just try to get out of this robe, you heinous fiend. Pretty ingenious, huh?”
He lunged at her, growling with frustration. She twisted the tie more tightly around his stomach, pinning his elbows to his sides. Marciano let out a bellow of rage, and Grace raced to the door. She yanked it open and peered out. One of Marciano’s boys sat slumped in a chair to her right, so she ran to the left and quickly spied Felicity standing next to the wall at the top of the staircase. Felicity’s eyes widened when she saw Grace, and then grew wider still. Grace turned to see Marciano right behind her.
“You bitch,” Marciano yelled. “And you—” he turned to Felicity “—get me out of this contraption.”
Grace ran past Felicity and started down the stairs to make her getaway as the two of them had planned. She made it down to the first landing and around the corner when she heard Felicity scream. Then there was a loud thud against the wall. Grace stopped. Felicity had told her to run, no matter what she saw or heard, but Grace’s feet were glued to the staircase. Marciano let out a bellow loud as an angry bear. Grace stood frozen on the stair, her lungs the only part of her body moving. Should she go back? What if he tried to kill Felicity? What if he succeeded?
Grace pivoted on the stair and slowly made her way up to the landing, listening carefully. She heard another shriek from Felicity and Marciano yelling at her, calling her names. Grace quickened her pace, and when she neared the top of the stairs, she saw Marciano standing over Felicity, kicking her hard in the stomach. Grace surged forward up the remaining stairs, took hold of Marciano’s arm, and tried to push him away from her, but he kept kicking.
“Stop it!” Grace screamed, pulling at his arm.
He whirled around to face her. “Shut up, dammit, or I’ll kill you just like I killed that slut sister of yours.”
Grace stumbled backward, her mouth agape. “It was you! I knew it!”
“That’s what happens when you leave Joe Marciano,” he yelled, thrashing to free himself from the binding ties. Unsuccessful, he turned his attention to Felicity again, and resumed kicking her. Grace lunged at him, beating his back with her fists. He whipped around to face her and let out a roar.
Gulping air into her lungs, Grace ran past him into her room. She grabbed the letter opener from her dress in the wardrobe and ran back to Marciano, who hovered over Felicity continuing to kick her.
Without thinking, Grace thrust the blade deep into the middle of his back. Arching backward, Marciano screamed in pain. Free from his pummeling, Felicity brought herself up to a partially seated position. She braced her back against the wall and kicked fiercely at Marciano’s groin. When he doubled over, she kicked him again. He stumbled inches from the stairway. Felicity kicked once more. This time, Marciano had no purchase and lost his balance. He pitched over sideways and tumbled down the stairs, his body crashing against the railings. His heavy bulk careened down the stairs, breaking through the evenly spaced balusters. Grace watched as he fell through the air, seven stories down. He landed with a thud on the black-and-white marbled floor of the hotel foyer.
Grace rushed back to Felicity and knelt down next to her. Blood seeped out of her nose and into her mouth, and she clutched her middle. Grace slipped her arm over Felicity’s shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She gasped for breath. “Tell you what?” Felicity asked with a groan.
“About Sophia.”
“All I know is she left and things got better for me.” Felicity doubled over even farther.
Grace ran her hand down Felicity’s back. “I’m sorry. You’re hurt. Can you get up?” Adrenaline as strong as jolts of electricity raced through Grace’s body as she slumped against Felicity and wrapped her arms around her. She wasn’t at all sure she could stand, either.
Someone was thundering up the stairs, and when Grace turned her head to prepare for more battle, she saw Chet, his chest heaving and his arm in a sling, standing on the stair landing one floor below her, gasping for air. She gaped in disbelief. His matted hair stuck out all over his head, and blood dripped down his sweating face. Was this a dream? Was he really alive?
Before she could say anything, Grace’s eyelids suddenly felt heavy and everything around her slowed until it felt as if she
were floating in water. She fought to keep her eyelids open, but they wouldn’t obey. Her body shut down, and she slipped into darkness.
Something cold pressed into Grace’s skin above her left breast. She opened her eyes to see a gray-haired man with a gray mustache and spectacles looking eagerly into her face. She gasped and shrank back into the pillows.
The man placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine. I’m Dr. Webber,” he said. “I’m just listening to your heart.”
She looked over his shoulder and saw Chet in a bloodstained shirt, standing behind the doctor. Flo stood next to him, his face ashen, his body nearly skeletal. She sensed a presence next to her and turned to see Felicity lying next to her on the bed, propped up on one side, facing Grace, a teary smile in her eyes.
The doctor pulled the stethoscope away from Grace and placed it in a leather satchel resting on the bed next to her. “She’ll be fine,” he told the group. “I believe it was shock. She has no contusions or abrasions.” The doctor picked up his bag, and Flo walked him to the door.
Chet came and sat on the bed next to Grace. Her hip pressed into his leg as his weight shifted the mattress. The contact was reassuring, comfortable, and blissfully familiar.
“I thought you were—” she said, her voice catching in her throat.
“Marciano’s bullet missed my heart by an inch.”
“But are you all right? You look so—”
“Alive?” His face broke into a grin. “Well, I had a little tussle with Lefty over there.” He pointed to the corner of the room where the man in the brown suit sat slumped and tied to the chair. Grace shot up in bed and scooted back toward the headboard, her heart racing again.
“He’s not going to hurt you.” Chet reached for her hand, grasping it tightly. “We’re only waiting for the police to come back. They’re downstairs, rounding up the other buffoons. And that one over there is neutralized.”
Grace turned to Felicity, who lay very still next to her.