‘I won’t forget,’ he said.
‘Maybe not.’ She smiled at him. ‘No, I bet you won’t.’
‘Incredible things happen here every day,’ he said.
‘Like what?’
‘Like yesterday, I was walking my beat and I came upon some men unloading a truck in the alley down south of Evie’s. In broad daylight.’
Tug nodded, encouraging him as she nibbled her food.
‘These guys were just setting up shop, and none too smart about it, I think. They tried to pretend they weren’t doing anything strange when they seen me coming up.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Well, I wasn’t alone, my partner and me – we’ve seen this before. And sometimes you catch someone, and you find a new opportunity, you know what I mean?’
‘Liquor?’ Tug knew he was hinting around it. She couldn’t help it, she wanted him to be explicit.
‘Yes, Elizabeth. They were stocking a club. And now I get a cut of the action every night. It’s kinda like protection money.’
Tug cocked her head sideways. That sounded like bullying, and she hadn’t taken Derek for that kind of cop. ‘Do you take protection money from Evie’s?’
Derek’s mouth opened slightly and guilt passed over his face as a darkening of his features. ‘I thought you knew.’
For a second, Tug was angry. But then she realized that Derek might be part of the reason they hadn’t been raided in a long time, despite the uptick in foot traffic through the club. ‘I guess I could have figured it out,’ she said, her anger dissolving as she realized that his ‘protection money’ was probably protecting her.
‘Anyway, I was gonna tell you – these guys I caught, they’ve got some connection that’s practically giving ‘em the juice.’
‘We’ve got connections,’ Tug assured him.
‘You’re a businesswoman, Elizabeth,’ Derek said. ‘If you can find a good product at a lower price, you’d be dense not to take it.’
Tug thought about that. ‘Hmm … I suppose you have a point.’ She sat back in her chair. They’d been whispering across the table in hushed voices and her back was getting sore. She looked around the quiet oyster bar where they sat, and it occurred to her how much she’d been enjoying herself. ‘Hey,’ she said, her voice back to its full volume. ‘Why don’t you just call me “Tug” like everyone else?’
Derek leaned forward again and took her hand. His skin was warm and soft, and having his hand on her reminded Tug of the night before in the club. Heat wound its way up her neck. ‘Because,’ Derek answered, ‘I don’t want to be like everyone else to you.’
Chapter Eleven
Evie
When poetry class ended that week, Evie stood and gathered her things. She was feeling flushed and dizzy, which had come to be her natural state after watching Jack Taylor prowl the front of the room for an hour.
Today he’d been reading Blake’s Broken Love aloud. The words had struck her as too poignant, and she wondered vaguely if he’d chosen that poem to send her a message, but then decided it was vain of her to think so. Jack Taylor’s attention was much closer to purposeful inattention. His eyes would move right past her, as if she were a vacuum in the audience that regarded him, an absence of being rather than a woman he might have once admired.
The students had filtered out in a rush of noise as Evie pulled herself together. She rose slowly, picked up her handbag and her books, and took a step forward, directly into the solid form of a man. She knew it was Jack before she even looked up, before the strong steadying hands took her shoulders to right her, before she smelled that too-familiar mix of leather and mint. She knew him by the way her body jumped to attention in close proximity to his. He was like a magnet to her. She muttered an apology as her eyes found his glacially cool gaze, and then she was at a loss for words. It seemed that up close, Jack had as much effect on her as he ever had.
‘Miss McKenzie,’ the low voice purred.
‘Professor Taylor,’ she returned, her own voice barely a whisper.
Jack cast a quick glance around, and evidently satisfied that no one was nearby, chose to leave his hands where they had landed on her upper arms. His grip was firm, and it forced Evie to continue looking directly at him, something she’d been working not to do.
‘I wondered if you might have a moment to speak with me.’
Jack’s voice cascaded through her like a thousand tiny waterfalls, setting off reactions that she felt only in his presence. She nodded, wishing she could tell him to let go of her, wishing she didn’t want desperately for him to touch her in other ways.
His grip was removed, and Jack took her arm, walking her down the narrow aisle between the seats and then to the front of the room. ‘I have an office just back here,’ he said. ‘If you’ll join me.’
Evie had visited another of Jack’s offices, at his club, Maison. It was there that she’d learned how many different ways his hands could move, evoking feelings in her that she hadn’t known she was capable of producing. She tried not to think of that as she walked through the dark doorway into Jack’s new office at the University.
‘Please, Miss McKenzie, sit.’
‘You can call me Evie,’ she said, wishing her voice sounded stronger.
‘Hmm,’ Jack seemed to think about this. ‘I prefer to maintain some formality.’
She gazed up at him, looking for his motivation in the clear face, the bright eyes. His hair, sleek and dark, was perfectly parted as always, and he looked more movie star than college professor. Her heart picked up a quicker rhythm.
‘Miss McKenzie, I’ve heard a few disturbing things. As you know, I have another line of work as well,’ he said. ‘And people tell me things that they think I might find interesting.’
Jack’s eyes had fallen on her hands, folded in her lap, and Evie shifted them, placing a hand over the engagement ring she wore. His lips made a thin smile as he went on. ‘Anyway. Not to concern you overmuch, but considering that we have some, ah … history, I thought I might share a piece of information with you.’
What could he be talking about? Evie just stared at him. He seemed content to continue without any input from her anyway.
‘I trust you are quite acquainted with a certain Roger White.’
‘I think you know I am.’
‘And of course the whole city anticipates your marriage to the man,’ Jack said, his voice carrying an edge of sarcasm.
Evie sat up straighter, pushing herself to feel angry at him for saying it that way. Instead, she found herself softening toward him. Jack’s feelings were hurt. That had to be the reason he’d been ignoring her so completely. She’d rejected him, and now he’d heard of her engagement. Poor Jack.
‘But I thought you might deserve to know just what sort you’ve involved yourself with,’ Jack said.
‘I know exactly what “sort” Roger is!’ Now Evie was angry. Jack might be hurt, but if he was going to try to poison her against her fiancé, well, that was low.
‘I’m sure you do. And so you know that he has been seeing another girl in his off hours recently. At a club near Yale in New Haven.’
Evie’s mouth dropped open. She hadn’t expected that. ‘I doubt it very much,’ she said, though her voice shook slightly.
‘Doubting it doesn’t make it untrue.’
‘You’re enjoying this,’ she said. Anger flared in her veins, pushing aside her hurt at imagining Roger with someone else.
‘I wish I could.’ Jack lowered his head slightly, looking defeated and sad. ‘I cannot tolerate the thought of you being hurt. I debated whether to tell you, and considered that I might simply send some men over to give him a message instead. But I know you care for him, and thought this might be the most delicate way to handle things.’
He couldn’t tolerate the thought of her being hurt? Evie’s anger cooled. Confusion replaced it, making her feel muddled. ‘Who is it?’ she whispered.
‘A dancer, I believe,’ Jack said. ‘I�
�m sorry. I thought you should know.’ He reached a hand across the desk, but stopped himself before actually touching her.
Evie stared at the desktop. Could this possibly be true? It didn’t sound like Roger. And coming from Jack? Well, that didn’t seem a reliable source at all. ‘Maybe it was just to discuss business?’ Evie tried to make that scenario likely, but failed.
‘Maybe it was, Miss McKenzie. Maybe it’s nothing to worry about.’ Jack stood, indicating that their time was done.
‘I …’ Evie stood too, gathering her things. ‘Thank you, Jack,’ she managed, not daring to look directly at him again. She moved toward the door, Jack just a step behind her. She turned back suddenly, stepping close to him. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, standing in the heady atmosphere of him, feeling the magnetism between them as an almost overwhelming force.
His face showed that he felt it, too. He lifted a hand, tracing her cheek and sending shudders through her body. ‘Anything for you,’ he whispered, and then stepped back, breaking the spell.
Evie turned and left Jack’s office, her head spinning.
*****
From the Herald Tribune, May 10, 1924:
Wet Champion Governor Al Smith Preps for Convention
The upcoming Democratic National Convention is sure to be a scene, one best attended in your white hood and robe, if that’s your style. Governor Al Smith, for one, will not be donning white robes for the occasion, working instead to defeat pro-Klan platform language in his efforts to gain the nomination of his party.
Though Smith disputes that politicians are ever really motivated to get work done, he shows up at the clubs regularly, pushing his party line. At a certain club in midtown recently, he told the Mouse that he opposed governmental attempts to legislate morality, his breath ripe with the practice of his own moral code. For a kid from the Lower East Side, Smith has come far. He’s a true Manhattan boy, representative of the city’s willingness to embrace immigrants and lift them up to stand alongside the moneyed daughters and sons of the Revolution.
The upcoming contest will be wets versus dries, Catholics versus Protestants, the Klan versus anyone who believes that if drinking is illegal then lynching ought to remain so, too.
It’s sure to be a circus, and Smith will be in one ring, William McAdoo in the other. Add the sweltering heat of summer, and lots of men in white party hats, and the Mouse predicts one colossal Klanbake is just weeks away. Prepare yourselves, city-dwellers!
In other news, club owner Roger White recently slipped a manacle on his Upper East Side princess’s finger, only to seek solace in the arms of a feather-festooned dancer back in New Haven. Maybe they’re simply consulting about the complications of relationships between men and women. Maybe she’s giving him tips on how to please the fairer sex, something a woman who bedecks herself with feathers must surely know. White and his dancer friend have been seen in close quarters at clubs near his soon-to-be alma mater.
What must his princess think? Perhaps she’ll be seeking out a fairer prince.
Tobias sat back and shook his head. ‘“Klanbake,” I like that,’ he said. ‘That one’s gonna stick, Mouse.’
Evie sat across from him, glowing in the rare praise.
‘I wish there was a bit more, though. This would be golden if it was him with the dancer, not White.’ Tobias looked thoughtful. ‘You okay with this, Mouse?’
Evie raised an eyebrow. He did know who she was, then! ‘Just writing the latest facts, sir.’
‘White’s gotten plenty of attention from the Mouse, though. You could look somewhere else if you want.’
‘It’s a good follow-up to the engagement piece, don’t you think?’ Evie lifted her chin. She’d shed enough tears about Roger’s supposed infidelity. She wouldn’t cry anymore about it until she had proof. But that wouldn’t stop her from using the column to force it out.
‘I suppose so,’ Tobias said, putting the paper down on his desk. ‘All right. This is good stuff, see Ellen up front for your money. You’re planning on going to the convention, right Mouse?’
Evie wasn’t planning on going. ‘How would I get in?’
‘You’ll find a way.’
She stared at him. She didn’t want to be in such close proximity to actual Klansmen. She’d seen their pictures, and read about their beliefs. But she nodded at her employer and found herself rising and bidding him farewell.
*****
Evie dodged Roger’s calls for the next few days. He’d be home for the weekend, and she’d certainly have to face him then. But until then, she forced herself to let him sweat a bit. If he was seeing someone else, he deserved it. And if he wasn’t? Evie wasn’t sure what to think. She sat through her classes, distracted and morose, turning the ring in circles on her finger.
As Thursday drew near – and her poetry class – she despised herself for the way her stomach muscles tightened and her nerves began tingling with just the thought of Jack. She spent far too much time choosing her clothing that day, and arrived at class earlier than she’d intended to. She felt as though she was completely out of her own control where Jack Taylor was concerned.
It had been that way months ago, when they had first met, too. She’d been immediately drawn to him when she’d gone with the girls to his club. And he’d come straight to her side, as if he felt the same magnetic pull. Back then, of course, he’d been nothing more than a completely inappropriate illicit fling. And that was before Roger. But now … now that Jack Taylor was Professor Taylor, and now that she was a promised woman … it seemed to make no difference. If anything, both of those circumstances served merely to push her more ferociously toward the dapper man with the piercing eyes.
Evie was thinking about all of this while seated on a bench near the lecture hall, enjoying the warmth of the May afternoon. The swelter would surely set in soon, the air drawing close and moist. Once June arrived, the entire city would take on a feeling altogether too intimate as summer throbbed in its hot muggy lope toward fall. But that hadn’t happened yet, and this was Evie’s favorite time of year. She sat in a sleeveless drop-waist dress, her bare legs stretched before her and her arms glowing in the warmth of the sun.
‘Miss McKenzie.’ A low smooth voice like leather rolled through the air, and Evie sat up, her eyes popping open.
‘Jack,’ she breathed. He stood directly in front of her, his tall narrow form blocking the sun and throwing his face into shadow.
‘I’ve been worried about you. Perhaps I shouldn’t have shared what I knew.’
‘I’m fine,’ she lied.
‘May I sit?’
Evie scooted over on the bench, pulling her dress close around her exposed legs. Then she thought better of it. ‘No, I think you’d better not.’ She gazed up at the shadow above her. Even now she felt drawn to him, as if he held some promise that she could fulfill nowhere else.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said. ‘It’s lovely to see you again.’ With that too polite sentiment hanging in the warmth, Jack turned and moved toward the lecture hall, his feline grace drawing the eye of every girl nearby.
Evie chastised herself for feeling disappointed as he left. She was, after all, engaged.
Poetry class was a special kind of torture that only those who have met Jack Taylor might have understood. He moved slowly across the front of the room, stopping at times to deliver poignant lines of poetry directly to Evie – or so it seemed. She felt flushed and bothered through most of the class, equal parts heated at his attention and embarrassed at her belief that he was actually speaking to her. He could have been looking at the students above her in the stair-stepped hall. But she knew that he was not. She left class flustered and spent a quiet evening sipping a drink with her parents before dinner. She almost wished he would go back to ignoring her.
When the doorbell rang, interrupting Evie’s descriptions of the paper she was working on for her literature class, the McKenzies all stared at each other for a moment, surprised. Buck appeared a moment
later, Roger on his heels.
‘Mr White to see Miss McKenzie,’ Buck said, his wide dark eyes looking worried.
Evie stood. ‘Thank you, Buckie.’ She crossed the room and offered Roger her cheek. ‘Hello darling.’
Roger looked as disheveled as she’d ever seen him. His hair was a mess, as if he’d been running his hand repeatedly through the dark waves. He probably had. It was something he did when he was worried. ‘Hello McKenzies,’ he said, his smile ringing as false as his tone. ‘Might I steal your daughter for a bit?’
‘Don’t be silly, Roger,’ Mrs McKenzie said. ‘You’ve arrived just in time to join us for dinner. Would you like a drink? Oh, who am I kidding?’ Mrs McKenzie laughed a high falsetto. ‘Of course you would!’
Evie cringed. Her mother clearly intended to make Roger discuss his business pursuits with them. And she had no doubt that she’d read the latest Mouse column and would certainly delve into less appropriate territory if he would allow her to question him about the dancer.
‘Maybe Roger and I will go for a quick walk?’ she said, looking at her father.
Mr McKenzie nodded his approval. ‘Just come back for dinner, both of you,’ he said.
‘Thanks so much,’ Roger said, looking relieved.
Evie rose and quickly drained her drink, ignoring her mother’s gasp. She found her hat in the hallway and followed Roger down to the street.
As soon as they were outside, he turned to face her. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you,’ he said. ‘I’ve been so worried about what you must be thinking. Darling, that thing in the paper, you know it isn’t true, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know what to think, Roger.’ Evie took his arm and began walking, forcing him to turn and walk at her side. ‘You’re away most of the week, and when you’re here, you’re at the club.’
‘And that’s why we need to trust one another,’ he said. ‘Darling, I wouldn’t have proposed to you if I wanted someone else. I don’t. I want only you.’
Evie looked up at him over her shoulder as they walked through the early evening shade along the street toward Park Avenue. ‘Have you ever been out with another woman to a club in New Haven?’
The Glittering Life of Evie Mckenzie Page 8