by Helen Jacey
Mikey’s has a payphone.
Here’s a doorway. Mosaic tiles on the porch. Nice and dry. I can just rest here for a bit. I slide down on the floor. Hard like a rock, and cold. My mouth, it’s a trashcan. God, I need a drink. I’ll go to Mikey’s next.
Everything’s spinning again.
I’m just so tired.
‘Who’s the father? You must tell me, Jemima.’ Lucinda Seldon’s face peers into mine, her voice is as sharp as it can get. Which isn’t very, as her pity seeps through her plummy accent.
‘Oh, stop asking me. I already told you, I don’t want it. Just get rid of it!’ I wail at her. My body hurts. Everything hurts.
‘He might want to make financial arrangements for your child. It’s only fair for him to be informed; you may not be released for quite some time.’
I stare at the dull ceiling in the hospital ward. I can’t mention Billy’s name. Him and his mobster pals double-crossed me and landed me in jail, but I’m not crazy enough to risk their revenge if I talk. The cad doesn’t deserve to know he has a child.
‘I don’t know who he is.’ There, I’m a loose floozie, too. Satisfied?
Right now, I hate the whole world and if I had a gun, I’d shoot everybody and everything in sight. Even Seldon.
Seldon’s eyes are now full of anxiety. ‘Matron told me you haven’t fed her.’
‘Some char will do it for pennies. She’s not mine.’
‘You will need to sign a birth certificate.’
Jemima Day. Address: Holloway Prison. I suddenly laugh. ‘You know where I live. Here. And you choose a name. I really don’t care.’
‘You’re not taking your child’s welfare very seriously, Jemima. I urge you to reconsider, for her sake.’
‘All right. Get her out of this hole of a jail, out of this slum of a city, and find some respectable people to have her.’
‘And what’s going to be her name?’
‘Kettle.’
My cat, Kettle.
‘Be serious. You cannot call a child Kettle.’
I turn on my side, away from the doctor. I wished Kettle was here now. He’s the only one I want to see now. I so miss my Kettle.
‘You choose a name. I’ll sign whatever I have to. Just stop talking to me about it.’
‘Shutting reality out is not the best way to cope, Jemima.’
‘Send me to the loony bin, then!’ I growl. Why won’t she just go away?
‘I’ll be back to see you later. Try to think more clearly. I know it’s a very difficult time.’
38
I suddenly woke up, sheets drenched, heart pounding. I felt sick, full of a sinister dread.
A dream. Forget it.
Something—everything—hurt. My knees. My head.
I sat up, propped against sumptuous pillows and looked around. Sunlight poured into a room through half-open drapes. Did I die last night, and was this heaven?
I had never seen this room before.
Twin beds, with golden velvet headboards. The other bed was made up, but not perfectly; somebody might have slept in it. Both beds had a luxurious eiderdown of gold, blue and white, matching the blue rose and gold wallpaper. Ornate brass sconces. Nightstands with small gold lamps with parchment shades.
The room had a rich and feminine style, classical, not modern.
A hotel room? It felt impersonal, but expensive. Brand-new and unused. Nothing tired and stale about this place except me.
I peeked under the eiderdown. Somebody had put a nightdress on me. My roommate, perhaps? A long, soft white cotton affair, with straps tied over my shoulders. White satin daisies were embroidered around the bodice, which was fastened by three round pearl buttons. Definitely one of mine.
What the hell did you do last night?
My mouth was so dry. I cried out as I slid out of the bed. Agony, as if I’d been kneecapped. I pulled up the nightgown. Both knees scraped and raw. Did I fall down?
A few things came back. Sonia, then Dolly. Feeling low, I’d hit a Downtown bar. I must have gotten very drunk. But how did I get here, and more to the point, who brought me?
My clothes were folded up on a padded chair. No beret. But my battered purse was there.
By the other bed, a small case. Padlocked. No initials, just couple of old tattered travel labels. Roma. Paris. Who the hell it belong to?
I dared to look at myself in the beveled mirror.
Mascara was spread all over my lower lids. My hair was a straw bird’s nest.
Was it a man? Did I have sex? The last thing I remembered was hitting the gimlets like they were going out of fashion. Oblivion called like a hot date.
A cold shiver ran down my back.
Lauder. Did I call him?
I hobbled stiffly over to the window and peered through the nets.
The room was on the second floor of a white building. My window ledge was painted green. Below, a paved side terrace with large terracotta pots with small palms, young olive trees, and yellow and white flowers. Pretty. Beyond that, a parking lot with a thick hedge, the rest partially hidden by trees.
I could make out a few cars. A cream and brown coupe. And another, a larger, dazzling white beast.
Beyond, a beautiful vista I’d never seen before. Magnificent cypresses, palms, eucalyptus trees, rolling grounds with stony paths. I could almost smell the breezy citrus air from here.
One path led down to a glimmering patch of water. A lake? I strained to look around the corner of the window. I could make out a small rowing boat tethered to a simple jetty.
In the far distance, a glimpse of the sea, dark lilac against a bright, pearly white sky.
My room was on the side of the building. The front of the building would have magnificent sea views.
A hotel? It didn’t look like any part of LA’s coastline I recognized, not from Venice to The Colony Club in Malibu, which was a pretty long stretch.
There was a short rap on the door. ‘Hello?’
I froze. No weapon. My mobility severely limited thanks to bashed-up knees. Impeded by a nightgown. Great. There was a vase. I grabbed it, brandishing it.
I’d just have to take my chances. I braced myself.
The door opened. Alberta breezed in, carrying a dark brown overnight case. She had on a pale cream linen dress with red buttons, red espadrilles and her hair was clipped back. Fresh as a daisy, but no smile. ‘So, you’re alive.’ Then she looked at the vase. ‘Put that thing down.’
I sighed. ‘What’s going on?’
‘What’s going on? You tell me.’
‘Alberta, I have no idea where I am or how I got here.’
Alberta closed the door behind her, set the case down and perched on the velvety chair.
‘You’re in Santa Barbara now. We brought you here on the bus. Sal the taxi driver found you sprawled in some gutter. She took you to the hotel in the early hours.’
‘Sal found me?’
‘You were all boozed up, hollering like a crazy woman. Caretaker woke me up to deal with you.’ Her eyes expressed irritation and concern. ‘You don’t remember a thing?’
I sat on the bed, meeting her eyes. ‘No. I don’t.’
Santa Barbara. ‘Is this Floriana Luciano’s place? Did she see me in that state?’
Alberta rolled her eyes. ‘That all you’re worried about?’
‘She’s a client.’
‘Then maybe you shouldn’t have gotten drunk like that. Anyhow, relax. I told Mrs. Luciano you had to get real drunk to trick a cheating spouse. All part of the job.’
I groaned, head in hands. ‘She’ll never believe that.’
‘Best I could do, and she laughed.’ Alberta pointed at the case. ‘I packed you a change of clothes, things from your closet. For today, and for the party tonight.’
‘We came here on the bus. The band’s bus?’
‘You snored and dribbled your way through the journey. ‘
‘How embarrassing.’
‘That’s not the p
oint. Wanda wasn’t too pleased about you coming along for the ride. In case of trouble. Neither did Earnestine.’
I had no idea what she was talking about. ‘What trouble? Who’s Earnestine?’
Alberta shot me a derisive look. ‘Earnestine’s our driver. I know you don’t know nothing about our world, because you don’t have to, so I’ll spell it out. Wanda toured with the Honey Duchesses through the Jim Crow States. I wouldn’t do it myself, too much harassment. You know what the cops down there would do to us if they saw a white girl travelling with us? Especially a drunk one? Wanda isn’t of a mind to tempt fate, especially when she don’t have to.’
I must have looked blank.
They’d taken a risk by taking a sauced, self-pitying sap on board.
Alberta looked me straight in the eye.
‘But I guess if it don’t affect your life, you don’t even see it?’
She was right. I was ignorant. Arriving six months ago, I was so caught up with my own misfortunes, my own survival was top of the agenda. Still, the segregated coaches on the Super Chief from New York had shocked me. I remembered the “half-caste” and black kids in reform school. As juvenile offenders, we were stuck in the same boat. Everyone got beaten, everyone got starved, everyone shared the same internal scars of being unwanted. But the darker-skinned kids got something else—abuse simply for the color of their skin. They were the easy targets when the real culprits of some so-called misdemeanor couldn’t be found, or the staff just couldn’t be bothered to find out the truth.
I’d hated the unfairness, at the same time as feeling lucky that was one less thing I had to suffer. My white skin felt like a pass.
‘Wanda, she wanted to stow you in the bootleggers’ hatch. It’s an old bus with space under the floor for hooch. Figured since you were full of liquor, seemed kind of appropriate. But I said, “Shoot, Wanda, she’s practically unconscious. What if wakes up and panics, starts hollering again? Or she throws up and chokes on her own vomit?” So we laid you on the seat and hoped for the best.’
I was ashamed of putting the band in a risky situation, but my defenses were up. Defenses to ward off a deep dread, now welling up in me. I said breezily, ‘Well, I didn’t ask anyone to do anything. You should have just left me in the hotel.’
She snapped. ‘That attitude, wish we had. But you kinda gave me no choice.’
‘What?’ Now my stomach lurched. ‘I got hammered, that’s all. Don’t you ever get stewed?’
Shame of unknown sins wasn’t pleasant. Knowing you’d screwed up was one thing; you could always make amends. Not knowing how you screwed up was sickening.
‘Sure, I do. But not like that. That’s for cowards.’
‘What did I do?’
Alberta gave me a penetrating look. ‘You didn’t do, thanks to us. Said you were going to take your own life. Told me how you were going to do it, too. Your pistol, your morphine pills. Every darned means at your disposal. I heard every last one of your sad ass blues.’
Blood drained from my face. Every last one of my blues? Some instant knee-jerk bluff kicked in. ‘Just drunken bullcrap,’ I muttered. ‘Should’ve left me to stew.’
What the hell did you say last night?
‘Next time, I will.’ With that, Alberta got up and headed for the door. ‘Say, if you’re so fine and dandy, make your own way back home. You’ll have to hitch a ride. We ain’t going nowhere for a few days.’
She was angry; I didn’t blame her. I was mortified. I watched, paralyzed, as she opened the door. She had done her best to help me out, the band had taken a risk, and I couldn’t even thank her.
Do it now!
I jumped up. ‘Alberta, wait!’
Alberta came back in, fed up. ‘What?’
I said, ‘Please close the door. Take a seat. I need to say something.’
Alberta sighed. She thought about it. ‘I’m all ears and standing is fine.’
I started to pace the room. ‘I’m sorry I burdened you. I’ll apologize to Wanda, to all the band. Yesterday kicked me hard. Sonia Parker fired me. I guess you and Dede know about it? So I went to see Dolly in the County Jail.’
I paused. This was hard.
‘Remember you said me and her were the same? Well, you’re right. She’s lost all hope. So I guess I did, too. I hit the bottle. I was a fool.’
‘So, quitting a job turns you into a bum rollin’ around in the gutter?’
‘I didn’t quit, I was fired.’
‘Parker’s words?’
‘She said my services were no longer required. And then a guy PI showed up to take my place! She never did like me. Not one word of praise the whole time I worked for her!’
‘Well, boo-hoo. First thing, that don’t sound like firing to me. Second thing, if I waited for praise from any crummy boss I ever had, I’d be waiting till a black woman is President of the United States. What’s the matter with you? Me and Dede thought you had gumption.’
‘I don’t know. I wanted to do a good job. Help Dolly.’
‘What if the cops had picked you up in the street? We don’t want any trouble at the hotel. Ain’t no flophouse for drunken degenerates.’
Degenerate. Her words hit hard.
I looked down. ‘It won’t happen again.’ Was I more of a mess than I realized? The truth was, I had no grip on myself when drunk. The past could bite me again. Could I ever really trust myself?
‘Whatever I said, forget it. You won’t be hearing it from me again.’
Alberta thought for quite a while before she spoke. ‘Forgotten already.’
I sat down on the edge of my bed.
Alberta looked at her watch. ‘Take a shower. There’s a connecting bathroom through there. Jewel and Carmen are on the other side.’
She pointed at a door I hadn’t noticed.
‘Am I sharing with you?’
‘No. With Zetty. She uses this room when she comes here with Mrs. Luciano. We’re all on this floor. Servants’ rooms, but they look mighty fine to me. Some guests are next floor down, most are staying in town. Anyhow, I gotta rush. Band practice.’
At the door she turned around. ‘And you can quit fretting about Dolly. Word is, she’s gonna be released soon, all charges dropped.’
It was a bucket of ice water in the face. ‘What?’
Dolly free? Impossible.
Alberta gave a wry smile, opening the door. ‘But keep your mouth shut with the others. Even with Zetty. We don’t want to jinx it. Who knows? Maybe you did do something good.’
39
‘Ah! Miss Slate! Welcome to Villa Rosa! I’m so happy to see you again!’
Floriana Luciano pulled me towards her, laughing heartily. It was more of a bear hug than an embrace. A bear who rolled in divine meadows: her fragrance was lime flower, lilac, lemon and rose.
She looked stunning as ever in cream linen pants, a leather belt made up of twisted woven strings of leather in lilac, black and pink. On top, a crisp pink blouse with bishop sleeves and a pleated bodice. Jet-black accessories—bangles, earrings, and a necklace—gave the ensemble drama and definition. Her almond-shaped eyes were luminous, edged in kohl, her large hazel irises a darker, more golden version of her supple skin. Her hair, like carved bronze, was piled high on her head, with elaborate curls and rolls.
Oliverelle earned its good reputation if it helped you look like that in your sixties.
She certainly looked a lot more relaxed than the last time I had seen her, when a launch of one of her products had been sabotaged. I’d helped find out who did it. She hadn’t liked the answer, but she’d liked my fast style.
Now she linked her arm in mine. ‘So, I hear everything about your dedication to your job last night! Getting so drunk! You naughty girl. I hope you fooled the cheating louse! You must take a hang-over infusion. A very special botanical mix!’
Her grin told me she hadn’t believed a word of Alberta’s bogus explanation.
‘I’m in Zetty’s room. I hope I didn’t disturb her.
’
‘Oh, not at all! Zetty is very easy. She does not mind! You would have your own room of course, but we are a very tight squeeze. Most people have to stay in town.’
We were standing on the ornate marble and terracotta tiles of the sunny entrance hall. The double front doors were wide open. A huge marble curved staircase led up to the upper floor. Marble columns supported the upper balcony.
It didn’t feel like winter at all. It felt like a fresh spring morning in a Mediterranean paradise. ‘Maybe you stay a few days?’
Could I? Life was looking up. The news about Dolly’s imminent freedom felt like a lead weight had been taken from my shoulders, something I’d been carrying around and had gotten used to. I could stand up straight again. It was beautiful here; I could stay forever. But I had trustees to meet, bills to pay, and a sleuthing start-up to make good. I could call Barney when he was back and tell him to set up the meeting with the Spark Trust. Oh, and take down the Christmas tree.
‘Sure,’ I said.
‘Perfect! My hotel and spa will be the perfect retreat for all the busy ladies from Los Angeles. Santa Barbara will be a wonderful town again!’
‘You know, maybe just say to anyone I’m just a friend. Not a PI. I’d like to just forget about work.’