Ivy was always jumping headlong into any situation regardless of the danger or consequence. If she’d given me a flicker of real desire... If she’d told me that she needed me by her side to be brave, I may have gone. Instead, she threw up her arms and yelled, “Suit yourself!” as she ran down the stairs again.
“Remember who you are and where you come from,” I said.
When she’d left, I returned to the penthouse, leaving the glass of water and my decision to try and gather some flowers behind me. Half of me wanted Ivy to stumble on that glass when she came back up.
Once upstairs I had second thoughts about that party. I didn’t want her in the corrupted heart of this city without me. She could get into all sorts of trouble.
* * *
I unpacked as much as I could, and then curled up on my bed with Sara Crewe.
As the sun set over our first day in New York City, I could hear the gathering party outside and then I noticed a small ray of light that shimmered from behind the dressing table at the opposite side of our half of the room.
Where is that coming from? I asked myself. I walked to the dressing table and peeked behind to see a thick layer of curtains.
I pushed at the dressing table, and it moved more easily than expected. I placed my back against it and pushed harder. It slid a few feet to the side, bumping into another beam near what looked like the entrance to a crawl space.
There they were, the curtains. More fabric than anything tailored. I yanked on them and they came down, pop, pop, pop, as the small tacks affixing them to the walls sprang out of the wood. The fabric fell to the floor.
There was a window. A small, round window that looked out over the back gardens of the four buildings on either side of Empire House and the next block over. Decrepit, unkempt gardens.
People were gathering for the party that we’d been invited to. Lanterns glowed, glittery dresses flew past like fairies. I noticed that the window had a small platform on the outside, so it must be some kind of fire escape, though who could fit in or out was beyond me.
I couldn’t see Ivy in the crowd.
Turning back around, I picked up the fabric that had fallen. There was a heavy velvet overlay. Rust colored and damp. Then, underneath...reams and reams of orange chiffon that despite the terrible color were in good shape.
Daisy was a seamstress...I thought, remembering what Viv and Maude had said about the woman, our next-best clue to finding out about our brother.
If she was a seamstress, there may be a sewing machine.
“Miss?”
I heard the voice from behind. It was the little girl, Claudia, who’d met us at the front doors of Empire House. I was happy to see her.
“Hello.”
“My name is Claudia. I didn’t know if you’d remember, because people got all sorts of different kinds of memories around here.”
I laughed. “I remember. Hello, Claudia.”
“How’re ya settlin’ in, miss?”
“I don’t think I belong here,” I said, confessing my deepest fears to a strange girl in a strange world.
“No one does, miss. This place is for people who got nowhere and no one. Then, we try to make a safe place for each other. Only the truth is, safe in’t a word that means much.”
“You are a wise little one, aren’t you.”
“I just came up to grab an apron,” she said and went to the little bed area I’d seen before.
“Are you comfortable there, Claudia?”
“Yes, Nell gives it to me for my work. It’s not much, I know, but better than sleepin’ on the street.”
“Where are your parents?”
“Gone.”
“Where is your family?”
“Got none.”
“Who takes care of you?”
“I do.”
She retrieved a clean apron and came back near me. She took my hand, walked me to the bed and sat me down. She unloosed my hair, and for some reason, I let her.
“You got grand hair like Mary Pickford. You seen a moving picture? Sometimes they still play the flickers for ten cents down at Washington Theatre. Don’t cut it, miss. It’s so pretty.”
“I won’t, Claudia.”
She picked up my book. “What’s this about?” she asked.
“Oh, you’d like it! It’s about a little girl your age, who comes to a school for girls. When she arrives, she’s very rich. But when her father dies in the war, she has no money and she’s forced to live in the attic and clean the house.”
“Does it have a happy ending?”
“Why don’t you read it? You may borrow it if you’d like.”
“I can’t read.”
“You can’t read?”
“A little, maybe.”
“Would you like to learn?”
“Oh, yes! Would you teach me?”
“I’d be honored,” I said, going to my trunk and taking out my pens, paper and ink. “Let’s start with that alphabet.”
Just then we heard “CLAUDIA!” from downstairs.
“I gotta go back down or Nell will slap me silly.” She looked at the fabric on the floor. “You sew?”
“Yes, I do. But I need a sewing machine.”
“Over on the other side of my bed I have a trunk. I keep things people left behind—you know, trinkets and such. I nabbed Daisy’s sewing machine. You could have it. It’s takin’ up too much space anyhow. There’s some spools of thread in there, too.”
“Thank you,” I said. “She left her sewing machine behind? What made her leave that way, Claudia? Do you know?”
Claudia shrugged her shoulders noncommittally and looked all around the room, trying to avoid my gaze. But it was such an exaggerated effort that I couldn’t help but laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are,” I said.
She laughed with me. “Daisy was a nice lady. Don’t let anyone tell you any different, miss,” she said.
She smiled then hopped down the stairs, counting to herself.
I went to the trunk she spoke of. It was a large steamer trunk with the top slightly open because of the size of the sewing machine. I lifted it out, heavy though it was, and brought it over to my bed knocking over the ink and paper I’d taken out to write down an alphabet for Claudia. If I cursed, I would have cursed then. I looked around to find something to mop up the ink, but couldn’t find anything so I picked up the bottle and the ink began to spill over my hands.
I flew down the stairs with the ink and went into the washroom, throwing the bottle out in the small wastebasket next to the tub.
Ink was everywhere. On my hands, a bit on my cheek and all over the front of my dress. The more I tried to scrub it off, the more the stains spread. Old-fashioned though it was, it was the most modern dress I had, and I’d already seen enough to know I’d need a less-modest dress to blend in. I would have nothing suitable at all to wear in the morning.
I washed the ink off my hands and face and went back to the penthouse. Orange chiffon would be ugly, but at least it would be something.
I pulled off my stained dress and sorted through my things I’d brought along, finding a long white nightdress that had once belonged to my mother. I loved that one; it looked and smelled like home. I pulled it over my head and loosed the last two pins from my hair. I then placed the sewing machine on the floor, hoping it would work without the stand, but it didn’t.
The crawl space. Maybe Daisy had left the rest of her larger belongings in there? I walked past the window and that’s when I saw Ivy.
The party was underway with starry lights glimmering roughshod over the poor man’s festival. Tattered people gathered there, one looking more broken than the next. There was a pretty feeling to the center of the gathering, but if you
looked toward the edges you saw the darkness creeping in.
I focused on the crumbling brick of the garden walls, waiting to see the specter I’d created in my mind, when there, in the center of it all, stood Ivy...smoking a cigarette.
I leaned on the window trying to pry it open.
“Only fast girls smoke,” was something both Mother and Father used to say, and I couldn’t let Ivy become “fast.” She was speeding toward disaster since the day she was born, and now, it seemed, we’d reached it.
I couldn’t open the window, so I banged on it.
I saw her see me, but she looked away, that ninny of a girl. The look in her eyes, though... It made me ashamed, I must have embarrassed her...but if I was her cross to bear, it didn’t matter to me. I had to stop her before she fell headlong into all the vices the city had to offer.
Frantic to stop her, I knew I had to go downstairs. It’d gotten very dark, so I picked up a hurricane lamp that was next to my bed, shuffled through Daisy’s things for a matchbook and lit the wick.
I rushed down the rickety staircase, one hand on the railing, the other holding up the lamp by it’s thin wire handle.
Just then, a man—I could tell by his footsteps, heavy and booted—bounded up the stairs toward me. He couldn’t see me as he rounded the corner and so even though I tried to move aside for him we were both going too fast. We collided.
I started to fall, but he caught me. Only he was at a poor angle so he fell forward. What happened was a graceless heap of two bodies intertwined, knocking the lamp askew, as well. The man reached over me to right it before too much oil spilled. I felt his cheek brush against mine, the stubble there so rough on my skin. I felt his arms try to sit me up... How strong they were, holding me, making sure I wouldn’t fall again. He had to touch my bare arms in order to get me on my feet again. Calloused hands swept past my face, smelling clean, of lemons and earth...gardens deep inside the ground full of fresh, growing things.
My God, what is this feeling? I thought as my head inched past his.
He asked, as breathless as I felt, “Are you a phantom?” into my hair as I moved upward, my lips open, not realizing I’d brush the side of his neck with them as I stood on my own.
And then sank back down because my ankle had twisted in the fall.
He reached for me again, but I backed away from him. There was nowhere to go. He was now blocking the staircase up, and I didn’t want to go down anymore.
“You’re hurt, and I’m frightening you,” he said. “Please don’t be frightened. We’ve already met. It’s me, Sonny. Santino.” It was then that I got the courage to look up at him.
Shadows speak louder of a person than sunlight. He was handsome. A strong nose and even stronger chin.
Mother always said that a strong chin meant a strong character.
“Are you drunk?” I asked him. “You ran so fast, I could have died here!”
I wanted to say, What was that, that thing that just occurred...what happened there? Did you feel it, too?
“Not drunk yet,” he said...and I felt he answered me. No, that was nothing.... “I’m still cooking. I was coming to check up on you, actually. And here you are, my phantom.” He laughed. It was a warm laugh, not mocking. Not like when I said silly things, and Ivy would laugh at me.
“You are so very pretty, Rose.”
I was happy for the dim light of the lamp so he couldn’t see me blush.
“Well, you look terrified, so allow me to escort you back upstairs. Only to your own steps, of course. We wouldn’t want to seem improper. You are a lady, Rose Adams.” He held out his arm, and I took it.
I began to walk but stumbled on my sore ankle.
“If you’ll permit me, I’ll carry you. I promise, no more awkward falls. I’ll not mistreat you, Rose.”
“Only if you promise to stop Ivy from making a fool of herself with the cigarette she’s smoking.”
“Agreed,” he said, and picked me up and carried me back to the penthouse. I felt lighter than air. He smiled at me. He had a smile like my father’s. One that lit up his eyes as well as his mouth.
“Perhaps we will meet on the stairs again,” he said. Then he gave a small bow and went back to the party.
I’ll admit, by the time he was gone, my ankle had stopped throbbing altogether, and I wondered if some alternate person inside of me had wanted him to lift me up. Then shook the thought away.
I rushed to the window to see if he’d do as I asked.
There he was, next to Ivy and taking the cigarette out of her hands.
Santino. A wonderful name. Exotic and full of mystery.
I went back to my original objective and found, as I knew I would, the sewing table crammed into the crawl space.
It took some time, but before I knew it, I was sewing myself a dress out of orange chiffon, thinking of home, summers by the lake and Santino.
When Ivy finally came back upstairs with Viv and Maude, they were obviously drunk.
She’d have to learn the hard way, my sister.
I pushed more filmy fabric through the machine and felt confident for the first time all day.
CHAPTER 6
Ivy
I SAW MY sister in the window.
Rose stood there like Rochester’s forgotten attic bride—hair loose, ghostly white nightgown billowing about, palms pressed to the glass. The calmer, more relaxed demeanor she’d exhibited earlier was gone. Her eyes scoured the patio with a desperate look, the angel of practicality prepared to rain judgment upon us, if only she could get the darn window open. Rose pushed at it, hit the frame with the flat of her hand, but the thing wouldn’t budge. When I caught her eye Rose shook her head—no, no, no!—but I ignored her. There isn’t a girl on the planet who wants to be told not to do something right after she’s made the decision to do it, and my must-do list was a doozy—smoke a real cigarette, get roaring drunk, kiss somebody. I’d crossed off the first one and planned on knocking out the rest of the list that night, my worrywart sister be damned.
But that wasn’t the whole story. Between the heartache of the past and the razzle-dazzle of a gin-soaked present, I chose the here and now. Empire House was a brace to the system. Something new to forget something old.
“Give me a drag of that lipstick,” Maude said, deftly taking the cigarette from my hand. She’d given it to me when we arrived at the party, to “slay my nerves.” I wasn’t the neurotic type, but I could see what she meant. When a gal’s hands are busy the rest of her looks pretty occupied with life. It helps when you don’t know a soul, and I didn’t. I didn’t trust Viv much, or Nell, but I did take an instant liking to Maude, and my instincts were pretty steady-eddy. Still, I wondered if she did remember Asher. Had he been a trusted friend or a boy who broke her heart? I supposed there were a number of reasons to skirt the truth, and not all of them meant the person wanted to lie.
“You okeydoke?” Maude asked. She sucked on the cig and drew the smoke so far into her body I expected it to come out her pores. “You look a little green.”
Dizzy from the smoke, my head felt like it had turned into a zeppelin, ponderously circling the party in search of a place to land. Still, I flashed my teeth. “Fine and dandy.”
“Viv will be back soon. She went inside to help Jimmy with the hooch.”
My zeppelin head went down in flames at the name. “Jimmy?”
“He’s a real harp—face looks like the map of Ireland. The girls like him, though.” Maude leaned in. “My tastes are more refined. I want a gent to take me to Mouquin’s for escargot. You know, someone cosmopolitan, refined.”
I took in her long, plain face and simply nodded. “So...the rule about drinking liquor is loosely enforced?”
Maude took another drag and shook her head. “Rules don’t apply when Nell can make a buck
.”
We stood there, companionably listening to the sounds of nighttime in Greenwich Village. The rest of the city popped like the gunshot beginning a footrace—go, go, go!—but the Village spoke in musical whispers, the sound of ideas taking form, and the soft slide into the delicious vices that make one’s head swim. Maude slipped the cig back into my hand, and I readied myself for another smoke. I lifted my hand and brought only my fingers to my mouth. Santino, the cook, had taken the cig while passing. He clucked his tongue and crushed it in his bare hand.
“You ain’t her father, Sonny!” Maude shouted after him. “Stick to making meatballs!”
I watched him slip back into Empire House. “What was that about?”
“He was in the war,” Maude gave in explanation. “Those guys think because they’ve seen a few ghosts, they know everything.” She shrugged. “Forget about him. What do you think about sharing a house with the rest of the crew?” she asked, gesturing to the gals moving about the patio. “We’re a touch removed from the action up in the penthouse, but these baby dolls are your neighbors.”
The other girls were a candy box assortment—plump and thin, brunette and blonde, tall and short, but they all looked like they knew where the world had wanted them to go, but ran in the opposite direction as soon as they got the chance. Modern girls. They clustered in small groups on the garden patio, candles in Mason jars circling their feet, tittering in anticipation of what the night would bring. A few of them sat cross-legged in front of a low slate bench, their attention drawn to the woman sitting on it. She didn’t wear a dress, but a simple shirt made of light green silk, paired with a day carpenter’s white canvas trousers and Chinese slippers. The odd combination somehow worked in her favor, though I suspected no one else should dare attempt it. In the dusky candlelight, her face was smooth and ageless—she could be a girl of twenty or a woman of forty. I wanted to look at her in the harsh light of day, but still I wondered if it would make any difference.
I was used to being the object of curiosity, but this woman, with her pale, fine-boned face and shock of white-blond hair, held every eye as though she were a hypnotist by trade. In this crazy city, maybe she was.
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