He heard someone snapping gum and looked up to see their waitress impatiently tapping her stubby pencil on a pad. “What’ll it be?”
“You don’t have Wheatina.”
Snap. Pop. Snap. “Nope.”
He stared down at the menu looking for something that didn’t sound positively dreadful.
“We’ll have two specials,” Elizabeth said. “And two coffees.” She glanced over at Simon. “Unless you want tea?”
Simon was about to say something about being able to order for himself, but the idea of some tea in his future blocked out everything else. “Do you have Chinese Gun Powder?”
“This look like an armory to you, buddy?”
Elizabeth handed her menu to the waitress. “Two coffees will be fine.”
Simon pursed his lips and gave up. He watched her walk away and looked around the diner. Steam billowed from behind the cook’s counter. A corpulent man with a sour face and a grease-stained T-shirt tossed ridiculously large slabs of meat on the grill behind the long curved counter. There wasn’t even an empty stool, so Simon was pleased they’d managed to get a booth. At least here they had a modicum of privacy.
“We won’t be having tea at the Ritz any time soon,” Elizabeth said. “Better get used to it.”
Simon wiped the tabletop in front of him with his napkin and set it aside. “That much is clear.”
“So, how’d you sleep?”
“Well enough, thank you,” he said uncomfortably. But she smiled back innocently, and he felt his tensions ease a little. “Did I snore?”
Elizabeth grinned. “Nope.”
“You did,” he said.
She sat up a little taller. “I do not snore.”
“Like a locomotive,” he teased, thoroughly enjoying her look of embarrassment.
“That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
“The truth is often ugly,” he said, trying not to smile.
She blushed. Beautifully. “Did I really snore?”
“It was more of a gurgling sound really.”
“Oh, really? Well, better a gurgler than a bed-hog.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You practically pushed me off the side.”
“I did? I’m sorry. I…” Who knows what he’d done in his sleep. If it was anything like what he dreamt of…
Elizabeth grinned. “I was joking. Mostly. You did bogart the middle a little, but it is a small bed and well, by size rights you should have two thirds anyway. It’s only fair.”
Simon was about to argue the point when the waitress arrived with the coffee.
Elizabeth took a sip and let out a contented sigh. “Oh, I needed that. So, after the library, what’s next on the hit parade?”
Simon tried the coffee. It was too strong and too bitter, but he forced it down. “That depends on how long we have to stay here. I had considered trying to contact my grandfather.”
She seemed surprised at that.
“He was living in London at this time, I believe. Although, aside from the difficulty of tracking him down, I’m not sure we should. I doubt he knows anything about the watch at this point in time. We have no idea when it came into his possession, and if I were to tell him something about the future, the consequences could be disastrous.”
He took another sip of coffee. It didn’t taste any better than the first. And his beard was beginning to itch. “We have to do everything we can to ensure the integrity of the timeline.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Your grandfather seemed to get pretty involved in the times he visited. Brunch with the death eaters and all.”
“No doubt he embellished his adventures for my benefit.” Although at this point, the line between fact and fiction seemed blurred beyond recognition.
“Could be. But then again, maybe not,” she said, her brow furrowing in thought. “The Heisenberg Principle says that we change what we study by the very act of studying it. Maybe he was telling the truth.”
“Perhaps.” Regardless, he thought, the less they were involved in the unknown here the easier it would be to keep an eye on her. There were far too many factors as it was, in a city and a time he was unfamiliar with. Adding in more could only spell disaster. She was far too open and accepting, but she wasn’t a fool. She had a good head on her shoulders, and he decided to appeal to her logic. “But, you must admit, the less we interfere here the better.”
Elizabeth nodded grudgingly, but fixed him with a raised eyebrow.
“We’re going to have to do a little interfering though,” she reasoned. “If the eclipse is more than a day or two away, and judging from our luck, my money’s on months, we’re going to have to find a way to earn money. Even at these prices twenty dollars won’t last much more than a week. We’re going to have to get jobs.”
She was right, of course. How did she manage such calm, even enthusiasm in the face of this gaping maw of uncertainty? Didn’t the prospect of spending months, perhaps a lifetime here unsettle her in the least? Simon sighed and forced his mind back to the issue at hand. Money had to be a priority. It was a rather daunting prospect. He had never wanted for money in his life and he sincerely doubted there was a great call here for professors of the occult. “I don’t think it’s quite that simple.”
“Two specials,” the waitress said, putting down plates laden with eggs, hash browns, bacon and toast. “Anything else?”
“Know where we might find some jobs?” Elizabeth asked. “We’re new in town and really don’t have any idea where to start.”
The waitress raked her eyes over Simon and arched a thinly plucked eyebrow, before turning back to Elizabeth. “There’s a chalk board over on Fourth and Broadway. Lists all sorts of jobs, but I don’t think they’re exactly your type.”
Elizabeth gave a good natured shrug. “You never know. Thanks.”
The waitress snapped her gum and ripped their bill off her pad. “Good luck, honey.”
Elizabeth turned to him and smiled triumphantly. “That wasn’t so hard. Library, job boards. Looks like it’s going to be a busy day.”
She dug into her food with relish. “Better eat yours before it gets cold.”
Simon poked a fork into his runny eggs. Busy indeed.
~~~
Elizabeth had never ridden a subway before. The cars bumped along, jigging from side to side, as they clattered through the dark tunnels. She felt like a native, bouncing in her seat like the rest of the passengers. If they only knew.
The train’s brakes squealed as it ground to a halt at the 42nd Street station. She and Simon fell in with the press of people hurrying out the doors and up the steps. She could see the library looming down the block.
It was enormous and comforting. Inside, it looked like every other public library in a big city. Same vaulting architecture and marble floors. It felt like a little bit of home.
They found a book on eclipses easily and settled into one of the long tables in the main reference hall. Elizabeth watched Simon skim through the pages until he hit the one they’d been searching for. His face was unreadable as he closed the book.
“Well?” Elizabeth prompted. “You going to tell me or what?”
“It could have been worse.”
It was an annoying habit of his, withholding information just for the privilege of watching someone squirm in anticipation. “And?”
“The next lunar eclipse will occur September 3rd of this year.”
She did some quick math. “Six weeks?”
“So it would seem,” he said.
September third. That was a month and a half before the stock market crash. She hated to admit it, but Simon was right—they should limit their involvement in the culture. She’d read enough science fiction to know that, but it was so tempting. To be able to avert one of the darkest periods in American history. Not that she really could. What was she going to do? Walk the streets wearing a sandwich board that said, “Sell your stocks! Black Tuesday approaches!” They’d lock her up a
nd throw away the key. Still, it was an enticing idea. However, there were definitely more pressing matters to think about. Six weeks was a long time. And even then, there was no guarantee the watch would work. They might be trapped here forever.
“Are you all right, Miss West?”
“It’s Elizabeth, remember? And I’m just thinking.”
“Indeed,” he said with a sigh. “Since we seem to be stuck here for an extended period, I suppose we should look into employment.”
The way he said employment nearly made her laugh, as if he were being asked to live in a basket of snakes. Her own fears about what may or may not come fell away. Why was it facing adversity was easier when someone else needed you? “It’s not that bad.”
Simon looked surprised. “You almost sound as though you’re pleased with this turn of events.”
She shrugged. “Like you said, it could have been worse. Now that we know, it’s not so bad really. It’s kind of an adventure.”
He frowned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your definition of adventure is profoundly warped.”
~~~
After they’d finished at the library, they started back to lower Manhattan. Fifth Avenue was a far cry from their neighborhood, at least the little she’d seen. Huge buildings stretched toward the sky, except for one huge hole in the ground. A large, elaborate sign stood at the rim—”Future Site of the Empire State Building - Starrett Bros. & Eken.” The Empire State Building, something that seemed so old in her mind, hadn’t even been built yet.
Everything about the city seemed about to happen. As if every person, every thing were on the verge of something better. She always thought New York would feel oppressive, impersonal, but it was just the opposite. Energizing and inspiring, where the only limit was your own imagination.
Reality, however, came back with a swift vengeance when they reached the job boards on Broadway. Most of the offerings had already been erased, leaving only dishwashing for fifty cents a day. So much for getting a job easily.
But, as she always told herself back home, if you can’t make money, spend money. Simon had balked at first, until she pointed out that he could simply never shave again. Off they went to F. W. Woolworth Co. 5 and 10 Cent Store.
The Woolworth’s back home had been nothing like this. Complete with a soda fountain, which Simon wouldn’t let her try, the store had everything a person could want. Clothes, canned goods, jewelry, personal items, the list went on.
For someone who’d never lived on a fixed budget, Simon was absolutely miserly. She managed to finagle a few items anyway. Toiletries were a must. The sales woman suggested a new product—Charmin bath tissue. What in God’s name did they use before? The soap smelled more like lye than lilacs, but at least it was something. They bought all the necessities: toothpaste, hairbrushes and a safety razor that looked anything but. They purchased towels and undergarments—Simon had delicately disappeared for that one—and one pair of pajamas. Simon hadn’t thought her suggestion that he be tops and she be bottoms was all that funny. But with less than ten dollars left, they couldn’t afford a second pair.
~~~
It was early afternoon when they dropped off their packages at the apartment and hit the pavement again. For such a big city, there were precious few jobs to be had. It certainly didn’t help not having the faintest idea where to look either.
They wandered aimlessly for a few hours before Simon suggested they work on a grid. Walking the business districts block by block, east to west. By late afternoon, they’d traveled from Columbia Street on the East to Bowery on the West. Still no jobs, not even a nibble.
As the day wore on, Simon grew more and more quiet. She knew he held himself responsible for them being there. She also knew that no amount of talking would make him feel otherwise. Screwing on her best smile, she suggested they get an early dinner.
They walked a few more blocks when the unmistakable smell of garlic cooking in olive oil caught her attention. She sniffed the air like a bloodhound on the scent and led them further down Delancy. Even before she saw the street sign, she knew where she was—Mulberry Street, the heart of Little Italy.
“Wow,” she said. “Just like in The Godfather.”
Simon was unimpressed. “Quaint.”
“Oh, come on, look at it,” she said, tugging on his sleeve and pulling him into the fray.
The street was small, barely wide enough for two cars, and bursting with life. Sidewalk cafes crowded with men playing cards and dominoes. Groceries with large wooden boxes displayed fresh fruits and vegetables on the sidewalk. Push carts selling every food imaginable clogged the streets. A few cars trying to weave through the mass crawled along more slowly than the people on foot. Green and white awnings jutted from the brick facades. Lace curtains covered the lower half of etched glass windows. And the smells. Garlic and oregano. Basil and simmering olive oil.
Three men in black pants with crisp white shirts leaned against a light pole smoking cigarettes. “Ah, bambina. Molto bella. Venga averci una bevanda con.”
Elizabeth giggled. “Hello.”
Simon grunted and moved between the men and her, taking her arm and hurrying her past.
“Isn’t this great?” she asked.
Simon let go of her arm. “Charming.”
He could be a spoilsport all he wanted to.
“I’ve always wanted to come here,” she said after enduring nearly a minute of his funk. Simon hardly seemed interested, but she ignored him. “Fun Tony always told the best stories about growing up on Mulberry Street.”
Simon raised one privileged, boarding school-bred eyebrow. “Fun Tony?”
“A friend of my father’s. Tony Funnico. I wonder if he’s alive yet?”
She looked at the young boys running down the street in their caps and knickers, and wondered if he might be one of them.
“He’d be very upset with me if I didn’t have a cannoli.”
Simon snorted and pushed his hand into his pocket, pulling out the few dollars they had left. “I’m afraid luxuries like that might have to wait.”
Reluctantly, she agreed. They had a quick dinner, eaten standing on the sidewalk, of sausages and onions wrapped in flat bread. Later, when they had money, she’d come back for her cannoli and eat one of every kind.
After dinner, on their way home, they zigged when they should have zagged and found themselves well off the beaten path. The street was deserted and eerily quiet. Elizabeth hummed a Cole Porter tune she’d heard playing in a music store. It was a nervous habit she’d picked up from her father. She glanced over at Simon and could tell from the way his back was ramrod straight and his eyes were narrowed that he was tense.
“We’ll find work soon,” she said. “I can feel it my bones.”
“Your bones are very optimistic.”
“Better happy bones than sulky bones.”
“I prefer to think of them as realistic.”
“All right, if it—” she started, and then stopped walking. In the distance, she heard something, and grabbed Simon’s arm. “Do you hear that?”
He frowned and they both froze in place and listened.
The soft scrape of shoes being dragged along uneven pavement, a cry of pain muffled by pride, a sharp crack of something hard against something broken—the unmistakable sounds of a struggle. She’d heard them from behind closed doors before and knew the images that filled the keyhole. The sounds filtered down the street, seeming to come from an alley barely twenty feet ahead.
Elizabeth started toward the sound. She heard more thumps and sobs of pain as she neared the darkened alley. She rounded the corner and stopped dead in her tracks.
Chapter Seven
ELIZABETH’S BREATH CAUGHT IN her throat. A man was on his knees holding a shaking, bloodied hand out before him. He was flanked by two large men. One casually toyed with a small blackjack, while the other leaned against the high fender of a large, expensive car. There must have been someone inside the car, because th
e leaning man stepped forward and lit a match, extending it inside the back seat window. Elizabeth saw a black, gloved hand steady the flame. The suffering man continued to moan, and Elizabeth was about to call out when she was yanked back around the corner.
Simon’s eyes blazed down at her in the moonlight. She tried to struggle out of his grip, but he only held her more tightly. He pulled her away until they were pressed up against the brick of the corner building.
“Let go,” she said.
“Quiet,” Simon hissed. Once he seemed sure she wasn’t going to do anything rash, he peered around the corner. After only a few seconds, he pulled his head back.
“He needs our help,” she whispered.
Simon gripped her arm again and pulled her back the way they’d come.
“What are you doing?” she said as she tried to slip out of his iron grip.
“Getting the hell out of here.” Once they were more than a block away, Simon let go of her arm and stared down at her angrily. “What in God’s name do you think you were doing?”
“That man was being beaten,” she said. “We should have done something.”
He looked positively flabbergasted. “Of all the idiotic—They had guns. What do you propose we should have done? Getting yourself killed wouldn’t have been much help now, would it?”
Elizabeth quietly seethed. “I still think we could have done something.”
Simon took her arm again and his eyes bore into her. “You must promise me you will never do that again.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she said bitterly. She hated being a helpless bystander. One thing she’d learned in her life was that you took help when it was offered and gave it when it was needed.
“Miss West…Elizabeth, please?”
She was about to argue when she saw the look in his eyes. He was frightened. Not for himself, but for her. Some of the righteous went out of her indignation.
“I’m sorry. I…I just wanted to help.”
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