I feel my chest tighten as Masie steps out from behind a beaded curtain and raises her satin-gloved arms into the air, cheers and whistles filling the room. She’s in a sea foam-green getup, her long legs made seemingly longer by her high-heeled shoes and fishnet stockings. Her dress is so short her garters are nearly showing, the silver beads dangling and catching light as she sashays onto the stage. Her golden blonde hair is perfectly waved to her chin, a silver beaded band across her head and multiple strings of pearls falling from her long neck. Taking the microphone in her hands like she’s about to kiss it, she tilts her chin, sweeping a sultry glance around the room from beneath her dark lashes.
“Hello, floorflushers,” she begins, her voice low and smooth. “Are we ready to have some fun?”
The crowd cheers again, the walls shaking with the sound.
The corner of her mouth curls into a seductive grin. “Well fellas, grab your best dame. We’re going to start with something for the lovebirds.”
The double bass starts up first, plucking each note as her hips sway to the sound. It’s a slow melody. Across the room, couples take hands and make their way to the floor. The atmosphere changes as the first lonely, aching bleat of the saxophone wafts through the air. The trombone joins in next, layering its deep buzzing into the music, and finally, my heart now pounding in my chest, Masie begins to sing.
I don’t know the song, but she’s singing of yellow diamonds and the night sky, of shadows and water and love. Unlike so many club canaries with their high, nasal voices, hers is a low tone, thick as molasses on a winter’s day. Something about it draws the breath from my lungs. I force myself to look away, to take stock of the room around me. There is no sound. Even the barmen are frozen, staring at her in rapture. Dutch has his eyes closed, his head swaying gently with each note, but the other men just stare. Beside me, Alistair is particularly caught up. He leans forward on his arm, his cheeks flushed as he watches her with greedy eyes.
There’s something about it that rubs me wrong. Not just the tiny bubble of jealousy rising inside me, but the look of desperation on his face. Obviously a man of means, no doubt Alistair Rothchild is very used to getting whatever he wants. And there’s no doubt in my mind that, at least in this moment, he would do anything to possess her.
I smirk, wondering what he might think if I told him that only a few short hours ago, she’d been nursing me back to health—while I was naked as the day I was born.
It’s a ridiculous thought, but it brings me a perverse sort of pleasure.
I catch sight of Dickey on the dance floor with one of the flappers he’d come in with. She’s staring at him, clearly smitten, but he looks past her, his eyes glued to the stage.
In fact, the whole crowd is enraptured with Masie. She’s pretty enough—stunning to be honest—but I doubt her looks, or even her voice, is what holds these people hostage. No, it’s something about her. Her confidence, her charisma, perhaps. Something about her makes you feel grateful to simply be in her presence.
Finally, the song ends, and the crowd applauds again.
“Your daughter is a marvel,” Alistair says, seeming to regain himself.
“She takes after her mother,” Dutch says, his voice wilting. “Bless her soul.”
“A tragic loss. You have my deepest sympathy, of course,” Councilman Dunn adds.
Dutch nods graciously. “Thank you for that. It’s been over a year now. It’s hard to believe.” He pauses, catching Masie’s eye and raising his hands so she can see him clapping for her. She doesn’t acknowledge the gesture. The music begins again, drums picking up a much-quicker tempo, and the room erupts into a frantic, foot-stomping swing.
Dutch leans forward. “I do think it’s time to retire to a more private setting.” Then he turns to me. “My boy, you keep watch here. Should anything get out of hand, or the flatties come knockin’, there’s a light switch by the door. Just push it, and we’ll take the back way out. You got it?”
I nod once. “Yes, sir.”
The men stand, taking their drinks with them as they retire behind a panel of wood that looks like a full mirror in a frame. To the left of it is a single lamp, the switch just below. It’s not until it closes behind them that I take up my post, back to the mirror, watching the club. The song changes again.
There’s something wild,
about you, child…
It’s all I can do to keep my gaze continually scanning the room and not falling back to her face. The pull is magnetic.
That’s so contagious,
let’s be outrageous…
Even as her voice reverberates from wall to wall, from parquet floor to tin-tiled ceiling, as it flows around me, through me, it’s impossible not to imagine her standing in front of that window, light spilling around her.
Let’s misbehave.
I’m almost lost in the memory when the green door opens and JD steps in, a petite brunette all draped in furs hanging on his arm. Behind him, two more men stride in. Their faces are familiar, but it takes me a moment to realize where I know them from. Cops. I’d seen them during my processing. They look different tonight, their faces flushed and smiling, their blue uniforms traded in for grey suits and fedoras. JD waves to the barmen, then catches sight of me. I offer him a polite nod, which he returns, releasing his doll and the two flatties to a table. He works the crowd, shaking hands and offering warm, friendly smiles as he makes his way across the floor to me.
“I take it Dutch is in his meeting?” he whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear over the music.
I nod, jerking toward his table with my chin. “Those two fellas are cops; I recognize them from my time in the joint.”
Slipping one hand into his packet and the other onto my shoulder, he lets out a barking laugh. “Half our guests are law of some flavor. We cater to judges, senators, sergeants, and even the occasional flattie. Less they come blazing through that door in unies, guns drawn, they ain’t no worries of ours.”
I nod.
“But good lookin’ out. Pop was right to bring you in. You’re a sharp tack.” A young woman in a slinky pink fringe dress wanders over, silver tray of teacups in hand. JD snaps his fingers and she pauses, grinning. “What’s the flavor?” he asks.
“Gin Rickies,” she answers in a bubbly voice. He gently adjusts the pink feather in her wavy red hair before taking a cup. She bats her dark eyelashes and flushes, her freckles almost disappearing. He has an effect similar to Masie, I realize. Charisma must be an inherited trait.
He takes a long drink. “We’ve only got a few rules here, Benny. Show up by dark and stay till the evening’s take has been put in the vault. Be sure to always be dressed to the nines. Don’t fraternize with the giggle girls, if you can help it.” He winks at the redhead as she passes by again. “And do whatever you’re told.”
“Sounds easy enough,” I say.
“And, this should go without saying, nothing you see or hear ever gets repeated. Dutch rewards loyalty—as you’ve seen. But he punishes treachery in equal measure.”
“Of course.” As I speak, the song ends and my words are eaten by the frenzied crowd.
With a farewell pat on the back, JD makes his way to his table and takes a seat. I turn, adding my applause to the masses. Masie dips, raising one arm in a playful wave, then blows the audience a kiss and steps off stage. The bassist begins plucking again, and the band strikes up. The sax man takes the mic, crooning into it.
It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing.
Masie makes her way through the throng of dancers, practically throwing herself forward across the bar. Whatever she whispers to the barman makes him smile. He mixes her a pale purple concoction and pours it into a cup, handing it to her. Leaning across the bar, she plants a playful kiss on his chubby cheek, earning her a grin as he slings a towel over his shoulder and waves her away. Turning her back to him, she leans against the bar, watching the room over the edge of her cup as she takes a sip. Her eyes fall on me
, one delicate eyebrow raising. She walks my way, her yellow curls bouncing slightly with each step.
“You look like a man who needs a drink,” she says, holding her cup out to me.
I should refuse. Some faraway thought in my head whispers no, even as my lips form what I’m sure is a stupid grin. “Thank you.” I accept her cup. Taking a small sip, I frown as the herb flavor rolls around my tongue.
“Lavender gin, they make it special for me,” she continues.
“It’s…disgusting,” I admit, handing the bitter liquid back to her.
That earns me a radiant smile. “An acquired taste, I suppose.” She takes another sip. “How are you enjoying your first night?”
“Well, this is one of the nicest juice joints I’ve ever been to. Though I think that has more to do with the entertainment than the hooch.”
She touches her chin to her shoulder, the dangling beads from her headband tickling her neck. “Don’t feed me a line, Benjamin. I’m not a fish you can reel in.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say honestly.
She grins. “In that case, I’m absolutely flattered.”
Just then, the dark-haired dame JD brought in rushes Masie, throwing her arms around her neck and embracing her tightly.
“Oh Mas, that was just the bee’s knees,” she says merrily, stepping back but keeping a hold of her hands.
“Benjamin, this is my dear friend June,” Masie says.
June releases her friend, stepping forward to place one satin-gloved finger on my chest.
“Well, a new face. I think all new faces should be this handsome to look at, don’t you agree, Mas?”
Her flattery is kind, but she’s close enough I get a whiff of her rose-scented perfume mixed with the gin on her breath. It makes me momentarily nauseous.
“Thank you,” I manage. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss.”
She steps back, holding out one gloved hand, palm down. “June West. Like Mae West. She’s a distant cousin of mine,” she explains.
I have to admit, once she says it, I can see a small resemblance. Though June has coal black locks in a chin-length bob, she has the same long, wide nose and half-moon eyes as her famous cousin. She’s a real knockout, in fact. But somehow, standing next to Masie is like standing next to an eclipse. June is completely overshadowed.
“Miss West,” I say, taking her hand and grazing a polite kiss along her knuckles as I’ve seen gentlemen do.
“Oh, please. June is fine. So, have you been working for the family long, Benny?”
“It’s his first day,” Masie answers for me, taking her friend by the arm. “And we best let him get back to it.”
But June seems disinclined to leave. Instead, she makes a snapping gesture with her fingers. “Wait! Are you the fella who got shot?”
When I don’t answer immediately, she flails. “That’s dreadfully exciting. I mean, you’re a real-life hero, saving a man’s life like that. Do you think you’ll have a scar? I think scars on men are so sexy.”
I glance up at Masie, looking for help because I have no idea what to say, but she just offers me an apologetic shrug. It’s not until June steps forward, running her hands across my chest, that she intercedes.
“Where is it?” June asks, her voice high. “Oh, there it is,” she declares, her fingers finding the edge of my bandaged shoulder. I wince.
“June, JD is looking for you. Better go see what he needs,” Masie says, gently tugging her off me.
“Oh, poo. I’d better go.” She turns back toward her table, pausing to shoot me a glance over one shoulder. “See you around, Benny.”
I wave, pressing my lips into a tight line. It’s only when she’s out of earshot that I sag in relief. “Thanks for the save.”
Masie’s mouth twitches, and she rolls a strand of pearls between her fingers. “June’s a sweet girl. Really. She’s just…enthusiastic.”
Probably not the term I’d use, but I say nothing.
“How is it, your shoulder?” she asks after a moment of silence.
“Better,” I say. “Sore, but healing. The doc did a great job. Say, are you singing again tonight?”
“I am. I always close the night out with a song.”
“Well, I’m glad I’ll be around to hear it.”
She sets her cup on the bar and chews her bottom lip, turning back to me. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll get tired of having to listen to me every night.”
“I doubt it.”
“In that case, I’ll sing something special tonight, just for you. But, if you’ll excuse me, I need to retire to my dressing room for a moment and freshen up.”
“I look forward to it,” I say, straightening. My words are easy, but something clenches inside at the statement. There’s something about this girl, a feeling she evokes, and the anticipation I have to figure it out is almost tangible—smart idea or not.
As soon as I open the door to my dressing room, I smell the roses. A dozen long-stem crimson cadenzas sit in a crystal vase in the middle of my dressing table. My heart leaps into my throat at the sight. A giddiness I haven’t felt in a very long time seizes me as I imagine my admirer, Benjamin, sneaking in, nervous and flustered in his sweet way, to leave a gift for me. I can see it so clearly it’s as if I’m watching it happen in my mind.
Smiling, I close the door, humming softly to myself as I cross the room. Taking my seat with a flourish, I tug the white envelope free of the bunch and hold it to my lips. Though I know it’s silly to be so excited, part of me can’t help myself. It’s been so long since I met someone like Benjamin, someone I felt so at ease with. I feel the flush creep into my cheeks as I open the envelope. I don’t know what I’m hoping for. Poetry maybe—he seems the poetic sort—or even just a simple, awkward expression of his affection.
Inside, I find two first-class steamer tickets to France.
“You should take June,” a familiar voice whispers from behind, making me spin so abruptly toward the shadows at my back that I knock over my vial of perfume. The scent of gardenia suddenly overpowers the rose as I quickly dab at it with the edge of the doily.
“What are you doing here, Vincent?”
“It’s Vincent now, is it? I suppose that’s fair.” He sighs deeply, stepping forward. “I wanted to hear you sing.”
Turning my back to him, I slide the vase aside, staring at him in the mirror as I toss the envelope on the table and re-apply my pressed powder.
“You should go.”
Stepping forward, he reaches out, taking hold of the red boa hanging on my dressing curtain. Letting the feathers slide though his fingers before catching hold of it, he walks to me, draping it over my shoulders.
“I had another thought after you left today. A way we might both get what we want,” he says, pulling my hair free from the boa and stepping to my side before kneeling. “If you won’t run away—if you’re determined to stay—then marry me, Masie.”
The idea is so absurd that it takes a full minute before I can form words. “Have you lost your mind?”
He grins. “Not the reaction I was hoping for, I admit. But it makes sense, if you think about it.”
My mind is moving so slowly I can’t understand what he’s trying to say. Had he really just proposed to me? Or was the alcohol from the spilled perfume making me loopy? Everything feels like a bad dream, surreal and achingly distant.
“Think about it, Masie. The only way for me to take over the business is if I were to eliminate Dutch and JD. Neither of us wants that.” His words are so callous, so matter of fact, that I shudder. He doesn’t seem to notice as he continues. “But if you and I were married, your father could hand the reins over to me as his son-in-law. He could make me his second, then quietly retire somewhere far from the city. He’d be safe. JD would be safe. And you and me, we could run this racket together.”
The look on his face is so familiar that it makes my chest hurt. It’s the excited puppy face he’d worn so often as a boy. Only now, instead of making
me excited, it makes me want to vomit.
“What makes you think Daddy would hand the business over to you and not JD?”
He snorts. “Because—to be frank, Mas—I know where the bodies are buried. Literally.”
The ache in my chest turns to something else, bile rising in the back of my throat. I physically have to swallow it back. He doesn’t want to marry me because he loves me. If he did, he’d have run away with me when I asked so many months ago. No, this is him looking for leverage, looking to use me, to exploit me.
Just like everyone else.
Vincent is a monster. Maybe it’s because my father made him one, or maybe he always was and I simply never saw it before now—either way, the truth is undeniable.
He continues, obviously mistaking my revulsion for hesitation. “Masie, you can be my canary. I’ll take charge of the families—all the territories—and you’ll be at my side. You can keep your family safe and help me at the same time. I’d be a good husband, Mas. I would keep you safe, and I’d get rid of my other gals…” Taking the damp doily from my table, he wipes it down the side of my face, exposing the bruise beneath. “I’d never hurt you, Mas. You’d never have to be afraid again.”
“I’m already afraid,” I admit. “You terrify me, Vincent. The things you’ve done, the people you’ve…” I can’t even bring myself to say the word. I’ve always known what he was capable of, but there had always been that flicker of hope that I could bring him back. That he wasn’t too far gone to save.
Stupid me.
“It’s just business, Mas. You know that.”
“I know. I do. But there has to be a line, Vincent. There must be a point where you say, no, this isn’t right. Do you have that? Are there any lines you won’t cross?”
I stare at him, hoping for the answer I know I’m not going to get.
“No,” he says finally. “I’ve done it all, and I’d do it all again. Not just because Dutch told me to, but because it’s who I am. I’m not asking you to forgive me here, Mas. I’m just asking you to marry me. You’re a smart girl—much smarter than your old man or anyone else gives you credit for. You gotta know that this is your best option. Besides, you loved me once, or you almost did. Would it really be so bad?”
The Canary Club Page 8