The Canary Club

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  When he finally speaks, his voice is strong, confident. “Masie, I don’t know how things are going to turn out for either of us, but I do know you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. And no matter what happens, I’m not leaving you. I’m not going to let you end up like this. I swear it.”

  I let him hold me like that for a long time, the sunlight warming our backs. It’s so selfish of me. He’d been so close to making his escape—to getting out. But the thought of having to do this alone, to be here without him, it’s suddenly too much. Every dark fear I’ve ever had coming back to haunt me. I’m just like my father. Poison to everyone around me.

  Somehow, in the blink of an eye, Benjamin has become my rock, the touchstone that keeps me sane in all this madness.

  Eventually, a soft sound draws me out of his embrace. Mother is rocking slowly in her chair, her head tilted toward us, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips as she hums a familiar tune, the lullaby she’d sung to me as a child. Then I realize her eyes are unfocused, her pupils wide.

  Part of me doubts she is even aware we’re here, but part of me, the unyieldingly hopeful part, wonders if she sees us and can somehow feel the comfort Benjamin brings me. Maybe, in her own way, she’s offering us her blessing.

  The drive back to Manhattan is long. Masie spends the bulk of it leaning against me as I hold her, wrapping my arms around her like a blanket. She tells me stories about her mother—tales of happier times, when she was young and before her father took over the business. She describes their humble home, the way her mother used to play the piano at night while Masie sang for her father and brother. I hang on each word, on each memory, and her words are so achingly vivid it almost feels like I was there. When we hit the bridge, she sits upright.

  “I’m absolutely famished; should we stop for lunch?” she asks.

  I point out the window. “I know a great place not far from here, but I don’t think it’s your sorta crowd.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Oh? And what is my sorta crowd?”

  I grin. My challenge had been deliberate, and I’d known even before I spoke that she’d take the bait. “Oh, you know. No fancy waiters or bottles of champagne. It’s a working fella’s sort of place.”

  “So it’s a dump?” she bites back, smirking. “Sounds perfect.”

  I rattle off the directions to Albert, who frowns but says nothing. When we reach the place, he pulls the car to the curb. I help Masie from the car and into the shop.

  “B/G Sandwich Shop? Is this one of those cafeteria places?” she asks, taking a spot in the long line of folks waiting to order.

  “It is, in fact. A meal in a minute, that’s their slogan.”

  The line moves quickly. Soon, we are standing in front of a row of mailbox-type windows. Walking up to one, I dig a quarter out of my pocket and put it in the slot. The box springs open to reveal a sandwich wrapped in white paper, a bag of French fries, a bottle of soda, and half a dill pickle—all on a small grey plate. She slides it out hesitantly while I repeat the process at another window, retrieving my own food.

  There are a handful of tables, but each is occupied so we spill back out the door. I lean against the hood of the car. Masie pokes her head in the window where Albert sits reading the paper.

  “Albert, would you care for a sandwich?” she asks loudly.

  He lowers the paper, then looks at the sandwich as if it might bite him instead. “No, but thank you, Miss. I’ll wait.”

  “You’re missing out, Al,” I say, unwrapping half my pastrami sandwich and taking a huge bite.

  Masie circles me, handing her plate to me before sliding onto the bulbous car hood and crossing her legs daintily. Once in place, she holds her hands out, taking the plate and setting it neatly in her lap. Taking a bite of her sandwich, she chews slowly, her eyes scanning the people hustling past as we eat.

  “What do you think?” I ask, taking another bite.

  She swallows. “It’s not bad at all.” Lifting her bottle, she hands it to me. “Can you open this, please?”

  Taking it along with mine, I walk back to the door and the bottle opener affixed to the brick exterior. I pry them open, the fizz rising and spilling just over the tops as I return to the car. I hand one to her, and she takes a long drink. The bubbles rise and she coughs, half spitting the liquid all over herself. I can’t help but laugh as she struggles.

  Finally recovered, she wrinkles her nose. “Not the kind of bubbles I’m used to.”

  “It’s an acquired taste,” I say, handing her a napkin. “Kind of like that grey goop you fed me at dinner with Zelda.”

  “The caviar?”

  “It was disgusting,” I say, taking a drink of my own.

  She shrugs. “What do you expect from fermented fish roe?”

  I cough, the bubbly liquid shooting out my nose when I close my mouth against the eruption. She grins devilishly, tossing the napkin back to me.

  I have to put my plate on the car to wipe off my face and the lapel of my suit. Finally, I just strip the jacket off, rolling up the sleeves of my white shirt against the heat.

  “Feeling warm?” she asks, taking a bite of pickle.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. Aren’t you?”

  She lifts her plate with one hand and kicks her feet playfully. “The only advantage to women’s clothing. We at least get a breeze every so often.”

  “Lucky you,” I say, laying my jacket in the backseat before returning to her.

  “We should go to the shore, Benjamin. We could take a swim, maybe sit under an umbrella, sip cocktails and pretend we’re in the South of France.”

  “Alcohol, heat, and partial nudity—that absolutely sounds like something your father would approve of,” I tease. When her smile falters, I realize I’ve said something very wrong. “But sure, if you wanna go, I’ll take you. It sounds fun.”

  It’s then I see it. Something catches her eye and her chin snaps up, her entire body going rigid at the sight. I turn quickly, trying to follow her line of sight, but all I see is a crowd of people bustling down the sidewalk. Instinctively, I step in front of her.

  “What is it? What did you see?”

  She slides off the car, thrusting her plate at me. “Nothing, just…” She hesitates. “We should go.”

  I open the door and usher her safely into the car before dumping the plates and food into the return bin and sliding in beside her.

  Albert doesn’t need any encouragement. As soon as the door closes, he revs the engine to life and peels out into traffic, to a chorus of blaring horns. We speed down the road and Masie stares out my window, scanning the faces as we pass.

  “What did you see, Masie?” I ask again.

  She shakes her head. “I swear I saw…”

  Her voice trails off, her mouth slamming closed in a hard line as she locks onto someone in the crowd. Turning, I see a familiar face. Though I’ve never met him personally, I’ve seen him hanging around Dutch—and of course, his face is regularly splashed across all the papers seeing as until very recently, he was wanted for murder.

  “Vincent,” she whispers. Albert turns the corner and he’s gone, a ghost in the street.

  Once we are clear, Masie sits back, visibly shaken. “Albert, take us home.”

  Albert obeys with a nod and Masie folds her arms across her chest, staring out her window.

  “Why don’t you tell me about this fella,” I suggest. “I should probably know what to look out for.”

  She turns to me, frowning, but nods once. “Vincent—Mad Dog, that is—is Daddy’s enforcer. Only recently, he’s gotten…” She lifts her hands, as if struggling to locate the right term. “Greedy,” she decides finally. “He wants to take over the business. He got it in his head that the way to do that—and keep everyone loyal to my family still on his side—would be to marry me.”

  Sitting back from the verbal blow, I whistle.

  She continues. “I refused, of course. As if Daddy would ever allow such a thing in any case.
But, well, let’s say I know him well enough to know how he thinks. He’s not great with subtly, or patience for that matter. I expect he’ll make his move as soon as Daddy gets back from Chicago.”

  “Does Dutch know?”

  She nods once, folding her hands and interlacing her fingers. “Yes, and I suspect he’s got some measures in place to deal with it.”

  Her face pales, the rose blush bleeding from her cheeks.

  “So why do you look so nervous?” I have to ask, the feeling in my gut warning me that she’s holding something back.

  Her eyes flicker back up to mine. “To be frank, I’m not sure which of them will win this battle, but either way, I lose.”

  “You still care about him?” I press, leaning forward.

  She clears her throat before answering. “I keep telling myself I shouldn’t. Keep reminding myself he’s my enemy now. I suppose it’s hard to reconcile how much he’s changed. And the worst part is I’m not even sure if I’d save him now, even if I could. I honestly just want it all to be over.”

  I chew the inside of my cheek, processing her words before I speak. “People aren’t all good or all bad. And caring for people—even people who do bad things—it doesn’t make you a bad person. Just the opposite, Masie.”

  “The problem with caring about people is that they always let you down, you know?”

  All I can think about in that moment is Dickey, how I’d taken the rap for him. How, even after what it cost me, I’d probably do it again, too. For better or worse, he’s like a brother to me. And deep down, we are all capable of doing terrible things for the people we care about.

  “Not everyone will let you down, Masie.”

  She snorts. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  I open my mouth to say more, but the car jerks to the side of the curb and comes to an abrupt stop, nearly flinging me forward in my seat. I step out, holding my hand for Masie behind me.

  She slides out of the car, purse tucked under one arm.

  “Are you alright here for a bit?” I ask. “I need to go check on Aggie. She’s coming home from the hospital tomorrow.”

  She smiles. “Of course. Give her a kiss from me.”

  Then, without warning, she leans forward. Resting one hand flat against my chest, she kisses my cheek. In that moment, everything slows down, the space between heartbeats aches deep in my chest. She pulls away, just a bit, her black lashes grazing her cheek as she blinks, then she exhales, looking back up at me. I close the space between us before the next beat of my heart, one hand wrapping around to cup the back of her neck, the other at her waist, drawing her closer.

  I shouldn’t. People can see. Someone will notice, and tell her father. I could lose my job—or worse. Even as part of me demands to pull away, another, much louder part, refuses to care.

  Her lips part beneath mine and I taste her for the first time, cherry soda still dancing on her tongue. For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake. A small voice in the back of my mind screams for me to release her, but my fingers refuse to obey. Then I feel it, her smile against my mouth, the line of her body relaxing against mine as she takes the side of my face in one cool, open hand. When she draws back, her lips swollen and flushed with color, she grazes her hand across my jaw, her thumb catching my bottom lip and chin as she pulls away.

  Without a word, she takes two steps back, spinning on one foot and waving to the doorman. He opens the entrance for her. Before I know it, she’s gone, vanished inside, and I’m standing there, grinning like an idiot.

  Behind me, Albert clears his throat loudly. “Would you like a ride to the hospital?”

  I shake my head, retrieving my jacket and hat from the front passenger seat. “I think I could use the fresh air, but thanks.”

  He smirks and disappears inside as well, leaving me to slide the fedora onto my head and step off down the sidewalk. I haven’t gotten far before a voice calls me from the shadows.

  “Well, Benjamin, I think you and I need to have a little chat,” O’Hara announces, stepping from the space between two buildings.

  I practically dance into the apartment. Tossing my purse aside, I kick off my shoes and twirl on my tiptoes all the way to the French doors.

  “Can I get you something, Miss?” Butler asks, but I wave him away.

  “No, not right now, thank you.” I snap my fingers, thinking better of it. “Wait. Music. Bring out the Mikiphone, will you? I want to listen to some jazz.”

  He vanishes and I toss myself into one of the lounge chairs near the edge of the patio, tucking a pillow under my head so I can stare at the clouds passing overhead. Butler returns with the silver pocket phonograph Daddy had gotten me when I went away to school and a stack of discs.

  He selects one, my favorite of late, and gently releases the needle. There’s a moment of scratch, then the first clarinet cries out, followed by the deep bassoon. The trumpets and French horns join, the sounds weaving together in a playful dance as Rhapsody in Blue wafts its way into the air, the melody wrapping around me like a velvet cloak.

  Each long draw of the violin, each delicate note of piano, mingles in a bluesy chorus, spilling the soulful emotion of the piece over me like rain. Each crash of the cymbal is like a strike of lightning, each thump of the bass drum like a roll of thunder—a perfect storm of sound.

  As the music ebbs and flows, I close my eyes, soaking in the sound and sun. When I open them again at the end of the song, Butler has left a dry martini on the table beside me. Sitting up, I take a sip just as June floats onto the terrace.

  “Masie, where on earth have you been? I’ve been looking for you all day.”

  I slide my feet to the ground, and she falls into one of the high-back chairs around the dining table.

  “Why? What’s happened?” I ask, a swell of fear rising inside me.

  She shrugs off the delicate embroidered shawl covering her shoulders and lifts the hem of her skirt, plucking a miniature flask form her garter and helping herself to a long sip before answering.

  “JD’s gone to meet your father at the train station. He’s coming home early. Supposedly, there’s some sort of big news.”

  I raise my glass, my nervousness evaporating quickly. “He must have made the deal for the new club. Good, that should keep him occupied for a while.”

  Staring at me sharply, June narrows her eyes. Pointing my direction, flask still in hand, she says, “You look different. Radiant, in fact. Did you finally take that handsome piece of man into your bed?”

  I flush at her words. June, never one to pull punches, has had at least a dozen lovers—that I know about. It amuses her endlessly to casually toss such suggestions my way. I’m far from a prude, but I’m not a vixen like her, either. Trying to sound casual, I wave her off. “Don’t be silly. I haven’t the time or the inclination to complicate that particular relationship.”

  I’m lying; it might as well be written across a billboard on Fifth Avenue. Just our short kiss had set my heart racing in a way I’ve never felt before, like gunfire at the Brighton Beach Race track, the one that sends the thoroughbreds sprinting across the track. Even now, just the memory of it is enough to bring a warm blush to my face.

  June raises one pencil-thin eyebrow. “Whatever you say, doll. I know that look.”

  I bring my shoulder forward, lightly touching it to my chin. “Well, I never said it wasn’t a lovely idea.”

  “Aren’t they always?” She chuckles and takes one more drink before returning the flask to her garter.

  “Do you have any idea when they’ll be back?” I ask, standing and lifting the needle of the Mikiphone, plunging us into near silence.

  She shrugs. “No tellin. JD said they’re doing a business dinner with Alistair and Lucky first. I don’t expect them till late. What about you—no show tonight?”

  I shake my head. “There’s a dame in from Jersey tonight, a special feature. I have the evening to myself.”

  The news makes her sit forward and clap m
errily. “Oh Masie, we should go out on the town. We could see a show or hit up one of the speakeasies on Ocean Parkway. Maybe we could wander over to that place that does feather fan dances. We’ll get right up on stage and join in, just like old times.”

  I take a deep breath through my nose, exhaling it slowly. Truthfully, none of that sounds like where I want to be tonight. Licking my lips, I thrust the thought of Benjamin from my mind.

  “How about dinner in Tribeca, then a show? And if we still have our feet after that, we can surely find some sort of trouble to get into.”

  “Dinner at Delancey’s in SoHo? Then we can go see The Jazz Singer. I know you like that one.”

  I pause. Truthfully, it is one I’ve seen a few times and have quite a soft spot for. Something about the way they actually include the music into the reel makes for a stunning theater experience.

  “Oh.” I snap my fingers. “I forgot, I gave Benjamin the night off. I have no guard to accompany us.”

  She gives me a withering look. “Since when has that stopped us? You used to try to lose your guard as a matter of principal.”

  I chew my bottom lip, debating how much truth to reveal. “With everything going on…”

  June’s expression doesn’t change. “Mas, there’s always something going on. Always some reason for Daddy to keep his precious Canary locked up in her gilded cage. Besides, I’ll be with you the entire time. There’s strength in numbers, you know.”

  I tap my fingers on the table. She’s right; the danger today is no worse that it normally is. I doubt very much that Vincent would do anything to put me directly in danger, and I’ll be far from Daddy and his crew in any case. June and I have snuck out dozens of times over the years. The worst thing that happened was a one-night stint in jail after being rounded up in the raid of a local speakeasy.

  As if sensing victory, June presses forward. “Masie, let’s go have fun. Take your mind off your father and Benjamin and whatever else has that scowl set in your face. You need it. Lord knows I need it. It’s practically medicinal.”