The Canary Club

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  He looks down at our entwined hands, rubbing my knuckle with the pad of his thumb.

  We don’t speak for the rest of the ride. He just holds my hand in silence. Occasionally, his eyes flicker up to catch mine, emotions rolling across his expression like the tide. When we step off, my legs are weak and wobbly, and not from the ride.

  “I need to sit down,” I admit, clutching his arm.

  He leads us down the remaining boardwalk toward the beach, depositing me on a bench near the umbrella rental stand.

  “Why don’t you sit here a minute? I’ll go get lunch, and we can have a picnic in the sand.”

  I smile half-heartedly and he marches off, leaving me to stare at him until he vanishes into the crowd.

  The beach is packed—as always this time of year. Some people simply stand in the sand, chatting, making castles, or staring out at the blue beyond. Others frolic in the surf, splashing and laughing. A nearby beach patrol cop pulls a group of bathing suit-clad ladies aside, whipping out his tape measure to make sure their shorts are long enough to adhere to the public decency laws.

  When a person plops down next to me, I’m sure that it’s Benjamin and I turn to remark on his speed. Only, it’s not him at all.

  I nearly leap from my seat in surprise.

  “Oh, Vincent, you startled me.”

  He grins wickedly.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand, trying to sound normal, as if the proximity to him isn’t making my skin crawl. “Following me again?”

  He shrugs, stretching out and crossing his legs at the ankles. “Just keeping an eye out. Oh, and I brought you something.”

  He hands me a brown bag and I open it, revealing my clothes from the night before, the ones I’d abandoned at the follies during the raid.

  In that instant, my mouth goes dry, my chest constricting painfully.

  “You were a vision,” he says, his words practically dripping with lust. “I’d always wondered what you looked like, if your skin was as white as I imagined.”

  It’s all I can do to withhold the bile rising like acid in my throat. How had we come to this? Once upon a time I’d run to him, the sound of his voice filling me with joy. How had we come so far?

  “What do you want?” I demand again, determined not to let him see how his words are sickening me.

  “Who’s the new boy toy?”

  “He’s my guard,” I say flatly, dropping the bag in the sand beside me. There’s no way any of those clothes will touch my skin again, not now that Vincent’s had his hands on them.

  He laughs, a sour dry sound. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

  “Yes, he is my guard, and unless you want him to report to my father that you’re harassing me again, I suggest you go before he gets back.” My voice trembles on the last word, betraying me.

  “Are you afraid of what your daddy will do to me, or are you afraid of what I’ll do to this bum for putting his hands on ya?”

  Taking a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders. “Stay away from us.”

  He grins again. “I’m meeting with Dutch tonight. Should I mention the little display I saw today? Or would you rather take odds on what dirty errand he’s going to have me run this time?”

  “He knows you’re moving against him,” I say, the words coming out in a hiss. “He’ll never trust you again.”

  He seems completely undaunted by my threat. “Maybe. But he still needs me. Even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

  With that, he stands, brushing off his one-piece bathing suit. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take a dip before I head back to the city. Be seeing you, Mas.”

  As soon as he’s gone, I break out in goose bumps, crossing my arms over my chest and rubbing my arms to stave off the sudden chill. I only have a few moments to compose myself before Benjamin returns.

  “Everything okay?” he asks, holding the basket out to me.

  I open my mouth, not entirely sure how to answer.

  Masie is unusually quiet all through lunch, her eyes continually scanning the crowds of beachgoers. When we finish, she gathers her scraps and a brown bag I don’t remember seeing before, depositing it all in a nearby waste bin.

  “We have a few tickets left,” I say, trying to gauge just how upset she is with me.

  She shrugs. “Save them. You can bring Aggie when she’s feeling better.”

  I’ve clearly upset her, and I silently curse myself. It wasn’t my intention to hurt her feelings, but I clearly have as she’s barely speaking to me, much less meeting my eye. I reach out to take her hand to lead her back to the subway, but she flinches at my touch. Everything in me wants to pull her close, to drive away her doubts by kissing her until we’re both senseless. But I don’t. My inability to keep my hands to myself is what got me in this situation in the first place, and I don’t think she’d want me to besides.

  She’s gone cold, and it’s entirely my fault.

  Even worse, I have no idea how to make it better.

  We step onto the subway car, squeezing into the cramped space at the very back. There’s no seats open, so we clutch the bar, our fingers just barely touching. It’s only then that she looks up at me again, her expression unreadable.

  The train starts with a jerk. She pitches forward into my chest, and I catch hold of her with my free arm. I fully expect her to pull away, but she doesn’t. Instead, she remains there, unmoving, her head on my chest and my arm around her waist, all the way to our stop.

  My arms are reluctant to release her, even to pick up the now-empty basket and make our way back to the penthouse. The whole way, I’m mentally cursing myself for not being able to come up with something clever, witty, or reassuring to say.

  When we reach the elevator, she turns to me.

  “Thank you for today; it was lovely.”

  I laugh dryly. “Yeah, right up until I ruined it all.”

  She blinks, then takes my arm. “You didn’t ruin anything. You only asked what I wanted from you, and all things considered, it was a more than fair question.”

  “I know we can’t…” I struggle for the right way to say it. “Be together, not really. But sometimes when I’m with you, I forget. It doesn’t feel impossible when you’re beside me.”

  Dropping my arm, she looks away from me before responding. “I know. I feel it too. And I don’t mean to lead you on, truly. I’m just being selfish, I suppose. I don’t mean to put you in a difficult position.”

  Her matter-of-fact tone is so dry that it makes me instantly regret saying anything all. When the door opens, we see JD and June having a drink in the living room. June’s got her glad rags on, and she sparkles from head to toe in caramel-colored beads, a stark contrast to the condition in which I’d found her this morning. The record player is spinning a slow, jazzy tune, and JD, ever classy in his formal suit, swirls a glass of brown alcohol before downing it in one swallow.

  “Benny, glad you’re here,” he says, ushering me in and offering me a drink, which I politely accept.

  I take a long drink, hoping it will at least help calm my frayed nerves. Instantly, it warms me, offering a temporary respite from the chilly conversation I’d just endured.

  “My father has brought back some interesting news.”

  “Oh?” I ask, taking another drink.

  Masie pokes her head between us. “I’m going to change. You boys stem the gossip until I get back.”

  JD rolls his eyes. “As if you won’t hear soon enough as it is.” Then, once she’s skipped from the room, he lowers his chin, whispering, “We had a meeting with Alistair last night. He’s brokered a deal that will link our organization with the Luciano family business. It’s a huge feather in our cap. Not only do we now control all the trucks in and out of the city, but we also get access to their local brew houses and distilleries. Plus, the combined forces guarantee that no one else in the city is strong enough to move against us.”

  “Wow, that’s great. What do they get in the deal
?”

  JD grins into his glass, which is full once more. “Mostly properties, a handful of trucks, and a few other minor perks.”

  The way he says the last bit makes me instantly curious, but I don’t press. The less I know about the business, the less I can be forced to hand over to O’Hara.

  He slaps me on the back. “And I know Masie wanted to keep you on as her new guard, so I took the chance to put in a good word for you last night.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  He shrugs, as if it’s nothing. “Things are going to be in flux with the transition. Some of ours will go to work for them, and vice versa. Plus, the new club and a new numbers racket we’re going to be operating jointly in Harlem. Plenty of new positions to go around. You sure you wanna settle for babysitting my sister?”

  I finish my drink quickly, setting down the empty glass. “I’m sure.”

  Turning from me to June, who is swaying to the music, he sets his glass beside mine and crosses the room to her, taking her by the hand and dancing with her.

  He whispers something and she giggles, spinning in his arms.

  I hear something, barely audible over the spinning record. A soft, melodic humming. I remember the tune from our visit to the asylum. Unable to stop myself, I follow the sound down the hall, stopping just outside Masie’s closed door.

  The humming turns to full-blown singing and I lean back against the wall, folding my arms as I take in the sound.

  When the door flies open, I lurch upright against her surprised gaze. Her hair is fully waved, a silver sequined band holding a bundle of white and silver feathers to the side of her head. Her neck is wrapped in string after string of diamonds, dripping down the front of her like armor. Her dress, shorter than anything I’ve ever seen her in, exposes the top of her black stockings beneath a layer of fringe. Honestly, it’s more like something I’d expect to see June in, but that’s not a complaint. Quite the opposite, actually, as she looks stunning. Alluring.

  Those poor suckers at the club tonight won’t know what hit them.

  “Did you need something?” she asks, tossing a mink stole over one shoulder.

  I shake my head. “No, I just heard you singing. What is that song?”

  She looks away, tucking a purse under her arm. “It’s a German lullaby my mother used to sing to me. Der Mond ist aufgegangen. It means the moon has risen.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  When she looks back up at me, her expression is so sad I don’t even try to resist the urge to console her. Stepping forward, I open my arms and she walks into them, letting me hold her.

  “I don’t know what the future will bring for us, Benjamin. Let’s get through tonight, then we can deal with the rest tomorrow. Is that alright?”

  “Of course,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head lightly, hoping I can make good on all the promises I’ve made her.

  We arrive at the new club site just before eight. The last fragments of daylight are bleeding orange at the horizon, the first streetlamps flickering to light.

  Watching the city move from day into night is like watching a butterfly emerge from a cocoon. Something which during the day is plain, dirty, and grey becomes bright and alive with colors and sounds. It’s as if the city itself is born again at dusk, only to die each dawn before repeating the cycle.

  I step out of the car first, holding the door for JD, then the girls. Masie follows her brother into the boarded-up door. There’s not a single light visible from the sidewalk, all the windows are covered with boards and canvas tarps. Once inside, however, a string of bright work lights hang from the half-demolished ceiling. In the very center of the room, a long table has been set with a white linen cloth and two tall candelabras. There are a half dozen chairs. At each seat, there’s a perfect setting of fine china. Chilling at each end of the table are bottles of champagne in silver ice buckets. Dutch is already there, leaning against the bar in deep conversation with Alistair Rothschild and another couple I don’t recognize.

  Dutch breaks off the conversation and approaches us, waving his arms in the air. “Isn’t it incredible?”

  JD chuckles. “Sure, if you like condemned buildings.”

  Dutch waves him off, turning to me instead. His enthusiasm and boisterous tone make my stomach flip flop, and he drapes on arm across my shoulder. “You can see it, can’t you, my boy? We’ll raise the ceiling and create balcony seating there.” He points around the ceiling. “And over there will be the stage. There’ll be poker in the back, of course, and roulette. The kitchen will stretch back that direction. We’ll bring in the finest chefs in the country.”

  I have to admit, as he speaks, I can picture it in my mind. Pointing to the far wall, I add my two cents.

  “And if you took out that wall, it would open up a nice dance floor. How far back does the building go?” I ask.

  He smiles, patting me on the chest. “All the way to the next block. And we have all three stories. For opening night, I want circus girls, the kind they have at the follies, the ones who hang from the ceiling in hoops and cages. I’ll dress them all in yellow feathers.” He glances to Masie, who is taking everything in. “What do you think, darling?”

  When she smiles at him, I realize it’s not her real smile, not the secret smile she rarely shows anyone but me. It’s her fake smile, her let’s-make-the-crowd-happy smile.

  “It’ll be wonderful, Daddy. Just perfect.”

  “It’ll put the other clubs out of business, that’s what it’ll do,” Alistair chimes in, handing her a glass of bubbly. “And with you on the stage five nights a week, we’ll pack them in.”

  She returns the toast he offers, but quickly turns her back to him, making her way around the piles of boards and buckets of paint.

  “You have to admit, it needs more than a little work,” JD says, clearing his throat. “That’s all I meant.”

  “The crew arrives tomorrow to start demolition. Lucky thinks with his team in here, we could open in as little as a month. Whaddya say to that?”

  Again, Dutch’s question is directed more to me than to JD, and it puts me ill at ease.

  I force myself to nod. “I think that’s doable. It’s the details that will make it great, though. The little things. Like the chairs at the other club, they’re a little stiff. You might do more benches here, and perhaps even an area with couches where people can just sit and drink. Things like that.”

  When Dutch turns to the other couple, it’s with an I-told-you-so expression. Holding one arm out toward them, he walks me over. “Let me introduce you to Charles ‘Lucky’ Luciano and his lovely gal Genevieve Dupre. Lucky, this is the kid I was telling you about, Benny.”

  I hold out my hand to shake. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Likewise. Dutch told us you were the young fella who took lead for him first day on the job.”

  “Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. It was my second week.”

  The bosses share a laugh. Genevieve joins in a heartbeat too late, her voice stunningly high and phony. It’s June who saves the poor dame, rushing over and taking her by the arm.

  “I’m June West. You simply must sit by me. I’m dying to hear all about how you came to meet Lucky.” She swiftly ushers the girl toward the other side of the room, taking seats at the table.

  Three waiters appear, each of them in white suit and tails, each with a silver tray in one hand, a white towel draped over one arm. The one in the center lifts a small bell from the tray and rings it once, loudly announcing, “Dinner is served.”

  We take our seats. Without deliberate thought, I end up elbow to elbow with Masie on one side and Dutch on the other.

  Standing, he pulls the bottle nearest him free from the ice and clears his throat, passing it off to the nearest waiter, who opens and pours the drinks with the grace and speed of a practiced man.

  “This club has been a dream of mine for some years now, since my darling wife passed away.” He pauses, as if offeri
ng a moment of silence. Beside me, I can feel Masie tense. “And now, thanks to my dear friend and partner Alistair Rothschild, and his financial backing, I’m able to finally make this dream a reality. And, of course, none of it would have been possible without my new friend and ally, Lucky. So I’d like to offer this toast to old friends and new, and to the beginning of a new era for the Lucky-Dutch Organization.”

  We all raise our glasses. “Cheers.”

  When he sits back down, the waiters begin delivering the first course of food, some sort of white fish in a fruity glaze. The evening continues, Masie with her show smile engaging Lucky in pleasant conversation. If he weren’t easily twenty years her senior, I might worry about the way his eyes follow her, the way he measures her every word, as if sizing her up somehow. It’s still enough to set me on alert, my muscles constantly tense, my senses hyper-vigilant.

  It’s only as we are finishing up that I allow myself to relax.

  “Oh, I do hope you’ll come hear me sing tonight. You simply must,” Masie says, taking a bite of whipped chocolate mousse.

  Lucky sits back, tossing his napkin over his plate. “I’d love to, dear. But I’m afraid I have other engagements tonight. Nothing I wouldn’t much rather set aside to see you, but its business. You understand.”

  She lifts her glass. “Another time then.”

  He nods once.

  “Before we go our separate ways, I have one more announcement,” Dutch says, standing again. “After giving the matter some thought, I’ve decided to task Benny with managing the Canary Club.”

  My head snaps up, my gaze settling on JD before I can stop myself. His face flushes, his mouth setting in a hard, thin line. But he says nothing.

  “JD will help train you on the bookkeeping and such. But I want someone who I can trust, someone devoted to my family, to run my newest endeavor. And you get along so well with my daughter, who I’m sure will want to be involved in every piece of the renovation—after all, it’s her club as much as ours.”

  I’m simply too stunned to speak. “Sir, surely there is someone with more experience?”