The Canary Club

by Sherry D. Ficklin

For a moment, I think he’s going to argue, but he just sits back. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you enjoying this so much. I know you had your doubts about it.”

  Forcing a smile onto my face, I cross the room, throwing my arms around his neck. “It’s going to be perfect, Daddy. You’ll see. The absolute bee’s knees. Everyone in town will be raving.”

  He pats my arm and I peck him on the cheek, winking at JD, who glances up at me for only a second before retuning his attention to the paper. “You should tell her,” he says with an exaggerated sigh.

  I glance from him to Daddy and wait. Daddy clears his throat, taking me by the hand. “Yes. You should know. Mad Dog came to see me last night.”

  I swallow a dry lump forming in my throat. I’d read in the paper that he was wanted for another murder, and part of me had been glad because it meant he’d be forced to go underground. I was hoping that meant he’d leave me and my family alone. I suppose I should have known better.

  “He made some demands, a few outrageous accusations, and finally, leveled a very serious threat against us all.”

  That’s it then, he’s playing his cards. I feel my knees quiver under me, and I let myself lean against Daddy’s chair for support. He squeezes my hand.

  “I don’t want you to worry, sweetheart. I spoke to the other bosses, and we’ve decided to deal with him once and for all. I know he was your friend, but he’s got to be stopped.”

  I feel the air rush from my lungs, then I’m paralyzed from drawing another breath. Yes, I’d wanted him gone. But not dead. Never that. The room spins around me.

  Daddy pats my hand. “Don’t worry. The whole business will be over soon. I’m not going to let him hurt you, I promise.”

  A wave of sickness washes over me in a tide. Vincent will die, and Daddy will justify it as doing it to protect me. When in reality, I’m probably the only person in the world Vincent wouldn’t hurt.

  The whole matter makes me queasy.

  “I should go,” I say, standing and slipping my hand from his.

  I spend the whole ride to the club wondering if there’s something I can do, something I should have done that might have prevented this.

  When I burst through the back door, Benjamin is already there. His gaze swings from a set of blueprints up to my face, his expression elated, until he sees me. I duck into the office and he’s only a minute behind me, closing the door to the sounds of hammers and saws beyond.

  “Masie, what is it?”

  He doesn’t hesitate, just takes me in his arms, his body instantly going rigid against me, as if tensing to defend me from some unseen foe.

  I just let him hold me, forcing myself to draw in one long, slow breath after another before I can finally speak and not burst into tears.

  “Daddy had a contract put out on Vincent.” I hesitate, because there’s no way to convey the weight of guilt that’s threatening to crush me. “I never wanted this, Benjamin. I never wanted him dead. And now there’s nothing I can do…”

  He strokes my hair. “There never was, Masie. He chose his own path. Just like Dutch, just like all the others. He was never yours to save.”

  He’s right, of course. I doubt anything I could have said or done would have made any difference. He wasn’t a good person who did bad things. The capacity was always within him. You can’t change someone’s base nature, after all. The world might not be black and white, but I have to believe that there are those who fight their inner darkness, and those who embrace it. Vincent had always been the latter.

  “I guess I just wish the world could be different,” I say finally, forcing myself free of his comforting arms and wiping my face.

  Grabbing me by the hip, he pulls me back to him, cradling my cheek in his other hand. “That’s because you see the good in people. In all this darkness, you’re the light, Masie. You’re what brings me home.”

  His face dips, and I close my eyes in anticipation of his kiss. A knock at the door forces us apart, moments before JD bursts in.

  “Dutch has decided to come by to check on the progress today, just thought you might need a head’s-up,” he says, glancing between us. “And I think he’s bringing some of the other investors with him, so you need to be ready to show some real progress.”

  Benjamin nods. “Thanks.”

  “Ah, one other thing before I scram,” he says, stepping into the office fully. He rounds the new mahogany desk and lifts his brown leather briefcase, popping it open with his thumbs.

  “Here, this is for you.” He slides a tall green-and-brown ledger across the desktop toward Benjamin. “For the books.”

  Benjamin takes it, running his fingers over the words emblazoned across the cover in gold lettering. The Canary Club.

  “Thank you,” he mutters, holding it as if it were made of gold rather than paper, leather, and glue.

  “Sure thing,” JD says, closing his briefcase back up and dragging it off the desk. He offers me a quick peck on the cheek before heading out the door, leaving us standing there in silence.

  “We should get ready for Daddy,” I say finally.

  Benjamin frowns, but nods, tapping the ledger against the edge of the desk. “Right, of course.”

  By the time Daddy arrives, we’ve got the place as picked up as we can in the organized chaos. The bulk of the renovations are finished, and the minor tidy-up work has begun. Teams of men finish hanging the chandeliers and affixing the embossed copper tiles along the ceiling. The walls, recently plastered, are getting fresh coats of paint. A team of craftsmen finish the scrolling in the wood beams that support the now-raised balcony seats. The granite bar top is polished to a shine, the new tables and chairs being unpacked in the back.

  “Ah, she’s looking beautiful, Benny,” Daddy says, walking in with his arms raised over his head. “Just stunning.”

  Benjamin shakes hands with Alistair and Lucky, as well as a fourth man I’ve met but whose name I can’t quite place until Daddy calls me over from where I’m supervising the hanging of the gold framed mirrors at the back of the stage.

  “Masie, this is Artie Berman, Lucky’s nephew.”

  Ah, of course. He’s Jack Berman’s son. I’ve seen his father around Daddy enough; it’s the family resemblance that makes him seem so familiar. I hold out my hand and he accepts it, grazing a kiss across my knuckles. “I believe we’ve met, though I can’t quite place where,” I admit.

  He smiles, his shaggy blond hair falling into one eye. “I’m certain I would never forget an encounter with such a lovely creature,” he says finally.

  Benjamin shifts his weight, then holds out one arm. “Can I give you gentlemen the tour?”

  “That’d be wonderful, my boy,” Daddy says, snapping his fingers at his guard. The man promptly pulls a cigar out of his vest pocket, clips it, and hands it and a brass lighter to him.

  As Benjamin begins the tour, Artie holds his arm out for me and I take it gently. We follow the main group, hanging back a few feet. Occasionally, he whispers a question about a shelf or door and I murmur my answer in return. He seems genuinely curious about every detail, from the type of wood in the flooring to the crystal in the lamps. I watch him as he makes observations about this or that. He is obviously well educated and well traveled, which he makes known not too subtly by regaling me of a tale of a quarry he visited in Italy that boasts the most perfect blue-veined marble. The more he speaks, the more it’s evident that he’s trying to impress me.

  I know my part in this game, and I play it well. I laugh at his jokes, and I listen intently to his stories. Though he’s fair to look at, with a long, sloping nose, icy blue eyes, and a thin, graceful mouth, the more he speaks, the less attractive he becomes.

  “Of course, I’ve never managed a club myself. Though I’ve had plenty of experience keeping the masses entertained at a few of my uncle’s more lucrative tea pads.”

  I swallow, forcing myself to look away before he can see the disgust fill my eyes. The Luciano’s are well known fo
r their import of drugs into the city. The tea pads are nothing more than fancy opium dens with whores to keep the junkies amused. They are, in my opinion, the worst of both worlds.

  The tour ends back in the main room, the area we’ve designated as the ballroom. The bar stretches in an L shape around us, and Benjamin waves everyone over to it.

  “Would you care for a drink?” He whistles and one of the new bartenders steps out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his white apron. “We don’t have everything in yet, but there’s a twenty-year-old bottle of whiskey that’s just waiting for an occasion.”

  Alistair slides onto a stool, patting the bar in a here-here gesture. Daddy slaps him on the back.

  “Well, it’s a good thing that I have an occasion, then.” Pulling the cigar from between his teeth, he curls one finger around it, using it to point to me.

  “Masie, I was going to tell you tonight at dinner, but I never was much for being patient,” he begins, drawing a laugh from the men around him.

  “Lucky and I’ve discussed it, and he’s proposed a more binding union between our families. I’m happy to say that young Artie here has asked for your hand in matrimony, and I’ve accepted on your behalf.”

  His words hit me like a brick, and my hand slides free of Artie’s arm. I blink, trying to remember how to form words. Everything rushes at me at once. Had I heard him correctly? Surely not. It had to be a joke. I watch him, waiting for a crack of a smile to announce his foolery. But there’s nothing. And the longer I stare at him, the more he flushes, his expression going from mild amusement to barely contained rage.

  I don’t look to Benjamin. I can’t. The emotions battling for control of me won’t allow it.

  Shock moves through first, then confusion. Followed by the familiar spark of rage as it begins its slow burn. I clamp my mouth shut because I know if I speak my mind now, if I embarrass him in front of these men, he might actually kill me. Or worse.

  Is there a worse? a rebellious thought demands. How could this possibly get any worse?

  If he hits me here, in front of Benjamin, that would be worse. Because Benjamin would stop him, would take him on to save me. It would be as good as a death sentence.

  It’s only that realization that keeps my feet planted, my mouth closed against the fury.

  “Well, we should go,” Alistair says, laughing nervously. He, too, must sense what’s about to happen. The powder keg inside me is barely restrained—threatening to blow.

  “We will see you later, dear,” he says, slipping from the bar and offering me a peck on the cheek.

  “Of course, I’m so glad to welcome you into the family,” Lucky says, doing the same. As he releases me, I fight to hold myself still.

  It’s Artie who approaches me next, and though he’s careful not to touch me, he steps in very close, close enough I can feel his breath on my face as he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But I’m sure as we get to know each other better, you’ll come to accept this is the right choice for everyone.” When he kisses me on the cheek, my palm itches to slap him. He draws back, no mercy, no regret in his eyes.

  And why should he care? He’ll be free to see whomever he wants, to do whatever he wants, even after he’s married. That’s the way with these men. A marriage will unite the families in name, but that’s all it is, another contract.

  “I’ll make the formal announcement tonight,” Daddy declares, offering me a cautionary scowl. “Meet us at the club at nine?”

  I lick my lips. Truthfully, I’d planned to spend my night off here, having a quiet evening with Benjamin. Now other options flow through my mind—like jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge.

  It’s not until I hear the door close that I scream, pushing past Benjamin, who reaches out to catch me, but I’m moving too fast. I race up the back stairs, spilling out onto the street and the harsh glare of afternoon sun. I don’t stop, though. Racing through the crowds of people bustling along, I run, my feet hitting the pavement in perfect time with the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. My lungs burn, my muscles ache, but I don’t stop. Not even the sound of Benjamin’s voice calling out can reach me now.

  I race, full out, down Fifty-Seventh Street, all the way to the pier. My feet thunder across the concrete until finally, gasping for air, I reach the end, flinging myself against the steel cable barrier separating me from the Hudson River.

  I scream.

  Around me, dock workers stare, but I can’t seem to make myself care.

  Maybe someone will call the police, thinking I’m a lunatic. Maybe I am. Maybe they’ll put me in a room next to mother.

  How could I have thought there was a chance for me?

  This isn’t some fairy tale in a book. It’s the real world and in the real world, happiness is a commodity that’s sold off to the highest bidder.

  I’d been so stupid. Of course Daddy would sell me off to secure his own business. It wasn’t enough to chain me to his side with the new club. No, he’d have to use me as a bargaining chip as well.

  “Masie,” Benny calls, gasping my name. I turn to him, the wind taking my hair and brushing it off my face.

  “It’s no good, Benjamin. Don’t you see that?”

  He walks forward, holding his hands out the way a zookeeper might approach an angry tiger. “Please, Masie. We can figure this out.”

  Turning my back on him, I recite the poem to myself, truly understanding it for the first time.

  Nature's first green is gold,

  Her hardest hue to hold.

  “Masie,” he calls again, his desperation growing.

  Her early leafs a flower;

  But only so an hour.

  “Masie, please. Come back to me. We will figure this out.”

  Then leaf subsides to leaf.

  So Eden sank to grief.

  “Don’t you leave me, Masie.”

  So dawn goes down to day.

  Nothing gold can stay.

  “I love you.”

  I blink, the first tears spilling free from my eyes, rolling down my cheeks in a race against the wind, which dries them away. I feel his arms wrap around me, his lips on my ear, my neck, in my hair.

  “I love you,” he whispers again, his voice on the cusp of anguish.

  She turns in my arms, tear stains cutting their way through her makeup.

  “I love you,” she whispers despondently, shattering me into a million pieces.

  Leaning over I kiss the tears from her cheeks. “We will figure this out, Masie. I promise we will. Whatever it takes.”

  She laughs dryly. “Maybe it’s just not in the cards for me, Benjamin. Maybe I’m not meant to be happy. It’s my punishment for being such a terrible, spoiled, selfish person. Life hands me everything I’ve ever wanted just to take it all away.”

  I shake my head, unwilling to believe that God could be so cruel as to bring her into my life just to snatch her away again. She lets me lead her back down Fifty-Seventh Street, hand in hand as we walk, taking our time. There’s no rush now. I’m sure she’s engaged in the same mental battle as me, trying to think of a way out of this new situation.

  “I deserve it. I do,” she mutters. “I’ve done bad things, Benjamin. So many terrible things.”

  I shake my head, unable to believe her words. “You’re not a bad person, Masie. You don’t deserve to be in pain.”

  My first instinct is to take her by the hand and run away, to get on a train tonight and vanish entirely from this place. But it’s a fool’s thought. There are too many others to consider.

  My family, for one, who would become a target not only of her very wrathful father, but the overzealous detectives to boot. Plus, there’s JD and June, and I doubt she’d ever willingly leave either of them behind.

  By the time we arrive back at the club, the first bands of sunset orange streak across the sky. I dismiss the workers and the cooks, leaving only her driver Albert, and he, in his quiet way, leaves to wait in the car outside. />
  Once we are alone, I drag her back into my arms, brushing the tousled golden hair from her face. “I’ll speak to your father tonight, before he can make the formal announcement.”

  Pulling away, she sighs. “You won’t change his mind,” she says, retrieving our blanket from behind the bar and spreading it in the middle of the room as we have so many times. She sits, curling her legs under her, and pats the lace at her side for me to join her.

  Once I do, she leans into me and I envelope her in my arms again, tucking her head under my chin. Her arms slide around my middle. Warmth pulses through me where our bodies touch, but I keep my mind focused on the problem at hand. The prospect of losing Masie is almost too much for me to bear.

  “I have to try,” I say, though I know the odds are stacked against me.

  “No.” She shakes her head, her cheek against my chest. “Let me try to talk to him.”

  Her words should make me feel better, but her tone is already sounding defeated, resigned.

  “I won’t lose you, Masie. Whatever happens, I won’t let them take you from me,” I say, instinctively tightening my arms around her.

  “You won’t lose me.” Wriggling out of my grasp, she crawls onto my lap, straddling me.

  Her dress rides up, baring her thighs, and I take a deep breath, trying to concentrate on finding a way out of this mess. But when she slides her hands up my chest to my shoulders and presses into me, her legs locking around my waist, I lose my battle with sanity.

  Something erupts from deep within me, a primal, possessive need. As I kiss her, inhale her, marvel at the feel of her flesh under my fingertips, I know she belongs to me, and me to her. It spreads like wildfire, consuming me with each breath. When she finally pulls back, tearing her mouth from mine, I see the same desire reflected in her steel-grey eyes. Slowly, deliberately, she unties my tie, tossing the scrap of silk aside before turning her attentions to my buttons, her eyes never leaving mine. Pressing herself against me, she strips the shirt off my shoulders, then the suspenders, and finally, the white undershirt, leaving me bare chested and panting.