The Silk Merchant's Convenient Wife

by Elisabeth Hobbes

  “Why does it matter where he works? It’s only a dance.”

  She lifted her glass, took a sip. “Go stand next to him.”

  He chuckled. “That bad?”

  “It’s like dancing with a dead rockfish.” She shivered at the memory of the one time she had danced with that guy. The smell of rotten fish had been embedded in her nose for hours.

  The piano player chuckled again as he set his glass on the bar with a thud. “I’m done for the night, Murray.”

  “All right, Dave,” Murray, the bartender, answered. “See you tomorrow night.”

  “See you,” he told Murray, then tapped on her shoulder. “Have a good night.”

  She still didn’t face him but nodded.

  “Will you be here tomorrow night?”

  She shrugged. She never told anyone her plans, another one of Betty’s rules that still stuck with her. Most of the rules she didn’t mind, and with Betty’s husband being an FBI agent, Jane was well aware of the dangers and consequences of not following several of them.

  “Hopefully, it’ll be more lively,” he said.

  Beneath the brim of her floppy black hat, she watched him leave. He was a real Joe Brooks—handsome, with his wavy brown hair and twinkling green eyes, and perfectly dressed from his white-and-black-striped shirt down to his black-and-white wing tip shoes. He really could make piano keys dance, too. She knew. She loved music and spent hours watching the musicians at each of the speakeasies. Piano music was her favorite, and she could listen to it all day, every day. Which was why she used to talk to the piano players, until one got to expecting her to talk to only him, and another one couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

  “Want another one?” Murray asked.

  She shook her head while twisting her stool back around to face the bar. “No.” There was no use hanging around here.

  Murray tapped the varnished wood top of the bar twice with his hand. She didn’t know why he did that, but he did; rather than nodding or answering, he’d just tap the bar. Even on nights when the place was hopping.

  She should have left while the music was still playing, providing a small amount of distraction. With so few people in the joint, someone might see her slip behind the curtain that hung along the back wall, hiding the door to the storeroom, which was also her exit route.

  Having almost been caught once, she was very careful about not being seen slipping behind the curtain. It was a good ten minutes before Murray walked down the hall to the john. She stood, and after a quick scan to make sure no one was watching, she walked over to the piano and ran a hand over its smooth top as she casually strolled past it. After another quick glance around the room, she shot over to the wall and behind the curtain.

  She opened the door to the storeroom and closed it just as quietly, then ran past boxes, crates and shelves full of bottles to the end wall, swung the shelf away from the wall and opened the hidden door behind it. As far as she knew, no one, not even Murray, knew about this door.

  After pulling the shelf back in place first, she shut the door and clicked on her flashlight in order to see as she locked the door. She’d promised Betty and Henry she’d never leave it unlocked and wouldn’t. The tunnel went all the way to their house. To their basement. A mob boss had built the house and tunnel several years ago, and when he’d been busted, the government had confiscated the house. Betty and Henry had purchased it after getting married. Father had tried to purchase it several times and questioned how Henry had managed to buy it. Because he worked for the government! He was an FBI agent. It didn’t take much to figure that one out. But Father was still miffed that he hadn’t been given the chance to buy it.

  That’s what her father cared about. Houses and money. Mostly money. He’d inherited a large amount of land from his grandfather and father, and created Hollywoodland, a place where only the rich and famous could afford to build a house. Father was obsessed with money, and with keeping it, to the point he’d made a list of rich men. Men he’d tried forcing Patsy and Betty to marry. Betty almost ended up marrying James Bauer, one of the men on Father’s list. Up until Henry had walked into the church and objected to the marriage of Betty and James.

  That had been amazing, and she’d been overjoyed for her sister, at how Betty had ended up marrying Henry instead of James that very day. Jane still was happy for her sister. She was also scared because she knew what had happened to Betty—being forced to marry a stranger just because he was rich—would soon happen to her.

  It was in the cards.

  Lane had been on Father’s list, but Patsy had already fallen in love with him by the time they got engaged. When that had happened Jane had hoped it meant things would be different, for her and Betty, but they hadn’t been. Within hours of Patsy’s wedding, Father was ordering Betty to marry James.

  The sigh that left her echoed through the dark tunnel, and she instantly shone the beam of the flashlight on the walls and ceiling, making sure she hadn’t stirred up any furry or winged inhabitants. She’d never seen any but always wondered if they were there, watching her with beady little eyes as she walked through the tunnel each night.

  That was eerie; however, she would come back tomorrow night. It wasn’t as if she had anything else to do. Now that her sisters were married, out of the house, she didn’t have anyone to talk to, anyone to laugh with, anyone to just be there with her.

  Not while she was cooking, cleaning, washing clothes or cleaning the newly built homes on the plots of land in the hills of the Santa Monica Mountains, overlooking the fast-growing movie studios. That’s how Father made his money. Money he wouldn’t share with anyone.

  She wasn’t complaining, just frustrated. Father had provided well for his family. They had a very nice house, plenty to eat, clothes and everything else, but he wanted his daughters to marry money so that when they moved out, they’d no longer need any of his money. That was the truth of it. He cared more about money than his family, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She’d end up marrying a man because of his money, and that curdled her stomach. Unlike Patsy, Jane hadn’t met anyone who would ever compel those feelings in her, and she most certainly had never met anyone who would object to her wedding like Henry had Betty’s.

  How could she? She was never allowed to go anywhere.

  She was doomed. Not only doomed—hopeless. Betty and Patsy were married, and though they were still her sisters and she loved them, she felt deserted.

  The ceiling of the wood-lined tunnel shook, telling her she was walking beneath one of the streets between the Rooster’s Nest and Betty’s house. The tunnel was over ten city blocks long, and some nights it gave her the heebie-jeebies, afraid it might collapse on her. However, walking or taking the trolley by herself was just as scary.

  None of that had been scary when it had been the three of them. They’d all three walked and taken the trolley to a variety of joints. She’d gone to a couple of other speakeasies since it had become just her sneaking out, but quickly discovered she didn’t like walking the streets and alleys alone. Didn’t like riding the trolley alone. She didn’t even like walking alone down here in the tunnel all that much.

  She ran the final few blocks and then locked the tunnel door once she was inside the basement of Betty’s house. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she hung the keys on their hook and then walked upstairs and out the kitchen door. Henry had put a special lock on that door, one that locked from the inside, without a key, so all she had to do was pull it shut, because Betty and Henry were always asleep or at least upstairs in bed when she left their house.

  Betty and Henry’s property butted up to Hollywoodland and was only a short distance from her house, but the dark road was still lonely and the wind rustling the weeds and trees made her jumpy. The night air was also chilly, so she ran again, up the road, through the trees and across her backyard. Then she grabbed ahold of the boar
ds of the ivy-covered trellis, climbed to the second floor of the house and slipped in through the bathroom window.

  Once in her room, she quickly changed out of her flapper clothes, hid them in the trunk in her closet and climbed into bed before she dared let out a sigh of relief that she’d made it home once again without getting caught.

  Staring at the shadows the moon was casting upon the ceiling, she wondered if marrying a stranger would be better than this. It was awfully lonely with both of her sisters gone. Married. Happy.

  But she didn’t want to get married.

  She huffed out a breath.

  Patsy had always wanted to be a reporter, and she was now. Betty had gotten what she wanted, too. To have her own family, her own house.

  Jane rolled over on her side. She didn’t know what she wanted because she didn’t know what was out there. She read about all sorts of things in magazines, and wanted to see some of those things, do some of those things, and then she’d decide what she wanted.

  Other than a weekly shopping trip, going to church on Sundays and sneaking out at night to speakeasies, she’d never been anywhere.

  She didn’t have anyone to talk to, either.

  Maybe she’d talk to that piano player again tomorrow night. Dave. She’d know right away if he was like Allen, the one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. She’d been glad when Rodney had started playing there, instead. Until he’d come to expect her to sit next to him, picking out songs and bringing him drinks every night. Even told her she shouldn’t be dancing with others.

  He’d gotten grumpy when she’d told him to go sit on a goose egg. She’d avoided going to the Rooster’s Nest on the nights when Rodney had been playing after that and had been glad when Dave had taken over, but she’d kept her distance because of Allen and Rodney.

  That was one thing she didn’t want. Another man controlling her.

  Dave was nicer looking than either Allen or Rodney had been, and he’d never waved her over to sit by him like they had.

  Maybe she wouldn’t talk to him. If he got to expecting too much she wouldn’t have anywhere to sneak out to, and that would be awful.

  * * *

  David Albright stared at the ceiling above his bed, watching the glow of headlights that shone in above the heavy drapes whiz by as fast as the cars were speeding along the highway outside of the apartment building. He’d gotten used to the lights and the noise over the past few months, as he’d known he would when he’d rented this place four months ago.

  Just like he’d gotten used to the hotel he’d stayed in for a couple of months. He’d had to leave there because Joshua kept calling and calling. For that reason alone, David hadn’t installed a phone in this apartment. His brother wanted him to cut his research trip short, return home and get married.

  David clamped his teeth together and breathed through the anger rising up inside him. He had no desire to get married. Ever. That want had died when Joshua had married Charlene.

  Joshua. The older brother. The man who had everything. The brother, who had been groomed to take over the family business and had. Joshua had the chairman’s seat in the family railroad business, more money than he could spend in his lifetime and a beautiful, loving wife.

  David pushed aside thoughts of Charlene just as he had for the last four years—other than the sorrow he felt for her.

  He’d felt a whole lot more for her at one time, right up until she’d turned down his marriage proposal because she was marrying Joshua. He’d accepted that.

  What he couldn’t accept was how hard Joshua was now pushing him to get married.

  A knot formed in his stomach and David let out a huff. His time was almost up. Grandpa’s birthday was a week and a half away. Which meant he needed to leave soon. Within days. Drive back to Chicago. No closer to figuring out how to get out of marrying Rebecca Stuart than when he’d left.

  He’d left six months ago to explore the newly developed highway system for the stockholders, and his grandfather had told him to extend his trip. Take his time, stay in California awhile, sow his wild oats, and then return, report his findings and then decide if marrying Rebecca was not only right for the family, but right for him. Rebecca was the granddaughter of Grandpa’s best friend, Orville Stuart. Orville had passed away a few years ago, and Grandpa claimed that upon her birth, he and Orville had discussed Rebecca marrying one of his grandsons. Now, twenty-five years later, that grandson turned out to be him. Joshua was already married.

  Rebecca was a vamp. A gold digger who wanted to be an Albright and have all the prestige that went along with it.

  He’d be the first one to tell her that the prestige she wanted wasn’t all it was made out to be. As an Albright, your life wasn’t your own.

  David was used to that. His life had never been his own. He’d come to accept that. Especially four years ago, when Charlene had married Joshua instead of him.

  David closed his eyes in order to stop his thoughts from going any further. He’d been down every path, trail and circle, trying to come up with a plan while he’d been here in Los Angeles. A plan that would not only prevent him from marrying Rebecca but one that would help Charlene. She’d changed so much the past couple of years, had become only a shadow of the person she’d used to be. He couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t the cause of some of that. If having him live in the same house as her and Joshua reminded her of the past, of how he’d expected her to marry him.

  He had expected that. Everyone had.

  David released the air that was turning his chest hard. He’d arrived in Los Angeles without an agenda and would leave without one. Go back to Chicago. As he’d promised his grandfather he would. Odds were, he’d end up marrying Rebecca, too.

  At times the weight on his chest of balancing his family duties with his own wants, his own visions, nearly suffocated him. At the same time, he thrived on the work he did with the railroad. Loved working on expanding the vast empire his grandfather had built. The country was still growing and new rail lines were still needed—as were other forms of transportation. Being a major player in areas where new lines were needed and overseeing them coming to fruition thrilled him, and he was good at it. Not even Joshua could deny that. The expansions he’d overseen the past several years had all been very profitable.

  He’d continued to work on future possibilities while in California, additional lines and locomotives that could be considered once present projects were completed, but not even that—working—had relieved the pressure on his shoulders while he’d been out here.

  He’d found an escape from all the pressure during his time here by playing the piano at a speakeasy a few times a week. It was a hobby he’d always enjoyed, and most nights the speakeasy was hopping with people dancing and laughing and having a good time.

  Not tonight.

  He grinned. “Dancing with a dead rockfish,” he said aloud. He’d never done that, danced with a rockfish, but could imagine it wouldn’t be very pleasant. She was, though, pleasant. Cheery. The cute blonde flapper that was a regular at the Rooster’s Nest nearly every night. She always had a smile on her face and enticed those around her to smile, too.

  He’d never talked to her before tonight, but had noticed her right off when he’d first started playing there a couple of months ago. She always came alone.

  Always left alone, too.

  At least he assumed she did.

  That was a very odd thing about her. How she just appeared and then disappeared.

  From where the piano sat, with him behind it, he could see the door, and he never saw her walk out of it, or in it. She’d just all of a sudden be there dancing, laughing, having an all-in-all good time.

  Murray didn’t even know her name. That was odd because Murray knew most every customer by name. He just called her “doll.” Which was fitting. She was a doll.

  David rolled over
and pulled the covers up to block the glow of lights on the ceiling so he could fall asleep, and a grin formed as he thought about her again. A flapper. Joshua would be fit to be tied if he knew about his piano-playing nights, him consorting with a flapper.

  * * *

  She was indeed there the following night, dancing, laughing, having a good time. Like usual, she’d suddenly appeared as if she’d dropped down through the ceiling a short time ago.

  He’d waited for her to look his way, and when she finally had, he’d nodded at her.

  She’d winked at him, laughed, and kept on dancing with some fella.

  A different one than she was dancing with right now. She was something. Too bad she didn’t live in Chicago. He’d haul her home just to irritate Joshua.

  David was surprised when she left the dance floor and plopped down on the seat beside him a moment later.

  He finished playing the song, ended it on a high note that hung in the air and looked at her.

  “Hey there, Joe,” she said with a smile as bright as the overhead lights.

  She was cute, with her round cheeks, twinkling blue eyes and little chin that had a tiny indent in the very tip. “Joe?”

  She laughed. “Yes, you know, Joe Brooks. That’s what the magazines call...” She paused as her blue eyes gave him a solid once-over. “A spiffily dressed fella.”

  “I did not know that,” he admitted. “But my name’s not Joe, it’s David.”

  “Nice name.”

  She reached up and started flipping through the sheets of music above the keys. The sheets he had laid out in the order he was going to play them. They weren’t in any order now, and he didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if anyone would notice.

  “What is your name?” he asked.