The Silk Merchant's Convenient Wife
Page 26
A wide smile revealed her sparkling white teeth. “Oh, I’m just your average Jane.”
He had heard that. Men called women Janes all the time. Men probably asked her for her name all the time. “Nice name, Average Jane.”
Her joy-filled laugh hung in the air like the last piano note had. “What are you playing next?”
“What do you want to hear?”
“I was hoping you’d ask.” She plucked out a song sheet and set it atop the rest.
“You want to dance to ‘The Charleston’?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Or just hear the song.”
He glanced around at the full tables, the full bar, looking for the man she had been dancing with a few moments ago. “What happened to your dance partners?”
She cringed. “The last one stepped on my toes one too many times.”
“What about one of the others?”
“I’d already danced twice with each of them.”
“I see,” he said, just to have an answer.
“Why do people say that?” Frowning, she gave him a perplexed look. “I see? What do you see?”
He shrugged. “Why do they call men Joe Brooks or women Janes?”
“Because it’s fun.” The colorful ostrich feather poking out of her floppy white hat fluttered as she shook her head. “‘I see’ isn’t fun.”
He nodded. “I see.”
They both laughed, and he struck the keys, playing the beginning of the song she’d chosen.
“Attaboy, Joe!” She swayed to the music as her feet danced while she remained seated beside him. “Ducky!”
He played faster, laughing at how she moved faster, bumping into him every now and again, and giggling with delight.
Other people had sat next to him while he played a song or two, which seemed to be the thing to do. He didn’t mind. That was why he’d started playing here, to have fun.
As soon as that song ended, he flipped over the sheet and read the title of the one now sitting atop the stack. He pointed to a key. “Tap that one when I tell you.”
Grinning, she held a trim finger over the key.
He began to play and then nodded at her.
She struck the key and tossed her head back as she laughed.
He kept playing and nodded at her again.
She struck the key and laughed again like it was the most fun she’d ever had.
They continued, him nodding, her striking, and laughing throughout the song.
When the song ended, she clapped her hands. “Elephant’s eyebrows! That was fun!”
“Want to play another one?”
“You know I do, Joe!”
“David,” he said.
“All right, Davie!”
He laughed and started playing another song, nodding at her when the time was right for her to strike a key.
She sat there beside him, striking keys, until shortly after midnight, when the crowd had dwindled down to those who were there for one thing—the alcohol.
He folded the cover down over the keys. “Looks like we’re done.”
She laid a hand on the piano. “That was fun. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He gathered the song sheets into a neat pile and acted upon a thought that entered his head. “Do you need a ride home? I could give you one.”
“No.” She flashed him a thoughtful grin, then said, “I don’t trust piano players.”
Considering some of the unsavory characters he’d seen in speakeasies, he could understand that. “What if I told you I’m not really a piano player.”
“Then I’d trust you less.” No longer grinning, she stood. “See you, Joe.”
Curious, he watched her walk away, half-expecting her to disappear before his eyes.
She didn’t. She didn’t go out the door, either. Instead, she walked past it and down the hallway that led to the powder rooms.
The men’s room was across the hall from the women’s, and he walked down the same hallway, used the facilities.
He was washing his hands when he heard the women’s door open and close. Turning off the water with one hand, he grabbed the towel with the other and, after a quick wipe, hung it back up and opened the door.
She wasn’t in the hallway, nor was she in the main room of the speakeasy.
He dashed out the door and up the steps.
She wasn’t on the sidewalk, either.
“How does she do that?” he said aloud, looking up and down the dark, quiet street.
Copyright © 2020 by Lauri Robinson
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ISBN-13: 9781488065934
The Silk Merchant’s Convenient Wife
Copyright © 2020 by Claire Lackford
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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