The Lucky Ones

by Anna Godbersen

  Smiling privately to herself, she thought how long a girl’s walk can be, just from the front door of a joint to her table, and all the things that can be made clear along the way. She knew she was a very rare bird—special and free—and it was only natural that she should feel a little caged, what with the suddenness of her marriage and all. Because she and Charlie were not like other people—they were bolder and more adventurous, and they did things that provoked the judgments and jealousies of others. But this was no reason for her to chafe at him. Perhaps it was darker, this far inside his world, but it was more interesting than any other place and would only take a little getting used to, and anyway, she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

  “A bottle of champagne, the nice stuff I sold you yesterday,” Charlie told the man as they were seated. “Marco’ll know what I’m talking about.”

  “Yes, sir.” The host nodded in that subtle, deferential manner practiced by people who were trained young to serve the upper classes. But she smiled privately and knew that he respected men like Charlie, who didn’t bother with niceties.

  While Charlie lit a cigarette, Astrid took a long time in crossing her legs, allowing the dramatically scalloped hem of her dress to ride up and show off the girlish shape of her calves.

  “Nice night,” she said.

  “Just wait.”

  The champagne came then, and Charlie, cigarette still wedged beneath his teeth, waved away the waiter and opened the bottle himself. He was too rough, and the bubbly liquid overflowed the thin green neck and their wide-brimmed glasses when he filled them. But Astrid didn’t mind—she knew there was plenty more where that came from, and she liked the festive way the pale liquid refused to stay in its place.

  “To us.” Charlie cocked his head back and raised his glass.

  “To us,” she repeated with a coy wink.

  “Everything’s gonna be better, now that Cord settled it with the Hales. We can stop worrying about the bodyguards so much. And I decided we should have a big party for your birthday next week. I already called Dad’s favorite caterers, and I already told Milly to ring everyone with the date…”

  “Oh, Charlie!” Astrid bit her lower lip. “I was sure you’d forget.”

  “Will you dance?” But he was already standing, and it wasn’t really a question.

  Even so, Astrid stalled. She removed her compact and checked the candy red of her lips. She fluffed her hair. She turned her chin right and left—but by then Charlie had had enough, and he took her by the elbow and pulled her toward the dance floor.

  “Why play silly games like that?” He dropped his cigarette, and they fell into a loose Charleston. The music was still mellow, and they moved easily toward and away from each other. “You know you’re the best-looking girly in the room.”

  “Am I?”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “How about her?” Astrid jutted her chin in the direction of Willa Herring, an occasional friend who had been a few years ahead of her at Miss Porter’s.

  Charlie shrugged. “Her teeth are too big.”

  “Well, what about her?” Astrid indicated a tall blonde who had just come through the door wearing Chanel black that looked fresh from the department store.

  “Do I look like the kind who has to buy himself a woman?”

  “No.” Astrid’s eyes rolled toward a girl sitting at the table next to theirs, who was only twenty or twenty-one but already on her second husband. “Tell me I’m prettier than that number.”

  Charlie didn’t bother to look. “You know you are,” he said, and brought her closer and kept on dancing. “They’re all dogs compared to you.”

  After that the music changed. It got louder and faster, and she and Charlie kept pace with it. They did a more manic Charleston, kicking their legs back and then making their knees wobbly and duck-walking around each other. They did the Lindy and the Black Bottom. They swung their arms and let their feet be light, always keeping their eyes on each other. Nobody could dance like Charlie—another thing she had forgotten. He could keep up with her like nobody else, and he always taught her a few new tricks. They were still dancing while couples who had arrived after them ate and left, and by the time they themselves sat back down again her thirst for champagne was real and her appetite was big and true.

  “I think I’ll order steak!” she said, wiping the sweat off her forehead.

  “You order whatever you want.”

  For a moment, the earnest way Victor looked at her sprung into her memory, so she said her husband’s name quickly to distract herself. “Charlie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s do this every night.”

  Charlie’s face was flushed, and there was sweat on his brow, too. He leaned across the table, and his lips made a smacking noise against her cheek. “All right,” he said, and poured more champagne.

  It was a long time they had been standing facing each other in the kitchen. Hours, maybe, or lifetimes. Their lips were parted and their eyes were dewy, and in those suspended moments they were any girl and boy who have just kissed for the first time and, in the process, felt the ground shift beneath them. Then, all of a sudden, he was Valentine O’Dell again, which meant that she must be Letty Larkspur. If he was Valentine, then he was married, and if she was Letty, then she must be his wife’s friend.

  “Unbelievable,” he repeated in that booming and self-assured voice. “That was unbelievable.”

  “Oh, God,” she wailed, and sat down heavily at the table with her face in her hands. But the touch of her hands did not help, because they were soft and recently manicured, and it was Sophia who had paid for that, and instructed the girls exactly how they should do it, and watched to be sure that they weren’t lazy and didn’t scuff the polish or mar Letty’s cuticles. Earlier, she had allowed herself to think that Sophia might be an adulterer and didn’t deserve Valentine. But now Letty saw that she had only been tricking herself, and in fact she was the one who was guilty.

  “I know.” Valentine was behind her, and he lay his palm against her shoulder, which only made her feel worse. She sensed his pulse through his palm and wanted to be kissed by him again and thus knew for certain that she was a damned, no-good kind of girl.

  “Oh, oh, oh!”

  Letty twisted suddenly, so that he was forced to remove his hand from her shoulder. Her knees wobbled, and her hands found each other. They were clasped the way she used to clasp them when she and her sisters knelt to say their prayers before bedtime. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He was gazing down at her with those beautiful brown eyes, the sight of which made her heart swell with longing. They were so beautiful that she wanted to erase any knowledge of right and wrong.

  But she couldn’t, so she forced her eyelids shut. “I’m sorry. So very sorry. It was my fault, of course, and I won’t tell her. I promise, it will be our secret, and we’ll never tell her, and I’m sorry. You mustn’t think—I wasn’t brought up this way. I’m really not that sort of girl. I wouldn’t dream of—of—of…with a married man. And especially when that man’s wife has been so kind to me. So good to me. Like my sister, really—and, you mustn’t worry, I won’t tell her, I would never tell her.”

  When he didn’t say anything she cracked an eye. He was staring at her, but differently now, more calmly, so she unclasped her hands and waited for him to speak.

  “Ah, my sweet Letty.” He chuckled softly and pulled one of the chairs away from the table to sit on. “Me oh my.”

  In the ensuing silence, she realized what he was going to say, and her stomach dropped. He was going to say: When I kissed you, the earth moved. He was going to say: Let’s go away together, you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, I have been searching for you my whole life without knowing it and all of that lovely, movie-house stuff. And she was half terrified of everything he was about to tell her, everything he was going to propose, and half dying for it, and she bit her lip and couldn’t wait.

  “Letty, d
arling,” he said.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “What lies did they tell you out there? What stories of hellfire and brimstone did they lord over you to keep you in line?” His voice had changed. It had grown low, calm and knowing, reminding her how much older he was, that he had been working since he was a child. “You’ve done nothing wrong, sweet girl.”

  “I haven’t?”

  “What have you done except what you do best? You put all your emotion into a scene, into playing a character. When you closed your eyes and received my kiss, it was Marie receiving a kiss from the Lieutenant. The kiss was incredible because it was the perfect performance of incredible yearning between a broken soldier and a war widow who are coming to life again for the first time in a long time, and…”

  As Valentine carefully put words together Letty’s shame faded away, but a new fear had replaced it, and she had to take hold of the table for balance. The patient manner in which Valentine was talking to her was nice, but it had nothing of the epic romanticism of their kiss. She had yearned for him, and he had seen it, and surely the extent of her yearning was still quite plain on her simple, stupid face. And he was trying to tell her in the gentlest way possible that it had only been acting and that she was a confused little girl.

  “You see, you are a fine actress—you pulled me into the scene as I didn’t know I could be pulled in, and—” Valentine’s voice became hoarse and he broke off. He lowered his head, and in the silence that followed, Letty contemplated the thick mahogany brush of his hair and thought that if she could just have one more kiss from him, she would give up on wanting any glory for herself and be forever contented with whatever fate life handed her, whatever punishment it meted out. Without raising his eyes to hers, he reached for her hands, and when he went on, she had to remind herself to breathe. “Well, how could either of us have seen a kiss like that coming? Who would place a blame for something as good as that?”

  Breath came in and out of Letty’s lungs. Mist glazed her eyes. A tingling sensation spread from the skin of her cheeks over her throat. “You mean…that kiss was real?”

  “If that wasn’t real I’ve never known anything real my whole life. I don’t think I’d even want to.”

  She knew just what he meant. Sitting in Valentine O’Dell’s kitchen, barefoot, with the imprint of his lips still on hers, was in fact the most vividly real moment she’d ever experienced. She’d only been kissed twice before—once by a horrible man who had used her, and once by a sweet boy who had been kind—but never like this. It was just like her mother always told her when explaining why Letty was special: The third time is a charm. “Kiss me again?” she whispered, and waited as he squeezed her hand and brought his face to hers.

  13

  “LET’S GO HOME AND GET BUSY.”

  Astrid let out a little gasp, and her mouth puckered. On the other side of Charlie sat Narcissa Phipps, a friend and rival of her mother’s whose second advantageous marriage had joined her to Alfred Henderson Phipps, of the coal-money Phippses, and Astrid could tell that she had heard what Charlie said by the slight turn of her head and the clatter of her dessert fork against the porcelain plate. By then it was late, and the dining room had thinned out, and there was no din to cover up small noises.

  Giggling, Astrid put her elbows against the table, leaned forward, and replied quietly (though not so quietly that Mrs. Phipps wouldn’t hear): “Whatever you say, hubby dearest.”

  Charlie grinned and pushed back his chair as he stood up, making a rude noise and slightly bumping Mrs. Phipps. He ripped his jacket from the back of his chair and produced a fat billfold from its pocket before draping the jacket over Astrid’s shoulders. As they moved toward the door, Astrid glanced back and noticed the hundred-dollar bill on the tabletop.

  “Oh, darling, don’t you need change?”

  Charlie nuzzled her ear and kept them moving. “Why bother? I’m in a hurry.”

  This extravagance made Astrid burn with delight, and she strode toward the door with gusto. “Good night!” she trilled to anyone who was listening while Charlie held the door for her, and with hair flouncing she forged on, not glancing back to acknowledge the chorus of good nights and thank yous that followed.

  As the door swung closed, Charlie grabbed for her hand, pulling her backward, and though she resisted at first, he was stronger. He twirled her around and pinned her to the door. The plate glass was surprisingly cool against her shoulder blades, and she knew that everyone inside saw how he took a fistful of her hair and pressed himself against her.

  “Why, Charlie!” she exclaimed and dropped her bottom lip in fake shock at this public display of passion. This time she pulled him by the hand, giggling as they hurried down the plank toward the dirt lot where cars were parked.

  The night smelled salty and sultry. While they were inside, the moisture in the air had gathered strength. They were both laughing now, and she was all warm inside, and suddenly she realized how much champagne they’d had and that they were both probably a little drunk. He leaned against her more than she did against him, and this reminded her how big and unwieldy Charlie was, which for some reason made her laugh even harder. In the darkness it took her a few moments to see straight and determine which car was Charlie’s. Once she spotted his shiny new blue sedan, she emitted a happy little “Aha!” But then she saw the man in the shiny blue suit step away from it and come toward them.

  “Charlie Grey,” he said.

  Before she got a good look at the man, Charlie had moved to shield her with his body. A moment before his limbs had been loose and heavy, but now he was rigid, his back straight and his shoulders flared. “Get in the car,” he whispered tensely.

  Astrid peeked around Charlie and saw that though the man had a big scar across one cheek, he was not particularly mean-seeming. His suit was expensive, and he had an expensive way about him to match—that unhurried manner of people who know themselves, or have enough money not to care. He wasn’t a friend of Charlie’s—that was plain enough—but he seemed like a worthy adversary.

  “Go.” This time there was no resisting Charlie’s tone.

  With a harrumph, she went around the car and got in from the passenger side, but she leaned over the driver’s seat to listen.

  “What do you want?” That was Charlie, sounding awfully tough.

  “I represent Coyle Mink’s outfit,” the man replied. He spoke casually, but the way he pronounced “Coyle Mink,” it was like saying “the Big Time.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well.” Charlie paused to light a cigarette—Astrid could tell by the three strikes it took him to get the match lit that he must be nervous, although there was nothing of that in his voice when he went on. “What does Coyle Mink want with me?”

  “Nothing.” The man made an unpleasant, sneering sound. “Nothing at all. He just thinks you’re getting too big for your britches.”

  “I don’t wear britches,” Charlie replied coolly, and Astrid wished that she was next to him, hanging on his shoulder, so she could look the man in the eye and say “That’s right, mister,” just like a real gangster’s moll.

  “Mink doesn’t give a rat what you wear, so long as you stay out of his territory.”

  “You tell him to stay out of my territory! My territory is wherever I sell, and nobody can tell me otherwise, not Mink, not nobody.”

  Astrid’s eyes were bright with excitement as she watched the action. The man in the blue suit didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped away and smiled mysteriously. “It’s a warning, Charlie. What you do with it is your business.”

  “Hey, I’m not done talking to you!” Charlie shouted.

  The man shrugged and retreated unhurriedly toward his car.

  “You can’t threaten me and run away like that!”

  “I’m just a messenger, Charlie, sent to give you fair warning. If you don’t back off Mr. Mink’s territories, it won’t be such a friendly visit next t
ime.”

  “Friendly? You call this friendly? Threatening me when I’m out with my wife?” Now Charlie was really yelling, but the man in the blue suit appeared as unruffled as ever as he slid into his own car and started it up. Quick, before Astrid knew what was happening, Charlie was in the driver’s seat.

  “Wowie!” Astrid gasped as she sat back in her own seat.

  The engine was ignited, and the car was shaking. When the man in the blue suit pulled out, Charlie followed him, careening around the corner and down the dark country lane.

  As their headlights swung through the darkness, illuminating the rain that was falling again, Astrid braced herself against the dash and smiled at her husband adoringly.

  But the big slabs of Charlie’s face were hard and white from the taillights, and his eyes were large with fury. He didn’t look at Astrid or acknowledge her, and his knuckles bulged where he gripped the wheel. She would have liked him to say something, but she was glad he was concentrating on driving, which he had probably drunk too much to really be doing properly otherwise.

  The car ahead of them turned on Sandy Point Drive, and Charlie followed him, making a wide turn to avoid the overgrown oak tree roots that spread into the road there. The man in the blue suit didn’t know about those roots. He went right into them, and they cut his speed in half. That was what did him in. Afterward, Charlie was right on him, and he rammed into the back of the man’s car. Astrid felt the impact in every bone of her body, and her sense of fun seeped away. She closed her eyes before the second impact, but she felt it, and opened them again in time to see the blue car go flying off the road into a big abandoned field that the headlights of both cars revealed to be full of knee-high weeds and yellow wildflowers.

  The other car seemed briefly like it might break away, but then it began to weave wildly back and forth before suddenly hitting a ditch and flipping over, like a toy automobile thrown by a naughty child.