Beautiful Days

by Anna Godbersen

  The hours peeled away, and before she knew it, her lids were getting heavy and her body slumped, pleasantly weary, in her chair. Cooking, when mixed with emotion, really fatigued a girl. “How can it be . . .” she murmured, resting her head against the back of the chair. The room had grown blurry and purple and everything seemed to have a nice golden edging. “How is it that you handle the cards with such agility, and yet play so poorly?”

  She expected him to admit to letting her win, but instead he said: “On account of how I grew up, which was with my older brothers, in a saloon on the West Side. Rough place on the waterfront. A lot of money changed hands at the poker table in the back room, and one or two men lost their lives over it, including the best card dealer that ever was. My older brother, Barry, he ran it, and he figured that if it was a kid doling out the cards, the fellows would be less likely to come to blows. He was partially right”—Victor paused and pointed to a small scar, near the corner of his left eye—“but that was later, when I was old enough to fight back.”

  “Sounds like a mean place.”

  “No—it was the best. Kind of joint where everyone checked their worries at the door. The beer was cold, the jokes came easy, we could smell the ocean, and everyone was always happy to be there. Everyone who hadn’t lost money, that is. But we never lost money—no one ever loses money selling liquor, as I guess you know by now.”

  “Is it still there?” By then Astrid’s voice had gotten so soft and mumbly with oncoming sleep she wasn’t even sure he’d understand her, and her eyes were closed, so she couldn’t tell whether he was looking at her or far away.

  “Yeah, though my brother’s gone. Gone in the war. But the place is just the same. One of my brother’s war buddies’ widow bought it—she gave me a nice price for it, too, even though I was too young to bargain with her. And she always sees that I’m well taken care of when I go there now. Didn’t change the name neither—place is still called Barry’s Tavern, and it’s operated just the same, as though Prohibition never happened. It’s its own country down there, I guess—too lawless for the Prohibition agents to touch. You’d like it—the toughs would want to play cards with you, and you’d never have to pay for a drink. Maybe I’ll take you there someday.”

  Later, she could not be certain if he really was so bold as to say that last bit, because by then she was well into dreamland. She slept solidly and for a long time and when she awoke, alone in her own bed on the third floor, she sighed and turned over in the soft, clean sheets. She had dreamed of a place with warped, wide plank floors and a scratchy old phonograph, where everyone laughed and forgot their woes and no one cared if your name had ever appeared in Leisure & Play, and where you could faintly smell the sea.

  Chapter 12

  THE OTHER TWO GIRLS WHO MADE THEIR HOMES AT Dogwood were still in bed when Letty closed the ballroom doors, took a deep breath, and threw herself into a task that she had been going about for several days now. She warmed up her voice and stretched her legs. She looked into the mirror and smiled with all the brilliant confidence she hoped to one day possess and glowered with the smoky detachment of a woman twice her age and mugged like a comedienne. She sang one song and then sang it again—with different intonation and different faces, as though she were performing it in a different persona. Once she had gone over every number she knew too many times to count, so that she became fearful of scratching her voice, she began to dance—dances that she had seen in movies, as though she were moving across the room with an invisible partner, dances that she imagined chorus girls doing in the big revues, and then a dance that expressed nothing but herself and the shimmering future she was always reaching out for. It wasn’t until twilight had begun to cast shadows across the waxed floor that she ceased her movement and collapsed.

  She had not intended to be melodramatic; it was only that she felt so suddenly and wonderfully drained. Astrid and Cordelia were hardly conscious when she began, and the hours had passed in a fever that made her forget everyone else, except perhaps Grady, and the way his eyes had seemed to confirm her suspicion that she would one day be a star. But her swoon had caught someone’s attention, apparently, because in the next moment she heard a worried cry and footsteps pattering toward her.

  “Oh, miss! Are you all right?”

  Letty sat up, brushing dark stands of hair away from her eyes, and saw Milly, the maid, standing over her, gazing down with those lopsided eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

  “No, no, I’m sorry, Miss Larkspur.” Milly reached out with both big hands and pulled Letty to her feet. “I only heard you when I was passing on my way to the kitchen and your singing sounded so lovely and I wanted to hear some more, so I thought I’d listen from the doorway and not disturb anyone.”

  “Well, that’s all right.” Letty arranged the black skirt she wore over black tights and a black camisole and tried not to look as pleased as she was to have an audience. That someone, anyone, no matter how humble, actually wanted to listen to her brought a healthy color to her face. “I was only practicing.”

  “For Miss Cordelia’s club? You must be awfully brave. My knees would shake, I’d be so nervous having to get up in front of people like that.”

  “Oh, believe me, I’ll be nervous.” Letty could see that the other girl was impressed, and she smiled involuntarily at the notion that she had earned another admirer. Then her thoughts jumped to the club when it was finally open and the stage being built and herself upon it, bedecked in sequins and feathers, just like a real singer. “How did you know about that, anyway?”

  Milly shrugged. “I hear things. I didn’t mean to pry. But you see, I came here thinking I’d go to the movies all the time and ride the streetcars and meet my friends in coffee shops. They pay me well enough, but I don’t get so many kicks. So it’s nice to at least hear the gossip.” She had been fidgeting in her apron, and now produced a cigarette, almost without noticing she had done so. “And nice to hear some music,” she added shyly.

  “That’s awfully kind of you,” Letty replied in a warm, majestic tone that she hoped would make her seem adequate to the girl’s desire for story and melody. “Were you going to smoke that?”

  “Oh, no.” Milly hurriedly, and rather ridiculously, tried to hide the cigarette in her palm. “Sorry, miss, I—”

  “Oh, don’t apologize on my account.” Letty nodded, smiling, to show her it wasn’t anything to feel bad about. “I was only going to ask if you wanted to sit on the porch with me for a minute? My legs are sore from the dancing, to be honest, and I could use some fresh air.”

  Once they were situated on the imposing stone steps outside, gazing into the cool darkness, Milly turned to her and in a barely audible voice said, “Don’t tell them, all right?”

  “Oh, they don’t care. Cordelia is always smoking these days, anyway, so why should they mind?”

  “I suppose it’s not the smoking I’m ashamed of so much as taking so long a break.” Milly exhaled into the dense black night. For a while she smoked quietly and neither said anything. Stubbing out her cigarette, she switched to a less apologetic tone. “Now that Miss Donal is here, I’m doing the job of three girls, and I haven’t a moment to myself.”

  Letty sighed and rested her head on her own shoulder. She remembered that tone—it was the tone of her older sister’s voice on laundry day, or during canning season, and really almost every day since their mother passed away and Louisa was forced to become the woman of the house. “Sounds like you’re run off your feet,” she said sympathetically.

  Milly produced another cigarette and might have lit it, too, had they not been startled by the creaking of the hall door. Both turned around with guilty faces to see Cordelia advancing across the floor of the ballroom arm in arm with Astrid’s stepsister, Billie. Cordelia was a loose and gleaming column of aubergine, her summer hair pinned back so that a few tendrils whispered against sharp cheeks. Even on the arm of Billie, she looked sophisticated
and citified, and Billie was wearing flared brown men’s trousers, which was a mode of dress that would have caused a girl to be looked at askance for another twenty years if she’d gone about that way in Union.

  “We’re going to Manhattan,” Cordelia announced.

  “To see what all the newest speakeasies are about,” Billie seconded.

  “When I went into town last night, I saw how little I know about speakeasies, and Billie has promised to be my tour guide, and it will be much better if there are lots of us!”

  It hadn’t occurred to Letty that Cordelia was so friendly with Astrid’s stepsister, but now they looked as thick as thieves—like two people who had spent the afternoon together drinking too much coffee and obsessively plotting something extravagant. For a brief moment Letty felt jealous of this closeness, but then Cordelia gave a sly smile and said, “Are you going to come with us?”

  The question was addressed to only one of the two girls sitting on the steps of the verandah, and in an instant the spell of camaraderie with the maid dissipated. Letty glanced awkwardly at Milly, who had averted her eyes and made her cigarette disappear. She needn’t have tried to make herself so invisible, however; Letty could see that Cordelia’s mind was elsewhere. Her eyes were bright with excitement for the evening that was about to unfurl, and already her thoughts were ahead of her body, out in the world somewhere.

  “Wear the black beaded thing you have,” Cordelia pressed. “Please, Letty?”

  When Letty stood up, she could not bring herself to glance at Milly again. It did tug at her conscience that the English girl would probably have liked to come into the city with them and see what the young people did there behind unmarked doors at night. But Letty had spent plenty of time looking in from the outside herself. No longer was she just the middle Haubstadt sister. Suddenly she felt very lucky to have friends who were antsy to do something gay—to be going along with them, one of the bright young things.

  “Hurry, though,” Billie said as Letty passed her on the way to put on the beaded black dress. “I want to leave before Charlie gets home and insists Cordelia have a chaperone.”

  * * *

  With the onset of dusk, boats owned by Hales and Greys had moved stealthily away from run-down piers and out onto the sound. Bigger ships, lingering some miles off in the Atlantic, carried cases of liquid gold beneath false bottoms and would soon be boarded by buyers and good-time girls and perhaps, if it was an unlucky night, a government agent in disguise. Deliveries would be made through back-alley doorways to speakeasy proprietors, some of them grateful customers, and some who’d been made customers through coercion. All over the city and her suburbs, preparations were being made for a busy night. The crowds were coming—the kinds of girls who flit toward nightclubs in their colorful getups and the boys who want to talk to them, everyone shouting out to the bartenders that they’ll have one more.

  Oblivious to all this maneuvering was Astrid, who sat alone in the third-floor turret room that had once been occupied by Grey the bootlegger himself, admiring her reflection in the mirror. She wore a silvery evening dress that Charlie had given her in another season, her hair was slicked straight back from her forehead, and she had painted her lips a devastating shade of red. She’d spent much of the day lazing in bed, until Charlie came and woke her with a hundred apologies and kisses on the tender skin of her arms, and promised to make last night up to her tonight. After that she had eaten a little and taken a long time to dress. It hardly surprised her, and did not bother her in the least, that she had not left her room for the entire day. There were windows on three of the four sides of the room and she had experienced all the grand fluctuations in weather from this pleasant, private aerie.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?”

  Astrid looked up and saw Letty in the doorway, wearing a beaded black dress that transformed her from a shy girl to a lady who might plausibly sing hot music in a speakeasy. “Oh, how I’d love to, darling,” she replied, smiling to see her new friend like this, “but Charlie is planning something special for me. Have lots of fun for me though, won’t you?”

  “Are you sure?” Letty’s blue eyes were as big as a cartoon’s. She seemed to be hoping that Astrid would change her mind. And for a moment, Astrid did waver—that imploring face Letty was wearing made her want to say yes to anything, and the notion that she might be left out of a fun evening made her feel a little sore. But Charlie had neglected her, and he had promised to make it right, and she didn’t want to budge until he had done so. Something special was what he had promised, and she was holding out for nothing less.

  “Yes, doll, but wink at all the boys for me!”

  When Letty was gone, she returned to carefully shaping her brows, dusting her cheekbones a tawny blush, and making her eyelashes very black. The light was dim, and her pupils were big and mysterious, and she was glad that she was so lovely tonight. Surely Charlie would take one look at her and vow never to leave her lonely again. She had been lost in this reverie for some minutes when she realized the phone was ringing. Its ghostly repetition echoed up the main stairwell of Dogwood to her remote corner, and she became conscious of it in the way that one suddenly notices the detail in a painting which has always been there, and knew that it must have been ringing a long time.

  “Oh, bother,” she said and pushed away from the vanity. “Telephone!” she called from the doorway of her room, but the ringing continued, and she heard no one moving to answer it. In a huff she descended the stairs.

  “Hello?” she demanded, once she had reached the library and picked up the receiver. Hearing her voice out loud in the quiet dark room made her suddenly cognizant of the fact that if no one had come for the phone, then she must be alone in the house.

  “Where’s Cordelia?” Charlie demanded without pausing for the nicety of a greeting.

  “She and Billie and Letty left for the city,” Astrid replied matter-of-factly. As it happened the stillness had just ceased to seem pleasant, and a chill ran up her back, and she did not feel matter-of-fact at all.

  Charlie cursed. “We gotta find her. It’s dangerous tonight,” he said. “Don’t leave Dogwood. Victor will be there any minute.”

  “But, Charlie, tonight is the night we’re going to . . .”

  “I know. I’m sorry, baby, tomorrow, I promise. Something has happened.”

  “Oh,” she said acidly. “Like last night?”

  “No,” he replied, ignoring or perhaps not noticing her sarcasm. “Much worse. I’ll explain later when . . .”

  There was more—she could still hear his voice as she lowered the receiver down and smashed it against the cradle—but she was no longer interested. Every word of Charlie’s excuse stung, and she did not wish to be stung. She was looking painfully lovely and she only wanted to be admired and cared for and touched. She scowled at her reflection in the black window and let her blood grow hot. Spinning on her heel, she strode back toward the hall, pushing hard on the door. When she saw the man on the other side she almost screamed in fright.

  “Victor!” she gulped.

  This time he did not seem so sorry to be her companion for the evening. “I guess you’re stuck with me again,” he said with a grin.

  “Yes.” She pointed her nose in the air and declined to smile back. “Get the car warmed up while I get my wrap. We’re going into the city.”

  His face went pale and serious. “I can’t do that.”

  “Fine.” Astrid’s eyes narrowed and her lips constricted furiously. “I will just have to drive myself.”

  She could still hear the phone ringing in the empty house as she stalked across the lawn to the place where Victor had left his car. He followed just behind her and when she reached the car he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. But she turned around with such rage that he stepped back, knocked off balance. Their eyes met and they both knew that she had called his bluff.

  “You wouldn’t resort to brute strength to keep me here, would you?” she asked, though
she spoke in so intense a voice that there was no mistaking it for a question. She held his gaze another minute, letting her eyes simmer so that she was sure he fully understood what lengths she was willing to go to in order to leave the property. Then she went around to the passenger side and slammed the door behind her.

  “Drive fast,” she instructed Charlie’s man, once he was situated, and drive fast he did. They caught up with the other girls a long time before the Queensboro, and proceeded into the city like an outlaw caravan.

  Chapter 13

  THE LAND OF NIGHT IS FULL OF FAMILIAR FACES, WHICH is why young people, the girls in particular, are paid such lavish attention, given the best tables, and shepherded in past hungry crowds. They are new, which is solid currency after the sun goes down and the streets fill up with lost souls seeking whimsy and distraction. And so it was no wonder the way eyes followed Cordelia Grey. Astrid was very proud to have recognized a star the instant she appeared in her midst, and was happy to be slightly blinded by her wattage as they walked, a brash foursome, past the fleets of limousines on Park Avenue and down the steps into the ground floor of a brick townhouse that appeared staid enough from the outside, except for the windowpanes, which were rattled by an uncommon amount of noise rising from beneath the parlor level.