The Dollhouse

by Fiona Davis

  “Not at all,” protested Rose. “I don’t presume to know what you’ve been through.”

  The woman gave out a low moan. “You speak of blame. And you’re right. I deserve everything that’s happened to me. I destroyed lives. Including my own.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  Rose’s own despair was nothing compared to the years of torment her neighbor had been through. She looked at Jason in a panic, and he held up his hands. “No, we’re very sorry. We’re going now.”

  “Don’t move a step. You want to see the damage? Is that what you want?”

  Without ceremony, Esme pulled off the hat and veil and tossed them on the floor. What first struck Rose was the elegant line of her neck and head, like a ballet dancer’s. But the slashes from the knife had brutally disfigured the upper part of her face. A thick white gash cut across her forehead like a waxy centipede, and another crossed from the corner of her forehead, down across the bridge of her nose and below the eye, stopping at the top of her cheekbone. The skin around her nose and forehead was pulled taut and looked weirdly translucent, and one eye drooped at the corner. The blade had barely missed her greenish-gray eyes, which stared back at Rose with bitterness.

  Rose kept her gaze steady. She needed to reach this woman, to make her see that she was not the enemy. “What happened to you was awful. You’ve suffered, and we think we understand what happened. Would it help to talk to us? We won’t publish anything, we won’t tell a soul.”

  On the couch, Bird whimpered.

  “You charge in here, take my dog, spread your things around.” Esme grabbed the urn from the windowsill and held it up with one hand. “Redecorating, were you?”

  Horrified, Rose ran over and snatched it from her, holding it close to her chest. “No, it’s not like that.”

  “Now you know what it feels like to have a stranger manhandle your belongings.”

  Shame washed over her. She should have never camped out at the Barbizon after Griff kicked her out. What she’d done was unforgiveable.

  “Rose, are those your father’s ashes?” Jason spoke quietly.

  Rose nodded.

  Esme’s eyes grew wide. “Her what?”

  “Her father’s ashes.”

  “Dear God.” Shaking her head, Esme sat back down in her chair, mouth slack. She looked at her empty hands. “Dear, dear God.”

  “No, this was all my doing. I’m sorry. We’ll go now.” Rose stepped toward her suitcases.

  “Stop.” Esme thrust out her chin. “Sit. I need a moment to think.”

  They did as she commanded, side by side on the couch.

  Rose held her breath.

  “You are obviously in distress, Ms. Lewin, and I was once like you.” Esme lifted her head. “I’m going to tell you what you want to know. But only because I don’t know which of us needs this confession more.” She took a deep breath. “You. Or me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  New York City, Halloween 1952

  Darby’s room was dark and quiet, a contrast to the hallway where girls in an assortment of costumes roamed, screeching with excitement as they readied for the evening’s delights. A light rain had begun to fall, tapping against the window like the snap of tiny rubber bands. Darby was already packed, thanks to Mother, and in little more than an hour, she would simply gather her things and go. She’d meet Sam at the station and they would begin a new life together, someplace far away.

  But first, she had to try to find Esme. She remembered when they’d met. Esme had rolled her eyes and made faces as the elevator crawled upward, while Mrs. Eustis ticked off the rules of the hotel. Darby had been terrified that day, and Esme offered a lifeline with no expectation of kindness or reward. Only a coward would abandon a girl like that when the tables were turned.

  Darby tucked the recording of the two of them singing in one side of her suitcase, where it wouldn’t break, and added her hairbrush and comb. That was it. She’d be traveling with a man who was not her husband, but that couldn’t really be helped, given the situation. She wanted Sam to be safe, and if he had to leave the city, she would be by his side.

  As she made to leave the room to search for her friend, the door opened and Esme flew in.

  Darby almost fell into the bureau, shaking with surprise. And relief. “Esme.”

  Esme ran into her arms and they held each other for a moment. “Are you ready to hit the big time?”

  “What?” Darby pulled back.

  Esme’s skin was shiny with sweat, her eyes wide. “I stopped by earlier but couldn’t find you. Where have you been?”

  “Talking with Sam. About you.”

  She studied Darby’s face. “I see you’ve heard the news. The police screwed me. Royally.”

  “Sam showed me the article. You talked about babies being given heroin; did you really see that happen?”

  Esme shrugged. “I live in the slum. Of course that’s what I see.”

  Darby should never have assumed Esme’s world in any way mirrored her own. She’d seen more foulness in her life so far than Darby probably ever would. She pulled Esme down to sit on the bed. “Why would you work for Kalai in the first place?”

  “You saw those louts. I had to; it was part of my job at the club. Buckley knew it; everyone knew it. No surprise there. Why do you think the Flatted Fifth was so popular? Because it was an easy place to score. And I needed cash, in order to get all decked out and make a scene. I couldn’t do it if I looked average. Glamour ain’t cheap.”

  “Why did you go to the police?”

  Esme flinched. “For you, of course. I figured we’d use the money to get an apartment. Then they fucked me. Quigley swore word wouldn’t get out, but it got leaked to the papers.”

  “You named the musicians. You didn’t think the police would go after them?”

  “Everyone knows jazz musicians do drugs. No surprise there. And now I have enough dinero that we can hang loose until our careers take off.”

  Darby’s heart ached for her friend. There was no way Esme could ever show herself again in New York. “You ruined people’s lives.”

  The bravado fell from Esme’s face and she stared blankly at the floor. “Well, I’m sorry for that part. But I got screwed, too. Mrs. Eustis just fired me.”

  “You’re in terrible danger. So is Sam.”

  “I wonder who you’re more worried about.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m terrified for the both of you.”

  “We’ll be fine.” She glanced over at the suitcase. “And I’m glad you’re packed up. I have a cousin with an apartment where we can crash until the coast is clear.”

  Leave it to Esme to have a backup plan. But it was too late. “I went to your acting school and they said you’d never enrolled.”

  Esme walked to the window, pressed her forehead against the glass. “Those idiots wouldn’t recognize talent if you gave them a roomful of movie stars.”

  Darby had taken Esme’s ambition for something solid and positive. A girl who could rise up against all odds and prejudices with her confidence. When in fact she was willing to hurt other people, betray her own friends, in order to get her way. The signs had been there all along, the nagging feeling that Esme wasn’t telling the truth, or perhaps manipulating it.

  Yet no matter how awful Esme had behaved, her actions weren’t born of malice. She’d fought tooth and nail, never faltering when insulted by the acting school or abused by stuck-up hotel guests. Esme had stood firmly by Darby’s side since day one. She’d been a good friend and now she was in trouble.

  Darby walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Sam’s asked me to go away with him.”

  Esme spun around. “You can’t. I need you, Darby. We make a good team. I’m sorry for what I did, but you understand why, don’t you? We have to stick together.”

  “Keep your
voice down.”

  “I love you so much.” Her voice cracked. “I can take care of you. Better than Sam. I’ve worked two jobs since I got to New York, and when we needed extra cash, I came up with it.”

  “I was in a bind. But that wasn’t right, what you did.”

  “It was all for you.”

  Darby needed to find somewhere quiet to calm her down and make her understand. If she caused a scene and Mrs. Eustis was called, they’d both be in serious trouble and Darby might miss her meeting with Sam. “Come with me.”

  She headed up the back stairs to the sky terrace, and Esme followed with no fuss. A cool wind blew and the stone floor was slick with puddles.

  Esme lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of the wall, kicking her feet against the balusters. “We’re a team, you and me. It’s not fair for you to run off with Sam. Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

  “I appreciate what you’ve done. From the day I arrived here, you looked out for me. But now you’ve put Sam in danger. He has to leave the club, leave his family.”

  “Don’t throw it all away for a man.” Esme’s lip curled. “That’s what your mother was worried about, right? That you wouldn’t be able to support yourself and be trapped by a man who was unworthy of you.”

  “Mother disowned me, so whatever she wants is no longer an issue. It’s what I want.”

  “We can sing together.”

  “I’m not interested in a singing career, never have been. That was your dream.”

  Esme tossed her cigarette over the side of the building and stood. “You’re making a big mistake. You’ll end up like your mother, dependent on some guy you barely even know.”

  The words stung more than they should have. Darby remained silent.

  Esme pulled the small knife from the pocket of her dress and walked over, holding it out in the palm of her hand. “Look here. I can protect you. Sam can’t. He went to war and became a cook, too much of a coward to join the fight.”

  “Don’t be silly. Put the knife away.”

  “I will if you hear me out first, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “We hide out at my cousin’s for a couple of weeks until Kalai gets tossed into jail. I’ll help you with your stage fright, with everything. And before you know it, we’ll be famous and living in the Ritz. Or at least a cool place in Greenwich Village.”

  Darby took a deep breath and spoke in the most soothing tone she could manage. “It sounds lovely. But it’s not safe. Sam says Kalai’s sons will keep the heroin ring going even if Kalai gets put away.”

  “What does Sam know? I know the streets better than him.”

  “And on top of that, it’s not what I want for myself. Mother made big plans for me, but she only did it out of guilt. I know you do it because you care about my future, because you love me. And I feel the same about you. But I can’t be told what to do anymore, by anyone. I have to make my own decisions now.”

  Esme reached out and touched Darby’s cheek. “We’re a pair, remember? You can’t leave me all alone.”

  The misery in her voice pierced Darby’s anger at their predicament. She remembered the gentle way Esme had helped her out of her umbrella dress when she’d been a wreck, how close they’d become. Maybe her father had had a special friend as well, one who hadn’t stuck by him. What if he’d felt the same panic when his world came tumbling down around him?

  “Why don’t you come with me and Sam to California? We’ll hide out, explore a brand-new city.”

  “What am I going to do in California?”

  “We’ll find jobs, work, make money.”

  “But all my singing contacts are here. I have auditions lined up for us.”

  “You’ve destroyed those contacts by talking to Quigley.”

  “I tell you, it’s only temporary. And now I’ve got money. Gobs of it. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

  There was no talking to the girl. She couldn’t see the big picture, was lost in a haze of self-delusion and dreams.

  “I’m not willing to risk my life.” Darby’s heart pounded in her chest. “I’m leaving with Sam. I’m sorry, Esme.”

  She turned to go, but Esme grabbed her arm. Darby lost her footing on the wet terrace and fell into a shallow puddle, her palms stinging from the impact.

  Esme loomed over Darby, her eyes blazing the color of molten caramel. “No. We’re not done talking yet.” She held out a hand to help her stand up, but Darby smacked it away.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. And don’t try to stop me.” The words trembled on Darby’s tongue.

  Esme took one step back, pleading. “Let’s leave together, head to Hector’s for a malt. I have to explain it to you better, that’s all, and then you’ll understand.”

  Darby slowly rose to her feet, wiping her hands on her skirt. “I’m meeting Sam at Grand Central. You’re welcome to come with me, but I’m not staying here in the city.”

  “You can’t leave me!” Esme lunged for her, forgetting about the knife, which sliced into Darby’s arm. Blood oozed from the wound and she cried out in pain.

  Esme froze for a moment, in shock at what she’d done, and finally crumpled, tears pouring down her face.

  Darby stepped forward and held Esme’s face between her palms as blood trickled down the length of her forearm. “You need to get to safety, that’s the first order of business. Hide out at your cousin’s. I’ll write to you once Sam and I are situated and you can follow us.”

  But instead of agreeing, Esme shook her head. “No.”

  Time was running out. Darby had to get off the terrace, fast. Esme’s obstinacy had turned into madness.

  “I’m sorry, Esme. Sam will be waiting for me.” Darby turned to go, but Esme came at her fast from behind, knocking the wind out of her. Darby managed to free one hand, and drove her elbow into Esme’s side. Esme staggered back against the balustrade, breathing heavily, her features contorted with rage.

  “Darby?”

  Darby whirled around to see Stella stepping out of the doorway onto the terrace, cigarette in hand. She wore a black cat costume, replete with a headband with pointed cat ears, and whiskers painted over her ivory cheeks. Behind her stood a pirate, who lifted up his eye patch to get a better look.

  Stella stopped for a moment, frozen. “What’s going on?”

  Darby opened her mouth to warn her, but Esme’s arm was around Darby’s neck before she could speak. Stella stayed near the door, lips in a wide O, her eyes green and huge.

  “Esme, that’s enough.” Darby’s bellow, which came from a deep, dark place inside her, caught them both off guard. She whirled around, facing Esme.

  At first, Darby thought Esme had hit her in the nose and broken it, that her nose was bleeding. Pain seared her forehead and cheek. Blinded by the gushing wound, Darby lashed out, flying at her friend, unaware how close they were to the edge.

  For a moment Esme was suspended, hands waving in the air, clutching at nothing.

  Then she was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  New York City, 2016

  Outside, the city was eerily silent, as if in respect for Darby’s story rather than the lateness of the hour.

  Rose and Jason sat quietly for a few moments once Darby finished speaking. Darby, not Esme. Relief flooded through Rose with the knowledge that Darby was the one who had survived. It was almost as if she’d come back from the dead.

  Darby’s face was white, her eyes watery. “I’ll never forget the look she gave me as she fell backward. Shock, surprise. I didn’t realize we were so close to the edge. I didn’t mean to push her so hard.”

  “You were only trying to protect yourself.” Rose’s words were inadequate, but she had to say something.

  Darby took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her nose. “No. She was my dearest friend. And I kil
led her.”

  “Why did you tell Sam you had died instead?”

  “When I got back from the hospital, the book of spices was waiting for me. All that time, I figured Sam had shown up at Grand Central and left without me, wondering where I was. But when I read what he’d written inside, I knew he was in trouble. I didn’t want him coming back to the city to find me. Kalai’s men were all over. He would have been in terrible danger. And I couldn’t imagine going out to San Francisco and facing him, telling him what I had done. I was mortified at the thought of him seeing me like this. So I told him I had died. I offered to send the book of spices back. I knew how much it meant to him, but he didn’t want it.”

  “And you kept it all these years.”

  “I did. As a reminder of my shame. You see, Esme had trusted me, she’d loved me. She was a woman who struggled to rise above her station in life in spite of terrible prejudice. Not that she was perfect. She made a rash decision, not thinking of how it could affect all her friends, including Sam. But every night, when I close my eyes, I see her tipping over the side of the railing, reaching out for my hand as she falls. I look over the edge and watch her body slam into the ground. I relive it over and over.” Darby let out a sharp breath. “I couldn’t face Sam. I wasn’t brave enough to try again.”

  “But it was an accident; she attacked you first.”

  “Intentions are worthless to me. I pushed her and she fell to her death. After, Mrs. Eustis at the Barbizon took pity on me and let me stay on, and the Gibbs school arranged for the job at the button store. Pity, for my terrible wound. There I could work behind the scenes and stay out of view. Of course, as styles changed and hats went out of fashion, I knew I looked strange, traipsing around town in my veils. But by then, I didn’t care. My life was structured, orderly. I paid my rent on time each month. The world around me transformed dramatically, but I refused to. I couldn’t.”