A Kiss From Mr Fitzgerald

by Natasha Lester

  Lil was openly crying now. ‘But you love him. And he loves you.’

  Leo took Lil’s hand. ‘She’s not doing it to hurt Tommy. She’s doing it to save him from the ignominy of trial by newspaper, which every client of Whitman’s bank would see as an utter humiliation that will taint them and their money. I don’t like it but that’s how it is. She’s doing what has to be done, Lil.’

  ‘There has to be another way.’ Lil looked beseechingly at Leo, tears running down her face. But it was beyond anyone’s power to make the wealthy men of New York stand by the president of a bank who was so embroiled in immoral behaviour that it surely wouldn’t be long before the money in his hands began to stink too. Nobody wanted anything that whiffed of dirty money.

  Evie shook her head, her eyes tired and sad, too old for her years. ‘All I want is to rush in and tell Tommy about our child. But it’s not right. So I’m calling in a favour.’ She pushed on, knowing she had to, that it didn’t matter if she felt like she was dying. ‘You’ve both told me I’m the reason you’re together. So I’m asking you to keep my secret. Tommy can never find out about any of this.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ Lil cried.

  ‘I know,’ said Evie. ‘But I really need my best friend to help me. Please?’

  Lil shook her head and dashed at her eyes with her hand. ‘Goddamn you, Evie Lockhart. You know I hate crying in public.’ She sniffed and took the hanky Leo was offering. ‘But of course we’ll help.’

  ‘There’s one more thing. Will you and Leo sign the adoption papers for Mary?’

  ‘Of course we’ll sign them,’ said Lil. ‘But what will you say to people?’

  ‘I’m going to start talking to everyone around here about the wonderful man I’ve met, who I’m marrying in a few weeks’ time. That I’m going on a vacation across America with my new husband so I won’t be around for a while. Not till January. And I’ll tell them how kind he is, that he’s consented to me adopting a child left behind by a mother who died at the hospital. And when I show my face around here again in January, I’ll have another child, too. My husband’s child.’ Evie paused. ‘Do you think it’ll work?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Lil said doubtfully.

  ‘And I know I’m asking too much but …’

  Lil reached across the table and took Evie’s hand. ‘You can’t do this by yourself. I’ll do whatever you need.’

  ‘Can you tell Vi that you’ve helped me adopt two children and that I have to go away for a while? She won’t believe the husband story and she’ll ask too many questions and then she’ll tell Mrs Whitman. I can’t risk talking to either of them.’

  ‘I’ll handle Viola.’

  ‘That’s it then.’ Evie shut her eyes. ‘Now we won’t ever talk about Tommy again.’

  Lil and Leo moved around to Evie’s side of the table. They slipped in beside her and hugged her and her baby close. Evie began to cry at last, to sob, because she knew she could never love any man again, not after she’d loved Thomas Whitman. Theirs was the once in a lifetime, the genuine miracle, the joining of soul to soul. To survive the loss of it, Evie thought she might have to cut out her heart. It was almost impossible to believe that in doing the right thing, she could hurt herself and the man she loved so much.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 1927

  Evie flicked through the newspaper with one hand while she alternated between sipping coffee and spooning food into the mouth of one-year-old Lucille with the other. Mary, now four, had finished her breakfast and was putting on her shoes.

  A photograph in the newspaper made Evie stop. Thomas Whitman. The picture accompanied an article about his latest success, and the remarkable ascension of Whitman’s bank under his presidency. Every time she saw such an article, which was often, Evie would smile a little. It reassured her that she’d done the right thing. The newspapers wouldn’t be lauding him if he’d married her.

  But she also knew she would dream about him that night, wanton reckless dreams from which she woke gasping, because it was as if he really was in her room, in her bed, kissing her, holding her body, hands caressing her skin. Sometimes, in weak moments, she allowed herself to wonder if he was having the same dreams – if they were, somehow, visiting each other in a nightlife that was beyond the realm of reason.

  ‘Ma-ma-ma.’ Lucille’s babbling roused Evie and she looked at the clock. They’d be late if she didn’t hurry.

  ‘Let’s clean you up, my darling,’ she said to Lucille, pulling the baby out of her highchair. ‘Well done, Mary,’ she said, planting a kiss on the head of her older child, who’d appeared with her shoes on, ready to go. It took Evie just a few minutes to collect all the bags she’d packed the night before and leave the apartment on Grove Street. Their new home in the Village was small, as Evie’s wages were much less than the men in her position were paid, but she was used to scrimping and saving and so they got by. Their life was simple and without any of the luxuries Evie had taken for granted when she was growing up. But the children didn’t seem to notice what they didn’t have.

  They stopped to peep through the wrought-iron gates into the private enclave of Grove Court, with its grand white-shuttered homes of red brick, wreathed like Christmas trees with long ribbons of green ivy. Mary always liked to pause there, imagining the kind of people who lived in such fine houses.

  It was the same thing they’d done every day since Evie had started her internship. Evie walked to Lil’s in the morning, where she left the children for the day. Then she caught the El to the hospital, where she worked harder than ever, did what she was told, got through each day and kept her thoughts to herself. She was no longer the brash and back-talking Evie of eighteen months earlier; these days she had to think about Mary and Lucille and how much they needed the money Evie made. And she kept herself to herself because she didn’t want any new friends who would ask awkward questions about her life. Luckily, in a way, the world hadn’t changed and being a female obstetric intern and now resident guaranteed there would be no friends. She’d turned up on the first day of her internship with a wedding ring on her finger and the story she’d created of a tragically dead husband. She didn’t talk about the children, because women didn’t work and have children. It was unheard of.

  Her life had shrunk to work, the children, and Greenwich Village; even there she did little more than make a trip twice a week for bread to Zito’s, where the children were patted on the head and pitied for their poor dead father. The Village shopkeepers had long ago forgotten that Mary was adopted. Evie never went anywhere else, because the risk of discovery was too great. The only time she ever heard about life uptown was when Viola came for her clandestine visits with baby Emily, visits they all enjoyed, and Vi knew better than to mention either of the Whitman brothers. Evie wasn’t sure what Viola really believed about Lucille, and Vi had, for once, been willing to swallow the adoption story without comment. More importantly, she hadn’t mentioned Evie’s children to anyone. And Evie no longer wrote to her mother, because it would be yet another person to lie to. She felt despicable for abruptly cutting off the fragile connection they had re-established, but she had no choice.

  Mary finally drew her face away from the gates and they entered another building further down the street. ‘Auntie Lil!’ Mary called as Evie pushed open the door to Leo and Lil’s apartment. The space was full of light, a little pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Honey-coloured wood panels decorated the walls, and in the sitting room were two ebony wood and leather armchairs, a fading rose velvet sofa and, in the centre, a delightful U-shaped table, which always looked to Evie like a smile or a pair of arms ready to embrace.

  ‘Hello, precious girls,’ Lil cried, hugging Mary and Lucille and covering them with kisses.

  ‘Where’s Eleanor?’ Mary asked.

  ‘She’s asleep, but when she wakes up you can play with her,’ said Lil.

  Lucille waddled back to Evie, holding her arms up in the air. Evie bent down to cu
ddle her and pressed her lips against the soft, warm cheek, hoping to keep the memory with her through the long day at the hospital.

  ‘The menagerie’s arrived!’ Leo appeared from the bedroom with his briefcase and hat.

  ‘The additions to the menagerie, you mean,’ said Evie.

  Leo smiled. ‘The other day I was looking for my hat and discovered I’d put it in the diaper pail. The dirty diaper was on the coat hook.’

  Evie laughed and kissed him on the cheek, then watched his mock-frantic attempts to get out the door while distributing kisses to Lucille, Mary and Lil. As her friends and her children laughed together, among the mess of shoes and umbrellas and bags filling the hallway, Evie reminded herself that she was blessed, as were her children. Blessed to have a second family in Lil, Leo and Eleanor, who gave them an abundance of warmth, and as much love as they needed. She couldn’t help recalling the night she’d met them at Chumley’s, when drinking and dancing and flirting had been uppermost in their minds, not love and marriage and children. She gave Lil an impulsive hug.

  ‘What’s that for?’ asked Lil.

  ‘Because I can never thank you enough for looking after the girls.’

  ‘Like I keep saying, there’s nothing to thank me for. You know I use them shamelessly for inspiration.’

  ‘I didn’t see yesterday’s column. Do you have the paper?’

  ‘Leo still keeps each one, no matter that I tell him there won’t be room for us with all the newsprint filling this place.’ Lil tossed the newspaper to Evie, who flicked through until she came to Lil’s by-line; her column was called ‘Slapstick: Tales of Motherhood in the Village’.

  Lil’s dreams had all come true. She’d been lured away from advertising to write a regular column for the New York Herald Tribune, a role that allowed her to work from the comfort of home. She had a beautiful daughter Eleanor, and Leo.

  ‘Remember when it was Lipstick’s debauched exploits we were reading about?’ Lil asked ruefully. ‘Speaking of which, you should come to a party tonight.’

  ‘I can’t go to a party,’ Evie said automatically.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because.’

  ‘Because it’s more fun sitting home alone every night?’

  ‘I have to look after the girls.’

  ‘Bea’s going to look after them all tonight. I already asked her. I’ll bring Eleanor over when we pick you up in the taxi.’

  ‘Lil,’ Evie said, looking pleadingly at her friend.

  ‘Do you want to be lonely for the rest of your life?’

  Evie picked up her bag. ‘I should go to work.’

  ‘The train doesn’t leave for ten minutes. Sit down. Girls,’ Lil said to Mary and Lucille. ‘Why don’t you look through the toy chest while I talk to your mama?’

  Mary took Lucille’s hand and led her over to play with a tea set.

  Evie sat down in one of the armchairs even though she didn’t want to. ‘Why do I feel like I’d rather face Dr Kingsley right now?’

  Lil laughed. ‘I’m not that bad! The Tribune’s Valentine’s Day party is the talk of the town. One night out in eighteen months is all I’m asking of you. It’s time.’

  ‘Time for what?’

  ‘To drink champagne. Dance with a man.’

  Evie stiffened. ‘I can’t imagine dancing with anyone.’

  ‘Seems a waste of a life to me.’

  ‘You won’t stop until I say yes, will you?’

  Lil shook her head decidedly. ‘No.’

  Evie sighed. ‘I’ll come. Eleanor can stay the night at my place to save you waking her up in the middle of the night. I’ll drink champagne. But I won’t dance with anyone.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Lil said grimly.

  When Evie reached the hospital, she took off her pretty home clothes, as Mary called them, and changed into her more robust work clothes. She put her wedding ring in her locker and walked out onto the ward.

  ‘Dr Lockhart, a patient’s asking for you.’ It was one of the new medical students, a girl named Dolores, as green and keen as Evie had been when she started almost five years before.

  ‘Does she have a name?’ asked Evie.

  ‘I didn’t ask,’ said Dolores. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘The first thing you find out is her name. She’s a person as well as a patient.’

  ‘Sorry, Dr Lockhart.’

  ‘You’ve apologised once already. That’s more than enough.’

  ‘Sorr—’ Dolores closed her mouth just in time.

  Evie hid a smile. ‘Are you coming? You can assist.’

  ‘Thank you! I’d love to assist. I haven’t had a chance yet; the other students are always asked instead of me. So thank you. I’ll do my best –’

  ‘Saying thank you once is also enough.’

  ‘Sorr—’ Dolores snapped her mouth shut and followed Evie, who knew that being too nice to a student like Dolores would never prepare her for life as an obstetrician.

  ‘Gretel O’Rourke said to ask for you,’ said the patient, Mrs Jones, when they arrived at her bedside. ‘That you wouldn’t knock me out and cut me up.’

  ‘If you and the baby are happy and healthy, I’ll only help as much or as little as you’d like,’ Evie replied. ‘How is Mrs O’Rourke? I haven’t seen her for months. It must be about time for the next one.’

  Mrs Jones laughed. ‘She’ll be back in two months.’

  ‘What will that be? Baby number seven?’ Evie asked.

  ‘Sure will.’

  The delivery that followed was simple and uncomplicated, a woman labouring, a baby making its way into the world alive and well, and Evie stepping in only when she was needed to ease out the head. No forceps were used, no scopolamine, and only a few stitches were required. At the end, the mother could hold and feed her baby and know that what she’d done was extraordinary. More and more this was how Evie’s days unfolded as she quietly and carefully made a place for herself at the hospital. To her satisfaction, it was a place that Dr Kingsley and some of the nurses had begun to accept she had a right to occupy. This was an astonishing victory, and was the one good thing in her life besides her children. It made her feel, sometimes, as though all her hard work and sacrifice might have been worthwhile.

  ‘I don’t think obstetrics is for me,’ Dolores said as they left the delivery room. ‘I want something more exciting.’

  Evie couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘What’s funny?’ Dolores asked.

  ‘Nothing. Just don’t pray for too much excitement too soon. You might get more than you wished for.’

  At the end of her shift, Evie returned to the locker room to change her clothes, reluctant to go home to get ready for a party she didn’t want to attend, but eager to see her children. Dolores came in, coat splattered with blood, a grin on her face. ‘Find any excitement?’ Evie asked.

  ‘Did I ever!’ said Dolores. ‘Mrs Goldfinch haemorrhaged. I’ve seen more blood today than most people see in a lifetime.’

  ‘So you’re enjoying it?’

  Dolores nodded emphatically, following Evie out into the hall. ‘Say, do you want to get a drink? I haven’t met many other women and …’

  Before Evie could answer, a passing intern butted in. ‘Dr Lockhart never goes out. She always rushes home to her husband.’

  ‘He’s dead,’ Evie said.

  The intern dropped his file in confusion. ‘Sorry. I didn’t know. You wear the ring, so we just thought …’

  ‘He died not long after we married.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ Dolores said, eyes big and round and showing too clearly that she knew nothing of how cruel life could be.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Evie. She escaped outside and took a deep breath. See? she told herself. Every time she told the story, people believed her. No one ever suspected there was anything more in her past than the calamity of losing a husband. Perhaps she’d be able to get through a party tonight after all.

  When she arrived back in the Vi
llage she found that Auntie Bea, as the girls called her, had already taken the girls back to the apartment and was bathing them.

  ‘You get yourself ready!’ Bea hollered from the bathroom. ‘About time you went out.’ Her head appeared around the doorframe and she whispered so the girls wouldn’t hear, ‘Treat yourself to a night of chin music with a fella.’

  ‘I won’t be doing that,’ Evie said, shaking her head.

  ‘You’re allowed to, you know,’ Bea yelled back as she disappeared into the bathroom.

  But I don’t want to, Evie thought. Even after so much time had passed, it was impossible to contemplate kissing anyone other than Thomas. Just as it was impossible to look at her old dancing dresses and not remember the times she’d worn them with him. She sat down on the bed and stared into her wardrobe, her eyes scanning through each of the outfits she could never wear again – because that was the dress she wore when she first went out with him to Chumley’s, and that was the dress she wore to the ball the night she realised she loved him …

  ‘I got you something to wear,’ Bea said, coming into the room.

  ‘Not lingerie, I hope,’ Evie said, trying to smile.

  Bea had quit the Follies six months ago with her dignity still intact: she’d been saving her nickels and had bought herself a business. It was a lingerie store, the same one she’d taken Evie to while Thomas was in London. Now renamed Bea’s Secret, it was no longer quite so discreet. In true Bea style, she’d had big, bold signs made up and placed at the entrance. Customers now had to be prepared to dash across the street and hurtle down the stairs at a pace designed to avoid the damning looks from nearby businesses; they exited half an hour later, arms hung with bold red shopping bags that those in the know understood to contain the best-quality silk underwear in Manhattan, sold by a woman whose flapper garters could be seen adorning the legs of the beautiful and the damned all across the city. Bea was able to look Ziegfeld in the eye at last, when they met at parties, and know that she’d made good on her escape. She also cared for Mary and Lucille on Mondays, when the shop was closed, and the girls loved to play in the piles of satin, to dress up in slips and pretend to be princesses.