“Thank . . . thank you.”
Max handed Vincent his dark gray blazer and black fedora, and as he slipped his arms into the sleeves, he glanced over his shoulder at Marjorie and Sophia.
“Ladies, I leave Miss Ford in your capable hands. I’m sure you will do an excellent job for her and I trust you will help her with anything she needs.”
With his final words, he left the room and motioned Max to follow him. Max gave me a fleeting glance before consenting to the demand and closed the door behind them.
“Miss Ford,” Marjorie’s thick French accent rolled across letter ‘r’ and thumped with the letter ‘d’. “Shall we begin with ‘zee rack over here?”
Her gray hair elegantly styled in a tight bun, lay against her neck, tied to one side just above her shoulder. Sophistication sparkled in her eyes, her long life obviously filled with elegance and poise.
“Um, all right.” Slouched in the seat of the couch, I tucked a curl behind my ear, not meeting her gaze.
She glanced at Sophia. “Il a certainement choisi, un enfant immature insensé, non?”
They both laughed.
I wanted nothing more than to crawl in the corner and hide.
The much younger Sophia reached for another rack.
“What size are you?” Her own French accent not quite as thick, but still heavy.
“Six,” I whispered.
She smirked then rolled her eyes as she started to brush through the hangers, pushing the dresses from one side of the rack to the other.
“Any particular color you prefer?”
I shook my head.
Her lips scowled as she rolled her eyes again. “Que peut-il voir éventuellement en elle?”
“Je ne sais pas.” Marjorie snorted. “Il doit se sentir désolé pour elle pour une raison quelconque.”
They laughed again.
Anger simmered through my body. Did I really wish to allow two women to mock me?
“I prefer pastels.” I blurted out, straightening my shoulders.
They both flinched and their eyes widened as they glanced at me then at each other.
“I prefer pastels and I despise the color red.”
Without saying another word, they started sorting through the racks once more.
Dark storm clouds dimmed the light through the windows while flashes of lightning brightened the room every few moments. The vivid sparks cracked each time, followed by thunder that rattled through the walls as rain began to pound on the house, pelting the glass with heavy drops.
Minutes ticked by one by one, until the chime of the grandfather clock announced an hour had passed.
A long hour of a seemingly never-ending string of minutes as the women combed through hanger after hanger and I slid my naked body in and out of dress after dress in an array of colors and styles.
I paraded each one in front of the full length mirror in the corner until I finally collapsed onto the couch, exhausted and hungry.
The hard rain had faded into light drops that still tapped against the glass blackened with the darkness of night.
Shadows played off the walls and ceiling from the lamp light illuminating the parlor room, and the chilled air left me desiring nothing more than a fire in the fireplace or a warm blanket.
Marjorie and Sophia hung the last of the dresses back onto the racks then placed the unwanted hats and shoes in boxes.
Surely, their whispered conversation in French was still about me; however, I didn’t care anymore. They could have their rude opinions if such was their character.
My eyes traced over the three racks of dresses I had chosen to keep. Silk and lace, with and without beads, with dropped waists or bias cuts, in all shades of a pastel rainbow. I toyed with the excitement of each one, and yet, a twinge of guilt and shame stung.
I wasn’t going to pay for any of them.
A stranger was.
A stranger, with whom I’m not married to, engaged to, or even in love with.
No wonder the two ladies spoke of me in the manner that they did. Who wouldn’t?
Whatever they said probably rang with a level of truth that should concern me. If they thought of me as a whore, then I suppose everyone else would, too.
Bought and paid for with the finest dresses from Paris in the latest styles worn by Hollywood starlets like Greta Garbo, Mae West, and Jean Harlow.
Sickness twisted in my stomach with my thoughts.
The door to the parlor opened and Max strode in with a plump little man following him. His eyes locked onto mine instantly.
Did he see the guilt in my heart? Did he see the fear in my mind? Did he see the uncomfortable stiffness in my shoulders?
“Are you finished, Miss Ford?” he asked.
“Yes.” I pointed to the racks. “Those . . . I chose those ones.”
He gave a fleeting glance toward the mix of dresses. “Mr. Phelps, take those up to Miss Ford’s room.”
The short, bald man tapped his heels together and with a smirk visible under his bushy mustache, he bowed and saluted Max with his arm.
“Oh for Pete’s sake, Phelps, you don’t have to do that every time I ask you to do something.” Max growled under his breath, but a sparkle of amusement flickered in his eyes.
Mr. Phelps chuckled and grabbed the racks, dragging them one by one from the room.
“Shall I put them in the closet, Mr. Catalano?” His deep British accent purred.
“Yes, that’s fine.”
Max reached into his blazer, withdrawing the familiar wad of cash as he ambled over to Marjorie.
They whispered to one another for a few minutes before Marjorie strolled away from him, tucking her new found fortune into the handbag she plucked from the floor near one of the end tables.
“We shall have ‘zee other racks, including ‘zee one upstairs, picked up later this evening.”
The one upstairs?
The two women glided across the room and out the door. Their gate mirrored the receptionist at the burlesque theater as their hips swayed from side to side in a seductive elegance that made my cheeks flush hot.
Max rolled his eyes and dismissively waved his hand toward them as he sauntered over to a drink cart in the corner.
With his back toward me, he uncorked a crystal bottle, poured the amber liquid into a clear tumbler, and returned the cork before taking a sip.
“Did you enjoy yourself this evening, Miss Ford?”
“I supposed I did.”
“You suppose? I don’t think I know any woman in this world who wouldn’t have the time of her life shopping as you just did.”
“Well, then, I guess I’m not like any other woman.”
He spun to face me, gulped every drop from the tumbler, and set down the glass. His eyes stared into mine with a flickering curiosity that mimicked the half grin on his face as he sauntered toward me.
“No, you are not.”
A chill shivered through my skin.
“Are you cold?”
“A little.”
“I had Mr. Phelps light a fire for you in your bedroom before we came in here. It should warm it up for you.”
“Oh, well, thank you.”
“So, are you ready to see your bedroom?”
“I guess so.”
We ambled through the parlor doors toward the foyer and up the large marble staircase.
With its ‘L’ shape, the heels of my shoes clicked once more against the white floor and the sound echoed over the balcony as we continued across the landing down a hallway with several doors.
“All the other rooms besides yours are off limits unless invited.”
“Um . . . all right.”
“Your room has an en suite, along with a walk-in closet, and the best views of the garden.”
“Who all lives here?”
“You and Vincent . . . when he stays here.”
“It’s quite a big house for just a couple of people. Where do you live?”
“In my own apa
rtment downtown.”
“Of course you do,” I whispered.
“Mr. Phelps lives in the guest cottage behind the garden so you will not be alone.”
“I don’t mind being alone.”
He nodded, but didn’t say another word as he stopped in front of one of the doors and twisted the knob.
Curtains draped the floor-to-ceiling windows. Made from a white sheer material, they blurred the hazy bright moon shinning through the glass.
Max strode toward each of the various lamps to flick them on so they would brighten the dimly lit room. The softness in each bulb left a dream effect that stole my breath.
My eyes fell upon an enormous bed. Its four dark cherry wood posts rose from the frame up toward the ceiling and connected over the bed.
Tied with thick satin ribbons, a sheer canopy draped each board and wrapped around the posts all the way down to the floor. The smooth cream color matched the silk bedspread and the pillow shams covering each of the abundance of pillows.
“It’s beautiful.”
As I strolled around the room, my fingers traced along the cream, brown, and green wallpaper, the dark cherry wood bedside tables, and matching five-drawer dressers. All of them topped with elegant glass lamps or silver vases full of fresh flowers.
In the corner nearest the bed, a fire cracked and popped in the fireplace, warming the room and giving off a deep orange glow.
“The closet is on the left and the en suite powder room is on the right.”
I opened the en suite door first. White, brown, and green, the same colors that matched the bedroom stared back at me. The only difference was the white tiled floor instead of the dark hardwood.
An oversized clawfoot bathtub rested in the corner next to the vanity with a plush chair and full length mirror.
“I don’t believe Mr. Phelps has had a chance to fully stock the cabinets. If you need anything not already there, just inform him. He will see to your needs.”
“All right.”
Max opened the door to the closet. He cleared his throat and retreated a few steps, turning away from the sight of the wardrobe as though it embarrassed him.
“Um . . . they . . . they will . . .” He inhaled and exhaled a deep breath to collect his thoughts as he motioned me to the closet. “Marjorie said they would pick these up later this evening.”
The rack upstairs.
As I peeked into the closet, my cheeks burned several shades of red. Brassieres, panties, and lace slips in shades of colors hung neatly on in front of me, a plethora of undergarments that left little to the imagination of the man standing next to me.
My knees grew weak, and my fingers trembled as I tucked my hair behind my ears, fled the closet, and slammed the door shut with more force than I meant. The crack of the wood echoed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to slam the door.”
Max gave a subtle nod. “Just as with the dresses, try them on and keep what you like. I’ll have Mr. Phelps remove the rest in an hour or so.”
Thoughts of trying on the delicate undergarments of silk and lace nearly suffocated me.
Would I wear them for someone else to look at and enjoy?
Anxiety crawled through my skin as I tiptoed to the window. My fingers wrapped around one of the sheer curtains, gripping it so tight, the curtain rod lurched and grunted with my force, and the material shook with my trembling hand.
“And what if I don’t like any of them?”
“Then you return them all.” Footsteps thumped behind me. “If I may suggest, however, you might wish to reconsider keeping a few of them.”
I spun around, not expecting him standing so close. The warmth of his body stole my breath, weakening my knees and knocking me off balance.
“Wh . . . um . . . why? Am I expected to wear them for a particular reason?”
“Not unless you desire for your dresses to fit more comfortably.”
I groaned. He had a point, and I knew it.
“I’ll be done with the rack within the hour,” I finally whispered.
“Then, I’ll let Mr. Phelps know, and I’ll have him send your dinner up here if you are hungry, too.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lied.
He shrugged his shoulders. “If you change your mind just let him know. It might be a nice treat to have dinner in bed. Don’t you think?”
Heat burned through the shells of my ears.
“Perhaps.”
I faced the window once more. My eyes traced the moon. Nearly hidden in a haze of storm clouds, the mist in the air blurred the white glow, a romantic gesture for a less than romantic moment.
Confused, scared, and angry, I placed my hand on the cold glass of the window. It chilled my skin.
“It would have been better if I’d stayed at the theater. Wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know if it would have.”
“That really wasn’t a question, Mr. Catalano.”
“I apologize for my mistake, then. Good night, Miss Ford.” He strode toward the door.
“Mr. Catalano, wait?”
“Yes?”
“Am I allowed to leave? Or am I supposed to stay here unless Mr. Giovanni escorts me someplace?”
“You are allowed to leave if I accompany you. Where do you wish to go?”
“I want to visit my brother.”
SEVEN
THE NEXT AFTERNOON Max drove the Rolls Royce up alongside an unfamiliar building.
Brick and mortar, the three stories towered over the roof of the automobile as the jail house overshadowed the street below.
No trees rested along the sidewalk, no bushes decorated under the window sills. A hollow version of a business building that seemed to ooze with the stench of demons lurking inside the walls.
Murders, thieves, and criminals, men who’ve done all shades of wrongdoing to society or another human being lived sentenced behind the bars. Some condemned for months, some for years, some for the rest of their lives, or at least for a short time until their date of execution.
And my poor brother was inside with them.
Max turned the ignition key and the rumble underneath my seat died. An eerie silence twisted in my stomach and punched my gut.
Another place I never thought I’d visit, although I suppose I should never underestimate where my life could go at any moment.
The last couple of days were prime examples.
“Do you wish for me to go in with you or do you want to go in alone?” Max fidgeted with his tie as puffs of cigarette smoke billowed around him.
He glanced from side to side out each window as though on the lookout for something, or perhaps, someone. An odd tension radiated from his shoulders.
He didn’t want to be here.
“I suppose I’ll go in alone.” I reached for the door handle.
“Wait, I’ll get the door for you.”
Before I could agree or disagree, he shoved his door open and slid from the seat. His sauntered gait around to my door spurred with a sluggishness that hunched his shoulders.
“How long has Frank been in here?” I asked, taking Max’s hand to step out onto the sidewalk.
“About a week. The cops busted him on his first job.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“He took too long making a drop off. Two police officers caught sight of the truck in the alley, and then caught him walking out of the joint as he counted the cash.”
“And what was he delivering?”
Max shifted his gaze to the ground and clenched his jaw. Whether unable to tell me, or he didn’t want to, I didn’t know, but an unspoken warning blazed in the dark hue of his eyes.
“He tried to talk his way out of the arrest, but they didn’t buy his story. He acted too suspicious.”
“How do you know he acted too suspicious?”
Max shook his head. He didn’t want to answer that question, either.
He was there.
An imagined weight pounded down upon my che
st, robbing my ability to breathe. I stepped away from Max and leaned against the automobile to keep my balance.
“I had my own orders and I had my own job to do that night.”
Hot anger seared through my blood.
“You left him to get caught!” A shrill screech escaped my lips and a couple walking down the sidewalk flinched as they strolled by us, shocked just as Max with my tone and volume. The man reached around the woman’s waist and they scurried away.
Max’s eyes slit in anger. “I had my own job to do.”
I glanced away from him. Appalled by his excuses, I’d obviously misjudged his character. “And you couldn’t do anything to help him?”
“If I get caught, it risks everything. Do you understand me? Everything.”
“Oh yes, because you have to protect Mr. Giovanni, your boss, your commander. Who cares of the people that fall into the perils of his business, whatever it is?”
Max leaned toward me. His face inches from mine. “You know nothing of the situation, Miss Ford, so I suggest you don’t speak as though you do.”
“I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry that I thought of you as someone who actually cared about other people, since you seemed to want to help me, but I shall take note of your true nature, then, and won’t make that mistake twice.”
“That’s not fair,” he growled.
I shoved past him. “Leave me alone.”
“Miss Ford, wait one minute.”
I ignored him and climbed the brick steps toward the two large wooden doors, heaving one of them open with more force than planned. It slammed into the wall with a loud thump and the prison guard sitting at the front desk jumped to his feet. His stance abrasive and a harsh glare flashed in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry.” My fingers trembled as I reached for the door and closed it as softly as I could. “The door got away from me. Please excuse my rudeness.”
I offered a warm smile, hoping to ease the tension in his shoulders as I ambled toward his desk with my hands clasped at my waist in front of me.
“Again, I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
A growl rumbled from his chest as he exhaled a deep breath. He returned to his seat and slid the chair up to the desk, grabbing his pencil in one hand and a piece of paper the other.
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