Glitter and Gold (The Canary Club Novels Book 1)

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  “Vincent is a good kid. He stepped up when your brother couldn’t. He’s helping me.”

  “Helping you beat people up? Or worse? I’ve heard the rumors.” Even upstate the papers loved to report on Vincent ‘Mad Dog’ Coll and his notorious deeds. Assault, robbery, extortion. How he’d managed to keep out of jail was beyond me.

  “If that’s what it takes.” Leaning back daddy releases me, propping himself up on his arms. “Truth is, Masie, things have been tough lately for the business. We got competitors trying to move in on us, the new federal prosecutors are sniffing around the docks trying to intercept shipments. Hell, even the damn club is barely treading water.”

  I’m not sure whether to offer sympathy or sneak out and take a match to it all.

  Righting himself he presses his lips to my temple. “Nevermind, Mas. Forget I brought it up. It’s no business for you to worry about.”

  Rolling to his feet he crosses the room, peering out my window at the street below. “Just know that I’m doing what’s best for all of us. Be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

  The words, or what bubble into my mouth but I catch them before they can escape. “Yes, Daddy.”

  When he leaves, I stare at the window for a long time. There’s a nest of birds on the ledge. Two baby pigeons shrieking for sustenance, poling their grey heads out of the tangled sticks. Someday soon they will be big enough to fly away, to spread their wings and fly free from this place if they choose to.

  In that moment, I envy them to near rage.

  It’s dark when I finally roll to my feet, wrapping my lavender satin robe around me. I wait until I’ve heard Daddy and JD leave before sneaking from my room and out onto the terrace. Butler has left a plate of pasta for me, covered with a tin lid to keep it warm in the hopes that I might eat. My stomach growls at the scent of garlic and pesto, chipping away at my pathetic attempt at a hunger strike.

  Taking my seat I lift the lid and dig in, stopping only long enough to breathe and drain a bottle of red wine. By the time I’ve finished I’m full and sleepy and enjoying the soft tingle of drunkenness as it spreads through me.

  Maybe that’s why I don’t hear the front door. I don’t hear the footsteps approaching me from behind. I don’t even hear his breath until I feel the weight of his hands on my shoulders, rubbing in gentle circles.

  “How you feelin’, Mas?” Vinny asks.

  Relaxing back into the chair I look up, unable to keep the sour grin from my face. “Never better.”

  Releasing me he steps around the table, helping himself to a seat. “That’s not how I hear it. I hear you lay in bed all day feelin’ sorry for yourself”

  “Can you blame me?” I ash harshly, straightening in my chair.

  He’s still for a minute, then pulls the fedora off his head and plays with it in his hands. “I’m sorry about your ma, she was a fine lady.”

  I snort, the booze in my belly making me bold. “She was a nut job and everyone knew it.”

  Now he looks up, his thin lips downturned at the edges, “She was good to me.”

  Signing I stand, helping myself to the crystal decanters on the tray. “She loved you like her own,” I offer gently as I pour myself a drink. “It’s the only thing she was good at, loving people. Wasn’t great at taking care of them, though.”

  She’d tried to take care of Daddy at first. I know she always secretly hoped he’d change his ways, as if her love could make him a better man. But, as much as they may want to, people don’t really change. Time passes, choices are made, but we are who we are in the end.

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asks, twisting in his chair to look at me.

  I just hold up my glass, “This seems to be helping.”

  Standing, he walks over, taking the glass from my hand and swallows back the contents in one gulp. “Never drink to feel better, Mas. That’s not how the stuff works.”

  I frown, pushing past him, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  He stops me, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward him until the tip of his crooked nose is touching my forehead, “I’m not gonna let you throw yourself away like she did.”

  His words are sharp and they cut like glass

  I shut my eyes against them, against the closeness of him, the heat radiating off his body, the smell of bourbon on his breath. Part of me demanding to push him away, the other part wanting to lose myself in him.

  “You left,” he continues, his tone accusatory. “You left so you wouldn’t have to watch—but I watched. I watched the light in her go out. I won’t watch that happen to you, Masie. I can’t. So you’re going to have to be strong. Because we need you. I need you. It’s awful dark here, Mas. We need you to be the light.”

  The first tear slips from beneath my closed lids. Maybe it’s the desperation in his voice, or the fact that he’s right, but something in his words strikes me to the core. It’s tempting, far too tempting, to drink the pain away, to let it eat me from the inside out until there’s nothing left to hurt.

  But I can’t.

  I can’t be like my mother.

  I won’t.

  Maybe I can’t save Daddy or JD or Vinny. Maybe I can only save myself. Maybe I’m strong enough for that, at least. And maybe, that’s enough.

  When I open my eyes, tilting my head up, I feel his lips brush mine and I freeze. We’ve always been close—like family—but before I left, I knew something had changed. At first I thought it was just in my head, the way I craved his casual touches, the way I’d do anything to make him smile at me. But soon enough it was clear; the way he looked at me when he thought no one would see, the way his blue eyes lingered on my face, the way he’d touch me, as if he were afraid to break me, but couldn’t stand the idea of not touching me.

  So many times I nearly gave in. So many times we got close only to pull back from the brink. There were always reasons, chief among them the fear of what daddy would do if he found out. But now, in this moment, that fear evaporates, replaced by a desperation so unfamiliar it makes my heart pound and my cheeks warm.

  When I don’t stop him he kisses me again, this time wrapping his thick arms around my waist, drawing me to the tips of my toes, erasing any space between us.

  Maybe it’s the booze or the grief, but my resistance falls, my hesitation evaporating, and I wrap my arms around his neck, curling my fingers into the short hair at the base of his neck. He offers a low, guttural sound against my mouth but never breaks the kiss. When I’m sure I’ll explode from the pressure building inside me, he moves, his tongue and teeth tracing a line down my chin and across my collarbone, finally nuzzling into the side of my neck. My body is on fire, everywhere his skin touches mine heat rushes to the surface of my skin, threatening to consume me.

  Dipping down, he scoops me up, carrying me toward the door to my room. It’s only when he sets me on the edge of my bed that I regain a hold of myself. Panting, I press one hand to the center of his chest and push him away forcefully.

  Unable to meet his eyes, I look away, replacing the robe where it had slipped off my shoulder, exposing my sheer nightdress beneath.

  “Wait, please,” I beg, trying to catch my breath, to slow the heart fluttering like hummingbird wings beneath my ribs.

  I hear him sigh, then he crouches to the floor at my feet. With one finger he slides the robe, exposing my bare knees, then with the other hand he takes hold of the back of my ankle, slowly drawing it upward, stopping at the tender spot behind my kneecap. Leaning forward, he kisses it reverently.

  “Please,” he whispers. “Please.”

  It’s something about the way he says it that finally slaps reality back into me, a cold rush of water on my boiling skin.

  Leaning over I cup his face in my hands. “This can’t happen,” I whisper back. There are a million reasons, each valid and some even dangerous. I’ve had too much to drink and I’m too emotional. I want to share everything with him, my grief and guilt and anger. But I can’t. And I can’t be sure
I won’t let the truth spill out in a moment of weakness. A moment of shared pleasure.

  Once, it was only fear of Daddy that stood between us. But now there is something else as well. A lie so big I’m afraid I won’t be able to contain it. I don’t want to consider what daddy would do if I spilled the beans—even to Vinny.

  “Please don’t go away again,” his voice is harder now, more like normal. But there’s still a hint of disappointment that twists like a knife in my gut.

  Licking my lips I find the taste of him still there. “I’m not going anywhere,” I promise. And I mean it. I need to stay, to look after Daddy and JD and Vinny. I need to do whatever I can to protect them—even if it’s from themselves.

  Nodding he stands, stepping back and readjusting his crisp white shirt, “Then there’s time. There’s plenty of time.”

  The funeral is at St. Luke’s on a crisp Saturday morning. A white coffin draped with freesia and lilies stands on a pedestal near the diesis. Daddy, JD, and I form a line, greeting visitors from the front pew. I wonder, as my mind wanders, how much he had to toss in the donation plate for the church to look the other way at the armed guards at each entrance.

  Most of the faces I’m at least familiar with. Mother didn’t have any friends of her own to speak of, so the few ladies offering a handshake or hug were part of the women’s auxiliary of the church. I perform as I’m expected, somber and lost in my own thoughts. Daddy assured me in the car on the way here that I’d be allowed to visit in a few weeks, so long as I kept up my end of the deal. I do not plan to give him a reason to rescind that promise.

  From across the chapel I feel Vinny’s eyes on me like an ant under a magnifying glass. Still forbidden to tell him the truth, I avoided speaking with him when he showed up at the penthouse today to ride to the church with us. Partly because I could see his own grief etched onto his face—she’d been mother to him as well, after all—but mostly because I still couldn’t quite reconcile my feelings about what almost happened between us.

  I try to convince myself that we’d just got caught up in the moment, that it was nothing more than seeking comfort in one another. But it’s stupid to deny it. Even right now, in the middle of this crowded church, I feel his eyes on me, and I relish the sensation. The idea of giving in to whatever has grown between us sends my pulse racing.

  Daddy would be furious.

  Daddy was always furious.

  I’m toying with my long strings of black pearls, wondering how long it might be until I could trust myself around Vinny again—how long before I could be sure I wouldn’t share my secret with him--when Daddy finally turns to JD and I.

  “Are you ready to say your goodbyes?”

  We nod in unison, taking hold of each other’s hands as we approach the casket. It’s empty, I keep repeating to myself, taking a deep breath as we approach the pedestal. She’s not really in there. She’s alive. She’s going to be alright.

  Still, we are burying something today, something very real. A piece of our lives that we will never get back. Even though this keeps her safe, even though I know it is her best chance at happiness, it feels like a betrayal. My stomach rolls and my knees go weak. JD has to put an arm around me and let me lean on him for support.

  “How long do you think we need to stand up here?” he whispers.

  “Probably long enough for me to go into hysterics and throw myself on the casket,” I respond, feeling the strength return to my legs.

  “I could do it, Dutch thinks I’m soft anyway.”

  I snort at his offer. “Why not? There’s a reporter in the back, did you see? I’m sure it’d be front page news.”

  He snickers, hiding it with a cough. “Let’s just get this day over with. I need a drink. Or ten.”

  “You shouldn’t drink to feel better,” I find myself echoing Vinny’s warning and my gaze darts to him on reflex.

  “So when are you going to tell me what happened between you two?” JD asks, “He’s been staring at you all day.”

  I glare at him.

  “What? I have eyes, Mas.”

  “He kissed me.” I say flatly, as if it were a regular occurrence.

  JD is silent for a few seconds, “I always knew he had a death wish.”

  I pinch his hand, pretending to pat it.

  The sound of the choir beginning to sing is our cue, we decide, and walk back to Daddy’s side, down the aisle, and into the waiting Studebaker.

  By the time the graveside service is over I’m bone tired and the drizzling afternoon sky has turned into a grey dusk.

  I have to hand it to Daddy, he spared no expense on the fake funeral. While I know it’s partly due to his own vanity, I can’t help but be a little sad that her actual funeral won’t be nearly this grand. But then, something small and simple would be more to her liking anyway. JD and I settle into the back of our car and for a split second I wonder if Daddy is riding with us. Glancing around I see him slide into the passenger seat of a second car and speed off.

  “Is he going home?” I ask, settling in beside my brother who, despite the late hour, sheds his coat and tie, draping them over the seat in front.

  “Not tonight. There’s business at the club.”

  I rub my arms. My skin is sticky from the drizzle and ice cold to the touch. “I thought it was closed tonight?”

  He shrugs, “It is, but some investors are coming through. We’ve had some issues with the band too, so I’ve got a couple singers coming in to audition too.”

  I sigh, stretching. “Vinny mentioned something about that. How bad is it, really?”

  He frowns, rolling his head side to side to crack the bones in his neck. “It’s bad, Mas. He’s stretched too thin, dumped everything into this club, but the renovations are overbudget and with the Luciano’s opening up a place, they’re poaching all the talent. If we can’t start packing them in soon, Dutch will default on his loans.”

  I whistle.

  “Don’t tell him I said anything. You know how his is about appearances.”

  I nod. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Just having you back will help. He’s always a little easier to deal with when you’re around.”

  “Maybe I bring out the best in him,” I say sarcastically. But he nods as if it’s gospel truth.

  “You need us to drop you at the apartment?”

  I shake my head, my yellow curls deflated but still hanging in waves to my chin. “I think I’ll head out for a bit. Some gin and jazz might be just what the doctor ordered.”

  “You sure you’re up for that tonight?”

  Waving him off with one hand I pull the small brass compact from my bag and touch up my lipstick. “Why not? It isn’t like it was a real funeral. Besides, a little trouble is good for the soul.”

  I don’t mention my plans to get Vinny alone and finish what we started earlier, but JD knows me too well.

  “Vincent will be at meetings with Dutch most of the night. But I can drop you at the Green Door over by Central Park if you’d like. It’s only a few blocks from the club. He’s been known to take in the…atmosphere after work.”

  Now I narrow my eyes suspiciously, “What’s the catch?”

  He shrugs, “My girl June is over there, probably getting into trouble. I know she’s been dying to meet you. Maybe you could—“

  I cut him off, “Keep an eye on your girl?”

  He grins, “Something like that.”

  I raise one eyebrow, “I’m not good at keeping people out of trouble, JD. I’m much more accustomed to getting people into it.”

  “Don’t I know,” he says, offering me a wink. “I’m not asking you to be her nursemaid, I just want to interduce you.”

  So that’s his price. He’ll send Vinny my direction later if I keep an eye on his dame now.

  “Sure, that’s jake.”

  Nodding once he leans forward and gives Albert instructions.

  The club is loud for a speakeasy, music thumping with each pick of the doub
le bass and a curly haired crooner belting out a quick dance tune. Everyone knows JD the instant we step in the door and I’m rushed by folks eager to make my acquaintance as he introduces me, Dutch Schultz’s golden haired daughter. The only person looking less than impresses is a dark haired beauty sitting on top of a table in the rear of the room, two bohunks in cheap suits fawning over her as she drains a martini in one long sip.

  JD leads me across the room toward her, and instantly I understand his desire to have someone looking after her. Despite being a well figured gal, she’s in a beaded dress meant for someone with a more slender figure, and the bodice stretches tight across her chest, leaving little to the imagination. A bright red plume rises from the beaded headband stretches across her forehead, and strand after strand of gold rope hang from her neck. Catching sight of us she shoots me a steely glare, her mouth forming a hard line.

  “Let me guess. The brunette flapper?”

  JD follows my eye line and nods, chuckling lightly. “What can I say? I like a dame with moxie.”

  Seeing us approach she slides off the table and holds out her arms to JD, who takes her hands, pulling her into a playful dip.

  He kisses her deeply, thoroughly, with a private passion that forces me to look away.

  When he finally sets her back on her feet, his mouth is smeared with her crimson lipstick. She wipes at it with her thumb.

  “June, this is my sister, Masie. Masie, this is June West.”

  I hold out a gloved hand but she ignores it, leaning forward to kiss me once on each cheek in the French style.

  “Oh of course. I’ve heard all about you,” she says, drawing back and appraising me, this time with a much friendlier glance.

  “And I’ve heard so little about you,” I say, sounding cattier than I mean to. JD shoots me a nasty look.

  “Well I’m sure he just wanted to tell you in person,” she deflects, her gaze moving from me to him and back.

  “I’m sure,” I offer, waving down a fella carrying a tray of champagne and helping myself to a glass. “Would you care to join me for a few drinks?” I ask, hoping to live up to my part of tonight’s deal. “I’d love to get to know you better.”