Glitter and Gold (The Canary Club Novels Book 1)

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  Once inside I scan the room, immediately my eyes land on JD. He’s in what looks to be a heated argument with a man I don’t recognize. My hackles immediately rise. I know most of the players in town on sight. This fella, in a gawdy striped suit with shiny two-tone wingtips and spats, leans forward, putting a single finger in the center of JD’s chest, which he slaps away roughly. As I begin to cross the room, I’m stopped by Lettie Rothschild, wife of one of Dutch’s business partners. She ambushes me with a drunken hug, practically throwing me off balance.

  “June, I heard the wonderful news. I’m so excited for you,” she begins, her words slurring. “Just what this town needs, if you ask me, a royal wedding. What a show it will be!”

  Part of me appreciates the enthusiasm, but another part, a small, newly discovered voice inside my head, cringes. A show, a bit of theater to give Dutch another feather in his cap.

  I smile.

  Doesn’t matter. It will be my day, my victory, no matter what Dutch intends. And my mother will be there, even if no one knows who she really is except JD, Masie and me. And she won’t be in the kitchen or waiting tables. She’ll be in an expensive dress, in the front row of the church.

  When I laugh, its genuine, warming me to my very toes. “I’ll make sure you get the first invitation,” I promise, kissing her on the cheek.

  She releases me and I continue my path across the club. Only when I look back, JD’s gone. Frowning, I scan the crowd again. No sign of him or his mysterious friend. Making my way to the bar I help myself to a seat near the hidden door to the secret back room. He couldn’t have made it out the front so quickly and I’d have seen him if he’d taken the door backstage. No, he must have ducked inside, I reason.

  Waving to the bartender, I nestle myself onto the tall stool and gesture toward the gin bottle on the back shelf. He nods, wordlessly taking my order for my usual drink of choice, a slow gin fizz.

  When he finally slides it across the bar, an unfamiliar face sidles up beside me, motioning to my drink.

  “This beautiful lady’s drink is on me,” he says with a wink.

  I hold up one hand, “Her drink is on her,” I correct, turning toward my would-be suitor. “You must be new. I’m June West,” I introduce, holding out my hand to him, the one with the sparking engagement ring.

  Taking it in his hand, he kisses my knuckles gently, “That is a lovely bauble. I meant no disrespect, of course. But I have to tell ya, if I had a dame like you, I’d never let you sit at a bar alone.”

  A smooth talker to be sure, but the flattery makes me smile nonetheless. He’s pretty enough, bright blue eyes and raven black hair. His face is smooth shaven, a softness to his jawline that betrays his youth. Taking a tin from the pocket of his grey jacket he holds it out to me.

  “Lucky?”

  “Always,” I smile, “But I don’t smoke.”

  Shrugging, he helps himself to a cigarette, clenching it between his lips as he pats himself down, no doubt searching for a light. Remembering the matches in my pocket, I pull them out and toss them on the bar between us.

  He smiles, lighting up before leaning forward, sliding the box back into my pocket gently, his expression daring.

  Behind me, the sound of JD clearing his throat makes the boy jump, leaning away.

  “June, I see you’ve met my new delivery boy, Dickie. Dickie, this is June. My fiancée.”

  The way the word rolls off his tongue makes me shiver. Not my dame or my girl. My fiancée. It has quite a ring to it.

  The blue-eyed boy pales, but grins. “Ah, Yes. She was just very politely shooting me down.”

  JD turns his gaze to me, his frown softening, “She’s good at that.”

  Dickey chuckles, drawing JD’s gaze back to him, and he wilts just a touch.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” JD asks pointedly.

  “Yes sir, just came by for the keys to the warehouse.”

  JD nods, smoothing one hand down the side of his brown Glen Check suit vest and producing a skeleton key from the breast pocket. “Lock up before you leave. And if you see any unsavory characters mulling around, you let me know right away, got it?”

  Dickey salutes, sliding off the seat.

  “Then ankle, kid.”

  Dickey obeys, tilting his head toward me once then making a break for the door.

  “He’s a doll,” I say playfully.

  JD leans against the bar. “Oh? Maybe I need to let the kid go, send a message to the others what happen when they make eyes at my girl.”

  I grin, “You’d have no employees left if you canned everyone who makes eyes at me, baby.” Even with his feet on the floor and me in the seat, he’s still a head taller than me. Reaching up I straighten his tie. “But you know you got nothing to worry about. Cause I only got eyes for you.”

  Leaning forward, he dips his head, capturing my lips with his own. The kiss is warm, brimming with restrained passion. I know all too well what those lips can do behind closed doors, and just the thought is enough to make me shiver. But I pull away, forcing myself to remember why I came.

  “There is something I need to talk to you about,” I admit, leaning back and taking a drink.

  His chin snaps up, his eyes narrowing. I crane my neck to follow his sight line. The fella in the tacky suit has stepped out of the secret room, and is standing there, hat in his hands. He’s wearing an expression I know all too well. It’s the look of a fella looking for a fight.

  “Can it wait till tomorrow, June?” JD asks, not looking back at me. “I got some business to tend to tonight.”

  I sigh. It’s a fight we have on occasion. I understand that being second in command of an operation like this means little free time, I truly do. But sometimes, I wish he’d put me first. Maybe it’s selfish but I feel like it’s not too much to ask. Plus, I don’t want to lose my nerve now. But his tone is low and serious and I know that tonight isn’t the night to play that same old tune.

  “Sure thing, baby. I got things to do anyway.”

  Kissing me once more, this time more deeply, urgently, he releases me and heads off to return to his business. I watch him only a moment before draining my glass and slipping from the bar.

  It’s fine, I decide. I’ll tell him tomorrow. For now, I make my way out of the club and hop on the nearest streetcar, inhaling the crisp night air as I begin the long trek home.

  The sun is bright, the sky bluer than I’ve seen in months. I admire it as I make my way into the city. It’s a radiant color, a color full of hope and wonder. Perhaps I will have my wedding dress of this color blue rather than the normal white. I will wear blue and Masie will wear a cheerful yellow. The sun and sky. What a stir that will cause! What a trend we will set. We will look like a summer’s day, full of promise and joy and happiness.

  And if I’m very lucky, every day of my life will look like that now.

  When I finally arrive at the penthouse, the three-minute elevator ride to the top floor of the Meeker Building seems to take an eternity. I’m so excited, and nervous, that I’m nearly bursting the seams of my simple pink dress. I’d tossed and turned most of the night, imagining what I will say, and how he will respond. It will be my gift to him, my secret. And he will tell me that it doesn’t matter and we will go into our life hand in hand. I can feel it, I’ve always felt it. He is mine and I am his. It’s simply a fact, like the sky is blue and the grass is green. When the doors finally open, I step out, and the guard at the front door lets me in immediately.

  “Miss West,” he says, and I lift my chin.

  Soon, I’ll be Mrs. Schultz, I tell myself. With my own elevator and my own guard.

  Smiling, I step into the foyer, handing my light jacket off to Butler who takes it with a stiff bow.

  “He’s on the terrace.”

  “Thank you,” I say, practically floating through the house to the massive glass doors leading to the rooftop.

  The sound of raised voices pulls me to a stop.

  “…not g
oing to have my son marrying some nigger.”

  Dutch’s voice is high and shrill. A scream that rips through the whole apartment. In that moment it’s like being hit with a ton of bricks, the air is forced from my lungs so quickly and so fully it feels as though my heart’s going to explode from the force. The shock is cold, freezing me in my shoes.

  How did he find out? A man like him, and his only son—heir to his fortune, of course he’d want to know what skeletons hung in my closet. But I’d been so careful, I’d destroyed all the evidence. I was so sure.

  And I’d been planning to tell JD the truth, in my time in my own way. Now it was too late. Instead of my truth being my gift, it had been honed into a sword, a weapon to be used to rend JD from my life.

  “Don’t talk about her like that,” JD’s voice breaks in, just as loud and angry. I suck in a breath. Is he really defending me? Against his own father? The chill begins to thaw and though I still can’t force my feet to move, a warmth spreads in my heart. “It’s not your decision to make anyway.”

  “The hell it’s not. You wanna keep your place in my business? You wanna have a nice place to call home and a nice car to get around in? Everything you have, everything you are, belongs to me.”

  “I love her,” he says, though he sounds unsure. Just like that the flicker of hope that had been growing inside me is doused. Around me the air thickens until it’s stifling. My body throbs with the desire to turn and run, to hide away. Anything to escape this nightmare.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Dutch says, seeming to calm just a little. “You wanna keep her as some action on the side, that’s your business. But that’s as far as it goes, understand? I won’t have some mixed blood tramp in my family. I worked too hard to build a name to have someone like her tarnish it.”

  JD says something in response, but it’s so quiet I can’t make out the words. My heartbeat is pounding in my ears, deafening me.

  Dutch raises his voice again, this time his words are slow and deliberate, “Oh, and if you think I’m going to run the risk of winding up with some nappy-haired little coons as grandchildren, you got another thing coming. She ends up carrying, and you let me know. I got a fella who can take care of that sorta thing.”

  I have to force myself to breathe, though it feels like inhaling fire. My insides burn with it, with a mixed desire to fight and to flee, to scream and to hide. The conflicting urges keep me planted in my tracks, unable to move at all.

  Suddenly, Dutch turns the corner, stepping into the living room and comes face to face with me. He pauses only for a moment, before stomping in my direction. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but no sound escapes. Probably best, since I have no idea what to say in any count. I expect some kind of reaction from him, some threat or even a sharp slap in the face like I’ve seen him deliver to his own children from time to time, or maybe shame at his harsh words, some sign of regret that might give me hope that it’s only surprise, and not hatred that prompted his outburst. But he brushes past me as if I’m invisible.

  Maybe, at least to him, I am now.

  That’s almost worse. It’s as if I’m not even worth his time, just a tissue to be used and tossed away. Disposable. Forgettable.

  I hear the front door slam behind me and it makes me shake uncontrollably. After a moment of deep breaths, I straighten myself, forcing my hands to still as I step, hesitantly, out onto the terrace. JD is holding a cup of coffee in one hand, and stares down at a stack of papers on the table, not looking up at me as I enter.

  Stopping a few feet from the table, I fold my arms across my chest, waiting for him to notice me.

  “How much of that did you hear?” he asks after a moment, still not looking at me.

  Forcing my jaw to unclench I speak. “Enough.”

  Setting his cup down he holds up one of the documents. A photo of my father. “He was married. Did you know?”

  The revelation only ads to my churning emotional stew. So many things raging inside me that I can’t focus on any one thing. Not rage or grief or surprise. They hold me captive, a cage of tangled iron and thorns, inside my own mind.

  “Dutch hired a private dick, which I would have told you if I’d had any reason to think you’d have something to hide. But stupid me, I imagined you to be honest, with me at least. But he found your father, and his wife, who is very much alive. She tells the story of her husband and his negro mistress. The way she tells it, she knew about your mother, but he promised to break it off. Of course, once you came into the picture, she’d had to live with the payments he sent her every month to keep her quiet about the whole thing. She says your mother extorted him for years, threatening to go to the press about the affair if he didn’t pay.” He holds up the pile of papers, “There are records of the payments. Would you like to see? Would you like to see what your conveniently timed birth won your mother?”

  I can only shake my head. That’s not how it happened. Or at least, that’s not what mama ever told me. Maybe she lied about that too. Maybe she never knew about the wife. Maybe she never really loved him and was, as JD seems to be insinuating, a gold digger looking to cash in. Doesn’t really matter now.

  He continues. “It didn’t take long to put the pieces together after that. The woman you claimed was your parent’s old housekkeper and your nanny? She’s your mother, isn’t she?”

  I nod once, not looking him in the eye.

  “Nothing to say for yourself?”

  I lick my lips, drawing every drip of courage I possess to raise my chin, “What do you want to hear?”

  “Damn it, June,” he erupts, pushing his arm across the table and sending the papers, plate, cup, and floral centerpiece clattering to the stone floor. Porcelain chatters, glass breaks, liquids spill. I remain as still as possible. Standing he grabs the edge of the table and lifts, tossing it aside with a great heave, breaking the glass top with an explosion of rage. “Is that all you’re going to say to me?”

  I hold my ground, but remain silent.

  “You lied to me. You lied about your parents, about where you were from, hell you lied about your name.” He growls, his eyes darting around wildly, as if looking for something else to hurl.

  “I never meant to lie to you,” I whisper finally. It’s the truth, pathetic as it is. And it’s all the defense I have to offer. I can say I was about to tell him the truth, but why would he believe that now? Even Masie thinks I was going to continue the lie, I never told her any different. There’s no one who can help me now. It feels like I’m drowning and there’s no one to throw me a rope.

  “Not good enough,” he barks. “When you said you loved me, was that a lie too?”

  “Of course not,” I say, feeling more indignant that I have any right to, given the situation. “I never lied about anything that mattered.”

  He rakes his fingers through his hair, “It all mattered, June.”

  Another long silence while he paces, finally leaning again the short wall bordering the edge of the roof. “I don’t understand how this is even possible,” he says finally, as if he’s talking to every single person in the world—except me.

  “Does it even matter?” I ask finally, carefully stepping through the mess and toward him, coming just short of actually putting my hand on his back. “I’m the same person I was yesterday, the same person I’ve always been.”

  “You lied to me. To me, June. I can forgive you for lying to everyone else in the world, except me. Because I never gave you a reason to.”

  “We aren’t all born to the people we want to be,” I say, scrambling to put into words how I’ve felt my whole life. “I’ve never been one thing or the other. Always something in between. Always wondering where my place was in the world. Then I met you, and for the first time I knew. For the first time, I felt like I belonged. Maybe you can’t understand that, but I would have done anything—anything at all—to stay there. I would have lied to you a million times to keep you from looking at me the way you are now.”

&n
bsp; He turns, scowling. “You think I’d have cared that you’re half black?”

  “Your father sure seems to care,” I bite back.

  “I’m not my father,” he practically screams, the vein in his neck bulging. When he finally calms, he hangs his head, “If you’d have told me, I could have prepared for this.” He motions toward the scattered papers. “I could have defended you, could have taken care of all of this.”

  I bite my tongue. “But now you can’t?”

  He brushes past me, kicking the pile with the tip of his shoe. “No, June. I can’t. Because now you aren’t just negro. You’re a liar. You lied to me and you lied to my father’s face the other night when he asked about your parents. Dutch might learn to forgive the one, but he never forgives the other.”

  “And what about you?” I ask, straightening myself. “Can you forgive me? Or will you just keep me around as a piece of action on the side?”

  I don’t bother hiding the bitterness in my voice. My whole world is crumbling and the only thing I have to cling to is my own battered pride.

  “Is that what you want?” he fires back. “Anything as long as I keep buying you things, keep paying your bills, right? You expect me to be like my father, so maybe I’ll take a page out of his book. Set you up in a nice little apartment, then go marry someone my family approves of, spit out a couple of snow white kids, and come stay with you on the weekends. How does that sound, June? Good enough for a gold-digger like you? Apparently it was good enough for your mother.”

  I can’t help but flinch at his words. Guess mama’s right. Can’t count on anyone in this world, not even the people who say they love you.

  The ring slides off my finger so easily it’s as if it was never even there to begin with. I toss it to him and he catches it on one hand. “That sounds like a truck full of bullshit. And whatever your daddy might think, I’m no gold-digger, baby. I’m the gold.”

  With that I stomp out of the apartment, leaving my gloves, jacket, and what’s left of my pride behind.

  Days pass in darkness. I don’t leave the house, opting instead to keep myself cloistered in my bedroom. Some nights I just cry, others I read the few books I own, others still I draw, torturing myself by sketching the dress I would have worn on my wedding day. Eventually the pain fades into a numb ache, a disconnection. It was a nice dream. A dream I was foolish to even attempt. It was a beautiful dream, though. The kind of dream that leaves you feeling dull and empty when you wake from it.