by Janet Fox
After the war Teddy hadn’t taken me to see shows so much. It was as if he couldn’t laugh or let his hair down or even sit still that long. Instead, we’d go see other, quieter sights in the city, one of which was the Met. There was one particular set of paintings that he liked. It was clear that they meant something to him. If I could figure out what, maybe I’d know enough so I could find the thread that would lead me to him.
Because I believed in Teddy’s promise to me. I believed he’d be back, and would be here any day now.
I struck out up Fifth Avenue. Buses, cabs, and automobiles hurtled along, past the tony brownstones that rose imperiously above the sidewalk. A few horse-drawn wagons stood waiting or sidled into alleys; deliverymen carried baskets of flowers, stacks of boxes, crates of food into service entries. Polished limousines in bright colors—a fern-green Packard, a maroon Daimler—lined the curb, waiting, while doormen in stiff coats surveyed their domains. One matron emerged from her building, her tiny dog on a gem-encrusted leash, her silk dress shimmering, her diamond necklace glittering, her eyes sharp and focused, the door to her limousine held for her by a Negro driver who was outfitted in an immaculate uniform complete with gloves, his eyes tracing the ground. It even smelled rich here: swept, damp sidewalks and the scent of car wax and jardinieres overflowing with petunias glittering with moisture. This was the upperest crust of New York society, and it made my aunt and uncle’s lavish lifestyle look plain.
The day grew ever more sultry. I walked at a slow pace, taking in New York, trying not to work up a sweat. I was close to the intersection at Sixty-fifth, where I’d cross the avenue to the park, when I stopped, midstride and midsidewalk, the other pedestrians streaming around me.
A silky black limo had pulled alongside the curb. The driver was at the wheel, his eyes fixed on the space in front of him. Stepping out the door of the limo, his gray pinstripe immaculate, was Daniel Connor. And he was looking right at me.
He nodded. “Miss Winter,” he said. “I’ve been following you. I was hoping to catch up with you.”
My tongue was a clunky thing, unable to form words.
“May we speak?” He stepped aside, and held the car door open, gesturing.
I found my words now, although my voice shook. “You may speak to me right here. In the open.”
He smiled. “I understand your concern, but for your family’s sake, you should get inside.” He spread his hands. “You have my word I won’t spirit you away.” His smile sharpened.
I had no choice. I slid into the backseat, my palms sweaty, tacky on the leather, as Connor closed the door behind him. As I sat back, facing him, the skin of the scar on my back prickled.
“Your father,” he began, “I think he’s hiding something. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
I shook my head. A bead of sweat formed on my forehead.
“It’s not important. Suffice to say I don’t tolerate secrecy in my employees.”
I couldn’t move.
“Now, under certain conditions, I’m a forgiving man.”
My mouth went dry as a desert as I said, “Conditions?”
“I’ll be blunt. I’m looking for your brother, Miss Winter.” He paused, held out a cigarette case. I shook my head again, eyeing the lighter in his other hand. He put both away. “Do you know anything about Teddy? Where he might be? Because we both know he isn’t really dead, don’t we?”
I tried not to betray my surprise, tried not to show my terror. He waited.
He said, “I think you know where he is.”
“No, I don’t.” This, at least, was the truth.
“But you do know something. It will be better for your family if I can speak with Teddy. Better for everyone. Do you know anything about him?” He paused. “Anything he might have left behind?”
I sat as still as I could.
He leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “I don’t tolerate deception or betrayal. Information about Teddy would make me…hesitate to punish your father.” He leaned back. “Here’s my card. That’s my phone number. I’m always available to you.” He took out a cigarette, tamping it on the case. “But I’m not terribly patient. I will give your father two weeks. That’s two weeks for you to think about my question, Miss Winter.” He reached past me and opened the limo door to let me out. But before I could slip past him, he stopped me, his arm barring my way. “You’re an attractive young woman. Perhaps there’s something I can do for you. To sweeten the deal. I can help you, you know.”
My thighs stuck to the leather. My dress clung to my back, to the skin of my scar. “I don’t think so,” I said.
“No? Not thinking of becoming an actress?” He paused. “Or perhaps a writer? I know lots of people in the publishing business. Someone who could give you a job tomorrow. Here, in the city. A nice high income.”
Sweat streamed down my back. How could he know? I shook my head.
He removed his arm. “You have two weeks.”
I peeled and pulled myself off the seat in an awkward jerk; I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough.
Once out I moved up the avenue at a real clip now, away from the limo, hearing the engine roar to life. I saw from the corner of my eye as it pulled away, and I could exhale at last.
Daniel Connor didn’t think Teddy was dead. But what did he want with him? What did he want enough to threaten Pops? To threaten me?
One thing was clear: the paintings would have to wait. However much it pained me, I had to go back home and read Teddy’s journal.
The day had turned suffocating. I moved into the shade of the trees in Central Park, just to cool off before I turned back to the apartment. Children ran across the grassy lawns, oblivious of the heat; nannies in starched caps and gray uniforms fanned themselves as they sat watching their charges and gossiping. A young couple lay sprawled face-to-face on a blanket, her dress thin as tissue, his bare arm draped over her back, their ankles locked, their faces close as they whispered, in my imagining, sweet endearments. Pigeons strutted, cooed, then flapped as they were disbursed in a melee of flight and feathers by a dog that ran at them, wild-eyed, tongue hanging.
I paused to let my nerves settle. I bought a vanilla ice cream from a vendor and sat on the bench across the path.
That was when I saw I was still being followed, but not by Danny Connor.
This boy had been behind me since I’d left the limo. He stood out—wearing a white shirt with sleeves rolled up, rather than a suit and tie and hat. And now I recognized him.
It was the boy from the Algonquin, the dark-haired boy, my waiter-prince. Seeing him sent ripples through me, making me feel weak-kneed. He stared at me for an instant, then looked away, fixing his gaze on the children running in loops through the park.
He was just as striking as I’d thought when I’d laid eyes on him in the restaurant. He wasn’t good-looking in the usual sense: his nose was a bit too large, his cheeks too flat, his lips too full. But he had a mesmerizing quality that makes you want to watch and watch, see what he does, follow how he moves. He had an animal quality: broad shouldered, heedless, bullish, even a little awkward. And his eyes. Large and round and dark, like wells. Just a teeny bit scary.
And he was following me, which made my heart thump.
I held the ice cream as it melted in the cup and watched him shuffle his feet and pretend to be occupied with something up in the branches of the oaks overhead, all the while avoiding looking at me.
I rose from the bench, tossed the ice cream in the trash, moved up the path with a faster step, and kept walking until I reached Fifth, where I saw a policeman strolling along the avenue, his nightstick swinging from his left hand. Then I stopped on a dime and turned right around, and yes, there he was, my shadow with the animal gait, following about twenty feet behind me.
I covered the distance between us before my footpad could fully react, and his eyes widened even farther and he froze.
I spoke fast. “You’ve been tailing me. Now, don’t try
to deny it. If you do anything, I’ll scream bloody murder, and that policeman will come running. Am I clear?”
He swallowed and nodded, then stepped back and narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. “So what’s the problem? I’m following a pretty girl. Even he”—and here he thumbed toward the policeman—“would see that was no crime.” Those eyes brightened to a sparkle, and a small smile crept onto those full red lips.
Which attracted my attention such that I almost had to pinch myself to keep from staring.
I folded my arms, too, and then imagined that we looked a sight, a matched set of stubborn figures. Though, I’ll admit, those lips and dark eyes made me shiver.
“All right.” He dropped his arms and shrugged. “Fine, then. I was hired to tail you.”
I dropped my arms. “By whom?” Although I could make a pretty fair guess, after what had just happened in the limo.
“That’s for me to know.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s not fair. If you’re going to follow someone and you’re caught, you have to come clean.”
“Have to?” He smiled again, which, considering how nice he looked when he smiled, was really and truly not fair. Cheating, in fact. Then he shrugged. “I can’t tell you who. I can only say that I was asked by an acquaintance. ‘Follow her,’ he says. ‘I’ll give you ten dollars a day to find out where she goes and who she sees.’”
I snorted, choking back a laugh. “You’re not much of a detective, even if you are commanding such a high fee.”
His eyes turned darker. “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever read any Sherlock Holmes? First of all, I caught you. You were so obvious. And second, you’ve now told me you know the guy. And that it is a guy. And finally, you’ve lost the edge of surprise. Now, whenever I see you, I’ll know to keep my private business private.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll get paid whether you do something or not. I’ll get paid just because I followed you.” He pulled a watch from his pocket. “Or until I have to get to my next job. Which gives me three more hours of following you.”
I bubbled with laughter now. It felt good to laugh, and I let out the tension that had been haunting me for the past twenty-four hours.
“What?”
“You’ve given me your entire itinerary. I’ll work around it. There’s not much you’ll learn from me.” I didn’t dare add that I even knew he worked in the Algonquin; those dark eyes told me he was already humiliated enough.
“Like I said. I only have to watch you. Which isn’t hardly a chore.” His face cleared, and he smiled. “In fact, I should be paying him.” He surely was a pleasure to gaze on, and that smooth line made my heart thump.
This was a new experience. I was the shy student in White Plains, always in the background, not wanting to be taken for a silly girl. Some combination of my new clothes and hairstyle, my exiled state on the island of Manhattan, the deep, leafy green of Central Park, the hovering threats, and this boy’s deep, dangerous eyes made me brave.
I stuck out my hand, grateful for the change in my mood. “My name’s Jo. But you already knew that, I expect.”
He reached out and shook my hand with a firm grip. “Charlie. Charlie O’Keefe.”
O’Keefe. Why did that ring a bell? I shook my head. “Well, Charlie O’Keefe, you can run along.” I hesitated before I lied, “I’m just out for a walk. I was about to turn back for home, anyway. Not much to see here.”
“I’ll walk you back that way. I’ve nothing else to do before the afternoon.”
Which made my heart fairly race, and I was not at all unhappy. “You’re hopeless. Suit yourself.” We began to walk, staying on Fifth, just in the shade of the trees. He had a loping, wolflike gait. “Three hours until your next job? Not another bit of detective work, I trust.”
“I wait tables.” His cheeks grew rosy. “But what I love is music.”
I knew he waited tables, but…“Music?”
“That’s what I do mostly. I play jazz. At night, at different places, wherever they want me.”
I figured he was talking about speakeasies.
His manner was open, his talk rambling. “Just a little while ago I worked at this joint called the County Fair.”
“Excuse me? The County Fair?” I began to laugh all over again, thinking that this Charlie had the ability to make me laugh, something I hadn’t done in a while.
“It’s a club. A theme club. It ain’t enough, you know, to serve liquor. Everybody who’s anybody can do that. The latest thing is to have a club with a theme, and this one’s a county fairgrounds, complete with a white picket fence and kiddie cars and even a kissing booth, which, let me tell you, the flappers fight over the chance to be part of. Folks come from all over to dance the night away at a place that makes them feel almost like they never left their hometown.” He gave a large grin. “Doesn’t that beat all?”
I had to stop walking while I laughed, holding one hand over my stomach. To be frank, I had a hard time keeping my eyes on the sidewalk. Those full lips and dark eyes of Charlie’s drew me like a magnet. And his transparency: he was not a secret keeper. That’s what I liked best.
Teddy would like this guy. I think he’d like anyone who made me laugh, but there was something about this one.
When I stopped laughing, I felt suddenly shy. I searched for conversation. “Do you live in the city?”
“I’ve got a small place downtown. It’s not much, but the neighbors don’t mind hearing me practice, long as I quit before ten P.M.”
“What do you play?”
“The cornet.” When I looked puzzled, he said, “It’s kind of like a trumpet.”
“And you wait tables at the Algonquin?”
His face grew dark again, and he stopped walking. “How’d you know that?”
“Mmm,” I bit my lip. Admitting I saw him there would be admitting I’d watched him. “Didn’t you say…?”
He rubbed his chin. “I don’t think I did.”
I could see that I’d embarrassed him. Would he hate me for showing him up, for my own sleuthing skills, which were far better than his? I sought to change tacks again, and I put my hand on his arm. “Do you know the Round Table?”
He eyed me for another minute before he shrugged. “Sure, I do. Everyone does.”
“What I wouldn’t give…” I started, and then stopped. My hand lay on his arm, and every nerve in my fingers vibrated. His skin was warm, and his forearm sinewy and strong. My cheeks grew hot as I lifted my fingers away.
The birds had stopped calling, and the trees hung overhead, still and drooping. Somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled.
“Hey,” he said, and his dark eyes went soft. “If you ever want to come by, I’ll point them out. Those famous folks.”
The air was full and heavy and moist. Thunder rumbled again, closer. I could smell the rain. And then we both heard it coming.
I looked at the sky, dull gray now. “I think we’d better find some shelter, or we’re in for a drenching.”
Charlie lifted his face and looked around. “How about there?”
It was a coffee shop across the avenue. Just as we started to move, fat raindrops fell in slow warning. Charlie grabbed my hand, and we ran across the avenue, making it through the honking autos and buses, through the door, and into the shop just as the rain came down in sheets.
We laughed, shaking off nerves at the near miss of both traffic and rain, and as he released my hand I realized that I liked it, the way that his warm hand had enveloped mine as he’d pulled me through the danger. I smiled at him and he grinned at me, and my heart fluttered.
“Cup of coffee?” he asked.
I nodded, and we found a pair of stools at the counter; Charlie ordered two cups of coffee and two pieces of apple pie, warm, à la mode.
We ate our pie and sipped our coffee in silence while the rain battered the window, then slowed, then stopped altogether, as the storm passed and the clouds split to allow a
brilliant stream of sun that mirrored off the wet sidewalks and cars. I stole sidelong glances at Charlie, at that profile that looked like he’d stolen it from a Celtic warlord. Passersby lowered their umbrellas, shaking off the rain.
“I need to get home,” I said.
“Sure thing. The coffee and pie are on me. You know, for tailing you.” I started to protest, but he stopped me. “I’ll still get my ten bucks. Plus expenses.” He grinned, raising his cup of coffee in salute before bringing it to his lips.
Oh, those lips. I looked away, staring into the depths of my own cup.
The air was cool and fresh now, and we walked the blocks downtown in silence. When we reached the corner of Park and Fifty-sixth, Charlie stopped. “I think I’d better leave you here. No sense letting your doorman see me when I’m supposed to be invisible. Even if you are twice the detective I’ll ever be.” He gave me another of his grins; I couldn’t help grinning right back.
I reached out to shake his hand. “Nice meeting you, Charlie. Thanks for the coffee.” As we shook hands, my fingers tingled.
He turned away, then turned back. “Hey. I’ll be downtown at a joint for two weeks. Why don’t you come on down? It’s in the lower west. You can hear me play.”
“To a speakeasy? Me? Good grief, no!”
“Well, if you should change your mind.” He took a pencil and a slip of paper from his pocket, moistened the tip of the pencil with his tongue, wrote something, and handed it to me. “That’s the address.”
It was a street number; I tucked it into my purse. “I’ll think about it.”
“Okay, then.” He gave me a two-fingered salute and moved off. I watched him weave into the crowd of pedestrians, hands jammed in his pockets.
And then, as I watched him, there was someone else in the crowd, someone else watching me—blond hair, eyes flashing blue watching me, watching Charlie—watching…
I raised my hand. “Teddy?” My voice came out in a croak, and my heart raced. But even if Teddy could have heard me, he was already gone, disappearing into the wave of pedestrians who jostled and pushed along the sidewalk. I stood there for the longest time, hoping to catch sight of Teddy again, but he’d vanished into thin air.