The Golden Sparrow

by Samantha Latshaw

  I laughed at that as I thought of my own hands fumbling over the keys earlier that day.

  “I still have troubles sometimes,” I confessed, “and I’ve got a concert coming up.”

  “Really?” Frankie asked. “Where? When?”

  “Carnegie Hall,” I replied, feeling suddenly extremely shy. I unconsciously angled my body towards his and saw him do the same. “And it’s this autumn.”

  “You must be good if you’ve got your own concert there,” Frankie said, looking thoroughly impressed.

  “So they tell me,” I said with a small smile as I spotted Mimi coming back.

  “Well, I can’t play, so you’re already better than me,” he said with a nervous laugh. “All I can do is sing.”

  Mimi sat down just then and chose that moment to say, “Oh, Hazel sings, too.”

  I turned my head slowly to fix her with a burning glare, but she ignored me.

  “She won’t sing in front of anyone,” Mimi went on as I wasn’t there and I clenched my hand in my lap so as not to give in to the urge to slap her. “I think I’ve only heard her a few times, but my goodness, she sounds wonderful. But she likes her piano too much to do much else.”

  Frankie smiled encouragingly at me. “It takes a lot to sing in front of a crowd. It’s terrifying.”

  “No doubt,” Mimi said as I slowly unclenched my hand.

  His smile seemed to awaken something unfamiliar in me and I leaned slightly closer to him as his brother’s returned.

  Liam was holding three drinks while Connor was somehow carrying five. It was an odd number, as there were only five of us, but I saw Liam with two sidecars, so I knew that was meant for me and Mimi. The others, I assumed, were supposed to be two drinks for each brother.

  But just as Connor made to set the drinks down, one toppled over and spilled all over the table and, somehow, all over me.

  I let out a cry of shock and anger as the reeking alcohol soaked into the dress and I leapt to my feet.

  “I’m sorry!” Connor cried as he carefully set the rest of the drinks down.

  I wasn’t entirely sure I believed him, but as Mimi was fussing over the state of her borrowed dress and worrying about whether or not she would be able to get the stain out it, I barely paid him any mind.

  Liam disappeared and returned a moment later, a towel in hand, and handed it over to Mimi, who attempted to mop me up.

  Connor was snickering as he gulped his drink while Frankie looked concerned. Liam, I noticed, was looking at his brother in exasperation, which confirmed my suspicions that it had been done on purpose.

  When Mimi deemed me acceptable, I sat back down, nose scrunched against the smell and hating the way my skin was now sticky from the drink, and picked up my own sidecar.

  “Are you going to be back at the Golden Sparrow soon?” Mimi asked them as she sipped daintily on her own cocktail.

  “Mr. Basso hasn’t asked us yet,” Liam replied and Frankie chose that moment to drink deeply.

  “I’ll talk to him,” she assured them and something clicked into place at her words.

  Mr. Basso must be the owner, I thought as Mimi and Liam discussed musicians. Connor was eyeing some young woman in a gorgeous gold dress and Frankie was staring into his drink, as if deep words of wisdom would spout out of it.

  I couldn’t think of anyone else it could be, since Mimi felt comfortable enough to ask favors of this gentleman. And if she had been so distraught over something, something that was obviously so terrible that she wouldn’t even tell me what it was, then that told me Mr. Basso and the owner of the Golden Sparrow were one in the same. And Mimi had told me that he was more than just a regular bootlegger, hinting to me that he was dangerous—extremely dangerous. So my question was: why was Mimi with him at all? What could she possibly gain by being with a man like that?

  I doubted very much that it was for money. While not destitute, Mimi didn’t need money. Perhaps it was the attention he gave her or, maybe, it was the danger of it all that made him so appealing to her.

  Whatever it was, I hoped I could bring her to reason and leave him—and the clubs—behind her.

  Cutting through my musings, Connor asked Mimi if we wanted another round of drinks and before I could decline, Mimi accepted and he was soon returning with another sidecar for each of us.

  By the time I had consumed my fourth sidecar, my thoughts were becoming incoherent and my lips a little too loose. I needed to go home.

  Exhaustion set in soon after and I told Mimi we needed to leave.

  She looked mildly annoyed and the brothers’—Frankie especially—looked put out. He even walked us to the door while Connor and Liam hung back.

  “I hope to see you soon,” Frankie said, more to me than Mimi.

  I couldn’t answer. It seemed as though my tongue was heavy as lead, so Mimi said, “We will. Hazel’s gonna need another night off from her practicing for that concert. We’ll be sure to look you out when we get there.”

  Frankie grinned at me and I smiled lopsidedly at him before Mimi helped steer me out of the club and onto the street beyond.

  She flagged us a taxi and, when we were both settled in and moving through the streets, I sagged in my seat and rested my head against her shoulder.

  The alcohol was making my head swim and my thoughts tumble out of my mouth and so, without thinking about what I was saying, I heard myself say, “I like pretending to be a flapper. It’s a lot more fun than I thought it would be.”

  Mimi patted me gently on the head, laughing quietly as my eyes drifted closed.

  “Can we go out all the time?” I asked her, my speech more slurred than ever.

  “You have the concert,” she reminded me patiently. “We can’t go out all the time. You’ve got to practice sometimes.”

  “I picked a hard song,” I said grumpily. “It’s too hard. I can’t do it. I know I can’t do it. I don’t even think I want to do the concert anymore. What’s the point of being a concert pianist if you don’t love what you do? There’s no point at all.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Mimi said, sounding more than a little surprised.

  I opened my eyes blearily and tried to focus on the back of the seat in front of me. “But I do. I think I’m done. Truly, I do.”

  “Oh, but you can’t give up,” Mimi cried. “Golly, Hazel, you love it too much. Prodigies don’t just quit because it gets too hard.”

  I sat up suddenly, taking Mimi by complete surprise.

  Holding up a finger at her, my speech more than slurred than ever, I sternly said, “I am not a prodigy.”

  She smiled, biting her lower lip to keep her laughter contained. “Perhaps not.” I leaned back into her. “But you are drunk.”

  My heart seemed to stop working for a second at the sight of her trying not to laugh at me and I thought it was odd that she would invoke feelings like that in me.

  “That I am,” I said after a moment as I struggled to understand my emotions.

  My eyes drifted closed and the next thing I knew, Mimi was helping me inside and up to my room where she gently pushed me into my bed and pulled me into a sitting position where she took off my shoes before helping me out of the alcohol-stained dress.

  I giggled loudly as she tugged the dress over my head and she had to clamp a hand over my mouth to deaden the noise.

  “You aren’t allowed to drink more than three sidecars,” she said firmly as she helped me under the covers. “No more than that, do you hear?”

  Grinning stupidly, I said, “Only if you promise me we can go out once a week.”

  She rolled her eyes at me as she slipped the headband off and tucked it safely into her coat pocket.

  “Fine,” she finally conceded. “Once a week, we’ll go out. Satisfied?”

  I nodded and Mimi pulled the covers up to my chin.

  “Try to sleep,” she said, but I was already halfway there.

  I thought she had left, but then I felt her lips brush my temple and the ghost
of a smile flitted across my face before sleep took me.

  I sat glowering at the piano keys that glinted brightly under the afternoon sunlight for what felt like hours. A twitch was starting on my right eye and my jaw was clenched so tight from frustration that it was beginning to hurt. I still couldn’t master the third movement no matter how I tried and every time a finger slipped and hit the wrong key, I screamed with irritation.

  I couldn’t do it and I knew it. I was starting to lose faith in my abilities and in myself. But I wouldn’t give up just yet, either. It was finally the moment I had been waiting for since I was little and I didn’t want to mess it up.

  While I still had plenty of time to learn the sonata, the sheer pressure of the fact that I would be performing it in front of thousands of people, my peers, people I sat next to at dinner parties and danced with at balls, gossiped with at garden parties and charity events, was daunting and had me working harder than ever. I could not fail in front of them.

  It was well after dark when Mama finally set her book aside and got to her feet, telling me that it was time to call it a night and go to bed.

  “But Mama—!” I exclaimed as she stepped over to me.

  She reached around me and closed the lid over the keys. I had to move my hands out of the way before she shut it on them.

  “Bed,” she said firmly, “now.”

  Grumbling, I got to my feet but as I walked past her, I kissed her swiftly on the cheek.

  “Goodnight, Mama,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. Did she know that it would take every minute I could spare to learn the sonata?

  “Goodnight, Hazel,” she said with a chuckle.

  The next morning, however, just as I had sat down to the piano, a knock sounded on the door and I was surprised to see Danielle lead Florence into the room. She had an apologetic expression on her face and I immediately resolved to not be moved by whatever it was she had come to say.

  Feeling the bitterness of our last meeting return to the surface, I fixed her with an icy stare as I got to my feet to greet her.

  “Yes?” I asked, my tone frigid. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Danielle slip discreetly from the room.

  “Can we talk?” Florence asked, looking timid yet determined.

  “About what?” I glanced over my shoulder to my piano, impatience making my tone snappier than usual. “You know, I have to practice. I don’t have time for your judgments about my current path in life.”

  It didn’t matter that I had no desire to play. I simply did not want to talk to Florence.

  Florence turned a delicate shade of pink and stood taller, which was a feat as she wasn’t very tall to begin with.

  “I wanted to apologize for how I spoke to you last time,” she said, very formally. “It was wrong of me and very rude.”

  “I accept your apology,” I replied, my tone still cold. I began ushering her back out to the front door. “Now, if that’s all, you can see yourself out. I really do have to get back to work—”

  “No, wait!”

  I had begun to turn away when Florence reached out, grabbing my arm in a vicelike grip and holding me in place.

  “I wanted to ask you if you would come to dinner next Friday,” she said in a rush. “Jacob’s coming and I wanted you to properly meet him.”

  I didn’t have the slightest inclination meet Jacob at any dinner party. I would rather have gouged my eyes out than sit next to her fiancé.

  “I’ll think about,” I said before ripping my arm free and walking back into the parlor, leaving Florence standing alone by the door.

  I heard Danielle’s gentle voice biding her farewell and then the front door opened and closed moments before Danielle entered the parlor.

  “What did she want?” she wondered, stepping into the room with a freshly polished silver candelabrum in her hands.

  “She’s invited me to dinner,” I replied stiffly before sitting back down at my piano. But I had no desire to play whatsoever. I couldn’t even force myself to put my fingers to the keys and try.

  Danielle set the candelabra aside and stepped closer to me.

  “I take you two’ve had a row?” she asked as she rearranged a vase of flowers that sat on a small, round table between the piano and door.

  “Yes.” I heaved a great sigh and looked up at her. “Why is my playing music such a difficult thing for people to understand and accept? I can get married any time I want, but it’s the opportunity of a lifetime, Danielle.” I dropped my eyes to the shiny keys. “She doesn’t seem to understand that. No one does.”

  Danielle put a gentle hand on my shoulder and I looked back up at her.

  “Some people just want simple lives, ye ken?” she said slowly. “They want a husband, bairns, a house of their own. But there are some folk, like yerself, who want something different, something more. Do ye think Van Gogh thought painting would support him? Do ye think Jane Austen had her family’s approval to write novels?” Danielle moved closer and took my face in her hands. “Ye’ve a passion that none but ye have. Keep it. Use it. And don’t let it go, you hear?”

  I nodded and she released me.

  To the surprise of us both, I had tears in my eyes, which I brushed away quickly before turning uselessly back to the piano.

  “I just wish Mama and Florence would leave me alone about marriage,” I said quietly. “I’m not even eighteen yet, for goodness’s sake! Can’t I at least turn eighteen before they start pressing me?”

  “You will be in a few weeks,” Danielle reminded me and I laughed a little.

  “All the same.” I sighed again. “I just want to see if this is the right path for me. And if, by the time the concert comes around, I still haven’t mastered this ridiculous song, then I’ll stop.” I looked up at her, hoping, perhaps, for some more words of encouragement and wisdom, but when none were forthcoming, I went on. “I’ll start to act like a proper young lady and I’ll start to really think about my future beyond music.”

  Danielle’s lips quirked with humor. “That sounds like a grand idea, Miss Hazel.”

  But the longer I sat there, staring blankly at the keys, the less I was sure I even wanted to perform in Carnegie Hall at all. What was the point when everyone I knew did not support me? Why should I bother when the only reason anyone would attend was to see me fail? And I would fail, I thought miserably. I had chosen the hardest piece for me, hoping that I would perform the piece with ease and learn it with very little practice. It was an extremely stupid thing for me to do.

  My shoulders slumped forward in defeat and I kept my hands resting uselessly in my lap as I stared at the instrument.

  “But not today,” I said resignedly after a long while.

  When there was no response, I looked around to find the room completely empty. One of the window’s had been cracked to let in a cool breeze and it was making the sheer curtains flutter slightly.

  “Tomorrow,” I told myself as I got to my feet and closed the lid on the keys. “Tomorrow, I’ll go back to learning the sonata. But today...” I trailed off as I looked towards the open window, my hand lifting almost absentmindedly to my pinned hair. Today, I’m going to be different.

  Without giving myself much time to think about what I wanted to do, I rushed to the front door, donned my coat and hat then grabbed my handbag and darted outside and onto the bright street beyond.

  The sun was so warm and inviting that I almost didn’t need my coat. But then a crisp breeze curled around me and I was reminded that it was still the early days of spring.

  At first, I didn’t have an exact shop in mind. But when I spotted the new dresses on display ing Nancy’s, a small shop that sold the latest fashions at decent prices, I ducked inside and purchased three: one of emerald and gold, one a sheer, pale pink, and another of black, which the sales woman assured me was a must have.

  My next stop was Tiffany’s, but I wasn’t too keen on any jewelry, so I ended up buying a simple pair of diamond and garnet drop ea
rrings before stepping into Macy’s where I bought my own set of makeup.

  Finally, my last stop was the barbers.

  I had been warring with myself all day as I browsed the shops. And every time I was certain I had talked myself out of it, I would run my fingers over my hair and remember how I had told Mimi how much I enjoyed pretending to be a flapper.

  The only thing was, I didn’t want to pretend to be a flapper. I wanted to be one. Or, well, as much of one as I could be without all the scandal that followed them. I loved the fashions and admired their bravery at cutting their hair and wearing makeup in public.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed the barber’s door open and stepped inside.

  There were only two men inside, one in the chair and the other with a pair of scissors in his hand.

  “Yes?” the barber asked, his thick orange mustache bristling as he looked me over. “Can I help you?”

  “Uh, I’d like a haircut,” I said then cleared my throat. “Please.”

  He eyed me closely before shrugging me off.

  “Take a seat,” he said as he returned to his work. “I’ll be with you soon.”

  There was a row of vacant chairs in front of the wide window that overlooked the busy street outside and I sat down, setting my purchases in an empty seat beside me. My hands were clenched around my handbag and my stomach was twisting painfully with nerves. Cutting my hair was a big deal, one that would doubtless have consequences. But I wanted to do it. I wanted to be a woman of today. It was my hair, after all. If I didn’t like it, I would simply grow it back out.

  The barber finally finished and then beckoned me forward as the man who had gotten his hair cut before me eyed me suspiciously on his way out of the shop.

  “So,” the barber said as I settled down in the chair, “you’re after that bob every lady’s been after these days.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied tersely.

  The barber sized me up then asked, “How short?”

  My fingers ran softly over the curls Danielle had painstakingly done that morning and I almost lamented her work.

  “Long enough that I’ll still be able to curl it,” I said, “but still short enough that you can tell I’ve gotten it cut.”