“I’m sorry, Mae. I forgot,” Esta says, tears in her eyes.
“That’s okay. It had to be done,” Mae says.
“What had to be done? What have I missed?” Edith asks.
“Al had this thing about his girlfriends being blond. It was almost a requirement. I just got fed up suffering silently so, at Christmas, I dyed my hair platinum. He had to sit through the whole family dinner with his mother and the aunts. It just about killed him, everybody knowing why I did it.”
“That took some moxie, Mae. Good for you,” Edith says.
“Like I said. It had to be done. Didn’t fix anything, of course.”
Anna, Esta, and Edith all nod. They’ve walked in those high heels before.
“A redhead it is. I’m going to call my hairdresser and book an appointment. Who wants to go shopping?”
Edith settles back in her chair, eyes closed, drama over. A casino might be fun. Or maybe a night club like the Cadix? Could I get them lined up out the door like Meyer and Mickey did? I have the dough. I know about paying off the cops and other bribes. How different can it be to smuggle booze on water instead of land? And every day could feel like that first day on the terrace of the hotel. Her pulse quickens at the thought of it.
“I do. Let me know when you get in,” Anna says. “Do you want to come, Edith?”
Edith opens one eye. “What was that?”
“We could go shopping while Esta gets her hair done. You said you didn’t bring any glad rags to wear to Tobacco Road. The fellas will be down this weekend which makes it a great time to go out on the town.”
“Sure, count me in.” That’s not a bad idea. A club like this Tobacco Road place. But could I do it on my own? Without Mickey?
“I want to make sure my hair is done before Bugsy gets here,” Esta says. She fishes out the wad of gum, wrapping it in a tissue, and walks quickly toward the house and telephone.
“I hear that Duke Ellington is back in town and playing there,” Mae says.
“How’s he going to get his band on Tobacco Road’s tiny stage?” Anna asks.
“I think he’s just playing with a small combo. And there’s a singer.”
Esta opens the back door and calls out: “Tuesday at two.”
“Tuesday it is, then. Shopping. And maybe we can go for lunch somewhere swanky.” Parroting Esta earns another huff from Anna, which makes Edith smile.
She closes her eyes. Definitely a club. A bit of risky business. “Go with your strengths.” With what you know.
“What was that, Edith?” Mae asks.
“Nothing. Talking to myself. You know, I think I might go for a dip,” Edith says, getting up and putting her towel on the end of her lounge chair.
“Ugh. And get your suit wet?” Esta shudders in horror as she settles back down beside Mae, snatching the magazine from Anna. Scrounging in her beach tote, she pops open another packet of gum.
“You know me, Esta. I like to dive into the deep end.”
Mae laughs.
Grinning at Mae, Edith snaps on her bathing cap and walks onto the diving board. She bounces a few times and plunges.
The sharp slice of cold water on her hot skin is shocking and refreshing. The bubbling around her ears more substantial than the poolside chatter. Edith surfaces and takes a stroke, then two. A memory of another time, this same pool. Mickey teaching her to swim. His hands on her slippery skin. Edith dives to the bottom, crouches, and pushes off. She thrusts herself out of the water, hearing Anna and Esta’s squeals as they get splashed, before she sinks back into watery silence. Eventually, she swims to the side and lifts herself out. The hot air and sun warms her chill skin.
“A regular porpoise, doll. Feel better?” Mae asks while Edith towels off.
“Much. I needed to clear my head.”
“While you were swimming, the girls and I finalized the plans.” Mae ticks off the activities, balancing everyone’s preferences. “Shopping, Tobacco Road, Cap’s Place, and the rest of the time by the pool. Maybe a party or two here, if you’re up to it. No pressure. How does that sound?”
“If we go to Tobacco Road, make sure that Reggie Crompton is there. He’s dishy,” Esta says, wetting her lips.
“And who’s looking?” Anna asks. “Bugsy wouldn’t be too happy to have you making eyes at another fella. Or maybe you’re playing matchmaker for Edith. What do you think, Edith? Time to get back in the game?”
Mae scowls at Anna.
“What?” Anna says, eyebrows raised in mock protest. “With all that money Mickey supposedly squirreled away, you don’t have to be lonely long, Edith. If you know what I mean.”
“It’s a bit too soon, Anna. It hasn’t even been six months,” Mae says.
“How about another pitcher of martinis?” Edith drops her damp towel and picks up the half-full pitcher. Walking stiffly, she heads to the house.
“Sometimes Anna…” is all that Edith hears as the kitchen door slams behind her.
Six months? Try four. Only four months ago a gunshot shattered my life into a million pieces. Coulda been forever ago. Coulda been yesterday. Time is one fickle dame.
Chapter 4
H ot, heavy air lies like a rug, smothering everything in dampness. A fetid, rotting odor rises from the swamp, choking and omnipresent. The lush green of the Everglades squeezes against the edge of a campsite’s clearing. Birds and bugs compete to be the loudest chorus, challenged by droning frogs.
Amidst this cacophony, a woman wearing a brilliantly colored blouse, and a long, flared, horizontal-striped skirt moves slowly against the heat. Her luxuriant black hair is piled high atop her head like a crown; many strands of beads, roped around her neck, are her chains of office, lending her an air of royalty.
Her kingdom is a rough campsite with a couple of tents, a fire pit, washing on a line strung between two trees, and a raised, wooden, open-air structure—four sturdy posts topped with a palm-thatched roof that Seminoles called a chickee. She moves silently across the floor, well above the dampness and creeping, slithering creatures.
After all these years, she no longer sees the beauty or smells the rot. Ten years ago, Cassandra had lifted newborn baby Leroy—only hours old—from her sister’s cold, dead arms, wrapped him in a blanket, and come into this green vastness; running, hiding, staying safe. Her people, the Miccosukee Seminole, were good at disappearing.
The Everglades are home and here they stay. Time has been an ally, allowing hot emotions to cool enough to touch. For the past few years she has risked occasional and fast in-and-out trips to Coconut Grove where there are tarot cards to read, payments to be received, and staples to buy. It’s the only income she and Leroy have. Even out in the ‘Glades a gal has expenses.
And baby Leroy’s no longer a baby. At ten, he’s getting restless. It’s an annoyance that will eventually demand to be heard. And what does she do then?
Sitting at a rough pine table, an empty chair across from her, Cassie lays out a cross-spread of tarot cards and studies them. “Let’s see… what have the good people of Coconut Grove been up to? It’s always the same: does he love me? Will he love me again? Bah. The same old laments. I want action and adventure, intrigue, something interesting, a bit of scandal. Stuck way out here in the back of beyond; give me something interesting to chew on for goodness sakes.”
“You talking to me, Cassie?” a small, barefooted boy calls from across the campsite. He’s leaning on a hatchet that rests on a pile of wood.
“Just the cards, Leroy. Just talking to the cards. Keep chopping.”
She picks up the spread, shuffles, and fans them face down in front of her. Closing her eyes, she concentrates, then withdraws one card. Examining the images, she snorts in disgust and draws another.
Cassie has read cards forever. Her mother and a great aunt were truth tellers, famous for seeing into the future. Now she reads for surveillance and security, or at least that’s what she tells Leroy. If she’s being honest, it’s because of boredom and nosiness.
“For crying out loud. I’m supposedly a ‘powerful psychic able to pull aside the veil of time to see the future’ and all you give me is cotton candy?”
She picks the tarot cards up and shuffles. Holding them close to her heart, she leans back, and focuses her inner eye.
“Let’s get serious. What are you up to today, Mr. Preacher-Man? Plague, pestilence, impotence? I should be so lucky, ha.”
She places three cards in a row, open doorways to the past, present and future, then frowns. “Hmm. This is no Preacher-Man. We have a trespasser here. What are you doing in this beast’s cards? This is no place for you.”
For a third time, she gathers up the cards, holding them close to her heart. Eyes closed. Focused. Intent. “Who are you and why are you here?” She fans them on the table, face down. She sings a childhood rhyme quietly under her breath, “Come out, come out, whoever you are…”
Cassie’s hand hovers, slowly following the curve of the cards. Responding to a magnetic pull, she withdraws one. Turning it over, its face is a skeleton riding a horse; the bony human holds a black flag emblazoned with the image of five ears of corn. Surrounding the rider are dead and dying people from all classes, including kings, bishops, and commoners. It is Death.
“Hmmm, not what I was expecting. A bit of a dramatic entrance, don’t you think? Definitely not fluff, that’s for sure. All right, I’ll play along.” She breathes deeply and then addresses the empty chair in front of her. “Death shows a time of significant transformation, change, and transition. Whoever you are, you’ll need to transform yourself and clear away the old to bring in the new, ah-ma-chamee.” In her concentration, she’s used the Miccosukee Seminole word for friend.
Frowning, Cassie leans forward, ready to impart significant news to her empty chair. She’s good at the patter and likes to keep in practice, imagining a customer on the other side. Someday, when it’s safe to come out, she may have the chance to go back to it full-time, with regular customers.
“Death teaches you to let go of outworn and outgrown ways of life and to move forward from them. This is a perfect card to break bad habits or patterns of behavior. A bit of a drinker, are you? Or maybe it’s the ponies? Can’t say no to a sure thing? Or is that too melodramatic? Maybe I should start slower with ‘you’re just stuck in a rut’.”
She chuckles. “Now that I can identify with. Same ol’, same ol’.” She shakes the card. “But don’t worry. All is not lost. The corn on Death’s banner symbolizes the harvest; what is worth having will be saved.”
Cassie tilts her head to one side, puzzled. Putting the Death card down, she taps it as if to get its attention. “But who ARE you?”
She closes her eyes to see more clearly. When she opens them, she chooses another card from the fan and finds herself staring at the smug thief who is making off with seven swords while the encampment beyond is unguarded.
“This Seven of Swords is interesting. At first glance, there is betrayal and deception.” She lowers her head to study it more closely and mutters under her breath. “Someone sneaking around on you, ah-ma-chamee?”
Raising her head, she puts on a wise but thoughtful face as she begins her patter again. “But it can also suggest that you may need to put yourself first to get what you want, even if it means letting others down or putting others off-side. Interesting, indeed.” She holds the card close and then looks askance at the empty chair.
“Curious. Hmmm. Here’s a question for you: if the Seven is warning of betrayal, are you the betrayer or the betrayed?”
Cassie leans back and stretches her arms wide, giving a deep, satisfied sigh. “Finally, a compelling reading. And about time, too. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, ah-ma-chamee.”
Leroy runs up the steps of the chickee. “Cassie, the ‘gators got another chicken,” he says, bent double and gasping for breath.
“That damn ‘gator, he’s got a bigger appetite than you do, Leroy. Hold on, hold on, I’m coming.” Cassie gathers the cards and wraps them in a piece of blue silk. As she attempts to stand, she is drawn back into the chair. “Just a minute, Koone. Apparently, I’m not done yet.”
Hastily, Cassie unwraps the cards again and shuffles them, fanning them out in front of her. “What’s so urgent, eh? I got chickens to tend to.”
Curious, Leroy comes over and stands close beside her, also intent on the cards.
She draws the Five of Cups. The image on the card is a figure shrouded in black, in mourning, contemplating three overturned cups. He seems powerless in his loss. Behind him, standing upright, are two more cups, full and awaiting his grasp if he would but turn around.
“Ah, I understand why you need to be seen. Now those other cards make sense. A situation hasn’t turned out the way you expected, has it, ah-ma-chamee? It’s making you sad, regretful, and disappointed. Tell me what you see, Koone.”
“Don’t call me Koone, okay? I’m no skunk.”
Cassie sniffs and chuckles. Boys this age sure smell bad.
Leroy leans forward, his brow furrowed. He has to work harder at this than Cassie. “Someone stuck in the past, maybe?”
Cassie nods. “Old wounds, bitter memories.”
“I think he blames himself,” Leroy says.
“He? Almost. Reach further, Koone. I don’t see a man here, I see a selfish woman with a guilty conscious, my favorite kind. Instead of moving on with her life, she’s tied by… by what, Koone? What do you see? Try hard.”
“She’s sad?”
“Yes, and what else? Why would she want to stay sad?”
“She likes to feel sad? That’s pretty weird.”
“Sometimes, adults stay sad ‘cause they feel guilty. Feeling bad is a way to feel good.”
Leroy shakes his head. “That’s crazy, Aunt Cassie.”
“Here’s what I see. All she can focus on right now is what went wrong and how she failed.” Cassie picks up the Five of Cups card. “I don’t mean to be harsh, ah-ma-chamee, but for goodness’ sake, it’s time to get over it.”
“How do you know it’s a woman, Cassie?” Leroy asks her, eyes wide.
She taps her forehead and winks. “I just know. And here’s the most important part, Leroy,” she says, patting Leroy’s cheek. “Always tell them that forgiveness is vital with the Five of Cups; forgiveness of themselves and others. Don’t forget to say that. It makes them feel better and they might give you a bigger tip.”
“Whose cards are you reading anyway, Cassie? For sure they’re not old lady Saunders.”
Cassie shrugs. “I don’t know who they belong to, yet. They showed up in someone else’s reading.”
“Huh? That’s pretty strange. Maybe someone new coming to town?”
“It’s a possibility. Has a trespasser ever showed up in your readings, Koone?”
“Nope. Nothin like that. Maybe you didn’t think on it hard enough.”
Cassie frowns, then cuffs him gently on the back of the head. “Watch your mouth, Leroy. Show some respect. Now, let’s go see about those chickens.”
Chapter 5
A h, the Florida beach, where happiness comes in waves. A place of sandy toes and sun-kissed noses, kites flying against the wind. The sound of waves drowned out by noisy children building castles in the sand. Picture postcard perfect as far as Edith’s concerned.
“Well, isn’t this a treat. Thanks for inviting us, Edith. I haven’t been to a public beach in years. I mean, once you have a pool, why bother?” Anna says, dropping her beach bag beside an empty lounge chair. She’s wearing a halter top styled sundress. Frowning, she looks out over the people promenading up and down the sandy shore. “Harrumph, all well and good I suppose if you want the whole world looking at you. I, for one, believe in a bit of modesty.”
Mae smiles from under a wide-brimmed sun hat, noting Anna’s mature figure. Mae’s dressed in the latest beach pajamas; a wide-legged one-piece white jumper with a red sash that compliments the ribbon on her hat. It is more than she usually wears in the
sun, but a public beach requires some decorum.
Edith is on a chair between Anna and Mae. “I just felt it was time for a change. Try something new. Although, to tell the truth, I don’t remember it being so crowded the last time I was here,” Edith says. While not one of the younger set, she definitely has a figure that shows well in a swimsuit. It hugs her curves in all the right places. Her concession to age is the little, flighty skirt that she wears over bathing shorts.
“You don’t remember it being crowded because we didn’t bother coming down to the beach,” Anna says under her breath. She begins to unpack a towel and suntan oil.
“Miami’s really growing. When did you first start coming down here, Edith?” Esta asks, also settling in. Esta, the youngest of the quartet, is sporting the latest one-piece wool and jersey lined swimsuit. It has a neat little white belt, tank straps, and a plunging back that all the gals think quite daring for day wear.
“About five or six years ago. In the mid-twenties.”
“Al and I started coming down before Prohibition. It was soon after they put the rail lines in. We hadn’t bought the house yet, but wanted a bit of sun to break up a long, cold Chicago winter. Back then, there were less than ten thousand people. I’d say a lot less. Now, Miami’s got over a hundred thousand people living here. And that doesn’t count tourists,” Mae says.
Anna pauses from unpacking. “They figure that two and a half million people visit Miami every year. And I bet most of them are on this beach.” She takes in the crowd sprawled on blankets and beach towels, grimacing. “Miami used to be such a special place. Now everyone comes here.”
Edith follows Anna’s gaze. Plenty of thirsty tourists spending a leisurely day on the beach, the kind that will be looking for a bit of excitement at night.
The four gals rub suntan oil on arms and legs, straighten towels, and get comfortable for a day in the sun.
“Ain’t this the life? The most important decision I gotta make today is when to turn over and do my other side. Pass me some more suntan oil, will ya, doll?” Esta says.
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