“How dare you.” Was all her mother said—it was enough.
Preparing herself for a tsunami, Norma scraped up the courage to pick up her head. She may as well face her mother. She was an adult and hated to see her mother living a life that expired years ago. She wanted her mother to put Charles Hill to rest and revive Bonnie Braun. She wanted her mother to start a new life where she called the shots. Where she was the Big Cheese. Where she decided the plot of her story. She wanted her mother to live again without the sadness and without the despair.
But it couldn’t be. Her mother wasn’t ready—and perhaps she could never be—to reclaim her broken life. Norma watched as the former Mrs. Charles Hill struggled to stand on her one good foot. When she managed it, she hopped to the arched doorway, while calling for Martha. Like the good housekeeper she was, Martha came to her beck and call. Norma wondered how she could stomach her mother’s dramatics.
Norma sat, thinking of all the ways she could make things better with her mother. She couldn’t think of one single thing. Darn.
****
Henry counted the times he called himself an idiot, and it was well over a hundred. Would Norma come back?
He fastened the buttons on his evening vest, taking a glance at himself in the long mirror. He didn’t want to go to the Blackstone Chicago Hotel for a press leaders event. God he hated those events. Nothing but stuffy know-it-alls, boasting about their Harvard and Oxford degrees and talking rag competition, would be there. And to make it worse, Henry couldn’t even have a tumbler of gin to drown out the boring conversations. If anything, the current climate of the newspaper world had turned into shameless sensationalism and not about what it should be, a public service to report events that affect the community. It had only become about sales, and though Henry was good at that part, he hated the needless competitive nature of it; it made a mockery of the profession.
With a sigh, he patted his hair in place and glanced at his pocket watch—a gift from his father. It was nearing seven in the evening, and all Henry could think about is how Norma fared at her mother’s. She’d left early in the morning, after their conversation, and didn’t explain her situation. Ingrid had divulged Norma’s whereabouts. Why didn’t she say goodbye?
A brief stirring sounded in the other room, which tore him from his reverie. Adonna Chapel, his mother, sat in the sitting room, lounging on a chaise waiting for her son to get dressed. He had agreed to take her along in addition to Annabelle a month ago—he hadn’t accepted the job at the Daily then—and wished he’d declined the invitation all together. His mother and Annabelle’s mother served in the same charity, and before Henry could have an opinion, he and Annabelle were matched together. He sighed again, a cloud of impending doom forming over him. He’d fake a heart attack if it got him out of the night, but he knew deep within he’d have to endure the evening. After all, he was not the kind of man who made empty promises—he always followed through.
With swift hands, Henry slipped into his suit jacket and placed his formal top hat over his perfectly combed hair. One more glance in the mirror. “Here goes nothing.”
“Who are you talking to, darling?” his mother asked once he entered the sitting room. The warm air traveling from the blazing fireplace enveloped him; his penthouse was one of two with chimneys in the whole building.
“Just myself, mother.” He came into her full view. He admired his mother’s mauve gown with rhinestones sparkling at the bodice. She had a graceful sense of style.
Her eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Henry, you are just so handsome. Just like your father.”
Henry frowned. His father would never acknowledge his high standing in the press community. He’d said more times than Henry wanted to remember that he didn’t want a paper man for a son.
“Don’t frown, dear.” She stood and strolled over to him. “You look like your father when you do that.”
He always looked like his father.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Well…” Her face stretched into a sly smile. “We should be on our way. Annabelle is waiting.”
Henry groaned within. “We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”
“I really do like her, darling.” She wrapped herself in a chinchilla swing coat.
“I know you do.” He retrieved her gloves from the side table near the chaise.
She reached for them and slipped the satin gloves carefully up to her elbows.
“I really do think she is the best match for you, darling. She seems quick to forgive you. I think that’s important. Especially for you, Henry. You know how you lose the time.”
It always amazed him how his mother could make quite a statement with the most nonchalant voice.
“She’s not my type, Mother,” he said in that same nonchalant tone. How many times had he played that game with her? Too many to count. “And I’m tasked to save newspapers. This takes time. I’m sure whoever I end up with will understand that.”
His mother’s brown gaze snapped up to his, grabbing them like a firm handshake. “Not your type?” She completely ignored the second point.
“No.” His gaze bore into hers; he would not back down.
“Well, darling, if she’s not your type, then what is?”
He was silent for a beat, all the while seeing Norma’s face in his mind.
“She comes from a good family and is educated. Not to mention she is quite a beauty,” she said.
“Yes, she is a beauty,” Henry agreed. It was one thing to back down to his mother and then quite another to distract her from continuing with her ridiculous cause to marry off her son. “But not as beautiful as you, Mother.” With those words he kissed his mother’s cheek.
“Oh, Henry.” She giggled. “You are a sweet boy.”
“I learned from the best.” He pulled his mother to the front door.
****
It had to stop. Annabelle hung on Henry the whole night, and he couldn’t with good faith continue that way. Not when his heart beat for someone else.
“Are you coming up?” Annabelle asked from the passenger seat.
They sat in his car, in front of Anabelle’s brownstone north of downtown. A beat of silence made the air uncomfortable within. He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
His gaze found hers. And it was exactly what he expected. Sad. Confused. “What do you mean? You always come up.”
True. He did always go up. And he always had his way with her. But not anymore. “I won’t come up anymore, Annabelle.” He was stern because he wanted to be clear.
Her hand covered his over the steering wheel. “Henry? Have I done something?”
Letting her go was harder than he thought it would be. He cared about her. But never loved. “You can’t be happy with our arrangement.”
She shook her head profusely. “I am!”
Taking his hand from the steering wheel, her hand fell off his. “You want more from me.”
“Please, Henry.” Thrusting her body forward, she wrapped her arms across his chest. “Don’t say such things.”
“Annabelle…” He pushed her arms away. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
She retreated, sitting in the silence until her face completely hardened. “It’s her. Isn’t it?”
Norma? Maybe.
“It’s over. What we’ve been doing. It’s over.” He didn’t look her in the eyes while he said it. If he did, she might see that she was on the mark. It was her.
“I think you’re just confused.” Her face softened.
Wasn’t that the truth. “You should be free to find someone who can give you want you want. It’s not me.”
“What will Adonna say?”
He couldn’t care less. This was about his heart. And his heart was making a statement. “Anything she’d like.”
Annabelle’s gaze shifted to her hands, shoulders slouching.
He hoped he’d made himself clear.
Pushing the driver’s door open, he walked
to the passenger’s side, and opened the door. Annabelle didn’t immediately get out. As the gentlemen his mother raised, he walked her to the door. The silence between them solidified their fate. His heart was elsewhere, and she’d have to honor that.
Chapter Twelve
After two days with her mother, Norma was dying to return to Chicago. Taking care of her mother was a brutal undertaking she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy—not that she had any. What made it most unbearable was they hadn’t spoken since that horrible dinner.
But when Friday morning came around and Norma was putting on her coat to catch the commuter train, her mother finally broke the brutal silence. “I think there is still hope for you. Perhaps not me, but for you there is,” her mother said in the sweetest voice, a voice Norma remembered as a little girl.
“Pardon?” Norma wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly.
Her mother propped herself against the open door, knee bent so the toes of her bad foot were off the floor and looked at Norma with the gentlest motherly expression. “I think your fella is a lot closer than you think.”
“My fella?”
Only one word existed to describe the smile on her mother’s face. Beautiful. It reminded Norma of past days when she was a little girl and her mother was her angel on earth. Norma’s mother was a goddess and perfect in every way with blue eyes shining like life was blown into her from some unknown source—a heavenly source. She looked…hopeful.
“Your fella. I suspect you’ve met him already with the way you’ve been trotting about here like a ball of nerves. Only a man can make a woman that nervous.” She would know.
Norma felt like she had been run over by the commuter train. How could she respond? Was it that obvious? Could Mother really see how Mr. Chapel had gotten to her? Norma would never call Mr. Chapel her fella. Never.
He would never be her fella or anything remotely close to being hers in any way. Was he capable of being anyone’s fella?
That question weighed on her, made her chest tight. An irrational thought, but she didn’t like the idea of another woman claiming him as her fella. Gosh, I should stop it. She told herself she wouldn’t think of him that way anymore, but it seemed impossible. After all, Mr. Chapel probably already forgot what transpired between them anyway.
Norma shut her eyes briefly, opening them again to her mother’s soul searching gaze. “I…I…”
“I know, darling…” Her mother’s voice soothed her. “You’ll get used to it. Please take care of yourself in the city. It’s dangerous for a working woman like you. And please eat.”
“Yes, Mother.” She struggled for a complete sentence. As much as she wanted to tell her mother she was wrong about meeting a man, she couldn’t. In fact, she had an epiphany of her own, and she couldn’t hide from it anymore.
She wanted Mr. Chapel. Henry. Not as a boss, but as a man.
The breath caught in her throat. It was true. She breathed out a breath, releasing all the pent-up energy it took to maintain a lie. She wanted him. Fact. She wanted him more every second. Then her heart ached, because she could never have him. She would just have to get that through her thick skull. He is your boss, and that is all he is.
She kissed her mother, before walking out into the freezing cold to the taxi that waited on the street.
“To the commuter station,” she told the driver. He nodded and drove off once she was inside with only her thoughts of how she would be once she returned to Chicago.
****
The day was half way done when she finally arrived at the Chicago Daily. The familiar scent of the printing press and sweaty men filled her nostrils as she walked deeper into the room. She even caught a whiff of Mr. Chapel’s scent, though he was nowhere to be seen—her subconscious searched for him. Her body moved about the room toward her desk, waiting for his electromagnetic pull to yank her wherever he was. From the looks of it, he wasn’t around. Where was he?
Her oxfords tapped on the tiled floor as she walked closer to her assigned metal desk, the breath catching in her throat. Why was she so nervous? Don’t faint, Norma. Don’t faint. Where had all the air gone? If she didn’t faint before her rump hit the chair, it would be a miracle. One step, two steps. She was nearly at her desk, focusing on Ingrid who hunched over her typewriter. Ingrid had taken over the weather report while Norma was away.
She glanced at the staff, glad no one had noticed her slither in or had any questions for her. Not that she’d answer any of the male saps she worked with. They probably thought she’d been canned. She stared past the sea of metal desks and lingered over Mr. Chapel’s door. It was wide open, which was odd.
“He’s out.” Ingrid startled her.
“Oh…right,” Norma stammered, looking away. She was caught staring—yearning was more like. How obvious was she? She wasn’t experienced with the dealings with men; it was a lot harder than she thought.
Ingrid grinned with surprisingly no lipstick on her tooth. She looked as beautiful as ever in a knee length skirt and white chiffon top. Her T-strap shoes were probably imported from Paris, as most of her clothes were, and her ears bore crystal art deco flower earrings. “He’s been quite the killjoy since you’ve been out.”
“Baloney!” Norma forced her face to stop smiling.
Mr. Chapel a killjoy because of me?
It gave her the kind of hope she certainly didn’t need.
“On the level! He has been ab-so-lute-ly lost around here the last three days,” Ingrid said matter-of-factly, her eyes gleamed in the light.
Norma turned her back to Ingrid, allowing her lips to curl in a small smile as she folded her coat over the chair. She had to contain her smile before she said another word. Absolutely lost?
“Well, I don’t see how that’s changed. He’s a killjoy on a day-to-day basis. I would’ve hoped that my being away would’ve perked up the wet blanket,” Norma said dryly out of habit and not because she felt that way about Henry anymore.
“Says you.” Ingrid’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Everything okay otherwise?” Norma had to change the subject.
“Everything is Jake, Miss Hill.” She winked and turned back to her typewriter, clicking away to leave Norma spinning with her thoughts. “Oh, Mr. Chapel re-hired John! I guess he’s giving the poor sap another chance.”
Re-hired John? Norma bit on her bottom lip. “When?”
“Three days ago.” After their conversation. After he had rejected her.
Norma’s voice didn’t quite reach a normal speaking volume. “The Big Cheese had a change of heart.”
“I guess so.” Ingrid turned to Mr. Chapel’s office as did Norma.
Norma needed to see him. “Any idea where he could be?” Not that she would go to him.
“None. Why?”
Norma shrugged, eyes shifting to Anton’s desk. “Just wondering.”
Anton. His desk near Mr. Chapel’s office was empty as if he hadn’t been in the office yet. Where a crime reporter would go during a busy day at a booming news rag? He could be on the street interviewing witnesses or following the latest mob trial. He could be undercover as a spy at a speakeasy storefront looking for alcohol distributors. The possibilities were endless.
Returning to the business on her desk, she jotted down notes on thin leaf paper. First, she would go undercover as a typical gay flapper. Luckily she’d been around Ingrid long enough to understand some of her flapper-speak. It wouldn’t be easy since she didn’t know the first thing about street language. But it was all Jake. She smiled inside. Yes, it would be all Jake.
Second, she would go to the Jazzy Cat and stake out the scene. Get a sense of it. Blend in. Interact with other birds at the speakeasy and get close to some unsuspecting sap. At some point, they’d spill some important information. She was sure of it. What jazz baby didn’t spill something after a few cups of gin?
Third, when guards were down and senses were dulled by ossification, she would go in for the interrogation kill. After hour
s of the Charleston and gin—possibly even a snow ride—someone was bound to talk. Satisfied with her game plan—she’d crossed the last “t” and dotted the last “i”—she sat back, smiling like a goof, she was sure of it.
Just then, Ingrid slapped her typed page on Norma’s desk. The tap on the desk startled Norma’s daydream. In a flash she was brought back to reality, sitting at her desk in the Daily press room floor. Mr. Chapel still hadn’t shown up and neither had Anton. Where are they?
“Brutal cold.” Ingrid recited from the paper. She grinned and winked—her two best habits.
“Ah, yes. Mother nature and her wicked, wicked ways.” Norma looked over the typed sentence. Lord, she hated reporting the weather.
Ingrid chuckled.
“Thank you from the bottom of my heart for covering my weather report. You are a real friend, truly.” Norma smiled. Grateful didn’t begin to describe how she felt.
“It’s my pleasure, doll face. I’m sure my report has not been nearly as entertaining as yours.” Ingrid chuckled and winked again.
As if a light bulb flipped on over her head, Ingrid’s eyes suddenly widened and gleamed like radiant jewels. She lifted a finger to denote she had something to give Norma. Ingrid turned toward the desk and from underneath it pulled a large sack with French words printed on the fine material. “I have something for you.”
“What is this?” Norma’s eyes narrowed, the pulse in her heart doubled. What could it be? A bag of gin?
“A gift for you.” Ingrid handed her the bag. She strained to lift it from her lap. Whatever was in there was heavy. Body parts could have been in there for all she knew.
Norma reached for it. A part of her wanted to know what was in the bag, and the other part knew it was something she couldn’t accept. Her arms strained at the weight of the bag as she dragged it atop her lap and with shaky fingers loosened the chiffon drawstring closing the mouth of the sack. Inside, the folded material layered atop other folded material. The colors shimmered, and Norma instinctively reached in to touch the material.
Love Easy Page 11