Ingrid squealed with glee, tossing her head back and letting out a typical Ingrid high-pitched laugh. “There is a man then! I’m guessing he’s a sheik right out of a Valentino motion picture.”
“No...not really,” Norma stuttered, unable to contain her smile. She’d been caught, officially. She had lost her edge. Curiosity would have to kill the cat. She couldn’t announce her “mystery man” if she wanted to. They agreed to keep their relationship under wraps, especially at the Daily. A short-term solution—long-term was Norma’s best guess.
Before Ingrid could interrogate Norma further, Eli, the courier, came by her desk. He was young, probably sixteen or seventeen, and lanky. His nervousness around women that made him all the more awkward.
“This telegram came for you, ma’am,” he said in his usual squeaky voice. His gaze lowered to the tiled floor.
“Thank you, Eli.” Norma watched him dash away as if she and Ingrid were a pack of dogs and he was a T-bone.
“Odd bird,” Ingrid commented.
Norma eyed the thin yellow paper folded in quarters. It had beautiful letters in scripted on the front:
To: Miss Norma Hill, Weather Reporter,
The Chicago Daily News
From: Anonymous
Something stirred in her gut; she had a real bad feeling about this. Her breakfast swirled in her stomach. Her hands shook as she held on to the telegram, still deciding if she should open it.
“Aren’t you going to read it?” Ingrid strained her neck to see the words.
She unfolded the paper, and one single sentence penned in the same beautiful print blared out in black. She focused on each word individually and then finally the whole sentence. It read:
Elsie McNey left the Jazzy Cat with one of Al’s hoods.
Norma folded the paper after she understood what that single sentence meant and shoved it in her pocket. What would she do next? Should she chase down the courier and demand he tell her who sent the note? Before she could construct a coherent thought, she found herself moving toward Henry’s office. Half way there, her thought caught up with her brain. She was overwhelmed. This tip was all she needed to prove to Henry that she could break the story of Elsie’s disappearance and to prove once and for all that Elsie had been assaulted. And once she got the green light, she could show Henry—and the world—that she could report more than the weather.
Norma bolted through Henry’s office door, as if she had every right to be there, and found Annabelle, the blonde Sheba, sitting on top of his desk—their love desk—legs crossed and dressed to kill.
Annabelle puffed on the end of a cigarette holder as if she was pleasuring a lover, and she appeared quite proud of herself once she realized Norma wasn’t happy to see her there.
Norma’s heart dropped to her knees, and she could easily lose her breakfast right there. The surprise and sickness hit her all at once. Much like the ice storm that raged outside.
Her heart began to beat again after several seconds. Why is she here? And why was the air thick? Were they in the middle of an intimate conversation? Norma would fall to the ground if that were true. She didn’t know how to handle such situations.
As calm and collected as he ever was, Henry didn’t seem the least bit affected by her intrusion. In fact, he leaned back in his chair, slightly hidden by Annabelle’s curving body, and steepled his fingers under his chin. How could he have nothing in his eyes? Not fear, not shame, not concern, not anything. And to make matters worse, that darned smirk reared its ugly head, planting itself smack on his kisser.
When he finally spoke, his words spilled lethargically from his smirking lips. “Miss Hill, is there something urgent?”
Miss Hill?
If she’d been hotter, she’d gone up in flames.
“Actually, Mr. Chapel, yes, I do have something urgent.” She refused to make eye contact with Annabelle who strained her face to grab Norma’s attention.
“Well,” Annabelle began, standing from the desk, “I better be on my way.” Her body curved for days, with dangerous legs and hips that were more sinister. Annabelle was the kind of woman who got what she wanted with just one look. She probably brought down political figures at will with her lips. Could she do the same to Henry? Did she put Henry under her spell? How could Norma compete with that? Compared to Annabelle, she was just a scared mouse, with a plain body to boot.
Annabelle walked salaciously toward the door, one high-heeled oxford in front of the other, knowing and exploiting the fact both Henry’s and Norma’s gazes followed her gorgeous rump as it swung back and forth in her burgundy in-vogue dress. The exact same drop waist satin dress Ingrid reported about in the Smart Style weeks ago, before she was demoted. Apparently all the rage in the Paris. No doubt Annabelle was the epitome of sex in a designer dress.
The blonde bombshell strode to the door slower than molasses, but not before she coyly turned around and in her girly voice directed to Henry, “Let me know about New York, Daddy.” She winked, and with those loaded words, she was through the door and out of view.
New York? Daddy? The air in the room choked Norma with every breath. Her first instinct was to slap Henry’s face off. Slap those empty eyes back in his head. Maybe that was a bit dramatic; she would never go that far. But she felt like a fool. Maybe it was true Henry could never give himself to a woman. He was a cake-eater, a real ladies man. Isn’t that what some said? She’d heard all the rumors before he showed up at the Daily. He’s made an art of necking. She wanted to vomit.
Her stomach bubbled. Why didn’t she follow her first instinct? Why did she fall in love with him anyway, despite what she’d heard? With that numbing thought, her heart slowed way down. Could he never love her the same? His words I don’t want you to do that with anyone else sounded off in her mind over and over. Did he simply want her all to himself, but didn’t want to give himself all to her? “I am a gullible girl,” Norma said out loud.
The door was still open. The press machinist sped by.
Henry was silent, remained, as always, calm and collected. His scent preceded him as he walked by to shut the gaping door. “I think you’ve misunderstood.” In an instant, he was in her personal space, reaching for her.
She stepped back, not wanting him near her. She would put a whole continent between them if she could. She didn’t want his warm hands on her, caressing her as he had. Did he have those same hands on Annabelle? She couldn’t take it if that were true. Her eyes swelled as the tears bubbled over but didn’t fall. She would be darned if any tears fell for that cake-eater. Taking a stiff swallow, her voice hardened before she spoke. “I had important news to give you, but how could I have known you’d have a bombshell perched on your desk. I should have brought millet seeds.”
Henry chuckled and regained his composure in a flash. “I don’t know what you mean, Norma. Annabelle came over unannounced and—”
“I understand quite well, Daddy.” She put her hand up. She couldn’t bear to hear any excuse.
She walked over to the window, watching the motorcars running in reckless organization along the street in front of the news building. The room was silent. She could only hear the blood flowing between her ears.
“Norma,” he said barely above a whisper, “please don’t turn away from me. It’s not what you think.”
“No, it isn’t, is it?” She was hurt and confused. I’m not made for this. She turned her gaze to her hands, which shook the paper.
“Norma…”
“Just forget it.” The decision to detach from him hardened her. “I just wanted to tell you I got a tip.”
“A tip?”
“Yes. I know Elsie was assaulted for sure.” She turned around to face Henry, who was an arm’s length behind her.
“Are you still pursuing this, Norma? You went on a sleigh ride that night. You said you weren’t sure of what you saw.”
His words ate at her heart. Her gaze lifted to his, and then she decided he wasn’t the wonderful man she uncovered. He was the Big C
heese that walked in the press room almost three weeks ago. He was the same ruthless man who fired people for walking in his office without an appointment. And the very same man who gave twenty people their walking papers the first day of his reign—even if he re-hired John. Maybe he hadn’t changed at all.
She was conflicted and wanted to be away from him and his magnetic pull on her heart.
“I got a telegram today,” she announced. With nothing left between them, putting all the cards on the table came much easier. With that sentiment, she held out the folded telegram. “And I am going to break this story. You can’t stop me.”
“Norma, you have got to stop. I know you want to write this story. I know you want to try your hand at crime reporting, but we already have a fine crime reporter. Anton has checked into the Elsie McNey disappearance and has come up with nothing. He even received word from Elsie’s friends that she’s been in the Hamptons with a new beau.” His words bordered on desperate.
Regardless, Norma knew none of that was true. Elsie’s friends thought she’d met a pit bull. She heard it straight from the horse’s mouth. “Anton is not looking hard enough. Anton didn’t see Elsie that night. I did.” She had to stand her ground for herself and for Elsie.
Henry sighed, hanging his head for a second, then lifting it. “Norma, just stop.”
****
Anton pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear Norma and Chapel’s muffled conversation. She’d been following Elsie’s disappearance. Patrons at the Jazzy Cat couldn’t stop talking about the weather reporter who’d been asking too many questions. Too many questions she had no business asking. Vito and John John got a hold of her, but she had escaped before the real interrogation could begin. It got to Al, the boss, and he didn’t like it.
Anton stood back when he heard the high heels clanking on the tiled floor. Norma threw open the door, looking very disgruntled and ready to hit something, or someone. She didn’t say hello either. What a rude broad. She just shoved a piece of paper in her pocket and walked toward the lady’s powder room.
“Mr. Chapel, may I come in?” Anton hated schmoozing up to that bastard Chapel. What a joke. Chapel really thought he was something, but he was just a privileged sap. Chapel should have just gone into his daddy’s steel business and left the news to competent men who weren’t hell bent on proving themselves worthy. It would give Anton great pleasure to knock that smirk off Chapel’s bastard face.
Chapel motioned him in, returning to his desk as Anton closed the door behind him.
“Is Miss Hill off her rocker again?” Anton more commented than asked. She was a crazy broad that needed to be taught some manners.
“Are you sure you have confirmation that Elsie has been seen in the Hamptons?” Chapel asked, his eyes troubled as if he’d heard something different. He swung up his two thick legs on the desk; the lazy bastard couldn’t be bothered to sit like a real gentleman.
“My sources say she has been spotted there and is well,” Anton said as matter-of-factly as he could. The look in Chapel’s eye made him nervous. What did he hear? And from whom?
“Well, that’s that.”
“Is there conflicting information?” Anton knew Norma had a completely different story. He had overheard her talking to Chapel about what she saw at the Jazzy Cat a couple of weeks ago. Did she have the gall to pursue the story? The little dame didn’t know the first thing about writing crime exposés. She also didn’t have the brains or the guts to do it.
Henry took on a far off look for a second and shook his head. “No.”
Anton nodded then stood and pivoted on his heels toward the door. He wasn’t happy with Norma stepping on his toes. He’d have to put her in her place, and fast. She could do damage, and Al would snap. Al didn’t like people meddling in his affairs. If Norma was smart, she’d forget whatever she thought she saw. If she was smart, that is. And if she wasn’t, then she could be in the same predicament as Elsie McNey—the dumb Dora couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Well, Al had a way of forcing mouths shut.
Chapter Seventeen
Norma slammed her fist on the porcelain sink top. Splashing water on her face was the only way she could cool down the fire that burned through her skin and wash away the relentless tears.
So this is what it feels like to have a heart broken.
Her thoughts turned briefly to her mother, the former Mrs. Charles Hill. Had her mother felt that way for the better of fifteen years? How did she survive it? If Norma didn’t know better, she could just die from the pain beating her chest. Yet, in midst of her failing heart, she didn’t know which the cherry on top was. The apparent affair with Annabelle—was she the affair?—or Henry’s continued dismissal of what she saw in the alley. She wondered how a man could cause such agony and not be immediately arrested for the crime.
Wiping her face dry, she stared into the mirror. She’d seen that look before. It was when Charles Hill left and didn’t return for days, sometimes weeks, and her mother sat on the settee near the window, watching, waiting to no avail. Norma had the same look as her mother; she was completely broken. Perhaps she was smart to refrain from love for all those years.
Life will resume.
Eventually, she walked out of the bathroom, her head high and shoulders back. By the time she reached Ingrid’s desk, she made herself repress the hurt. Her only mission was to find out what happened to Elsie and bring the assailant to justice. She sneered at the thought of breaking that story. Henry would beg her to stay with the Chicago Daily. Henry on his knees, begging, brought a dangerous smile to her face. She didn’t like those thoughts, because she loved Henry and would never want to him grovel, not that he did. Ever.
“I’ve never seen that face, Norma,” Ingrid said when Norma returned to her desk. She didn’t blink once.
“I don’t follow.” Norma looked away. She stared into the distance, not focusing on anything specific and only trying to avoid Ingrid’s calculating eyes.
“There must be something going on upstairs.” Ingrid tapped her temple and looked at Norma. Her red lips partially opened as her eyes narrowed.
“You know I would never lie to you, right?” Norma looked away again.
“Sure, doll…” Ingrid’s voice was above a whisper.
“I have to tell you something, but you have to hear me out.” Norma finally looked straight in Ingrid’s eyes. If she could get over the trembling, she could tell Ingrid what happened that awful night in the alley of the Jazzy Cat.
****
Henry’s fist pounded the desk when he was finally alone in his office. He’d hurt Norma. And he didn’t know how to make it right. He’d never cared enough for a woman to make it right, not even Mae.
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. The day was coming to a close, and he only wanted to be with her. He wanted to sit by the fireplace and make love to her again. Be assured that she still wanted him.
He didn’t know how easy it would be to break down that wall Norma put up again.
In only seconds, she was the old Norma again. The one with fire coming out of her eyes when she looked at him. It frustrated him beyond belief he wasn’t able to set the record straight about why Annabelle showed up in his office unannounced.
He walked over to the window, watching the snow fall. The blizzard had lightened up, and from the distance the garment factory district gleamed with white ribbons of smoke streaming across the sky. The glass fogged with his breath. He had to see Norma, tell her how he felt.
Chapter Eighteen
The night slipped through Norma’s fingers. She was grateful for that. Her only task was to get away from Henry. Also to get a fresh breath of air, which she did, once she left the Daily. Taking a walk in the snow seemed to be the most fortifying option to clear her mind.
She hugged herself from the biting ice that pelted her body as she quickened her steps down the street. Being near the fireplace became her most pressing need. As she walked on toward her apartment, the events sounded off
in her mind, replayed in full vivid color. She could even smell Annabelle’s perfume. How could Henry carry on as if nothing had happened, as if he wasn’t caught? How could he continue to look at her the way he did? As if she was the only woman in the world to him? Clearly she wasn’t. A knot slowly grew in her throat.
Harold’s words played over and over in her mind. I hope the paper man knows what he has. Fool.
To know someone else knew about what she saw should have alleviated the weight on her chest. Especially because Ingrid believed it happened without question. She even begged Norma to go to the police. That wasn’t possible. Law enforcement wasn’t exactly reliable, most were paid off by some mob boss or another. The crime wave spreading through the city since Prohibition instilled fear into many Chicago residents. And that’s what made Norma’s knowledge dangerous. She hoped no one who’d bump her off as quickly as look at her knew what she saw.
She turned the corner down the main street to her brownstone community. She’d only have to endure the next four blocks in the thickening snow until she could escape into her bed and sleep it all away. Until tomorrow when Henry wouldn’t be sleeping beside her.
Night fell much faster than she wanted, and each step grew darker. As she walked down her street, motorcars revved their engines in her usually quiet neighborhood. She turned to face a reckless driver navigate as if he or she was ossified. Where are the police when you need them? Though mindful of the now creeping car, Norma turned back, facing the emerging brownstones on the right side.
Then out of nowhere, another car emerged from the shadows, this time heading for the walking path. Norma stopped again, turning toward the car.
What in darnation is going on?
That same car lunged at her, nearly ramming her leg. She jumped back, almost falling backwards. With quick feet, she scrambled for the nearest apartment, wishing hers was closer and not a couple of rows down. The tight feeling of impending doom coursed through her body.
What do they want?
The snow fell harder against the ground, obscuring her sight. From a distance, the headlights of the motorcar shined on her, nearly blinded her. A third dark car plowed down the street. Norma wiped the snow that blocked her vision, panic ensuing faster than Henry could start a fire. The three cars spun around her and came to a complete stop. Before she could think, two men jumped from one of the motorcars and scooped her up like a sack of grain.
Love Easy Page 17