The Fifty-Seven Lives of Alex Wayfare (14 page)

She hated it.

“It just came out last week,” Blue said, beaming up at the marquee, “but Mom and I, we've already seen it twice. You just wait. It's like nothing you've ever seen before.” He laid a hand on both of my white gloves still clinging to his elbow. To anyone looking on, we probably looked like a proper Twenties couple.

Something about that thought sent a flutter through my stomach.

God it felt good to be on a date with a boy, if that's what we were on. If not, it was the closest I'd ever come to a real date, so I'd take it. I never thought any other boy could make my stomach flutter the way Jensen did. I never thought Jensen would become a fast memory. But in that moment, standing beneath the marquee lights, sharing a smile with Blue, my whole life back in Annapolis slipped away. Like the sun burning away morning mist.

And I wanted nothing more than to bask in Blue's rays for a little while longer.

The Jazz Singer was incredible. My cheeks hurt from grinning so much. It took everything within me to keep from belting out the songs with Al Jolson. I had to pretend like it was the first time I'd ever seen a talking picture, because Blue kept stealing glances at me, wanting to see my reaction. The moment Al spoke his first words on screen, loud and clear, in perfect unison with his lips, people all throughout the theater gasped and looked around.

“They're looking for Al,” Blue whispered. “They think he's gotta be here somewhere, talking into a microphone.”

Good Lord, it was glorious. To see The Jazz Singer when it was first released? To walk the streets of 1927? To breathe the air, wear the clothes, see it all from a modern perspective? Descending to the past was like a drug. I knew from that moment on I'd never get enough.

What else would I get to see? Martin Luther King's famous speech? The Boston Tea Party? Could I walk the Trail of Tears? The Underground Railroad?

Whatever it was, I was ready. I wanted to see it all.

After the movie, Blue wanted to show me the lake. We walked to the shore, the setting sun at our backs. We stood shoulder–to-shoulder on the edge of a little concrete pier and looked out across the water. The breeze ruffled my skirt. Seagulls squawked overhead.

I never knew Lake Michigan was so vast and beautiful and alive with waves. I thought it would be boring, like any old lake, but I was wrong. It was just like the ocean back home. A view at the end of the world.

The wind kicked up and made me shiver. Blue wrapped a strong arm around my arms and pulled me close. I leaned into him, my cheek against his chest. Why couldn't I meet a guy like him in Base Life?

Alex.

My fist flew to my temple, and I swore under my breath. Porter's voice elbowed its way inside my head, just as startling and unsettling as the first time.

“You OK?” Blue asked. “Is your head still hurting you?”

You can't fall in love. It's against the rules.

Love? Dammit, Porter, who said anything about love? Why did he keep forgetting that I was only seventeen? I fought against him again, like pushing my way out of a bramble bush, and Limbo's hooks popped loose, one by one. I managed to shut Porter out faster than before. I refused to let him take this night away from me.

The best night.

Couldn't he just wait a few more hours?

“Just a little twinge,” I told Blue, settling back into his arms.

We turned around so we could see the skyline bathed in sunset oranges and pinks. Glittering lights switched on here and there as the city came to life. There was an energy, a charge, streaking and zigzagging through the air, making the hair on the back of my neck prickle.

I could feel my time running out. I only had a few more hours in 1927, at best. Then the black would take me. I needed to make those last hours count.

I told Blue I needed to roar.

He took my hand. “I know just the place.”

CHAPTER 10

 

 

“You coming, Sousa?”

I looked up at Blue, hanging by one arm from a fire escape ladder. His suit jacket flapped in the wind. We were in a dark alley, behind what appeared to be an abandoned shoe factory. It didn't look very roar-worthy to me. “That's just to throw off the coppers,” Blue had told me.

“I don't know about this…” I rubbed my arms. The night had gotten progressively cooler, and I'd never been too fond of heights.

“Climb on up here,” he said, smiling down at me. “I'll warm you up.”

I tried to give him a disapproving look, but I'm pretty sure I failed. “I don't think that's what your mom meant when she said ‘Show her a good time.'”

He laughed, a deep belly laugh that echoed down the alley. “Too bad. She should've been more specific.”

I hesitated, still rubbing my arms. Blue climbed up a dozen more rungs. The farther he climbed, the more alone I felt in the alley. And the last time I found myself in a Chicago back alley? Things didn't go so well.

I stepped up to the ladder and closed my fingers around one of the rungs. A layer of rust coated my white gloves. When I tried to dust it off on my coat, it only made the stain worse.

On the one hand, if I climbed all the way up, the gloves Helena gave me would surely be ruined. On the other, my first kiss might be waiting for me on the roof.

My heart thudded at the thought.

I took a deep breath.

I pulled myself up.

“Attagirl,” Blue called down.

I laughed and shook my head as I made my way to the top. When had I become this person? Chasing a kiss to the top of the sky?

He helped me onto the roof, and we gazed out at the city, breathing in the night and listening to the distant street sounds. The stars seemed close enough to fog with your breath.

We owned the city. We owned the stars. It was all ours for the night. And I would've stolen my first kiss right then and there, but Blue had other plans.

He led me to a trap door at the center of the roof. It swung open with a rusty squawk, and we both kneeled down and looked inside. A ladder affixed to the side led down into a dark room. Amber light from the buildings across the street tried in vain to shine through grime-coated windows. It was a storage room of sorts, stacked to the ceiling with odds and ends, but I couldn't make out anything in particular in the shadows.

“I'll go first,” Blue said, swinging his leg over the edge and stepping down. “There are a few rungs, then you have to drop the rest of the way. Not too far, though.”

He got to the last rung and dropped down. I heard his feet hit the ground, followed by a stumble and a thud, and then he swore. Only he didn't say any of the words I was acquainted with. I distinctly heard him say, “Applesauce.”

“Applesauce?” I threw my head back and laughed. I'd never heard anything so adorable in all my life.

“Stop laughing at me and get yourself down here,” he called back.

But I couldn't stop. I laughed all the way down the ladder and kept laughing as I dropped to the floor. It was farther than I thought it would be, and I lost my balance like Blue and fell right on my butt. I laughed even more until tears stung my eyes and my ribs hurt.

“Oh, come on,” he said, hauling me to my feet. “It's not like you've never heard that one before.” I could hear the red coloring his cheeks. He was embarrassed, which made it even more adorable, but he wasn't the type to stay embarrassed for long.

He pulled me over to a thick, heavy metal door and said, “Ready to roar, Sousa?” He shouldered it open with a creak and a groan, like it hadn't been opened in years.

All at once, the squawk of trumpets, the growl of saxophones, and the happy gallop of piano keys rushed out to meet us. A puff of smoke-filled air ruffled our clothes. We stepped out onto a darkened storage balcony, following a sultry woman's voice below us. She stood on a stage before a full orchestra, caught in the net of a blue spotlight. Her sequined dress hugged her every curve. It winked up at us as she whipped her hips to the side, like it knew we were spying. She threw her arms in the air and sang about naughty eyes and a new kind of lovin'.

I was utterly transfixed.

Blue pulled two chairs to the edge of the balcony. I sat beside him, his knee resting against mine, my arms folded on the railing in front of us. Two birds alone in the rafters. Two shadows. The crowd below, laughing and dancing and swirling their drinks, never knew we were there.

We were star gazers.

“Is this a speakeasy?” I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away. The amber glint of liquor flashed in the hand of every guest.

Blue rested his chin on his forearms beside me. “Yup. It's called Peg Leg. Fifth Street runs it. But Frankie and the guys are never up here dancing. They stay downstairs. And you don't want to know what they do down there.”

I didn't even begin to let my mind wonder about that. Instead I drank in the light, the jazz, the beaded fringe, the striped jackets and dandy shoes. I wanted to remember every detail. “How did you know how to get in?”

“Frankie showed me a year ago. There's a piano in the storage room back there. He knew I liked to play. I come here every now and then to practice. No one can hear me while all this is going on.”

I cocked my head to the side. “You play the keys?”

He grinned. “Yup.”

“Hmmm.” I looked away like I wasn't interested. A man in a fedora flipped a woman over his shoulder. She flashed everyone a glimpse of her garter belt.

“I hear some women can't resist a guy who plays piano,” Blue said.

I shrugged. “Some women may have weaknesses like that. Not me.”

He laughed and nudged my elbow with his.

The band transitioned to a slower tune, and a trombone and clarinet pursued each other through the twists and turns of a mournful duet. Couples swayed and glided across the dance floor.

I turned my face to Blue, my cheek resting on the back of my wrist. There was something magnetic about him that I couldn't explain. No matter what glorious sights 1927 Chicago had for me, my gaze never failed to find its way back to him.

“What do you want to do?” I asked him. “You know, when you grow up?”

He furrowed his brow. “When I ‘grow up'?”

“Yeah. When you're out of school.”

“Been out of school for a while now. Had to start working because of Frank.”

“Oh, right. Good ole Frank,” I muttered.

“Yup. Good ole Frank.” He propped his chin on his fists. “I don't know. I'll probably just keep working at the deli.”

“But if you could do anything you wanted, what would you do?”

He squinted out over the crowd, thinking. “Maybe become a pilot. Or play in a jazz band. Or join the Police Academy.”

“Hm,” I said. “That last one wouldn't make you very popular around here.”

“Good thing I don't care about being popular,” he said with that easy grin of his. “What about you, Sousa? Got any plans of grandeur?”

“I really don't know.” A week ago I was content to follow in Dad's biomedical engineering footsteps. Now I wasn't so sure. “Maybe I'll join the Academy with you. Put some of my back alley fighting skills to good use.”

“Don't you think that might upset your gangster husband?”

I groaned. “I don't have a gangster husband, Blue.”

“Blue?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

I laughed, feeling stupid. I knew I'd slip up eventually. “It's your nickname. The one I gave you before I knew your name. It's just something stupid I do in my head. I do it for everyone I meet.” I tried to shrug it off, my silly little quirk, but he grinned.

“Not stupid. I like it.” He looked out across the crowd. “Blue and Sousa. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Speaking of rings,” I said, waggling my bare ring finger at him. “See? No husband.”

“Pfft. That doesn't mean anything. You could've hocked that old handcuff when you got into town.”

I laughed at his choice of words. “Well, even if my life was like that, even if I was on the run from some gangster, I'd never go back to that life now.”

“Why not?”

“Because this life is better.”

“How do you know this one's better if you don't remember the old one?”

“Because I didn't know you then. Now I do. That makes this one better.”

His mouth hitched up on one side. “Aw, you can't say things like that to me.”

“I can't?”

His hand found mine. “Not without expecting me to ask you to dance.”

He pulled me to my feet, and then it was my turn to be embarrassed. “I'm not very good at this sort of thing,” I said, looking down at my feet.

Believe it or not, I had danced with a boy before. Once. It was Jamal Webber, and it was during rehearsal for our fifth grade play. Everyone had a dance partner because it was set at a sock hop. I tried really hard to learn the moves, but I was hopeless. I stepped on Jamal's brand new sneakers at least a dozen times. By the end of rehearsal, Jamal had another partner, and I was given backstage duty.

I started to second guess stealing a kiss from Blue. I was probably even worse at kissing.

“Just follow my lead,” he said. “We don't have to get fancy.”

His hand slid around to my back and pulled me close. We swayed with the mournful trombone and clarinet. I felt the warmth of his hand on my back and his chest against mine. He danced better than Dad. Better than Pops.

I rested my head against his lapel. I swayed. I committed it all to memory.