Diva (11 page)

She crossed to the vanity and grabbed a tube of lipstick. That wasn’t the real reason she was here, though.

Her ring.

She wasn’t supposed to wear her engagement ring—Hank’s orders—but after watching Forrest and Ruby, she was missing Jerome more than ever. Surely she could hide the ring under her dress. Would it be so wrong to keep it close by, to remind herself of why she was doing all this? Besides, Forrest already knew about Jerome, and he didn’t care.

Gloria opened the drawer and pulled out a long white silk glove. She removed the chain from inside the glove, where she always kept it, and felt instantly calmer with the ring in her hands. To think how she would’ve mocked the ring’s tiny diamond and its simple gold band back in Chicago! Now it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen—its sparkle
outshone the sequins on her dress and all the resplendent guests downstairs.

Gloria fastened the ring around her neck and hid it beneath her dress. The gold chain was definitely visible in the mirror, but it actually looked pretty nice with the rest of her outfit. Hopefully none of the guests would ask to see it—she wouldn’t want to explain why she was hiding an engagement ring. And even in these progressive circles, where having an exonerated criminal perform was a novelty, folks would be much less welcoming if they knew she was still involved with Jerome Johnson.

With one more sweep of rouge against her cheekbones, Gloria walked into the hallway. At the end of the hall were the double doors to Forrest’s bedroom suite—she felt drawn to them like a magnet. Forrest was busy with his guests; no way would he show up now. Maybe Forrest himself wouldn’t admit anything to Gloria about the source of his wealth. But who knew what Gloria might find in Forrest’s
bedroom
? A closet full of cash? Stacks of correspondence with nefarious mobsters? Her feet led her closer, past the gilded framed paintings, her heels padding softly on the plush carpet.

Finally she reached the heavy wooden doors.

She reached out her hand, her fingers touching the cool glass knob. One twist and she would be inside. Names flashed through her mind: Hank, Jerome. If anyone caught her she could just say she was searching for a lost earring. Was there any good reason to think it would be in Forrest’s room? No.

But sometimes a girl didn’t need a good reason.

Gloria turned the knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. Locked. Her heart sank. She tried again, but no luck. How silly to think he’d have left it unlocked.

Then Gloria pivoted and found herself staring into a pair of cold gray eyes.

She gasped. The man was about her father’s age, dressed well in a charcoal-gray suit and a scarlet bow tie. He had burly arms and a prominent scar that ran diagonally from the right side of his nose, across the bridge, and up to his left eyebrow. A thick gray mustache sat atop his upper lip, while his head was completely bald, and his eyes were only a bluish shade darker than white.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

Gloria hid her hands behind her back, not wanting the man to see them shaking. Why did he seem so familiar?

“I—um—”

“Speak up,” the man said, coming closer.

Then it hit her: She recognized him from a photograph in Hank’s file on Forrest. His name was Pembroke, and he worked for Forrest as some sort of servant.

“Pembroke!” she cried out.

He seemed surprised that she knew his name. “Yes?”

“I’m … late! To perform!” She rushed past him without waiting for a response, without looking back, even though she could feel Pembroke’s eyes on her. Watching.

The grand room was far more crowded than it had been before. The party had truly started.

The red-carpeted staircase curved down to the marble floor. Skylights lined the arched ceiling on either side of the room, and chandeliers dripping with crystals hung between them. At each corner stood thick ivory columns. At least two or three men and women stood around each column, kissing, laughing, smoking, or just leaning back and taking a rest from dancing. On any available surface sat delicate ivory vases filled with roses—red, white, and even some that had been dyed black. White-coated waiters moved through the crowd with silver platters of crab-stuffed mushrooms and cucumber-watercress sandwiches held high.

On the left was a stage with a heavy gold velvet curtain and matching golden wood floor. Just in front of that spread a wide dance floor, where bobbed women and men in top hats hopped and kicked at a dizzying pace. These dancers were scary good—probably due to the fact that many of them danced on Broadway for a living.

Groups of Forrest’s well-dressed friends gathered around various paintings on the walls, pointing with long cigarette holders as they carried on spirited discussions about the significance of each work. They seemed more intelligent and refined than anyone Gloria had met in New York or Chicago. Maybe it was because they were older, or because they had the artistic sensibilities that came with a life in the theater.

Before Gloria even stepped onto the marble floor, a group
of party guests had gathered around her. “Gloria Carmody!” a tall, handsome man exclaimed. He had slicked-back hair and couldn’t be older than thirty. He wore a red scarf looped over his formal suit, a personal touch that would’ve looked ridiculous on anyone else. “The singing jailbird! I heard you were from Chicago.” He extended his hand. “Charles LeMaire. I
so
love meeting other Chi-town natives, especially when their stories are as fascinating as yours!”

“Thank you,” Gloria said, shaking his hand. “What do you do? ”

“I’m a costume designer.” He gestured toward the two girls standing beside him. “This is Mara Livingston and Lisa Burrows—they have to wear getups made entirely of feathers in the Follies if I tell them to.”

“He
does
and I
did
,” Lisa said. “Very itchy.” Her bob was an even deeper red than Gloria’s. She was dressed in a lime-green satin dress that seemed tame until she turned and Gloria saw that it was backless.

“At least
you
didn’t perform in the Heavenly Goddess number,” Mara replied. She had light brown hair that looked blond in the right light and wore a black silk lace evening dress with an elaborate beaded pinwheel pattern. “I’m still picking the glitter out of my hair, and we performed the number three weeks ago!”

“The Follies? As in the Ziegfeld Follies?” Gloria had to stop herself from squealing. The costume designer for the Follies knew who she was?

Charles nodded. “So I hear from Forrest that you’re going to perform for us. What are you planning to sing? I can’t wait to finally hear that bluesy voice of yours.”

“ ‘I Ain’t Got Nobody,’ ” Gloria replied. “Do you know it?”

“You certainly can’t go wrong with Marion Harris,” a woman’s deep voice said. She was in her early forties and wore a tasteful peach-colored dress with a wide skirt, and she hung on the arm of a distinguished-looking man with thinning dark hair. “I interviewed her once for the
Sun
and she was an absolute doll.” The woman extended her hand. “Marie Mattingly Meloney.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. And you write for the
Sun
?”

“Not anymore—it wasn’t much fun once Willie wasn’t editor anymore,” Marie said, squeezing the man’s arm. “Now I’m editor of the
Delineator
magazine.”

A
female
magazine editor! It made Gloria wish Clara were here so she could introduce her.

She couldn’t help it: Excitement tingled in her stomach. Not only did these people know who she was, but they were excited to hear her sing! It was what Gloria had always dreamed of.

Gloria started when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She whipped around to find Forrest standing beside a thin black man with a receding hairline and a kind smile. “There you are!” Forrest exclaimed. “I was planning to introduce you around, but it looks like you’ve already found the cream of the crop for yourself.”

“You flatter us, Forrest,” Charles said. “But please—don’t stop.”

Forrest chuckled. “No, really—I’m not even sure how the rest of these rascals got in here,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll have to have a talk with my butler.” While the others laughed, Forrest tugged on Gloria’s arm to pull her closer. “Are you ready to wail up there, kid?”

Gloria hadn’t even noticed that the orchestra had stopped playing. But now that she did, the party seemed distinctly less lively and romantic without it. She gave Forrest a confident smile. “If there’s one thing I’m
always
ready to do, it’s sing.”

“Now, that’s an attitude I like to see,” the thin man beside Forrest said. He shook Gloria’s hand. “I’m Bernard, the band leader. My boys and I will take good care of you up there, I promise.”

Once Gloria and Bernard had discussed the song—a tune he and his band knew well—Forrest nodded to them both. “Okay, Bernie, you come onstage with me. Gloria, you wait until I introduce you.”

“Good luck!” her new acquaintances whispered as Forrest and Bernard climbed the steps on the left side of the stage.

Bernard picked up his conductor’s baton and stood in front of the orchestra. The men set their drinks on the stage and picked up their instruments. Forrest approached the microphone and the crowd’s roar hushed to a dull murmur.

“I hope you’re all having a fantastic evening!” Forrest called. “And let’s have another round of applause for the
Blue Rhythm Orchestra!” The room filled with hoots and whistles. “Now, I know many of you may have heard that the beautiful and talented Ruby Hayworth would be singing tonight. But I have, with no offense to Ruby, an even more enticing treat for you all.

“Some of you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting one of my most honored guests. For those of you who live under a rock and don’t know her story, she’s a woman who was wrongly imprisoned after shooting a gangster to save the life of the man she loved. She also happens to be a very talented singer. She’d like to celebrate her recent release from the big house by gracing us with a song! So without further ado, may I introduce the Diva of the Downtrodden, the Songbird of the Wrongfully Accused—performing under her own name at long last—Gloria Carmody!”

The crowd exploded into applause. Gloria took one last deep breath and made her way through the crowd to the stage stairs. Then she took her place at center stage. Her heart was hammering in her chest—this was by far the largest group she’d ever sung in front of. But Ruby was right. The frightening thrill of it was what made singing so exhilarating.

The music began to swell, and even though a million thoughts were running through her mind—thoughts about Jerome, Forrest and Ruby, Hank—there was nothing she could do now except what she’d been born to do.

Sing.

CLARA

Clara wanted to slap that smug grin right off Parker’s face.

She didn’t know what bothered her more—Parker’s constant bragging and self-congratulation, or how every guest but her at Forrest Hamilton’s party seemed completely bewitched by him.

“She said I could come see her in Los Angeles whenever I happen to be in town,” Parker explained to his friends.

Two men and three women scrunched together on a dusky red davenport. The group had left the main room of the party and were holed up in one of the studies, where it was quieter. The men grinned in awe at Parker’s story, while the girls all sought desperately to meet Parker’s jade eyes. When Parker wasn’t looking, these women fluffed their bobs and checked their makeup in the mirror on the wall. They were trying to be subtle and they were failing miserably.

Parker and Clara stood across from the group; Parker had explained the oh-so-impressive ways in which he’d met each of these flat tires, but Clara hadn’t really been listening. So far this evening had been a total waste of Clara’s favorite dark blue Chanel evening dress.

Now Parker pulled Clara’s arm tighter around his own. “But I guess I won’t be doing that anytime soon. Not now that I’ve got this knockout by my side.”

Clara smiled and dug her red fingernails into his arm. Hopefully he could feel it through his linen suit.