Empire Girls (4 page)

She ran away from me quickly and was swallowed by the crowd.

“Ivy!” I yelled, climbing back up the steep steps of the transom, trying, in vain, to catch a glimpse of her, and holding my hat against the hot, smelly air that came flying at me like the breath of a beastly giant.

I was pouring sweat already, and my lace collar—the one Ivy’d begged me not to wear—was sticking tightly to my neck. I was choking, probably to death, and I’d already lost my sister.

“Here you go, ma’am,” said a young man who’d taken my trunks from the luggage car.

“I say, are you planning on helping me get these trunks through the station and out...side?” I had no idea where I was going.

He held out his hand, and when I went to shake it, a man pushed passed me, laughing. “He wants a tip, not a handshake... Country girls, I swear, you’re all knee-slappers.”

Our money was so limited that I wasn’t going to waste it on handouts. Chivalry should be free, anyhow. So I looked at the trunks and convinced myself I could do it on my own.

I shook my head at him and tried to politely explain why I was not filling his hands with coins. Only no one could hear anything over the din of voices, the steam and chaos. I reached down and placed my gloved hands on the straps of each trunk, stooped over and began to drag what remained of us through the station. I can only imagine what I looked like. Finally, I saw the glass doors ahead of me, and I saw Ivy in her purple satin dress with the beads at the bottom shining in the sun. I wasn’t upset she’d worn it anymore. I’d be able to find her anywhere.

I lurched outside banging the trunks against people and bricks and anything that got in my way.

She was leaning against a black sedan, but it was the driver who saw me first. There was a sign taped to the passenger window that read EMPIRE HOUSE.

For some reason, it was that sign...affixed haphazardly to that dirty window that brought the whole ordeal into focus. No longer was this some foggy, dark dream. This was my life, and I was suddenly very present in it. Nothing was going to fit neatly into the pages of a book. Life, it seemed, was busy, and messy and loud.
Everything
about this city was so loud.

Ivy turned to look at me, following the driver’s gaze, and put her hand over her mouth. She laughed so hard I thought she’d lose her breath.

“Thank you ever so much for the help,” I said, trying to push my hair back from my sticky forehead.

“I know how much you like hard work,” she said as she came to me and took the trunks a whole three steps to the waiting automobile. “But I never considered you would try to become a mule. Why didn’t you let the porter take these?”

“Because he wanted money.”

The driver took the trunks from Ivy and opened the door for me.

“Thank goodness, a gentleman,” I said as he held out his hand, I thought, to escort me into the cabin of the car.

I started to place my hand on his palm, but he pulled it away. “Sorry to disappoint, miss, but I was sorta askin’ for a tip,” he said.

“Are you going to embarrass me every single day of my life, Rose?” asked Ivy as she reached into the outside pocket of Father’s bag and pulled out a few coins. She dropped them in his hand, slid into the sedan next to me. Then she batted her eyelashes, which made him smile at her. The whole flirtation happened practically in my lap, forcing me to lean back so that their hands didn’t touch me by accident.

“What’s your name, fella?” asked Ivy.

“Jimmy, doll,” he said cocking his hat to one side. He was darker, this Jimmy. “Black Irish” Mother used to say, when we were impressionable young girls. She’d say it with a bit of disdain when we’d see them in town. Wrong side of the track kind of people. We Adamses didn’t belong on the track at all, so we could always identify people on, off, on the right side or the wrong side of any situation. Father said it made us well rounded.

“Do you have a name?” he asked my sister.

“Ivy,” she said. “I’m Ivy and this is my sister...”

Jimmy cut her off. “Ivy, huh? You don’t look like something stuck to the side of a house. I’ll have to come up with another name that’ll suit ya better.”

As if he’d see her again. Not to mention he hadn’t wanted to know my name, which is when I realized that if anyone could become invisible in a city full of people, it would be me. That thought brought me back around to thinking about Asher. If it was true, and we were similar people, then perhaps he was invisible, too. I shivered at that thought. It would be too hard to find someone who could not be seen.

Ivy, however, didn’t seem to notice Jimmy’s dismissal of my presence. Or if she did, she didn’t care. He sat behind the wheel again, and Ivy scooted up to sit with her arms crossed on the back of the front seat. I could see their exchanges in the rearview mirror.

“So, Jimmy...which way are we headed? Uptown, downtown? Where is this Empire House?”

“Where do you want it to be?” he asked.

“I don’t care if it’s smack in the middle of the East River. I’ve been waiting for this moment for my entire life,” said Ivy.

The truth that I felt in her statement hurt me. I always knew she wanted more from life...but could she have been that unhappy in Forest Grove? And for how long?

She leaned back her head and winked at me. And before I could stop myself, I reached out and tugged hard at the fine edges of her bob that just grazed her exposed back. It pulled her neck in an unnatural direction and she snapped her head away from me yelling “Ow!”

“You all right?” asked Jimmy, even though he was glaring at me in that infernal rearview mirror.

His blue eyes met mine, only I decided to give him my best glare, and it made him turn away.

“Yes, I’m fine,” answered Ivy. “My hair got caught on my sister’s broach. Who even wears high necks anymore?” They were laughing at me, but I knew Ivy was hurt because she kept rubbing the back of her neck.
Good,
I thought.
My shoulders won’t be the same after that trip through the station with our trunks....

“So, you never answered me. Where is this place? Uptown, downtown?” she asked.

“The best part of town. Only the best for you, uh...two. It’s in The Village, right off MacDougal.”

That did it. I put my head into my white-gloved hands, already gray with the filth of the city, and I cried.

CHAPTER 4

Ivy

NEW YORKERS MOVED
so quickly. Pitched forward, chins leading the way, they dashed to and from destinations I could only dream about. The whole city was like a wild horse chomping at the bit—as if the island of Manhattan would soon tear itself away from the surrounding land and bolt for the wide-open sea of the future.

Jimmy, a broad-chested, raven-haired Irishman, was proving a prince of the city streets. He maneuvered the large vehicle with casual ease, pointing out restaurants and museums, secret taverns and notorious alleyways, in a voice that dipped and rose with the lilting song of the Emerald Isle. Rose disapproved—her grumblings buzzed around us like flies we casually swatted out the window. I knew what she was thinking.
So new off the boat his cuffs are still damp,
but even if it was true, Jimmy knew Manhattan as well as any travel guide. He also smelled deliciously of tobacco and bay rum. I perched my bottom at the edge of the jump seat and nearly got popped in the nose as he excitedly gestured at the imposing Arch of Washington Square Park.

“I live right here in Greenwich Village, and I’ll tell you it’s a place like no other,” Jimmy said as we motored past a couple embracing under the Arch. The man was bent over the girl, his mouth at her neck, his steadying hand at the curve of her back. I felt a growing sense of anticipation. Was that what it was like to live here?

“Have they no shame?” Rose muttered. Another complaint, but I was glad she’d stopped crying and started looking out the window.

“Maybe they do, but have no use for it,” I countered.

Jimmy turned onto MacDougal Street. “You’ll like Empire House,” he said. “It’s in the thick of things, a good choice if you’re in the city.” The buildings on MacDougal, connected to one another and built in the Federal style, lined the street like painted soldiers. Jimmy eased into an empty space in front of one washed in a muddy blue-gray color, its elongated, latticed windows rowed in groups of four. Red azaleas rested in stark white window boxes and the front stoop appeared freshly swept. The door, familiar from Asher’s photo, was glossy black, and the bronze plaque next to it shone in the sun.

EMPIRE HOUSE

“Don’t let the landlady intimidate you,” Jimmy said as he jumped out to grab the bags. I followed, leaving Rose in the car to sort out the money situation—I didn’t have the head for it.

I squinted up at him in the noonday sun. “I don’t let anyone get under my skin.”

He laughed. “You’ve never met Nell.” Jimmy hoisted Rose’s enormous trunk and carried it up the front stairs and into Empire House. Once he was safely inside, I could stop flirting and start eyeballing our new neighborhood. A few of the buildings had street levels that spilled open-air cafés onto the sidewalk. Colorfully dressed patrons leaned over small tables, speaking intensely about matters I could only wonder at. The scene was perfect for an artist’s eye, and I felt a pang, wishing my father stood beside me with his sketchbook.

I curled my hands over the wrought-iron bars protecting the garden level of the building next to Empire House. The windows were shuttered, however a sign on the muddy door said, Republic Theater, Revolutionaries Welcome. My pulse quickened. It certainly wasn’t the staid, cavernous auditorium in Albany, but then, this city was a different beast altogether. Theaters could pop up anywhere.

“Save your money. Whatever play they’re hawking will be closed down before you can blink twice,” Jimmy said, his breath tickling my bare neck. He’d come up without me noticing.

I turned to him and smiled. “I’m an actress,” I said, not bothering to mask my pride. “I’ll be looking for work.”

“You and half the girls in Manhattan,” he said dismissively. “But if you’re looking for theater work, you’d best stay away from these anarchists.”

The word turned my insides to jelly. Anarchists? Revolutionaries? This was going to be fun.

Jimmy laughed. “Don’t be such a tourist. You can’t walk around here with stars in your eyes.”

As we walked back to the car, Jimmy continued his lecture. “Empire House attracts the more ladylike types, but it’s still a boarding house. Always hide your best things, but don’t shove all that you own under the mattress—the girls will think you don’t trust them. Walk with a set of eyes in the back of your head, and if you’re going out at night, make sure you don’t get caught coming in late. But if you do—” here he had the most delightful twinkle in his dangerously blue Irish eyes “—run over to my place on Christopher Street and I’ll give you a warm bed to sleep in.”

I thought about the woman under the arch, and the man bent over her. I stepped closer to Jimmy. “Do you often leave your door unlocked?”

“If you’re wearing that dress, I’ll give you a key.”

I silently congratulated myself for my fashion choice that morning. I twirled once to give him a better look at how the dress dipped low in back. “A new dress for my new home,” I said. Technically, that wasn’t the truth. The dress was old. But I had a feeling that little fibs were necessary in this town and shrugged off the lie.

With a wink and a tip of his fedora, Jimmy climbed back into the driver’s seat. He drove a few yards, stopped suddenly and backed the vehicle up with a jerk.

Rose.

I’d forgotten all about her. I yanked open the passenger door and stuck my head in. Rose sat inside, an open book on her lap. “Did you tip him already?”

She nodded curtly. “Everyone’s hands are outstretched in this town. This is a greedy place.” There was a catch in her voice that told me she was trying not to cry.

A good kind of sister, a Jo March or Elizabeth Bennet, would have reached out, drawing Rose to the comfort of her solid bosom, coaxing the tears that so desperately needed shedding. But I was not a good sister. Jimmy made a sound of impatience, and embarrassment sharpened my words. “He’s got places to go,” I hissed. “Come on.”

“I can’t,” Rose whispered, her expression pained. “Maybe this was a rash decision. Let’s discuss this.”

I scooted in next to her. “Get your nose out of that book and take a hard look at this city, Rose. Can’t you feel it? All the opportunity? We can be
in
this world. We can make money and find Asher and have an adventure while we do it. So, please, get out of the car.”

Rose placed her book inside her travel bag, but otherwise didn’t budge.

“Why aren’t you moving?”

She closed her eyes. “Give me a moment, Ivy.”

Rose had spent a lifetime choosing stillness over action. When the Gilbert boys pressed their noses to our screened-in porch, shouting, “Come to play!” I ran outdoors. Our ragtag gang leaped into the cold river, scoured the earth for arrowheads and climbed the best mulberry trees, smearing the juicy berries on our faces until our skin turned purple. We hooted and hollered and lived. “Take it all,” my father laughed when we’d roll in the door like tumbleweeds. “It’s all yours if you want it, you little scalawags!”

Rose never joined us, preferring to stay inside, the egg tucked most firmly in the nest. She learned to knit and sew while sitting in a circle with our mother and her lady friends, who spent a few minutes discussing the women’s vote, but mostly passed the time clucking at bland, country-kitchen gossip, mundane stories that all sounded vaguely alike. Rose grew up with the mild buzz of their conversations in her ear, something that really dug at my father’s craw. “A child who grows up too closely aligned with adults assumes knowledge of a life she hasn’t yet experienced,” he always complained.

After mother died, father sent us to school in town, where Rose outshone our classmates in natural intellect, quietly assuming the top spot on the principal’s most-honored list. The teachers had high hopes for my sister, but when they offered a place in the new business class for women, she demurred. I got no offers, but took advantage of everything I could wiggle my way into—voice lessons, bit parts at the local theater, dance-a-thons, beauty contests. Rose accepted her diploma with a nod and retreated back to run Adams House. She cooked and cleaned and budgeted. The townspeople spoke kindly of Rose’s devotion to our family, but what begins as sacrifice can eventually become foolishness. My father would have said as much, but in the back of Jimmy’s car, I saw Rose gearing up to say the one word he hated, and my sister lived by—
no.

One moment turned into two, then three. “You don’t have a choice in this,” I finally said, and before she could protest further, I grabbed her hands and pulled her onto the street. She fell into me, and I kicked the door shut and shouted for Jimmy to hit the gas. He did, peeling down MacDougal in a cloud of exhaust.

We sat on the curb to catch our breath. A row of silver beads had come loose from my dress and spilled onto the pavement, rolling haphazardly in different directions.

“Did I do that?” Rose said.

“I think so.”

“Well, I’m not sorry,” she snapped, but there was a faint amusement surfacing in her expression.

“Oh, you’ll fix it for me anyway,” I tossed back.

“Yes, but I’ll send you out here to search for every bead on your hands and knees.”

I burst out laughing, and the sound coaxed a genuine smile from Rose. I wasn’t the least bit sore at her. How could I be? We were in New York on a sunny, charming street in Greenwich Village. I gazed at Empire House, its front, aging yet dignified, and felt my father’s hands at my shoulders, pushing me forward—
go, go, go!

Rose stood and dusted herself off. “Well, I suppose we should get ourselves a room before thieves run off with our trunks.”

We walked up the stoop together. I pulled the bell and the door flew open, creaking on its hinges. A street urchin answered, a young girl not much taller than my waist. Her small, heart-shaped face was dirty, but her dress, a cotton slip covered in primroses, was clean. She wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“Customers!” she shrieked, and pushed past us, sitting atop Rose’s trunk. “Are you moving in for good?” she asked, patting its brass lock.

“Definitely not,” Rose said, attempting to soften her words with a smile that quivered at the edges.

I crouched down, eye level with the girl. “Will you watch our trunks while we speak with the house manager?”

“Maybe,” she answered.

I nudged Rose and she dug a coin from her purse. With a sigh she placed it into the urchin’s tiny palm.

“I’m Claudia,” the girl said, pocketing the coin. “And there ain’t much you can buy in New York with a wooden nickel.” Laughing, she patted at the mass of orange-soda curls springing from her head like coils from a spent mattress. “Miss Nell is inside. Keep walking until you find yourselves in the kitchen. The cook made the coffee too strong again, so look out for flying cups.”

I watched Rose’s eyes follow the girl as she disappeared into the house. I knew my sister better than she thought. She was seeing herself in that girl, and the confused look in her eyes told me she was trying to make sense of why someone so young could put her hand out so easily. Rose didn’t know that she recognized the behavior, because she was doing the same thing in coming to New York—holding out her hand with the hope that Asher would put a nickel in it. If we could find him, that is. I wasn’t exactly sure what our odds were, but I knew one thing for certain—this city would offer us a thousand different paths toward a thousand different futures. We only had to choose the stepping-off point, and New York would take care of the rest.

We followed Claudia into the building. The sound of a woman’s complaints, imperious and disdainful, contrasted with the cheerful, feminine interior of Empire House’s front parlor. The wood floors gleamed, throwing light around a room that already sparkled with charm. Delicately etched paper—white with fine gold stripes—covered the walls. The rugs, bleached by the sun, held the faint outlines of delicate Victorian flowers, reminding me of my father’s drawings. Broad-leafed plants, green and glossy, stood tall in Grecian urns, their stems curving slightly toward the open windows.

“Well, what do you know,” I marveled. “Not so bad, is it?”

Rose’s eyes traveled over the room, lighting up when she noticed the floor-to-ceiling bookcase covering the back wall. “I suppose this will do,” she said.

I felt a surge of triumph.

The kitchen took the whole back of the house. We stood in the doorway, watching a haughty-looking woman harangue a tall, good-looking man wearing a white apron. The woman nearly crushed the man’s toes as she stepped forward, straining her neck to meet his eye. Neither of them broke away when we announced ourselves with exaggerated clearing of our throats.

“You cannot take cigarettes away from the working man and you cannot take strong coffee from the working girl,” the man shouted. “Basic human understanding!”

“We cannot afford to run through coffee like a bunch of Italian widows,” the woman growled. “Basic accounting!”

“Maybe some new tenants will offset the costs,” I interrupted.

They glared at each other for just a moment longer, and then turned toward us in unison. The woman had a regal face—a patrician nose, icy-blue eyes and a precisely painted mouth bracketed with fine lines that hinted at a lifetime of secrets. She was attractive, and anyone could tell she’d been a looker once upon a time, which probably made middle age a real wet blanket on a dry bed.

The man was a different story altogether. His features—from his neatly trimmed dark hair to his surprisingly thick-lashed eyes—were outlined in humor. His gaze danced over us, and he smiled graciously. “I’m Sonny Santino,” he said, and pointed to the bright, airy kitchen. “Welcome to my hovel.”

“I’m Ivy, and this is Rose,” I said, grinning back at him.

“Ah! The friends from Albany.”

“We’re sisters,” Rose said.

He laughed. “Sisters? You look like a pair of mismatched bookends.”

“I’m Nell Neville,” the woman said, studying us with intelligent eyes. “I hope the trip down was comfortable.”

Rose opened her mouth, but I pressed my foot against hers. “Fine and dandy.”

Nell’s mouth pulled into a smile. “Will you be looking for work here in the city?”