Empire Girls (9 page)

“It’s closed,” I said, pointing at the sign on one of the double glass doors of the entrance.

“Closed for another half hour, but open for us,” Ivy said as she opened the doors. The smell that wafted out was spicy, orange, rose. Heady and confusing.

A bell sounded as we entered.

It was cool inside the shop.

“Do you think Papa would be proud? Look at us, not a full day in the city, and we have work and a place to live....” I said.

I could tell by the way Ivy was fiddling with the hem of her sleeve that she didn’t want to entertain thoughts of our father at that very moment. Besides, a stunningly beautiful woman had walked out from behind a set of garnet curtains. I’d seen her the night before in the garden. It was as if she’d been holding court. Up close, though, she was even more beautiful. Not an ordinary beauty, either. It was the kind that startled you and brought you to another place in time. She was layered with mystery.

“Ivy, so glad you could come,” she said, walking toward us. As she walked, her tall graceful body leaned backward, not straight up. It looked as if part of her was lunging at us. She held a cigarette in a long holder in one hand that swayed back and forth as she walked.

I’d never seen anything like her. And I couldn’t decide if I was intimidated or interested.

Ivy met her, and they kissed each other on the cheeks.

“Rose,” she said, “this is Madame Cat. Cat, this is my sister, Rose. She’s the seamstress. She sewed the dress she has on while she was cooped up in our room last night.”

“Wonderful,” said Cat, spreading the word out for many more syllables than was necessary, as she looked me up and down.

“You look like someone I knew a long time ago,” she said. “Do people often say that to you? Have you grown bored with it?”

“No. Not at all. It’s helpful, really. You see, we are looking for our brother, Asher Adams. Could that be the person you think I resemble?”

“I don’t think so. I’d remember a name like Asher.”

“Our father was Everett Adams. Do you happen to remember him?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Are you certain?”

“You have style, Rose. And I think I like you, so don’t push me any further. You’ve asked your question and I’ve answered it.”

I looked at the interior of the shop as I mulled over whether Cat had lied to me.

Soon, Ivy and I would have to discuss a less-direct way of finding Asher. These women sure knew how to shut down conversations with a wave of their pretty hands. What were they hiding? I found myself agreeing with Ivy. We did need to be more careful in our approach.

Cat’s shop was as beautiful and exotic as its owner. Chandeliers hung everywhere, all different shapes and sizes, and the way they threw the easy light against the walls was magical. A million little prisms.

The dresses lined the walls and were also displayed on mannequins throughout the long, narrow shop. There was a long oak counter with a glass top that held gloves and jewelry.

Cat saw my interest.

“It’s obvious you can sew. This dress is charming. Are you looking for employment?”

“I think I may have just gotten a job at Empire House.”

“Yes, I know. Nell phoned ahead. But I can offer you sewing work. You can sew clothing when you’re not the new housekeeper. How does that sound?”

“How much do you pay?”

Cat let out a hearty laugh. Ivy giggled, too, and then Cat offered her a cigarette from a golden case. Who was this woman?

She turned to offer one to me but I put up my hand. I wouldn’t start sinking so quickly. Ivy had always been weak when it came to danger. I was strong.

“How much do you require?” she asked, and for the first time I could hear a soft lilt in her voice. One that gave away her origins. I had a feeling that Cat LeGrand may not have come from Grand Stock. Her words were carefully chosen to cover up a less-than-stellar education. But it was only a guess.

“Ten dollars a week,” I said.

“You are interesting, Rose,” she said, circling me. “Refined, insecure...hardworking. Determined, yet not too aggressive, a good judge of character.” She stopped to take a long puff of her cigarette.

“You will alter clothing and replicate patterns for new clothing in the store. I will have all the fabric and notions dropped off. When you are done with what I’ve sent, you will bring the garments back here, and I’ll pay you. How does that sound?”

“If I finish quickly, will I earn a bonus?”

“I don’t like rushed work, but if it’s fine sewing, your bonus is more work and quick payment.”

“If I sew you original garments, will you pay me a commission?”

Cat laughed. “You are a businesswoman, too, I see. Of course, but only if they sell. And you’d have to provide the fabric yourself.”

“You have yourself a seamstress,” I said.

“Wonderful. Now, seeing as you’re here, you can take your first pile of rags yourself. Usually Jimmy will bring you things, or I’ll send you back with things when you come to collect your pay. Go into the back and gather the alterations I left there. The shop opens in twenty minutes.”

Ivy stood up then, and with her best come-hither voice asked, “What would you like from me?” Then she proceeded to extol her virtues. I agreed with “I can act,” but when she got to “I’m a hard worker,” I had to stifle my own laugh.

Cat walked through a set of velvet curtains at the side of the shop.

“Is the ridiculous little bluebird going to follow me or not?” asked Cat. Then she turned back to me, flashing a bright smile, and clinked her beaded earrings together. “Oh, Rose?”

“Yes?”

“Do tell me how your search goes for that brother of yours. I enjoy a mystery.”

They left together, and I knew they were walking down a staircase, hidden from view, because of the echo of their footfalls.

I gathered the garments and patterns slowly, because I didn’t know if I was to stay and wait for Ivy, or if I was to leave.

When Cat came back up to the store there were people clamoring to come inside already. Cat’s Dress Emporium seemed to be quite popular.

“I have a busy day ahead of me, Rose. So you must go...but before you do, let me just say that I don’t think you know how talented you are. And also, I think it’s very brave...the way you are handling all of this...how shall I say...new,” she said. “I don’t like a lot of people, Rose. But I like you, so I’m gonna give you a little tip.”

“What’s that?”

“When you ask questions, it’s important to make sure you will be satisfied with the answer you may get.”

“Well, I’d be happy with a straight answer,” I said, shocking myself with my bold behavior. But for some reason, I liked her, Cat. I liked her a lot.

“If you’re determined, you might just get one. Be prepared, is all I’m saying. And one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I heard what you were saying to Ivy when you both came into the shop. And I think any father would be proud of two young women with such moxie.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Cat walked toward me and pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Those eyes,” she said. I could tell she wanted to say more, but didn’t.

“When should I expect Ivy?” I asked.

“Ivy will be working late into the night, kitten,” she said.

I didn’t want to know what that meant, but I had my suspicions. Cat must be running a speakeasy in the basement. Father told us about such establishments, especially in larger cities...but to think of Ivy working in one made my skin crawl.

“I’ll be making ten dollars a week,” I said to myself over and over again as I made my way back to Empire House alone. And though I thought I’d get lost...I knew the way back by heart already.

CHAPTER 8

Ivy

I’D NEVER WANTED
something as badly as I did a job at Cat’s. I tried to hide my desire, dulling my eyes, turning the edges of my mouth down—anything to not appear desperate, anything to keep her from getting a leg up.

Who was I kidding? She had more than a leg—she had legs, arms, that long elegant neck and crown of white-blond hair. Her superiority shimmered around her, a phosphorus glow most visible at night.

What really took the cake was how quickly Cat hired Rose. My sister slid into Cat’s glittery life like she was the trusted seamstress to the queen, while in the end, I had to beg for a job. Mr. Lawrence had been straight with us about the tenuous nature of our financial situation, and though practicality was not my strong suit, the city offered so much to those with a few dollars in their pockets and so little to those without. Living cost money. Maybe someday I’d give the Barrymores a little stiff competition, but I had yet to visit the theater district much less take it by storm. The farthest I’d gotten was peering into the dusty window of the Revolutionary Theater next door to Empire House. I’d sneaked past a sleeping Rose in search of a newspaper stand to buy cigs, and was again distracted by the sign calling for actresses. Even at the early hour, people were inside. Three men and a woman sat on a rug in front of a small stage, eating garbanzo beans out of a shallow bowl placed between them, conversing intently. A knock on the window startled me, and a realized a woman was swabbing the dirty windows with a rag. She was a sweet-faced, sentimental blonde, the kind whose photograph ad men slapped on canisters of oatmeal. Her dress was black and cut in a bohemian style, with lace at the collarbones. The girl smiled and gestured for me to come in. “Don’t be shy,” she said, holding the door open. I stepped inside. The theater was cool, much cooler than the street, though it was only half-underground.

“Are you an actress?” I asked her. I don’t even know why I asked it—all I had to do was take one look at her lovely face. Of course she was.

“Sometimes, but mostly I sew costumes and clean up around here. I’m Natasha.”

Natasha? More like Mary or Betty or Sue Ann,
I thought. “I’m Ivy.”

“Are
you
an actress?” she asked. “I’ll tell Bertrand, the director. He’s always looking for new voices.”

I glanced over at the stage, bare and waiting, and the small group of sophisticates sitting in front of it, and shook my head. “No. I was just curious. You have a lovely theater here.” The words came out too stiff and formal. What was I doing? I gave her a shaky smile and backed out onto MacDougal, my body trembling. Why didn’t I say yes? I had no trouble auditioning back in Forest Grove. But this was different somehow, and I didn’t want to think if the difference was in the venue or in me.

“I told you to stay away from the communists,” a man’s voice said. I whirled around to see Jimmy, parked curbside, giving him a front-row seat for my humiliation. He had the windows open, a cigarette hanging precariously from his lips. I should have noticed him, but then Jimmy seemed to blend into the background with ease. I’d stayed at the party very, very late the night before, but I hadn’t seen Jimmy after our interlude in the kitchen. Then, as I was about to stumble up the back steps, he appeared in the garden, smoking and sipping an orange blossom as though the New York night had dreamed him up. Had he spent the entire evening in the washing room with Viv? Had he gone off in search of other temptations? I had no idea.

Through sheer force of will I managed to look him in the eye. “I thought you said they were anarchists.”

“Same difference.” He spat ciggy butt on the street. “That’s not the job for you.”

“Oh, yeah? Have you got one lined up?”

“I saw you talking to Cat last night. Play your cards right and she can be a real friend. And Cat’s always got opportunities for her friends to make a buck.” He laughed when he saw the look on my face. “Not that way. That’s not what I meant at all.”

But what had he meant? The dress emporium, elegant as it was, had dark edges, like a cracked frame surrounding a beautiful painting. What was I getting mixed up with? Would a similar fate befall Rose? She’d let a tiger stretch out across her lap if it smiled up at her. If she was going to work for Cat, then I was, too. Jimmy said she’d provide opportunities. I wondered if we defined that word the same way.

“Okay,” Cat finally said after I extolled my virtues. “You can do all those things, but can you keep a secret?”

“Is the day long?”

“Too long,” she said, and smiled wryly. She told Rose to gather up some dresses from the back room and brought me down a narrow hallway to a door hidden by a heavy red velvet curtain. I half expected to see Dante’s words emblazoned over the entryway—“Abandon all hope ye who enter here.”

I didn’t change my mind once the door opened. A dim tunnel led to a crumbling cement staircase, the air turning musty and damp as we descended. “You breathe a word of this,” Cat said, “I’ll have Jimmy make hooch out of your melted bones.”

Cat knocked on the door at the bottom of the staircase in five quick raps. When it opened, the round-faced girl from the party stood gawking at us. “What’s she doing here?” the girl said, thrusting her chin at me.

“Ivy, do you know Bessie?”

I met Bessie’s glare with a smile. When in doubt, father always said, kill ’em with kindness. “I do. We met at the party at Empire House.”

“Ivy will take Lola’s place,” Cat said briskly.

“But Lola isn’t gone,” Bessie protested.

“Not yet,” Cat retorted, and stepped past the openmouthed girl, tugging me behind her.

I’d been in a speakeasy once before. My father, flush with a check from some naturalist magazine, took Rose and me shopping in downtown Albany. After wandering around the city, we found ourselves in a bowling alley across the street from the capitol building. Not a single soul was in it; the pins stood clustered in groups like abandoned bouquets of flowers. My father walked past the lanes, through an empty kitchen and directly into the ladies’ room. Rose and I followed to warn him of his mistake, only to find ourselves in a room full of men. They didn’t appear startled to see girls our age, but I was sure shocked when my father walked up to a bearded old curmudgeon and asked for a glass of beer. He ordered the root variety for Rose and me, and we sat in the corner near a quartet playing cards. The men nodded in acknowledgment as we passed, mumbling my father’s name, and I realized he’d not only been there before, but was a known entity. Rose, eyes wide and face blanched of color, had obviously come to the same conclusion.

“This is against the law,” she whispered.

“Laws are made by man, and anything made by man is subject to fallacy,” Father said boldly, taking a sip of his beer. He leaned forward, warming to his topic. “What if a law causes more harm than good? Should it be obeyed?”

I didn’t need to ponder the question. “No.”

“You’re wrong,” Rose said quietly. “If those judgments are left to individuals, we no longer live in a community. Standards must be upheld or the world unravels like a spool of thread.”

“You’re being too literal,” I said.

“Have you ever tried to rethread a spool?” Rose asked, and her face flushed crimson, a sure sign her spirit was up. “It’s impossible to make it as neat and tidy as it was originally.”

“Maybe I don’t like neat and tidy.”

“Girls,” Father interrupted, his voice crisp. One of the cardplayers said something to his companions, and they shared a laugh. Rose and I kept our heads down, and focused on finishing our root beers. We said little but pleasantries for the rest of the afternoon, but every so often my father winked at me, and I knew he was silently telling me he agreed with my perspective. When he looked at Rose I saw a more complex array of emotions play over his features—frustration, pity, puzzlement. At the time I was angry with her for displeasing him, but as Cat brought me into the jewel-toned speakeasy that smelled of smoke and vice, I wondered if he’d approve of how easily I slipped into an underground life, just as Rose acclimated to her role behind the sewing machine without skipping a beat. Had he thought too much of me? Had he missed something vital about her? Had I? I wondered if my father could have found a way to be proud of both his daughters as we began to wrestle with this city, if he could see what was slowly becoming clear to me.

Cat’s speakeasy was nothing like the sawdust floor room behind the bowling alley. Velvet tapestries hung from low ceilings, with rust-colored exposed brick peeking through, glimpses of the basement’s rough-and-tumble past. In the center of the space, black-and-white linoleum tiles created an octagonal dance floor, where people tangled limbs under a canopy of paper lanterns. A raised stage fanned out from a back corner, and I giggled to think of the house drummer trying to do his job wedged firmly between two walls.

Bessie disappeared into a small room behind the bar and exited with a package wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a hemp cord. “Your uniform,” she said, and handed to me.

I opened the package to find a silk, two-piece pajama set with a mandarin collar, in line with the vaguely Asiatic theme of Cat’s joint. Though soft as water, the material was sturdy, and the bright jade color would stand out in a sea of bodies.

“Maude and Viv are the other girls,” Bessie said, a note of bitterness in her voice. “Now that Lola’s gone.”

It didn’t surprise me that Maude and Viv would work for Cat. This big city was getting smaller by the minute. I did wonder what transgression had sent Lola packing, but didn’t press the issue. I determined that with this crowd, questions had to be broached carefully, like searching for a pickle in a barrel full of sharks.

“Should I put this on?” I asked instead, itching to try on the uniform.

“Have you got a cleaning costume?”

“Nope.”

“Then put it on, but be careful. Cat doesn’t like us to look a mess.”

Cat didn’t like any kind of mess, apparently. I spent most of the afternoon mopping the dance floor, washing the bar down with vinegar, and spot cleaning mystery stains from the hanging tapestries. I wore a cotton smock over my uniform, but that didn’t keep my silk hem from regularly dipping into the sudsy water.

“Roll up your cuffs,” Bessie said, exasperated. “You’ll wreck the silk.” She knelt at my feet and showed me how. “Tuck ’em in twice and they won’t fall. Don’t you know nothin’?”

That was a pretty fair assessment, but there was no way in hell I’d admit it. “Thanks,” I said, but she shook her head.

“We don’t have to like each other, but we got to stick together down here.”

Later, as the club got roaring, I still wasn’t sure what she meant. Other than a few pinches on the bottom, I hadn’t any trouble with the customers, and the girls didn’t have time for pettiness or squabbles. Cat’s place was hopping with cheerful, noisy Greenwich Village denizens thirsty for homemade gin and watery beer. The waitresses relied on each other to keep the drinks coming, and, according to Maude, we’d split our tips evenly at the end of the night.

My feet were screaming at me when the joint finally started to clear out. A few lost souls clung to each other on the darkening dance floor, and I was tempted to join them, to find someone to lean against and close my eyes.

“Cat wants this place spotless,” Viv said as she passed by, bumping my shoulder. “The night’s not over yet.”

I started clearing tables, my movements sluggish, like I was underwater. As I slowly walked to the bar with an overflowing tray, Bessie came up next to me and lifted it from my hands.

“Thank you,” I said, exhaling with relief. My arms had started shaking, and I wondered if I’d reach the bar without having to balance the whole thing on my head.

“I told you we stick together,” Bessie said. “You’ll do the same for me.”

Something, possibly the late hour, possibly Bessie’s friendlier tone, made me brave. “Is that why Lola got the boot? Was she a lone wolf?”

Bessie pointed to the glasses stacked against the mirror behind the bar. “See that glass there? How’s it different from the one next door?”

One was a standard martini glass, the other a special crystal glass reserved for the customers who scored the front tables, the politicos, theatrical folk and Park Avenue men about town. I’d learned that fact after a few harsh words from a real swell with a chip on his shoulder. “There’s a world of difference between glass and crystal.”

“You got it,” Bessie said. “Lola didn’t. She thought she was crystal, but we’re all glass. If you break, there’s another to replace you lickety-split. We’ve had a string of ’em who got the dustpan—Sophie, Rebecca, Daisy and now Lola—all gone.” She returned to her place behind the bar and handed me a crystal short glass and a clean cloth. “I stick around,” she said, pride evident in her voice, “because I keep my head down and get the job done.”

From what I’d seen, Bessie’s opinion of herself was a tad inflated. She gabbed plenty, but I didn’t mind. I began to clean the already-spotless glass to keep her talking. “We’re in Daisy’s old room at Empire House,” I said, hoping she’d spill something juicy. “Boy, she got out of there in a hurry.”

Bessie rubbed a hand across her freckled chin. “That one surprised me. I thought she was ladylike and classy, as fine as Hungarian crystal, but it turned out she was common as any of us.”

“She got into trouble with a fella?”

“That’s the skinny. He must have been a real beast ’cause in the three years she worked here, she never brought him round.” Bessie began to wipe down the cocktail shakers. “Cat knew what was going on—those two were thick, though you can never really tell if Cat trusts someone. Maybe the old lady at Empire House.”

“Nell?”

“That’s the one. She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?”

They all were. New Yorkers were shaped by action, noise and the poke in the eye of competition. Asher’s eyes burned with the fire of the city, with the wit and wager of a challenge. I wanted to look like that. I wanted my brother to show me how it was done.

“Daisy ever mention her boyfriend’s name?”