Before Dorothy, page 5
The beat of a swing record on the gramophone brought a smile to Emily’s face. She swayed her hips in time to the music as she rouged her cheeks, penciled an arch in her eyebrows, and lightly kohled her eyes.
“Finally!” Annie studied her sister as she emerged from the bedroom. “You’ve done your hair differently. And is that a new lipstick?”
“New to me.”
“Emily Kelly! Buy your own damn lipstick!”
Emily planted a crimson kiss on her sister’s cheek. “And why would I do that when I can borrow yours?”
She grabbed her hat, coat, and gloves and fled from the room, racing down the three flights of stairs, Annie clattering behind, their giddy shrieks earning a sharp shush! from Mrs. Feeney, who was nursing another hangover after a night in a speakeasy.
“Mother of God! Would you two ever keep the noise down. It’s like living in a feckin’ circus.”
Her comment only made them laugh even more as they rushed down the remaining steps and emerged into a beautiful winter morning of golden sunlight and clear blue skies.
“I wonder if Mr. Gale will stop by again today,” Emily said, looping her arm through Annie’s as they hurried to the L train. She liked to tease Annie about the wealthy businessman who’d taken a shine to her in recent months. “He’ll surely invite you out to dinner soon. There can’t be many more silk ties and pocket squares left for him to buy!”
Annie dug an elbow into Emily’s ribs. “John Gale is a gentleman. He knows how to treat a lady, which is more than can be said for some.”
Emily laughed. “You’re a lady now, are you? I see!”
The biting wind swirled between the great steel and glass skyscrapers as they hurried on. Emily was reminded of her mother telling her Chicago had Ireland in its foundations. “When those great iron girders sing on windy days, remember they’re singing the songs of the Irish laborers who rebuilt all this from the ashes of the Great Fire.” Emily could hear it now, the hum of the broadside ballads, the thump of a bodhrán beating out the rhythm of a reel. The wind stirred a wildness in her, her skin fizzing like the electric lightbulbs that lit up the theaters at night. She felt restless, as if she was meant to be somewhere, but had forgotten where, or when.
Annie grabbed Emily’s hand. “Let’s go out tonight, Em, find a speakeasy and dance until we can’t feel our toes!”
“Sounds lovely, but rent’s due tomorrow and it isn’t payday until Friday.”
“I’m sure somebody will buy us a drink. Some young buck sitting on a railroad inheritance, or a wealthy widower.”
“I thought we were independent women, making our own way in the world.”
“We are. And one night isn’t going to change that.” Annie stopped walking and looked at Emily, her face unusually serious. “Don’t you ever get tired of scraping nickels and dimes together to make rent? Mammy and Daddy worked hard all their lives, struggling to make ends meet, and what good did it do? They died as poor as the day they were born. They wanted more for us, Em. They wanted everything for us.” She took a breath. “Let’s have a bit of fun. See where the wind blows us. You can wear those red shoes you got in the thrift store.”
Emily brightened a little. The ruby-red Mary Janes were almost brand new and had quickly become a favorite. “Fine. But I’m not letting a desperate old widower buy me drinks all night.”
They arrived at Marshall Field’s just as the Great Clock struck the hour.
“See you at five,” Annie said as they hurried inside and headed in opposite directions. “And don’t forget…”
“Give the lady what she wants!” they chimed together, and Emily wondered what it was that she wanted, because she knew it wasn’t this.
* * *
—
The day passed slowly behind the familiar pantomime of a rictus smile offered to well-heeled ladies with too much money and a debt of manners. As the hands of the Great Clock inched toward five, Emily wearily packaged up another parcel of Parisian silk lingerie. But what she saw in her hands was calico and cotton, and what she felt as someone brushed past was the flutter of her skirt stirred by a gentle breeze.
The customer was in a rush. She tutted as Emily struggled with the slippery silk bow.
“Could you hurry. I have another appointment to get to.”
“I’m sorry, madam. It won’t take a minute.”
“It has already taken three minutes, and you’re still not finished.”
Emily bit back a terse response and started again. Finally, she was done. The customer didn’t even thank her as she took the package and hurried from the store.
As she clocked out and took her coat from the cloakroom, Emily stood for a moment, watching the steady stream of perfectly made-up girls as they left the building. Tomorrow, they would all clock back in and do it all again. And the next day, and the next. She felt as if she were drowning beneath the drab monotony of it all. There had to be something better she could do, something more meaningful, something that mattered.
“No home to go to, Miss Kelly? And that skirt looks as if it hasn’t seen an iron in weeks.”
Miss Kielty. Dressed in her black uniform and with her elongated chin, she really did resemble a witch.
“Yes, Miss Kyte…Miss Kielty. I’ll see to it this evening.”
“Make sure that you do. There are plenty more girls out there who dream of wearing the Field’s uniform. You’re easily replaced, Miss Kelly.” She clicked her fingers together. “Just like that, I could make you disappear.”
Emily walked downstairs, wishing she could disappear.
For now, dancing with Annie would have to be distraction enough. For a few hours, she could forget about paying rent and lining the window frames with newspaper to keep out the drafts. She would suspend her restless thoughts and ignore her turbulent heart and step into a world of jazz and bootleg gin, where seductive men charmed impressionable women, and tomorrow none of it would matter because it was all an illusion—the flirty conversations, the forced grin, the dull fog of it all. It was make-believe: a fairy tale for grown-ups.
Annie was waiting outside. “There you are.”
“Yes. Here I am.” Emily let out a long sigh.
“Oh dear. Bad day?”
“Same as every other day.”
“There are worse jobs, Emily.”
“Like what?”
“You could be cleaning somebody’s toilets, for a start.” Annie grabbed her hand. “I’m afraid there’s been a change of plan for tonight. John called in earlier. He’s invited me to dinner. Do you mind?”
If anything, Emily was relieved. “Not at all. That’s exciting.”
“It is. I suppose.”
It was always the same with Annie. Whenever someone showed any real interest, she hesitated, afraid to get too serious in case the man she really wished she were with reappeared like the perfect prestige at the end of a magic act. But no matter how painful it was to accept, the reality remained that her beloved aerialist, Leonardo Stregone, was as lost to Annie as it was possible for a person to be, and the only illusion left was for Annie to try and forget him.
“What will you wear for dinner with Mr. Gale?” Emily asked.
“I have no idea. You can help me choose. And please call him John. Mr. Gale sounds so serious.”
“Old?”
“Don’t be mean. He’s very charming.”
“The worst ones always are.”
Annie ignored her. “He’s invited us both to his New Year’s Eve party. And before you protest, I already accepted. You never know who you might meet there. John knows most of Chicago society!” She looped her arm through Emily’s and hurried them both to the train. “I think things are finally looking up for us, Em. I have a feeling the New Year is going to be a good one.”
“You say that every year.”
“I know. And one year, I’ll have to be right.”
Emily smiled, unable to resist her sister’s optimism. She tilted her head affectionaly toward Annie’s. “What will I ever do without you, Annie Kelly?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Live a colorless life of despair and misery, no doubt! Come on. I’ll treat you to a hot dog.”
6
Chicago
January 1923
The new year blew in on Arctic winds that brought the first heavy snows of the winter and left Emily with a bad cold that saw her stuck to the bed for a week. Annie did her best to be sympathetic, but she was too busy being courted by John Gale to be at Emily’s beck and call. Emily didn’t mind. She was happy to be left alone.
She groaned at the burst of daylight as Annie flung open the drapes and flopped onto the bed beside her. She was still wearing last night’s dress and the silver shoes Emily had surprised her with for Christmas, and which she’d barely taken off since.
“You made it home last night, then?”
“Of course. John respects me that way. I told you, he’s a gentleman.” Annie pressed her hand to Emily’s forehead. “Temperature’s almost back to normal.” She peered at Emily’s face. “You still look like hell, but much better than you did a few days ago. You should get out for some air today. Blow the cobwebs away.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes. We’re having a dinner party next week.”
“We are?”
“Not us! Me and John. He’s celebrating a business deal.”
Emily felt a little foolish. Of course it was Annie and John’s dinner party. It had been Annie and John everything since their first dinner date. John had enchanted Annie with his generosity and flattery and old-fashioned courtship. Older than Annie by ten years, and a widower, having lost his wife to the influenza, John Gale had inherited his father’s railroad fortunes, and was now a successful businessman in his own right.
“And Henry’s coming,” Annie added. “So you have to make an effort.”
Emily groaned. “You’re not still trying to fix me up with John’s cousin?”
Annie smiled. “Trust me, he’s lovely. I’ll even let you wear my new perfume.” She lifted a beautiful glass bottle from the dressing table. A Christmas gift from John. She spritzed a cloud of perfume into the air and twirled around beneath it. “It’s called Habanita, by Molinard. All the flappers use it. Isn’t it delicious!” Her exaggerated French accent made Emily laugh. “Wear this and dear sweet Henry won’t be able to resist you!”
* * *
—
The following week, Emily arrived at John Gale’s impressive South Shore row house and took a moment to check her reflection in the beveled glass panels of the ebony door. The wind tugged at her red velvet cloche as she rehearsed a confident smile. She looked pretty, all traces of her sickness finally lifted. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks attractively flushed with the cold, but her heart wasn’t really in it. She would stay long enough to be polite and then make her excuses to leave.
She lifted the heavy iron knocker and rapped twice. She was about to add one more knock, for luck, when the door was opened by the housekeeper, an overbearing Polish woman called Marta, whom Annie had told her about and was a little afraid of.
Emily stepped inside. She took a moment to admire the décor as Marta took her hat and coat: the fleur-de-lis ceiling rose, the glittering chandelier, the soft light cast from Tiffany glass wall sconces. The best of everything. It was even grander than Annie had described.
“Well, don’t you look absolutely divine!” Annie floated down the long entrance hall and kissed Emily on the cheek. She’d arrived earlier to get everything ready. “The green dress was the perfect choice. Emerald to enchant! Dear Henry will be smitten!”
“Is he here?” Emily had partly hoped he wouldn’t be. She was oddly nervous about meeting him after all Annie’s talk.
“Arrived early, and sporting a new mustache. He looks ever so handsome!”
“Here. For you.” Emily handed Annie a posy of Christmas roses. She was a little embarrassed by their simplicity compared to the extravagant floral displays in John’s home.
“They’re so pretty! Thank you.” Annie asked Marta to put them in a vase and told her that Emily was the last of the guests.
Emily found it amusing to see Annie acting like the lady of the house, but she did it very well.
She followed Annie to an elegant dining room, which was already full of smartly attired guests who all seemed to know one another. The hum of conversation and laughter filled the room, but it was toward a tall man, standing beside the fireplace, that Emily’s eyes were drawn. She could feel his gaze follow her as Annie led her through the awkward process of introductions and small talk with John’s self-important business colleagues and their dull wives, until they eventually made their way to the far end of the room.
“And this is John’s cousin Henry,” Annie said brightly. “Henry, this is my sister Emily. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on progress in the kitchen.”
Henry shook Emily’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, finally. Your sister has told me all about you. You were certainly missed at John’s New Year’s party. I hope you’re feeling better.”
“I am, thank you. I heard it was quite the night.”
He smiled. “John’s parties always are. These business dinners, on the other hand, can be quite an ordeal. I’m always relieved when they’re over.”
Emily felt her shoulders relax, glad to know she wasn’t the only one silently dreading it. “Do you know everyone here?”
“Thankfully not.” He lowered his voice as he leaned closer to Emily’s ear. “Business this and politics that and let’s all congratulate one another on being enormously successful. Between you and me, I find it all a bit dull.”
Emily was surprised. She’d assumed Henry was a businessman, like John.
“I’d much rather be getting my hands dirty,” Henry continued. “Building something real. This is all just make-believe.”
Emily’s heart quickened. She already felt drawn to his playful humor, the crinkle of his eyes, the curve of his smile.
“You look very pretty, by the way,” he added as both their glasses were refilled with champagne. “The green suits you.”
“Thank you.” For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had complimented her so nicely, so naturally. “I like your mustache,” she said eventually. “Very Valentino.”
He narrowed his eyes and smoldered dramatically. “You’re very kind, but I think we both know it’s really more Chaplin than Valentino.” He twirled an imaginary cane in his hand and waddled his feet.
Emily laughed. “You’re right. Definitely more Chaplin!”
Henry held her gaze for a moment and raised his glass to hers as they were called to take their seats at the table. “Here’s to surviving the night, Miss Emily. Good luck.”
“Amen to that. We could always escape after the fish course? Make a run for it.”
His eyes sparkled. “Too obvious. Meet you beneath the table after dessert. We’ll crawl our way out. They’ll be too drunk to notice by then.”
Dinner was an impressive performance of consommés and souffles and rich dishes with fussy names that Emily didn’t have an appetite for. She was too restless to eat, picking her way around each perfectly presented plate as her eyes searched for Henry’s across the table. The conversation oscillated between business and politics, all of which Emily found tiresome. She was glad of the distraction Henry offered while John held court and Annie played house.
Much younger than his cousin, Henry Gale didn’t share John’s bombastic extravagance. It was his quiet assurance and refreshing honesty that drew Emily to him, and despite her plan to leave at the first opportunity, she found that she was happy to stay, eager to find out more about this intriguing man.
John refilled Henry’s wineglass as the conversation turned to the expansion of the railroads and the thousands of folk turning their hand to farming the Great Plains.
“My cousin here plans to work the land. Turn wheat into gold, or some such fairy tale,” John scoffed. “I keep telling him to invest in industry. Shares are soaring and the economy’s booming. You’re a banking man, Henry. You must see the gains being made on the commodity markets. Steel, coal, manufacturing. That’s where the future lies, not in wheat and corn.”
“I’m a bank clerk, John. I process paperwork. Stamp forms for loans and debts. It pays a decent wage, but it haunts my soul.” Henry turned to the rest of the table. “As you’ll all be aware, my cousin doesn’t have a soul, which is why a life of hard commerce suits him perfectly. I’m quite sure that if you tapped his chest there would be an echo where his heart should be.”
Everyone laughed at that.
John explained how his and Henry’s fathers—estranged brothers—had followed very different paths. “My father made his fortune on the railroads. Henry’s father followed his heart toward a farming life in the Texas panhandle. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions as to whose father made the wiser choice.”
Henry talked fondly of his parents, expressing his admiration for their resilience and determination and the years of hard work it had taken to build their farm from nothing.
A man seated beside Henry was interested.
“What are your plans, Henry? Pick up a free claim, or take your chances on one of the old ranch plots they’re selling off for forty-five dollars apiece? Seems to me they’re mostly selling a lot of hot air.”
