Harlem Sunset, page 14
Was it silly to mourn a club? Yes. But she felt very justified in being silly.
She and Rosa Maria threw their arms up in an effortless and elaborate Charleston. They were able to clear the dance floor with their quick and synchronized moves. They were so close, Louise always knew what Rosa Maria would do next.
They complemented each other perfectly.
How could she throw this away for Harriet? The thought sank her good mood like a stone in a river. She had to talk to Harriet still, but that was something that could wait until tomorrow. She could forget about all that for one more night too. All she wanted to do was think about dancing, drinking, and Rosa Maria in her dress. Louise could see, at the right moments, the strip of flesh underneath Rosa Maria’s garter strap, and that flash of skin drove Louise wild.
She was sufficiently drunk, floating on a cloud of alcohol. Everything seemed good now. Everything seemed rosy. Without throwing off her steps, she leaned over to Rosa Maria and yelled, “I’m so glad we’re here.”
It was up to them to create the fun everywhere they went.
And luckily that was a challenge they were up to.
They danced to every song. Fast songs, slow songs. They danced until Louise’s body hurt and she could feel her shoes giving way. Her dress was covered in sweat, she was covered in sweat, and she hadn’t felt this good in months. The band got better as the night went on, or maybe she just got drunker and looser. Even with multiple drinks, she was sure of her footing. She was certain that dancing was the only thing she was good at. And when Heaven on Earth closed, at two in the morning, Louise and Rosa Maria linked arms and hailed a taxi to take them back to their apartment. It was a perfect night. In the elevator, up to their door, it felt like they were floating on air.
Then Rosa Maria unlocked the door to 3I, and everything came crashing down.
The apartment had been broken into and totally trashed: windows broken, glass scattered on the floor, dishes smashed, the bedroom decimated. Louise kneeled at the wardrobe. Every last cent she had compulsively saved was gone. She didn’t want to think about how much money she had lost. She turned on the lights, assessing everything in the apartment.
On the wall, above where the couch was, across from the door, was one word written in red paint:
MURDERER
24
THE PAPER CAME early, and neither of them had slept that night.
Rafael and Eugene brought it in when they arrived. It took Louise a moment to understand what she was staring at. It was the Tribune, and her name was in bold across the top of the current page. She stared at herself. She stared at herself and Rosa Maria, at photos she had seen before, photos she had stashed in a kitchen drawer. She didn’t have to read the article to know what it was saying. Next to that was a picture of her and Harriet, taken surreptitiously from the front door of the club, the door of the cellar open and Louise totally exposed. Harriet’s light hat was visible.
There was nothing she could do but stare. Her entire body stopped functioning. She felt her knees give out and she sank to the floor. She could feel the blood running through her body; she could feel herself start to shake. But she couldn’t say anything.
This was only the start. She knew that. It was already noon and any chance she had of controlling the rumor, controlling her own story, was already gone. She couldn’t do anything. “Rosa Maria.” Instantaneously, she regretted everything she had ever done. Rosa Maria was in this position—they were in this position—because of her. Rosa Maria wouldn’t look at her. She was crying noiselessly. “I am so sorry.”
Louise wished they weren’t doing this in front of Rafael and his dim-bulb boyfriend.
But beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Louise stood, clearing her throat. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to them. She didn’t want to think about how everyone would know, how her and Rosa Maria’s lives would change from this moment on. She stepped toward Rosa Maria.
Rosa Maria took a step away from her. “I’m staying with Rafael until . . .”
“I am so sorry,” Louise said again.
She couldn’t think of anything else to say. She could barely think at all. The only thing she could really feel was the anger that was pulsating through her body. Years and years of being careful, of being discreet, had led to this.
“I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t mean any of this.”
“Lovie.” This was Rafael. “Eugene’s gonna help Rosa Maria pack, okay?” He was speaking in a calm voice, one he would use interchangeably on angry children and guests who had drunk too much.
She couldn’t argue. There was no way in the world for her to argue. She nodded numbly and let Rafael lead her to the couch, where they sat side by side. He didn’t say anything. Rosa Maria closed the door behind her and Eugene.
Louise stared at the photos of herself in the paper. She pinched herself, trying to determine if this was a dream. She started to read the companion article, then stopped. She didn’t need to read the slurs and insults that were being hurled at her. She closed her eyes, wishing everything in the world could stop.
“Lovie.” It was minutes of staring at a closed door before Rafael attempted to speak. She had never seen him at a loss for words, but now he opened and closed his mouth three times before ultimately not saying anything.
“I didn’t mean this. I didn’t want this. Who would do this?” Louise asked.
Rafael put an arm around her, pulling her close. She blinked dully in the ether.
“Louise, you have to pull yourself together.”
It wasn’t that long ago that they were eighteen, going to the Zodiac, dancing the night away before sneaking back home. It was easy to feel indestructible, especially if they knew a good Charleston. She wanted those days back. How was it possible that time had passed so quickly?
“I . . . I can’t. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”
Louise exhaled and leaned into Rafael. She was tired of pretending not to be tired. She had been through the wringer in the last year. If anyone deserved a break, it was her.
“You don’t mean that, Louise.”
“Yes, I do.” She pulled herself away, sat up straight. “If I keep doing this, then everyone I love is in danger. I should have known that. I should have been smarter.”
After Celia, Louise had to be wiser about protecting the people she loved.
But she hadn’t been, and now she had to pay the price.
“You can’t blame yourself.” Rafael was keeping his voice soft and calm.
“But who else can I blame? I seek danger. I seek it out for what? For this? How would you feel? What would you do?”
He didn’t say anything. Louise got up and poured herself a drink. She drained it in one large gulp. She exhaled and poured another glassful. She closed her eyes against the burn of the illegal alcohol.
“I did this.” What a terrible realization. She hadn’t even been that careful. She had kissed Harriet, although her face wasn’t visible in the photo.
And Louise’s world would be different. She mourned yesterday, when none of this had happened yet. Sitting in the Gold Room having the time of her life. And she wanted it back.
“I would be angry,” Rafael said.
“Of course you would,” Louise said. “I can’t be seen with you. In case people find out.” She had never been a very public person and this was the worst thing that could have happened.
She crossed her arms as Rosa Maria emerged, Eugene behind her carrying two large suitcases. Rosa Maria didn’t look at her. Louise stepped toward her.
Rosa Maria stepped back and said, “I did love you, you know.”
* * *
• • •
SITTING ON THIS side of the table was peculiar. There was no other way to describe it. Detective Martin was standing across from her, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his wide, flat hands on the table. She knew he was trying to intimidate her.
She had already decided she wasn’t going to let him.
Louise focused on lighting a cigarette, getting the match lit before lifting it to the cigarette between her lips. She made sure that every move was decisive and confident, although she could feel herself shake like a leaf in the wind. It was hard to try to be cool when she wanted to scream out of fear. She hated this little room. It dawned on her that this was the spot where Bernard Thomas had been sitting when she unknowingly gave him poisoned tea.
“Drop the act, Lloyd.” Martin’s voice was an angry hiss.
“What act?” She raised an eyebrow. This was going against how she was raised. The Lloyd girls were raised to be polite to everyone. She tilted her head up, looking directly into Martin’s eyes.
“This bullshit.”
It was hard to imagine that they had once worked together. She watched as his scowl relaxed.
“What?” she asked again. She was toeing the line and she knew it. She removed her cigarette from her lips and exhaled as much as she could as slowly as she could.
She had known this was coming. Only a fool couldn’t have seen it. She had been called into the station, formally, for an interview at ten a.m. It was now ten thirty-five and they hadn’t done much but stare at each other in contempt. She was all bravado, and she knew it.
“Where were you the night of March fifth?” Martin asked.
“I was celebrating my birthday with my friends.”
“Where?”
“The Dove Nightclub.”
She hated saying it. She knew he already knew about the club; he had arrested her there. But it was sacrilegious to mention the club when she knew it was against the law.
Not that she cared much.
“And the club closed around . . . ?”
She could tell he was restraining himself. There was no part of her that wanted to answer these questions. There was no part of her that thought this would help.
“Three in the morning. Some friends and I stayed in and we spent time talking after we closed.”
“And at what time did Rosa Maria Moreno murder Nora Davies?”
“She didn’t.” The answer tripped on her tongue. She stuttered over it. “She never would.”
He paused. About sixty-five percent of these interrogations were dramatic flares. Martin pulled out his notebook and flicked through a couple of pages until he settled on one. “Fox Schoonmaker says that you all were fighting in the early hours of March sixth.”
“That doesn’t mean Rosa Maria killed anyone.”
Fox. Fox Schoonmaker. What a ridiculous and pretentious name. If Louise had merely suspected that Schoonmaker wasn’t who he said he was, it was all but confirmed now.
“That doesn’t mean anything. People fight.”
She was managing to stay calm and cool but her nerves were running her ragged.
Martin looked her over, the lids of his eyes flickering as he did so. In the months since they had worked together, he had gotten bigger, broader. She could tell he was stronger. He could, if he wanted, strangle her until the breath stopped in her body.
“You two are close, aren’t you?”
She didn’t like the way he said “close.” She kept eye contact, but didn’t respond. She didn’t want to give him anything.
“I know Rosa Maria told you. Just tell me what she told you.”
He lowered his voice so he had to lean in close. His mouth was near her ear and she shivered, feeling the hairs on her arms and neck rise in protest.
Louise swallowed hard. She focused on staring straight ahead. “I can’t remember the night.”
He slammed a hand on the table and Louise bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t cry out.
“Bullshit! You all are hiding something. Whose idea was it to kill Nora? Was it yours, Miss Lloyd?”
“I would never—”
The sentence was halfway out of her mouth when Martin laughed in response. “Are you forgetting that you have killed before, Miss Lloyd?”
He said her name with so much ire, she didn’t look at him. She trained her sight on the closed door in front of her. She refused to look anywhere else.
“I had to kill him.”
“You wanted to.”
He was echoing the thoughts that had plagued her for months. Was there a part of her that had wanted to pull the trigger? Wanted to get revenge for every girl that man had killed?
And if so, why wouldn’t she admit it to herself?
“No, I had to. You know what he was.”
“What about Nora? Did you have to kill her too?”
Louise drew in a breath, trying to keep herself calm. “I didn’t kill her. My friends didn’t kill her.”
He narrowed his eyes, leaned on the table. “I’d be so careful if I were you, Miss Lloyd. You’re treading on thin ice. I always knew there was something off about you.”
She had never seen Martin so smug and sure in his belief that he was better than her based on arbitrary traits like his white skin and his penis.
Louise was not in the mood to play these games with him. He wanted to get inside of her head and she was not going to let him. She raised an eyebrow, keeping eye contact. She was tired of these men.
He placed the newspaper in front of her. She didn’t look at the photographs printed inside. She kept her eyes on Martin’s face.
“What do you think about this?”
“Nothing.” Louise’s heart pounded in her chest. “I think nothing about it.” She tried to keep her breathing steady, tried not to betray her true emotions.
“Do I have to explain these photos to you?” Martin asked.
She certainly would have liked to see him try.
“I think you’re blowing all of this out of proportion. This isn’t evidence of anything.”
She had to be careful how she chose her words. If she said the wrong thing, she would be shipped off to jail or worse. She had to protect what was left of her reputation. She crossed her arms over her chest.
“I don’t need to spell it out for you, do I?”
“No, and you can’t hold me on anything. I would like to leave.” She wouldn’t have put it past Martin to do all of this to keep her from the case.
“You’re not going anywhere yet, Miss Lloyd.”
His tone was cold and measured. He fell into silence as he glared at the newspaper in front of him. She stared straight ahead, still and quiet. She wasn’t going to let him bait her into anything. She knew this was all part of an act; he was going to be silent to goad her into talking. She knew better. She was not going to let him win. Louise waited, trying to turn his game on him.
“I always knew.” His words were quiet and thoughtful when he spoke again. “What type of woman wouldn’t want to fulfill the duty she was put on this earth for? What woman would frequent those dens of sin, live with other women, wasting the best years you could have as a wife and a mother?”
Louise gritted her teeth, not buying into it. “I hope you know the world has changed,” she said. “It doesn’t make me ill or stupid not to want to be a mother.”
It was rich of him to be talking. It wasn’t so long ago that Martin had been in a serious relationship with one of her former housemates while conducting an affair with a sixteen-year-old girl. He didn’t realize the hypocrisy coming from his mouth.
“Did you kill Nora?” Martin asked.
The way he asked the question, so casually, nearly made Louise snap. She had to hold on to her anger. She knew that her temper was her least attractive trait, but she could still use it.
“Were you having some type of disgusting affair with her and killed her when it went wrong?”
“I would never do that,” Louise said.
“Did you owe her money?”
“I didn’t even know her,” Louise said. “I want to leave. Now.”
She put as much venom in her voice as she could muster. Martin raised an eyebrow. He knew he couldn’t keep her, not on some photographs in a paper.
“Fine. But I can’t release you on your own.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Perfect timing. There was a knock on the door, and when the detective opened it, her father was standing there. Martin smiled, cool and collected. “You’re free to go, Miss Lloyd.”
25
FOR A MOMENT, when Louise woke up, she thought she had been in a horrible nightmare. But then she opened her eyes, realized that she was in her childhood bedroom with her father down the hall.
This was worse than a nightmare.
She dressed in the dress she had worn the day before, the only thing she had with her. She had a headache. Being released into her father’s custody meant that when they arrived home, he had yelled at her for hours. He had threatened to have her committed.
She wished he would. An asylum would be an awful place to live but it would be an end to this torment. It was funny how he still had so much power over her. Louise sat on her bed. The door was closed, but she could hear her aunt singing church songs from the kitchen. Her father would be in his office. She knew this routine like the back of her hand.
Louise blinked twice and pulled her curtains back from the window. It was midmorning, and the sun was washing over the street. She considered climbing out of the window, but then she realized she was twenty-seven years old. She had a right to use the front door and leave.
Besides, she had a job to do.
Louise wasn’t lucky. Her father was waiting for her when she opened the door. He moved before she could anticipate it. He struck her across the face, almost knocking her to the floor.
“Get back in there.” His voice was full of ice.
Louise did what she was told without thinking about it. She had been raised to obey every command.
Louise sat back down on her bed, the bed that had very recently belonged to Celia. She watched as her father looked around the little room. She realized now that the silence was being used as a power move, used to intimidate her.
