Iron Cast(38)

The residents of the Cast Iron slept until almost noon the next day. When Ada woke up, Johnny was still gone. She knew that it would be futile to try to keep Corinne indoors all day. She was still sore at her for the comment last night, but it was hard to stay angry with Corinne, who was rude almost as often as she was witty. Ada had decided long ago that it came with the territory. She did make a point of banging around her compact mirror and cosmetics loudly until Corinne finally woke up and muttered a bleary apology.

“Accepted,” Ada said.

“Good. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Where were you last night?”

“Waiting for Johnny.” Corinne groaned and sat up halfway before falling back down to her pillow. “With Gabriel.”

The way she said it made Ada turn around. “And?”

“Don’t get too excited,” Corinne said, pulling her blanket over her head. “We just talked. And slept.”

“Together?”

Corinne threw off her blanket and sat up.

“I am a lady of class, Miss Navarra. I don’t appreciate your insinuations.”

Ada smiled and went back to her morning routine. After some coaxing, Corinne climbed out of bed and wiped away last night’s powder and kohl. Her frock was a wrinkled mess, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary.

“Have you called your parents?” Ada asked her.

“Do I have to?” was the immediate reply.

Ada didn’t bother responding. She knew Corinne would do it rather than risk her parents’ starting a citywide search for her.

“What are the chances of us sitting quietly today and practicing our embroidery?” she asked, once Corinne had struggled into something halfway presentable.

“Is Johnny back yet?” Corinne asked.

“No.”

“Then the chances are exactly zero,” Corinne said.

“I figured,” Ada said, pulling her hat onto her head. “What’s the plan?”

“The Gretskys. We have a sketch of the shooter from last night, and they know every thespian in town.”

“You sure they’ll want to talk to us? You know they steer clear of the Cast Iron’s problems.”

“I happen to have something that Madeline wants.”

“And that is?”

“A warm body to fill a seat in her precious theater. Apparently, their insurance agent told their accountant who told Madeline’s mother who told my mother that attendance is perilously low.”

“Listen to you,” Ada said, jabbing a comb in Corinne’s direction. “Picking up society gossip and using it against your friends like a true lady. Your mother must be so proud.”

Corinne made a face and snatched the comb away.

“Curtain’s up at seven.”

“I’ll be back by six. I have to visit my mother.”

Ada left Corinne wrestling the comb through her tangled hair. She could hear her cursing all the way up the stairs. At the top she nearly ran into Saint, who was holding what looked like an egg in his hand. He wisely ducked his head and stepped aside so she could pass. She knew Gordon was watching them, even as he feigned interest in his bag of sunflower seeds. Corinne had told her there was a bet going around the Cast Iron as to how long it would take Ada to break one of Saint’s bones.

Ada didn’t find it as funny as Corinne did. She and Saint had been friends. They had shared drinks and swapped stories and rolled eyes when Corinne was being incorrigible. Not long ago, Ada had comforted him at his father’s funeral, holding his hand as the gunshots of the three-volley salute ripped through the summer air.

Ada was so preoccupied that she arrived at her mother’s apartment building with very little recollection of the trip there. She climbed the interior steps slowly to the second floor, trying to arrange her features into remorse and brace herself for the oncoming wrath. Her mother was sitting on the couch, her back ramrod straight, her hands folded in her lap.

“Hi, Mama,” Ada said tentatively, shutting and locking the front door behind her.

“What did you do, Ada?” Nyah asked. Her voice was quiet and precise.

“What do you mean?” Ada sat down beside her, noting the worry lines etched into her forehead.

“There were men here this morning. They told me that my daughter is a wanted criminal.”

Hearing the word criminal from her mother’s mouth made Ada wince. Her mother had an idea of what she did, of course. Nyah was no fool. But the topic had never been broached before.

“Were they police?” Ada asked.

Nyah shook her head. “They wore suits. Their badges said Hemopath Protection.”

Ada’s stomach turned over. How had they found her mother? Were they following her? She stood up and crossed to the window, half expecting their black cars to be on the street waiting. The street was empty.

“What did they ask you?” she demanded.

“Do not speak to your mother like that,” Nyah said. She went into the kitchen and pulled a brass pan from the cupboard with a loud clatter.

Ada’s mother knew she was a songsmith. She knew what she was capable of, and that iron was anathema to her, but they never talked about it. It was just something that existed wordlessly between them. When Nyah had moved from their old one-bedroom apartment to the newly furnished one that Ada had rented, she did not once ask where the new wealth had come from. Without a word of discussion, she had left behind everything she owned that contained even a speck of iron—including her cast-iron pans and the iron-hinged trunk that had carried all of her and her husband’s possessions into this new country.