Iron Cast(42)

He hadn’t told her much about the party on the way here, just that he knew the band that was playing and it was not to be missed. There were enough iron fixtures in the house that Ada knew the hosts, at least, weren’t hemopaths. When she’d asked Charlie if they knew about him, he had just shrugged and told her that those who knew didn’t care, and those who didn’t know didn’t care to.

When the music started, Ada began to suspect that she and Charlie were the only hemopaths present. There were no emotions being forged by the instruments. The sound was fully organic, offered with no agenda. It had been so long that Ada had forgotten what it felt like to just listen to the music, to feel whatever she wanted to feel about it, to think about other things while she listened, like how reassuring Charlie’s touch was and how well she fit against his chest.

“Dance with me?” he asked, his voice rumbling against her back.

“All right,” she said.

She took his hand, and they slipped into the crowd of dancing couples. The song was slow for dancing, and much of the crowd thinned while the pianist crooned a ballad about a moonlit night and a lovers’ rendezvous. Ada and Charlie stayed pressed together, her arms around his neck, his around her waist. As they swayed to the rhythm, Ada rested her cheek against his chest and breathed deeply. He smelled like freshly laundered cotton, and for a moment the Cast Iron and Haversham felt so far away that she thought maybe they had happened to someone else. Maybe this was the only life she’d ever had, dancing here with Charlie Lewis.

When she opened her eyes, she realized they were the only ones still dancing. How long had the music been stopped? Charlie hadn’t noticed either, and Ada blushed hotly at the whistles and cheers they garnered. Charlie just laughed.

“Come on,” he said to the band, eyes bright. “Help me out, won’t you?”

The pianist chuckled and obligingly leapt into a new, faster melody, followed closely by the trumpets and drums. Ada grinned and let Charlie spin her into the new dance. They were rejoined by the other couples, and soon the party had climbed to a new frenzied height.

Once they had exhausted themselves, they took a break to mingle with the other guests. Ada met more people than she could possibly remember, and all of them shook her hand joyfully and assured her that any friend of Charlie’s was a friend of theirs. Ada liked the way he moved around the room, effervescent and artless. He hugged people because he was happy to see them. He smiled because he felt like smiling.

More than anything, she liked being the one at his side.

“Heya, Charlie,” said one man, throwing a wink in Ada’s direction. “Who’s your friend?”

“Not his friend,” Ada said. “His girl.”

“Aw, you sure about that, honey?” the man asked with a good-natured grin.

In reply, Ada had wrapped her hand around Charlie’s neck and planted a firm kiss on his mouth, catching his startled laugh. The man laughed too, bowing out gracefully.

“Damn, I like the sound of that,” Charlie said to her.

Ada smiled and kissed him again.

They stayed for hours, dancing more and sampling the host’s collection of spirits and food. She was so happy that she even found it easy to ignore the headache from the iron sources in the house. When Charlie took her hand and asked if she was ready to leave, Ada wasn’t at all. But it was getting late, and she was still hoping to beat Corinne home. It took fifteen minutes of farewells before they were allowed to depart, and Ada was sorry when the door shut on the music and they were left in the cold, quiet street.

“What did you think?” he asked. He hadn’t let go of her hand.

She was thinking a thousand things. Like how handsome he looked in the moonlight, the sheen of sweat on his forehead drying rapidly in the cold. Like how he’d never once made her feel guilty for not telling him she loved him too. Like how much she wanted to kiss him again.

“I’m glad we came,” she said at last. “I don’t think the Cast Iron or the Red Cat have ever thrown a party half as good.”

“The secret ingredient is Carrie Greene’s chitlins and corn-bread. Best I’ve had since I came up north.”

When she’d first met Charlie, he’d told her he was from down Birmingham way. The only reason he’d given for why he’d left was a few bars from an old blues song about his gal leaving him for a railway man. She hadn’t brought it up since. She’d always been afraid to ask.

Tonight, with her hand in his and the music from the party still singing through her veins, she felt brave.

“I hear it’s pretty bad down South,” she said.

Charlie was quiet for a few seconds, then lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. His free hand drifted absently to his left forearm, and she wondered if he was fingering the tattoo of the tree. Something else she’d never asked him about.

“Most of the white folk out on their plantations haven’t gotten the news that slavery was abolished. No better in the cities either. Soon as my mama passed, God rest her soul, I hopped the first northbound train I could find.”

They crossed over some trolley tracks, and Ada flinched as her heel struck the steel embedded in the pavement. Charlie squeezed her hand, and they hurried the rest of the way across the intersection to the safety of the sidewalk.

“I didn’t know about your mother,” Ada said. “I’m sorry.”