Out of the Easy(17)

“I’m hurting you? Oh, that’s ripe. You ruined my body and tied me down during the best years of my life. I could have been famous. And you say I’m hurting you?” Mother released my arm, pushing it away from her. She leaned back against the booth and began digging in her purse. She pulled out a small flask and took a swig. “This is finally my chance, Jo, and I’m takin’ it.”

“Fine, take it.”

“I don’t think you understand. Don’t expect me to come back.”

“I understand. I just wish you’d find someone other than Cincinnati. He’s a no-good criminal, Mother. You don’t want to get messed up in that.”

“You don’t know anything about him.” She pulled a huge wad of bills from her purse and threw one on the table. “There. This one’s on me.”

Generous. I hadn’t ordered anything.

Mother stood up and smoothed her dress. “Don’t forget to tell Willie. I’ll try to write, but I’ll probably be too busy.” She put a hand under her curls and bounced them a bit. “Maybe you’ll read about me in the papers!” She kissed the air in my direction and then walked out.

I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, hoping to stop any tears that might be forming. I hummed Patrick’s Rachmaninoff piece and felt my shoulders relax. I saw his torso swaying over the ivory keys, his father healthy again, standing and listening in the doorway. I saw Charlotte smiling and waving to me from the street and then suddenly, the image of Forrest Hearne, frantic, mouthing my name and waving the copy of Keats he had bought. I gasped at the image of Hearne and opened my eyes. Sonny was staring at me. The fluorescent lights buzzed and the ceiling fan creaked overhead.





ELEVEN


I snuck through the back door at Willie’s, dressed for Charlotte’s party. Dora’s boisterous laughter echoed from the kitchen as I hurried down the rear hallway. It would only take five minutes to iron my cream linen blouse. I couldn’t wear it to the party limp and full of folds. Since I didn’t own an iron, I generally ironed my clothes in the morning at Willie’s. I told myself I’d be in and out before anyone saw me.

I pushed through the laundry room door, startling Sweety, who was wearing a peach chiffon cocktail dress and talking to Sadie. Sweety stopped midsentence. They both turned to me, eyes wide.

“Jo, what are you doing here?” asked Sweety, her voice thick with concern. Sadie stared at me with her mouth hanging open.

“I—I’m going to a party, and I need to iron my blouse,” I stammered.

“What kind of party, honey?” said Sweety, still looking at me intently.

“Uptown,” I said. “A girl I met in the bookshop. I need to hurry.”

Sadie’s shoulders relaxed.

“Uptown? Well, how fun, Jo. Hurry and take your blouse off. The iron’s hot. Sadie, girl, put my sash aside. Let’s iron Jo’s blouse so she can be on her way,” said Sweety, gesturing with her slender arms. Even the way Sweety moved was gentle and lovely, like a ballerina. The sheer peach fabric swayed about her as she shifted out of the way. I couldn’t imagine her with fat, sweaty Walter Sutherland. I pushed the thought aside.

I unbuttoned my blouse and moved toward the ironing board. Sadie held up her hand and took the blouse from me. “Thanks, Sadie.”

“So, who are you going to the party with?” asked Sweety.

“A party?” boomed Dora, erupting through the door in a green satin robe with feathered slippers to match. She held a cup of coffee in one hand while dangling a cigarette in the other. Her makeup was freshly applied, and her red hair was piled high in rollers. “Now, who’s goin’ to a part—Jo, what are you doin’ here?” Dora’s eyes scanned my body, taking in my camisole, styled hair, and lipstick. “Why, baby girl, look at you. You’re puttin’ on the dog. Look at that new hairdo. Are you joining up—”

“Jo’s going to a party,” interrupted Sweety. “She’s in a hurry.”

Sadie nodded.

“Oh, good,” said Dora. “Well, who you goin’ with, doll?”

“Patrick Marlowe,” I replied.

“Mmm, mmm, now there’s a sweet thing,” said Dora. “Why doesn’t he ever come by the house so I can throw him around a bit?” Dora jostled her large chest and hooted. I just shook my head.

“He is a sweet boy. That’s why he doesn’t come here,” said Sweety. “You’d scare him right to death, Dora.”

“Well, Jo, you tell that gorgeous book boy that he needs to take lil’ ol’ Dora to a party sometime. I’d like to run my fingers through that shiny blond hair of his. He can read me some poetry from his bookstore.” She cleared her throat. “Roses are red, and Dora is green. Give her your dollars, and she’ll make you scream.”

We burst out laughing. I buttoned my warm blouse and thanked Sadie.

“Green and scream don’t exactly rhyme,” said Sweety.

“Of course they do! Now don’t you go criticizin’. I just might become a poet myself,” bellowed Dora, holding her coffee and cigarette in her best literary pose until we all started laughing again.

Willie walked through the door and folded her arms across her chest. Her platinum hair was pulled back tight, her pale face severe against the red lipstick and black dress she wore.