The Dollhouse(17)

She knocked again. “Miss McLaughlin, are you home?”

Nothing.

She put her ear to the door. She had the uncanny sensation of a presence lurking on the other side, but the older woman wasn’t moving a muscle.

“I’m Rose Lewin. I live upstairs. I was hoping I might be able to introduce myself.”

She waited. The woman didn’t even say hello. Rose should have come down saying that there had been a leak in her apartment and she wanted to make sure it hadn’t seeped through her neighbor’s ceiling. That would have gotten her in the door, at the very least. She was off her game. Normally, that type of thinking would have come instinctively.

She had to reach her somehow.

“I’m so sorry to bother you. I would love to say hello. I’m something of a historian-slash-journalist, and I’d like to find out about what the Barbizon was like back in the fifties. In fact, I’m doing research for an article.”

The dog gave a sharp yip, but was quickly silenced.

“Okay, well, sorry to have bothered you.” Unbelievable. The woman was standing a few feet away, behind her closed door. Who behaves that way?

“I’ll slip a note under your door. I hope you’ll take the time to read it. I’d love to get your help with the project. I’ll stop by again later.”

She slid the note under the door and waited, half expecting it to shoot back out.

“I’m off; have a good night.”

Back at her apartment, she poured a large glass of wine and curled up on the sofa. She needed this story. It was the first pitch she and Tyler had agreed on in ages. The woman in 4B was an enigma, living alone with her tiny dog in the same apartment year after year. How did she fill her time? Did she have family nearby? Did she have someone close to her she could rely on?

A faint sound came up through the open window. The music again. Rose perched on the windowsill, wine in hand, and listened as her curious neighbor played the same sad, sweet love song over and over.





CHAPTER SIX



New York City, 1952


The elevator girl hit the light switch in Darby’s room and closed the door behind them. “Ignore the giraffes; they’re a nasty bunch.”

Darby stared at the girl. Esme, they’d called her. She was about her height, with velvety brown eyes accentuated by the severity of her hairstyle, which was pulled back in a tight bun.

“Giraffes?” she croaked, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief.

“All long necks, loping along like prey. Just hoping a big lion will attack, if you know what I mean. A big, manly lion.”

As she talked, she walked behind Darby and unzipped her dress. Darby allowed it to pool at her feet and stepped out of the circle of fabric.

“I’ll have this washed and mended and it’ll be fine. Don’t worry about that.” Her accent was crisp, slicing through the air.

“Where are you from?” Darby couldn’t help asking.

“Manhattanville. Puerto Rico before that. I’m Esme, by the way. Do you know where Manhattanville is?”

“I’m Darby. And no, not exactly. Sounds very pretty.”

“No, chica. Trust me. Stick to the East Side for now. You just got here, right?”

“Yes.” Profound misery enveloped her once again. She was surrounded by girls who were nasty, when she hadn’t done anything to inspire their wrath. Or had she? Was there some code or password she’d missed out on? During high school she’d preferred novels to her classmates: They were in every way easier to read.

“Don’t start crying again. That’s what those girls like. You gotta toughen up.”

“I just want to go home.”

Esme stood quietly for a moment, then led Darby to the bed and sat her down. “The city is scary at first, even for these girls. For me, too. When I got off the plane from San Juan, I thought I’d freeze to death. Snow, ice, everywhere. My aunt told me that when she first got on a subway, she tried to find the cord to make it stop, like you have on a bus, right?” She swore under her breath and Darby couldn’t make out the word. “You’ll get used to it, don’t worry. You gotta decide what you want out of it. Don’t let them trample you.”

“I imagined them as gazelles, the girls.” Darby smiled, in spite of herself. “I like giraffes better.”

“That’s the way. Laugh it off. And put in a request to Mrs. Eustis to switch floors. You should be with the other Katie Gibbs girls, not with these monsters. They’re the messiest of all the guests here at the hotel. Leave their stockings and girdles all over the bathroom, not caring who sees what. It’s disgusting.”

Darby didn’t mention that spitting was fairly disgusting behavior as well.

“Thank you for helping me, Esme. That was nice of you.”

“Sure thing. I figured you weren’t like them.”

“Clearly not; just look at me. My dress is all wrong, my hair. You can take the dress and burn it, for all I care. I’ll never wear it again.” She still tasted Walter’s breath and tongue, the feel of his hands on her.

“It’s a little dullsville, to be honest. Why umbrellas?”

Her response caught Darby off guard. “I thought it was an interesting pattern.”

“You need to get glamorous. Umbrellas aren’t glamorous.”