The Dollhouse(53)

“No. Esme.”

“Right. They say she fell off a building and died. But I don’t know much else.”

They continued talking for another twenty minutes, as Malcolm told story after story about his life as a jazz musician at that time. But whenever Rose tried to get him to tell her more about Sam, he clammed up.

Malcolm knew more than he was saying. He was protecting his brother for some reason. She was sure of that.

Outside, she let Jason carry on for a while about Malcolm’s extensive music knowledge. “He’s like a walking encyclopedia about bebop and hard bop and that entire era.”

“He really is. But I wish we’d found out more about Sam. Was it just me, or did you get the impression he knows where Sam is?”

“Definitely. He wouldn’t look at you when he answered. We’ll have to circle back to him, gently nudge him into opening up to us.”

“Hopefully, by our deadline. Thanks for diverting him when he was about to clam up.”

“Hey, I’m just the guy behind the camera. You were great with him, by the way, once I saved your ass.”

A jolt of pleasure ran through her at his praise, along with a spark of guilt for what she’d said about him earlier. “That means something, coming from someone who’s covered wars. Thank you.”

“It’s just the truth, Rose. You should think so, too.”





CHAPTER SIXTEEN



New York City, 1952


Darby vowed to avoid the Flatted Fifth after the strange spice expedition with Sam. She still cringed with embarrassment each time she remembered the sight of her disheveled face in that mirror. Before she’d gotten a glimpse of herself, she’d imagined they were a pair in one of the romantic movies that played in Times Square, dashing around town breathlessly together. But instead of Natalie Wood, she’d looked like a drowned rat.

In an effort to wipe her memory clean, she threw herself into her classes at Katie Gibbs, making sure to show up on time and well rested. Once, she forgot her gloves on the way there, but she ran into Maureen outside the building, who gave her one of hers. They walked past the monitor, each clutching a folder with one gloved hand, the bare one buried deep in a coat pocket, and sailed through. Even if Darby had gotten off to a rocky start, she still had months left to prove to her teachers that she would make an excellent secretary. And she would.

She’d also successfully steered clear of Esme for nearly a week. But this morning, her friend was back on elevator duty and she’d talked Darby into meeting for lunch at Hector’s Cafeteria on Fiftieth Street. The restaurant was packed when she walked in, and Esme waved at her from the back of the buffet line.

“You made it.” Esme handed her a tray and they shuffled along the stainless steel counter, which ran almost the entire length of the restaurant. Esme took a bowl of pea soup and a grilled cheese sandwich and Darby did the same.

The line ground to a halt while the servers refreshed the desserts.

“Where have you been?” Esme cocked her head at Darby. “Sam was asking about you.”

“I’ve been too busy with school. Mother wants me to stay focused.”

“Come on. You gotta whoop it up once in a while; otherwise you’ll end up miserable, working for a boss who makes passes at you but won’t leave his wife, and spending every Christmas and Valentine’s Day alone. Is that what you want?”

Darby had to smile. “No. I don’t want that. But I do have to support myself and this is the only way that’s viable. You should be at the club; you’re an entertainer. That’s what you want to do with your life. For me it’s too distracting.”

“Why, because Sam is after you?”

Her heart jumped every time Esme mentioned his name. She remembered the way he’d looked at her after she’d bitten into the steak, the way his finger tasted on her tongue.

“Sam’s not after me. He’s excited about his cooking, that’s all. He was happy to have someone to share it with since his father doesn’t approve.”

Esme looked about the room, holding up the line even further. Darby nudged her forward. They picked up two éclairs for dessert and paid, then made their way to a table in a corner. Esme took the chair facing the restaurant. “A friend of mine might be stopping by. I have to keep an eye out for him.”

Darby accidentally bumped into the table next to them, earning dirty looks from the older ladies seated there. “What friend?”

“Someone from acting class.” Esme put her napkin on her lap and dug into the soup. “Delish, right?”

“Very.”

“Listen up, I have a way for both of us to make some extra money. You interested?”

Perhaps she meant the extra “customer service” jobs they’d discussed at the Flatted Fifth, ones that promised greater tips.

Esme laughed. “Don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking and I’m not talking about that. Next Thursday night, Annie Ross is playing and they need two backup singers. People liked it when we sang together, and Mr. Buckley says we’ve got the gig if we want it. We each get twenty dollars. What do you say?”

“I couldn’t. I’d be too scared.”

“What’s there to be scared of? We’ll rehearse together. I’ll be standing right next to you for the gig, and then we go home richer. You’ve got to do it.”