The Dollhouse(81)

“Right. Auditions.”

“Wait a minute.” The man froze, one hand lifted, mouth parted, as if he was teasing her or playing some kind of acting game, but then his concentration broke. “Esme Castillo?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, with so many students, it would be hard to keep track. Particularly if you were as self-aggrandizing as this guy. “Yes. That’s her.”

“Does she have an accent?”

“Yes. She’s from Puerto Rico.”

The secretary bit her lip and looked confused. “Huh.”

Hank cut in. “I do remember her. I can’t believe I ever forgot this.” He held his hand in front of him, palm facing outward, setting the scene. “I wasn’t scheduled to be on the panel that day, but Mr. Peterson was ill. This woman came in, lipstick the color of blood, shiny brown hair.”

“That’s Esme, yes.”

“She was arresting, I’ll give you that. She stood in the center of the room, wearing a dress that was quite revealing, and launched into a monologue from Romeo and Juliet. I tell you, I could barely understand a word the girl said. We sat there with our mouths agape.”

“We don’t take people with accents,” said the secretary, by way of explanation.

Romeo and Juliet. Esme had left a copy of the book in her room soon after they’d met, saying she didn’t need it anymore now that she’d been accepted. “She’s not enrolled, then?”

Hank laughed. “No, of course not. But she certainly perked us all up after a long day. I remember her well.”

Anger surged at his offhand dismissal. Esme had spent weeks preparing her speech. Only to be cut down by these buffoons. “Would she have studied with someone from the school, or anything like that?”

“No, there’s no room in the industry for girls who don’t know how to speak properly. Sorry, but you won’t find your friend here.”




Back in her room, with Mother’s condemnation still echoing in her head, Darby was surprised to learn she had another visitor. Had Mother returned to drag her back to Ohio? Or maybe she regretted their harsh exchange?

Instead, Sam stood in the lobby of the hotel. Darby checked herself from running into his arms, as Mrs. Eustis was greeting some new arrivals near the front door.

“I’m so glad to see you. I was just about to head downtown to find you.”

He looked around, pulled her close, his voice low. “We need to talk.”

Darby requested a visitor’s pass from the registration desk clerk, and led Sam up the stairs to the public lounge on the mezzanine level. A couple of the models giggled when they walked by, but Darby shot them a look that, to her surprise, sent them scampering away. To her relief, Sam didn’t gawk at their long limbs and silky hair as she expected him to. He pulled her down onto the tufted leather sofa.

“My God, it’s good to see you.”

“What’s going on?”

Sam ran his hand through his hair. “We’re in trouble.”

“We are?”

“Well, I am. The club, me, Esme. Big trouble.”

“I went looking for Esme at her acting school earlier, but they said she never enrolled.”

He straightened up. “Look, Darby. I think she’s run off.”

“What do you mean, run off? We have plans.”

“I know this will be hard to hear, but your plans mean nothing now. I don’t think she’ll ever show up here again.”

What was he talking about? Darby didn’t like his grave tone. “What’s going on?”

He reached out to touch her, but his hand fell back to his lap, as if it didn’t have the energy to finish the movement.

“Sam, tell me.”

“An article came out in the Herald Tribune today.” He pulled out the paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Esme did something really stupid.”

Darby glanced down. Sam pointed to the lead column and she began reading. The words swam on the page: Puerto Rican hatcheck girl, Detective Quigley, heroin, and the names of musicians she knew well. The Flatted Fifth.

She swallowed hard.

Sam ran his hands through his hair. “Esme had another side to her, one she didn’t want you to see.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s worked for Kalai for the past year.”

Darby tried to understand why this would be a problem, but it didn’t add up. “Esme sold spices?”

“Mr. Kalai has another kind of import business. He brings in heroin, other drugs on the side. He’s mentioned later in the article.”

“My God, Sam! Did you know all along?”

“Yes, but I stayed out of that part entirely. Kalai’s a brilliant man, and he was willing to pass down his knowledge of spices to me. His sons think spices are a waste of time—they only care about the money from the drugs. So they leave me alone and manage the heroin sales under their father’s watch.”

If she had been on shaky footing when she woke up this morning, now the ground was crumbling under her feet. “How did you get mixed up with a man like Mr. Kalai?”

“I met him through Esme. Part of her job as hatcheck girl was to act as a go-between for Kalai and his clients.”

“Why would she agree to do such a thing?”