Last Night at the Telegraph Club(43)
“Chinatown.”
A toilet flushed, and someone down the line let out a faint cheer as the women edged forward.
“Chinatown, of course.” Claire gave her a conspiratorial smile, but Lily didn’t return it. Claire’s smile faltered a bit before she rushed on. “I mean, there’s nothing like this in San Mateo. And then I found this place and—wow, it was like the clouds parted and I had arrived at the promised land.” Claire laughed a little.
Lily noticed some activity at the end of the hall, and she looked past Claire to see whether someone had left the bathroom. The door to a different room had opened, and a blond woman emerged; she wore a tight powder-blue sweater tucked into a charcoal pencil skirt, and red high heels. Directly behind her came Tommy Andrews, still dressed in her tuxedo and black tie, her hair as gleaming as ever. She was smoking a cigarette, and the smoke trailed after her in a thin white stream.
As she passed the line of women, she greeted some of them by name. “Frannie, hello. How’s Midge? Haven’t seen you in a while, Vivian.”
Meanwhile the blonde preceded her, a faintly worried look on her face, until she caught sight of Claire, who was waving at her as she said, “Lana! Lana, how are you?”
Lana’s worried expression turned to pleasure. “Claire! It’s so good to see you.” They embraced, barely two feet away from Lily, and she caught a whiff of Lana’s floral perfume.
Claire and Lana were talking in excited whispers, and all the while, Tommy came closer. She was shorter than Lily expected, but the way she held herself made her seem tall. She was waiting behind Lana now, because the hallway was narrow enough that she couldn’t pass, and her eyes were sweeping over Claire, and then over Lily and beyond her—and back again, curiously. Lily felt Tommy’s gaze as if it were a breath on her face. Goose bumps rose on her skin.
Tommy said, “I have to get back downstairs. Sorry to break it up, girls.”
Lana gave Claire an apologetic look before saying to Tommy, “This is Claire, don’t you remember? I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
Tommy nodded at Claire, giving her a quick grin. “Hello again, Claire.”
“Hello, Tommy,” Claire said, placing a strange little emphasis on Tommy’s name. Tommy leaned toward her and they kissed each other on the cheek, as if they were old friends, though Lily saw the little flare of pink on Claire’s face as she pulled back. “Come and find me, Lana,” Claire said. “I’ve got a table downstairs with Paula. We should catch up.”
“Will do,” Lana said, and then continued toward the stairs.
Tommy was passing right in front of Lily now. She kept her gaze fixed downward, and so she saw the neatly pressed crease of Tommy’s tuxedo pants, the satin stripe running liquidly down the side, the shine of her black shoes. They were men’s shoes, oxfords. Tommy paused in mid-stride and said, “We don’t see many Orientals around here.” And then: “Does she speak English?”
Lily looked up straight into Tommy’s eyes; they were brown and creased at the edges in a little smile. Lily’s heart pounded, but her voice seemed to have left her.
“She’s with me,” Claire said. “This is Lily.”
Tommy nodded to her with a slow grin, and then raised her cigarette to her mouth and inhaled, the ember at the tip glowing red. “Hope you’re enjoying the show, China doll,” Tommy said, and then followed Lana down the stairs. A fragrance trailed her—not the sweet floral perfume that clung to Lana, but something warmer, a little spicy.
There was a faint roaring in Lily’s ears. She was vaguely aware of the other women gaping at her; some were giggling, others openly curious. Claire was saying, “Look, she’s stunned! The poor girl.”
“I’m fine,” Lily said automatically, and tried to laugh it off, but her own laughter sounded false, and soon enough the other women lost interest, because the line was finally moving more quickly. Downstairs, the piano began again; Tommy’s second set was starting. Lily couldn’t make out the melody through the roaring in her ears; everything sounded muffled, even the flushing of the toilet. Claire had been pulled into conversation with the woman ahead of her, who was intrigued that Claire knew Tommy. “Well, it’s Lana I know, really,” Claire said modestly.
Finally, there was the door to the bathroom. Claire went in as another woman came out, brushing past Lily to hurry back downstairs. At last it was Lily’s turn, and she stepped into the bathroom and found that there were only two stalls, and one of them had a handwritten sign taped to it that read OUT OF ORDER. She went into the one that Claire had vacated—Claire was washing her hands at the sink—and the stall smelled of urine, but Lily had no choice but to use it. She hovered above the seat so that she wouldn’t have to touch it.
When she was finished, she pulled the chain on the tank and water plunged into the bowl. She straightened her blouse and skirt and stockings, and as she reached for the latch on the door she noticed that all sorts of messages had been graffitied on in pen, or scratched through the beige paint. FOR A GOOD TIME CALL JOANIE, someone had written, and beneath that a different hand had added: JUST DON’T CALL BEFORE NOON. There was a heart scratched above the handle of the stall door, and inside the heart were two names: NANCY + CAROL.
A swell of applause rose from downstairs. She hurried out to wash her hands, and then found Claire standing in the hallway, smiling at her cheerfully.