lights downtown. Maybe catching a late show. Carriage ride through the park.” I reply immediately.
Rosaline chuckles. “I think that’s what you’d be doing. You know what I think she’s doing?”
“Hm?”
“I think she’s sitting by a fire in that fella’s house, surrounded by his family full of sisters and mutt dogs and she’s holdin’ his hand with a big stupid grin on her face.”
“That’s sentimental of you.”
“No, it’s sentimental of Lucy. And I think come midnight when everyone else is asleep and there’s nothin’ but the light of the fire and the bulbs on the tree, that man is gonna pull out a small box that holds the ring his granddaddy gave his grandma and he’ll drop to one knee, tell her she’s swell and ask her marry him.”
I smile in the darkness at the picture Rosaline is painting.
“You know what I think?” I ask her softly.
“Hm?”
“I think I hope you’re right.”
Two days later I receive a package. It’s postmarked from New York so I know it has to be from Lucy. I’m thrilled she thought of me while she was visiting my dream city but when I tear it open I’m surprised.
“What is that?” Rosaline asks, looking over my shoulder.
I pull out a small cellophane bag of green and red candies I’ve never seen before. Beneath them in the box is a postcard with a likeness of the Harlem Cotton Club on it. I immediately flip it over and find writing on the back.
This cage could use a canary.
“That’s strange.” I mutter.
“Did Lucy write that?”
I shrug. “I guess so. It doesn’t seem like something she’d say though, does it?”
“No, but maybe her fella wrote it. The handwriting looks like a man’s. What’s in the bag?”
I put down the card carefully and open the bag of candy. Popping a red one in my mouth I offer the bag to Rosaline who takes a green. She immediately puckers her face.
“It’s sour.” she says.
“Really? Mine is…sweet.”
I snatch up the card again, examining the handwriting. It’s not Lucy’s. It can’t be. I’ve seen her handwriting a hundred times on notes and letters. This is completely different than her tight, precise script. Bolder. Unapologetic.
“Do you even like sour things?” Rosaline asks, returning to her ironing in the living room.
I stay in the kitchen staring down at the card and clutching the bag of sweet and sour candies to my chest. I can feel the wild beat of my heart pounding against my knuckles, banging against my body and begging to come out.
“I do.” I mutter, a smile and a blush blossoming on my pale face like spring warming out winter. “I really do.”
Chapter Eight
New Year’s Eve. The entire club has been in a crazy uproar over the fact that Duke Ellington and his band are coming to our Cotton Club. How Tommy managed it is still a mystery but it’s one no one cares to solve, least of all me. Having the Duke at our club is so close to New York City I can almost taste the apple on my tongue. I haven’t been this excited since the day Ralph Capone wal ked into that dive bar and asked me to come with him to his club. This is a night where things happen for me. I can feel it in the air like electricity in the clouds before a storm.
“You’re dolled up tonight.” Lucy says, smiling at my get up.
I’m wearing the black evening gown I wore for Halloween, the only one I can afford to actually own if the truth be told, and a small array of fake diamonds on a necklace and small earrings. My hair is down and long, a casual contrast against my elegant dress. It lays smoothed over my head, hanging close to one eye giving me a smoky, mysterious look.
“It’s a big night.” I say, clicking into the room from the bedroom.
We all still store our clothes in the bedroom but Rosaline and I have taken to pulling the mattress out into the living room and sleeping on the floor near Lucy. Neither of us is ready to sleep inside that room yet. Not since Alice.
I wipe my
Rosaline chuckles. “I think that’s what you’d be doing. You know what I think she’s doing?”
“Hm?”
“I think she’s sitting by a fire in that fella’s house, surrounded by his family full of sisters and mutt dogs and she’s holdin’ his hand with a big stupid grin on her face.”
“That’s sentimental of you.”
“No, it’s sentimental of Lucy. And I think come midnight when everyone else is asleep and there’s nothin’ but the light of the fire and the bulbs on the tree, that man is gonna pull out a small box that holds the ring his granddaddy gave his grandma and he’ll drop to one knee, tell her she’s swell and ask her marry him.”
I smile in the darkness at the picture Rosaline is painting.
“You know what I think?” I ask her softly.
“Hm?”
“I think I hope you’re right.”
Two days later I receive a package. It’s postmarked from New York so I know it has to be from Lucy. I’m thrilled she thought of me while she was visiting my dream city but when I tear it open I’m surprised.
“What is that?” Rosaline asks, looking over my shoulder.
I pull out a small cellophane bag of green and red candies I’ve never seen before. Beneath them in the box is a postcard with a likeness of the Harlem Cotton Club on it. I immediately flip it over and find writing on the back.
This cage could use a canary.
“That’s strange.” I mutter.
“Did Lucy write that?”
I shrug. “I guess so. It doesn’t seem like something she’d say though, does it?”
“No, but maybe her fella wrote it. The handwriting looks like a man’s. What’s in the bag?”
I put down the card carefully and open the bag of candy. Popping a red one in my mouth I offer the bag to Rosaline who takes a green. She immediately puckers her face.
“It’s sour.” she says.
“Really? Mine is…sweet.”
I snatch up the card again, examining the handwriting. It’s not Lucy’s. It can’t be. I’ve seen her handwriting a hundred times on notes and letters. This is completely different than her tight, precise script. Bolder. Unapologetic.
“Do you even like sour things?” Rosaline asks, returning to her ironing in the living room.
I stay in the kitchen staring down at the card and clutching the bag of sweet and sour candies to my chest. I can feel the wild beat of my heart pounding against my knuckles, banging against my body and begging to come out.
“I do.” I mutter, a smile and a blush blossoming on my pale face like spring warming out winter. “I really do.”
Chapter Eight
New Year’s Eve. The entire club has been in a crazy uproar over the fact that Duke Ellington and his band are coming to our Cotton Club. How Tommy managed it is still a mystery but it’s one no one cares to solve, least of all me. Having the Duke at our club is so close to New York City I can almost taste the apple on my tongue. I haven’t been this excited since the day Ralph Capone wal ked into that dive bar and asked me to come with him to his club. This is a night where things happen for me. I can feel it in the air like electricity in the clouds before a storm.
“You’re dolled up tonight.” Lucy says, smiling at my get up.
I’m wearing the black evening gown I wore for Halloween, the only one I can afford to actually own if the truth be told, and a small array of fake diamonds on a necklace and small earrings. My hair is down and long, a casual contrast against my elegant dress. It lays smoothed over my head, hanging close to one eye giving me a smoky, mysterious look.
“It’s a big night.” I say, clicking into the room from the bedroom.
We all still store our clothes in the bedroom but Rosaline and I have taken to pulling the mattress out into the living room and sleeping on the floor near Lucy. Neither of us is ready to sleep inside that room yet. Not since Alice.
I wipe my
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