Ingenue by Jillian Larkin Page A

a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see a balding older man with silver hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He wore a simple collared shirt and brown trousers and spoke with a slight Southern twang.
    “Welcome to Saunders’, young lady. You lookin’ for anything specific today, or just browsing?”
    Gloria tried to seem nonchalant. “Just browsing, thank you.”
    “Heading to a party later? I can’t imagine you’d get so dolled up just to visit my store, though I’d be mighty flappered if you did.” He guffawed. “Get it?”
    Gloria blushed, glancing down at her long emerald-green dress. It was one she’d brought from Chicago—a Chanel chiffon with a dropped waist. It had sheer, ruffled cap sleeves and a scoop neckline, though it didn’t scoop so far as to be inappropriate for the daytime. It was a bit fancy for furniture shopping, but it was the most flattering dress she currently owned.
    She pulled a copy of the New York Times out of her purse and flipped to the page she wanted. “Sir, would you happen to know anything about this? I called earlier and made an appointment, but perhaps I mixed up some information.…”
    The man pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked at the newspaper, reading the heading of the classified ad:
WANTED: INGENUE TO SING AT HOT NEW CLUB!
Green-eyed redheads especially desired to sing bluesy tunes. Established talents need not apply; we want only fresh blood—preferably from out West. New to town? This could be the gig you came here for!
TEL. SPRING 4829
Call for an appointment between 12 and 5
Note: A singer taller than 5′3″ will throw off our aesthetics.
    He looked toward the back of the store and called, “Neal! Get out here!”
    A young man with a long face and messy dark hair walked through a swinging door at the back of the room. “What’s going on, Pop?”
    The old man beckoned him to come closer. “This young lady would like to see the vanity we’ve got on hold.”
    Neal’s eyes brightened. “Oh, right, the vanity. ”
    Gloria had no idea what was going on. “I really don’t need a vanity.”
    “Follow Neal and you’ll find what you’re looking for, darlin’. Though I can’t imagine what a sweet girl like you could want down there.”
    Gloria straightened her posture. “I’m not as sweet as I look.”
    Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Even though the police usually knew where the speakeasies were (and even frequented them), clubs had to at least keep up the appearance of hiding themselves away. Most clubs had some sort of front—apparently this furniture store was one of them.
    In her two-toned pumps, Gloria followed Neal around open crates and pieces of half-assembled furniture. At the back of the shop, Neal opened a door onto a narrow hallway that ended in red velvet curtains. Just past those was a spiral staircase.
    “Well, this is as far as I go,” Neal said. “Nice meeting you, Miss, uh—?”
    “Rose. Zuleika Rose,” Gloria said.
    This would be the first audition she’d gone to without Jerome accompanying her. She’d sung her song three times in front of the mirror this morning, making sure each phrase and each facial expression was just right. She was as ready as she would ever be.
    As she descended the rusty-railed staircase, she noticed that the barroom was practically empty. Red leather booths lined the wall closest to the stairs. Spotted but grand mirrors hung behind each booth, giving diners the chance to subtly ogle the men and women along the bar. Across the golden hardwood dance floor was a sea of small wooden tables and chairs, where anyone who didn’t have the face or the money for a booth could rest their gams.
    But what made Gloria smile was at the opposite end of the barroom: the stage.
    It was small but nicely decked out. Plush gold curtains hugged the sides, and the gleaming rosewood of the boards shone as if it had been polished. A light threw a glowing spot center stage, just waiting for Gloria to fill it. A