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| Art by me |
New York City, 1926.
"Is that him?"
"That's not him. You're balled up."
"That's him! That's Scott Fitzgerald, it's gotta be," I craned my neck trying to get a better look at the Algonquin's infamous round table. It was difficult - brunch at the Algonquin was always crowded, and many of the patrons were, as I was, attempting to not-so-subtly gawk at the round table.
"Don't be a dumb Dora," my best friend chided, flicking the side of my bowl of tomato bisque. "He moved to Paris, didn't he? Besides, I know you didn't just invite me out here to try and gawk at celebrities."
I rolled my eyes and adjusted my cloche hat and the pin on my scarf, fidgeting like this to stall for time.
"For your information, Sarah," I couldn't help but smirk at her, "my cousin has the scoop on a hot new hang-out."
It was her turn to roll her eyes. "This isn't going to be like the time he recommended Jimmy Kelly's to us, is it?"
She had a point. Jimmy Kelly's Café on Sullivan Street was such a popular speakeasy that even the mayor drank there, and my cousin did have a tendency to be a little bit overzealous with the adjectives when describing hang-out joints.
"It's not going to be like that," I assured Sarah. She flipped her dark brown bob, which was slightly longer than my own.
"And it's not going to be like the time he got us lost in Irish gang territory?"
To be fair, it was my poor sense of direction that had gotten us lost that time. I protested:
"Hey, those Conroy boys actually turned out okay after they stopped trying to mug us."
She giggled. "Only because I talked to them! You wanted to scram!"
I couldn't help but laugh as well at the memory.
"Alright, alright, I admit we've gotten into some scrapes before. But this time will be different. Promise. Alright, so this place is up near Hamilton Heights, and it's got sort of a Grecian tomb theme-"
Sarah's face dropped and she cut me off with, "Wait, wait, wait! What time is it?"
"Uh..."
She pulled a pocket watch out of her coat, and her eyes bugged out when she saw what time it was.
"Oh, man, I gotta go!"
"What?" I demanded. "Why?! We haven't even finished our food yet!"
"I know, I'm sorry, but I'm late!"
"For what?!" I frowned suspiciously. "You said you had today free. This isn't because of that boy, is it?" Recently, a rather immature boy - he was all wet in my opinion, which I did not hesitate to share - had been chasing my friend, and I did not approve. But she shook her head and rose from her seat.
"It's not because of any boy. Look, I've really gotta go, okay? I'll talk to you later."
And with that, she was darting out of the Algonquin, leaving me to weakly mutter, "Oh... C-copacetic..."
***
I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe she'd just walked out on me like that when it had taken me weeks to actually get us into brunch at the Algonquin. She'd said it wasn't a boy, but as I walked down the New York streets (it was starting to get cold enough that I'd rolled my stockings all the way up), I was beginning to doubt that. I ignored the street vendors trying to sell their wares, I ignored the drugstore cowboys and the one man practising his sax, and I let myself fear the worst. It was a bad habit of mine and I knew it, but at that moment I didn't care.
It had to be that boy again. She knew I didn't approve, and I had thought she agreed. She had said herself that she thought he was, and I quote, "really nice, but a bit of a wet blanket." She deserved a real sheik!
"Heyyyy," a friendly voice snapped me out of my misery. My friend from work - if he could be called that - a man who everyone just called Mac (I think his actual name was Al Macnamara or something very similar to that) slid up to me. I couldn't believe he was walking on this street - millions of people in this city and I had to bump into him! "Butt me, doll."
"Get lost, Mac. You know I don't smoke."
Some of his dark hair swooped into his eye, and he flipped his head to get it off his face.
"Why the long face, doll?"
"That's not my name and you know it. I only let shebas call me 'doll'."
"Is it the shade from that skyscraper they're building over there, or are you in a pissy mood?" He grinned at me. "You know, they say it'll be the tallest building in Manhattan once they finish it."
"Yeah. For a week. Then they'll build the next tallest building in Manhattan. This skyscraper thing is just a dumb fad anyway!"
"You are cranky today! Lemme buy you a drink, get your mind off things."
I lowered my voice, lest some nearby copper should hear us. "It's two P.M., Mac. No respectable speakeasy is open yet."
"Didn't say booze, did I, doll?" He flashed that sleazy grin again, and I resisted the urge to pop him in the kisser with my purse. "C'mon. Let's head to Lexington. I'll buy you an egg cream."
Despite the fact that I didn't entirely trust Mac, I let him lead me to Lexington Candy Shop, which had only been open about a year or so. I felt a bit childish going into a soda fountain like some sort of high schooler, but I also didn't really care. We sat at the counter, and I let Mac order two egg creams even if I wasn't entirely fond of the carbonated chocolatey beverage. I was more of a coffee gal, myself.
"So," he handed me my drink even though I was right there and could reach it myself, "what's bothering you? Trouble with the wife?"
"Sarah is not my wife."
"But there is trouble. You didn't deny that."
I hesitated. Why would I tell Mac, of all people, about my suspicions? And yet... I had to vent. So I did. I let it all out. The frustration of getting us into the Algonquin only to have Sarah dart out on me. The disaster that was that 'nice boy' chasing my best friend around. The fact that she'd claimed she wasn't interested and yet here she was darting out again. Or maybe it was a new boy! Or a new girl! Why hadn't she told me?! I hated having things kept from me!
He let out a low whistle when I was done venting. "Jealousy's not a good look on you, doll."
"I'm not jealous. I'm just hurt."
"Say, isn't that Sarah across the street right now?"
"What?" I whirled around on my bar stool. Sure enough, there she was, darting into a store known for selling 'exotic' looking goods meant to emulate the splendour of Ancient Egypt. The Egyptomania fad of the early twenties had not completely died out, it seemed. But it had never been Sarah's thing - so why was she shopping there? And why wasn't she on her date? What was going on?
My confusion must have registered on my face. I could feel Mac's hand on one of my shoulders.
"Far be it from me to intrude," he said, even though he intruded all the time, "but if I were you, I'd follow her. See what she's up to."
"D-don't be such a pill. I'm not gonna do that."
"Why not?"
"Because it's stalkerish!"
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."
"That's not even how the quote goes, Mac," I could feel my cheeks getting hot. "Besides, I can't just follow Sarah around like a creep."
He merely shrugged.
"I- I'm not gonna do it!" I protested again.
"Alright, whatever you say."
"I'm not!"
***
Ten minutes later, I was across the street, peering through the shelves of cheap imitations of exotica from the East. Sarah hadn't seen me, thank god. I had no idea how I'd explain myself if I were to be caught. This was completely crazy. Why had I let Mac talk me into this?
Sarah was at her counter making her purchase. It was already wrapped up in paper, so I couldn't see what kind of ridiculous 'exotic' trinket she'd bought. Honestly, this stuff was so not her style!
"Hope this one works better for you," the man behind the counter was telling her. "I don't need you coming back to return something for a third time."
So she had been returning something? She'd been to this kitschy shop before?
"Damien is very particular," Sarah smiled apologetically. "But I think this one will please him."
Damien? Who was Damien? So it wasn't the nice boy from before she was seeing - it was someone named Damien who she'd never even told me about? My jealousy - for that was kind of what this was, as reluctant as I was to admit that out loud - flared up. Why wouldn't she tell me about this Damien?!
She paid for her purchase and even though I knew I was acting crazy, I followed her out of the shop, taking advantage of the infamous New York City traffic to follow her unnoticed. She boarded a streetcar and I hopped onto the back of it. She got off three stops later, and I hopped off to follow.
Her next stop was a clothing boutique. It wasn't one of the usual dress shops that we frequented together. In fact, I'd never seen this shop before in my life. She was in and out - apparently she'd pre-ordered something custom, which was also wrapped in paper so I couldn't see it.
This was starting to get very suspicious...
***
I eventually trailed Sarah uptown, to a small bookstore called Homer's that seemed to specialise in classics. I'd never seen this bookstore before. I wondered how long it would last.
The logical part of me kept telling myself I was being crazy. I tried to tell that part that, no, I was just being protective. Which was correct? Maybe both. I didn't know and I didn't have time to reflect on it, not if I wanted to figure this out.
I burst in just in time to catch her slipping through... a rotating bookshelf? No, it was a secret door disguised as a bookshelf, like something out of a mystery novel.
"Curiouser and curiouser," I couldn't help quoting a childhood favourite.
It was obvious what was going on here. This was no ordinary bookstore. I wasn't an idiot, I knew that Homer's was the front of a speakeasy. And during the day, there was no one guarding their secret entrance. Who visited a speakeasy during the day, anyway? Who did this Damien think he was, dragging Sarah to one? Making sure none of the bookstore employees saw me, I snuck over, rotated the bookshelf, and tiptoed down the stairs that were hidden behind it.
And though I had never been in this club before, I recognised it immediately. From the Greek-style alabaster-white columns to the fake fabric fire on the stage to the Mediterranean decor to the horrid statues of mythological monsters such as hydras and gorgons and minotaurs to the word "HADES" above the stage in a jagged blood-red font. This was none other than the Hades nightclub my cousin had been telling me about, the one that didn't even open until next Friday!
Would they ever run out of gimmicks to theme these speakeasies around?
Though the club was completely empty other than musicians near the stage practising, an announcer's voice rang out:
"Ladies and gentlemen, Sheiks and Shebas, presenting the lovely miss Persephone!"
The lights went dim except for on stage, where the fake fire lit up. The band started playing. And out came Sarah, in a pomegranate-red dress and beaded headdress, looking like a flapper version of something straight out of a Minoan wall painting!
Wait, what?
I was completely flabbergasted as I watched her dance her heart out, kicking up her heels so the fringed beading on her dress flew all about. I was frozen in place, completely shocked. This wasn't what I had been expecting at all.
And then our eyes locked. And she stopped dancing and gasped out, "What are you doing here?!"
The band stopped playing, and the lights went on. A man old enough to be my father ran out onto the stage and pointed at me.
"How'd she get in here?!" He demanded. "She's not supposed to be in here!"
"Damien, relax, I know her," Sarah held up a hand and jumped off the stage to run over to me. Wait, that was Damien?
"Sarah, what's going on?" I asked. "Who is that guy?"
She blushed. "Guess I can't hide it anymore. I'll level with you - I had to dart out of brunch for dress rehearsal. That's Damien, my boss. I would have told you, but I was under contract not to! I know you hate not being told things..."
"This is all too much..." My head was spinning.
"How did you find out?"
It was my turn to blush. "I, uh... followed you?"
"What? I knew you hated secrecy but that's crazy!"
"Mac talked me into it."
She paused. Then she suddenly started laughing, and pulled me into a hug.
"You must really hate being out of the loop if you let Mac talk you into anything!"
"Honestly? Yeah. I kinda do."
"I'm sorry," she was still laughing. "I won't keep secrets anymore if you won't follow me around like some sorta sneak!"
I laughed a little, too. "Square deal."
***
Later that evening, the two of us sat on the stoop of an apartment building that neither of us lived in, watching the sun set between the buildings and passing a bottle of sparkling cider between us to take swigs. It weren't no giggle-water, but hey, it was legal, so any passing coppers wouldn't be able to do jack shit to us.
"Let's see," she said thoughtfully, "what else is there?"
"Ooh, I've got one!" I grabbed the bottle and took a comically large swig. If it had been hooch in there, I'd have gotten fried to the hat from that swig alone. "Y'know that one radio show that I said I thought was annoying? I do listen to it from time to time, even if it is annoying. Guilty pleasure, I guess."
She chuckled, and took the cider back. "Alright, I've got one too. Secretly I think the Ziegfeld Follies are overrated."
"Really? Didn't you audition for that?"
"Well yeah, but it doesn't change my opinion."
I thought for a second. What secrets were left? "Hm... I've got a secret for you."
She raised an eyebrow, took another swig of cider.
"Sarah... I love you."
She laughed at me. "That's definitely not a secret. But I love you too."
-fin-
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