He reached out for both their hands, and after a pause, all three bowed their heads and closed their eyes. The oddness of asking for G.o.d's blessing beside Grey the infamous bootlegger did occur to Cordelia, but mostly she was glad for the few moments when neither her brother nor her father would be looking at her, because she knew the disappointment of realizing she would not be able to sneak away to Thom that evening was obvious on her face.

21

THAT EVENING, GIRLS IN POSH MODERN BEDROOMSagonized over not being asked out often enough. Young wives on Park Avenue either hoped their husbands would hurry up and get home, or else get home much, much later on, when the smell of other men's cigarette brands had faded with the night breezes. Downtown, Letty Larkspur sat in the company of her new pet, trying to feel comfortable in her borrowed dress, and praying it was good enough for the world she was about to step into.

The dress was one of Paulette's, and they had picked it out together before Paulette went off to Seventh Heaven; it was sleeveless black crepe, with flutters at the midcalf-length hem and gold embroidery on the thick straps. Her dark bob cut across her face like the two wings of a blackbird, and her little mouth was a bright carnelian dot. When she'd arrived in New York, her brows had been rather thick, but by now they were plucked to narrow arcs over her large blue eyes. She had never seen herself so pretty-and still she wondered if her appearance would be good enough to please a man like Amory Glenn.

Good Egg, who had been running in circles, came to a sudden, fatigued stop near the old vanity table and laid her head on her mistress's lap. This made Letty relax some, and she turned her eyes to the ceiling, with its beige pattern of water stains and peeling plaster, and took several breaths. Someday, she knew this place and these petty fears of not being worldly or beautiful enough would seem very funny and faraway to her.

In her head, she imagined lounging on a divan and giving an interview. It wasn't always easy, It wasn't always easy, she would say languidly, reclining in the perfumed comfort of her rose-colored sunken living room. she would say languidly, reclining in the perfumed comfort of her rose-colored sunken living room. I was a cigarette girl in one of the speakeasies, you know, where I used sometimes to sing with the band. I was a cigarette girl in one of the speakeasies, you know, where I used sometimes to sing with the band.

Letty looked into her own eyes now and batted her thick, dark lashes. "I lived in a tiny, odious place," she began to say out loud, in a feathery tone that was an exaggeration of her own voice. "With three lovely girls, each talented in her own way, and my beloved Good Egg was with me even then, and she suffered through the indignities of that time right along with me ..."

Her monologue was interrupted by the sound of a horn-two auspicious blurts-and she pulled a wrap over her shoulders in a rush, kissed Good Egg, and made her way out the door and into the warm evening air.

"Letty!"

She turned to the sound of her name, and hoped that she did not look disappointed when she saw that it was not Amory Glenn but Grady, leaning against his old black roadster in the gathering dusk.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Lodge."

He took in a breath. "You look ... beautiful," beautiful," he told her seriously. he told her seriously.

Her eyes darted up and down the street, afraid that Amory might catch a glimpse of her with another man and think that their date was off. "Thank you," she replied curtly. "But what are you doing here?"

If Grady winced it was slight, and he maintained his smile. "They told me it was your night off at the club ... and I wondered if perhaps Good Egg needed a walk."

"That's very kind, but-"

Before she could finish her thought, a gleaming black Duesenberg limousine turned onto her street, blaring its horn before rolling to a stop in front of Letty's place. With its long, straight snout in front and the flamboyant curves over the tires, she couldn't help but experience a tiny burst of pity for Grady, who was always trying to win her affection, but who simply couldn't make entrances like that one. A uniformed driver stepped out and approached the awkward pair.

"Mr. Glenn is waiting for you," he announced, without meeting either Letty's or Grady's eyes.

She glanced back toward Grady sadly. His face had fallen.

"I thought you said you were going to stay away from Amory Glenn."

Before she could reply, she had to turn her white oval of a face away from him. "Are you jealous?"

"No-no ...," Grady stammered and averted his gaze. "It's only that, as I told you before, he's not a good egg, and-"

"What is this obsession with eggs, Mr. Lodge?" She moved farther away and tried to remind herself that she was about to enter the kind of richly appointed rooms she had only yet dreamed of, and that she should not be swayed by sweet writers who could offer nothing more than afternoon drives in beatenup old motorcars. "I can take care of myself," she added.

As she lowered herself into the red velvet backseat of the limousine, Amory Glenn met her eyes. Before either could say anything he pa.s.sed her a long, slender gla.s.s filled with pale liquid.

"Excellent choice of dress, Miss Larkspur," he said, and clinked his gla.s.s against hers.

At that moment, the name Larkspur Larkspur stopped sounding theoretical to her and began to feel like her own. stopped sounding theoretical to her and began to feel like her own. Larkspur Larkspur connoted bejeweled fingers and feather boas and a constant state of having one's picture taken. connoted bejeweled fingers and feather boas and a constant state of having one's picture taken.

"Thank you," she said, and then lifted her gla.s.s to examine the pale bubbly liquid.

"Don't you like champagne?"

Not wanting to admit that she had never tasted champagne, Letty replied, "Of course." Then she took a sip, and felt immediately pleasantly light-headed. "That doesn't taste at all like beer," she exclaimed, before realizing that she had given herself away.

"No!" Amory laughed, and signaled to the driver to start the engine. "I should think not."

A sense of having been blaringly foolish soured her stomach for a moment, but then she saw that Amory was not making fun of her.

"The lady's a comedienne!" he declared to the driver, who nodded a little stiffly and proceeded down the tree-lined street.

By the time they pulled up to the restaurant-the buildings were taller and straighter in this part of town, and the trees were manicured, but otherwise she had no idea where she was-the champagne in her gla.s.s was all gone, and with it her nerves, as well as any remorse over leaving Grady standing alone on the street. The doormen stood aside for her as she was ushered down a short flight of stairs and into the dim first floor of a townhouse. Every table was full and illuminated by candlelight, and though this was not how she would have imagined a fancy restaurant-she would have expected something far more vast, with potted palms and electric light and mirrors everywhere-the way they were greeted, with a subtle "Welcome to the Grotto, Mr. Glenn," a.s.sured her that it most certainly was.

Amory took one seat at a small table near the wall and allowed the maitre d' to pull back Letty's chair for her. Meanwhile, Amory lit a cigarette, propped his elbow on the table, and began surveying the room. "Thank you, Gene," he said as the man arranged the seat beneath Letty. "Has my father been in tonight?"

"No, Mr. Glenn."

"Excellent. We'll have a bottle of Pol Roger and a dozen oysters. For dinner, the lady will have escargots, I will have the steak, rare, with no starch of any kind."

"Very good."

"My father owns theaters," Amory said, as though that explained something about his investigation into the elder Mr. Glenn's presence. "Someday, I will own theaters," he added without elaboration.

"Oh." Letty nodded exuberantly as champagne was poured for them. They clinked gla.s.ses again.

"The Grotto is something of a favorite haunt among show-business people. Why, right over there is the actor Valentine O'Dell." Amory pointed, and Letty's eyes went to a corner table, where an immaculately polished man in a white dinner jacket was surrounded by a table of ladies, all of them vying for his attention. Letty's breath almost stopped to think that she was in the same room with the the Valentine O'Dell, and for a moment she longed to be back in Union so that she could giddily relate this miracle to her sisters. His features were just as straight and glistening as they'd seemed on the movie screen in Defiance, although she had always imagined him to be tall, and in person his stature was rather more like that of a jockey. "It appears that Sophia Ray is not with him tonight. They've been together since they were children on the vaudeville circuit, you know." Valentine O'Dell, and for a moment she longed to be back in Union so that she could giddily relate this miracle to her sisters. His features were just as straight and glistening as they'd seemed on the movie screen in Defiance, although she had always imagined him to be tall, and in person his stature was rather more like that of a jockey. "It appears that Sophia Ray is not with him tonight. They've been together since they were children on the vaudeville circuit, you know."

"Sophia Ray! What a thing it would be to dine in the same restaurant as her her ..." ..."

But perhaps Letty had sounded a little too starry-eyed and provincial, for Amory abruptly changed the subject. "Forgive me-would you like a cigarette?"

The picture of what Letty's older sister would have called "the kind of woman who smokes" rose in her thoughts, and she paused briefly, her lips parted and hesitant. But then she heard herself say, "Yes." The other girls in the apartment teased her for not smoking-especially since she spent most nights hawking the things-and she was just beginning to feel rosy all over, and rather important for sitting where she was sitting, and she didn't want to be gauche now. Besides, that was her old self-it was the Haubstadt in her that objected to smoking, and she wanted to leave that behind. She was Letty Larkspur now.

In fact, the sight of the slender white cylinder between her fingers was emboldening. And though the taste was not so subtle as the champagne she had been drinking, and though it was uncomfortable on her throat, it caused her to be lightheaded in two ways now. She smiled calmly and sparklingly, as though to say in a rather deep and sophisticated voice, Do go on, Mr. Glenn. Do go on, Mr. Glenn.

"How do you like the champagne?"

"Much better than beer!" she repeated the joke, and it was even funnier this time, and they both laughed loudly. better than beer!" she repeated the joke, and it was even funnier this time, and they both laughed loudly.

"Yes, well, theaters"-he paused after the word, giving it emphasis and letting the makings of a smile hover on his lips-"are our business, as I was saying, and before we go any further, I wanted to ask a favor of you."

"A favor?" The word sounded a little tawdry, and for the first time since they had entered the restaurant, she felt a touch skittish. She thought of Grady and the concerned expression he had worn when he saw the limousine, and was glad he was not there to hear the word favor favor on Amory's tongue. on Amory's tongue.

"Yes. You see, I greatly enjoyed seeing you perform the other night. You are far better than their regular singer"-here he bent toward her and let his hand brush hers-"but I suspect you know that already."

Letty blushed and slowly raised her eyes to him over the wide rim of her champagne gla.s.s. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome." He paused to adjust his cuff links and glance around the room. "I think your future on the stage is very bright."

"You really think so?" she asked, in the feathered voice of all ingenues.

"Oh, yes."

Letty straightened in her chair, and glanced at the other women in the room, who reclined rakishly and shot pointed smiles at the men who lingered in the shadow of the bar. Were any of those women current stars of the stage? Did they have any idea that a girl with a future was among them?

"And I know perfectly well that in a year or two, you will not deign to consider a little ... a proposal like the one I am about to make you."

Letty swallowed. "What's that?"

"I am throwing a party for a good friend of mine, at one of the better establishments-frequented by many show-business types-and I was wondering if you would ... if you might be willing ... if you would honor me by considering doing your act there."

"My ... act?"

"Yes-well, I know I've only heard you sing one song. But whatever songs are in your repertoire. Ten of them, say. And perhaps a little shimmy." He shook his shoulders to demonstrate. "I will pay you thirty-five dollars-"

"Thirty-five dollars!" Her mouth dropped open and her eyelids sunk closed with the thought of all the new dresses and all the jewels she could buy with that. Or she could live sparingly and not work, and begin going to auditions every day.

"Really, you are worth much more, I know that. Naturally. But the people who will get a chance to see you-if I were your manager, for instance, I would advise you to do it, even if it paid nothing at all ... but I am a humble patron of the arts, and I have only a friendly stake in your future."

Her shoulders danced a little as she closed her eyes, inhaling the warm smokiness of the room and imagining the moment just before stepping onstage, and how many songs she had, and whether she would need to learn a few more before then. "Th-thank you so much, Mr. Glenn!" She had forgotten about the cigarette between her fingers, and when she moved her hand suddenly, a long trail of ash fell onto the table. "Oh!" she giggled, and brushed it away. "Oh, Mr. Glenn, I'm so grateful."

"Good," he said, lighting her another cigarette. "Then you'll do it?"

"Of course! It couldn't be more exciting!"

"Yes, I suppose it couldn't." Amory smiled. A waiter arrived with a large plate of oysters, and her escort wasted no time in dressing them, his fingers moving officiously over the plate of ice and damp, sh.e.l.led creatures. Then he lifted one up and brought it to her lips.

"Thank you," she managed, swallowing. Letty knew exceptionally little about the sea, but she supposed that was what it tasted like.

"How do you like it?" he asked.

"Well, they're nothing like hot dogs!" she said, using the same joke again and inspiring the same laughter. By then everything in the room had become blurry and golden, and she mused that if Cordelia could see her now, then she would never dare to call her foolish. Letty Larkspur knew how to see to her own interests. The way Amory looked did not even unnerve her so very much anymore, and she had begun to think that, according to the natural order of things, she should should be accompanied by a man as handsome as he. be accompanied by a man as handsome as he.

By the time his limousine returned her to her door, all her expectations had become gloriously elevated.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Mr. Glenn," she said as she backed up demurely.

"I will send the car for you tomorrow, before the show," he replied, as he straightened his collar. "Be ready at seven?"

She nodded and waved and turned for her door. The air at that hour was fresh, and the streets were glinting with moisture as though there had been a few episodes of summer rain while she was deep in a restaurant, eating oysters and drinking champagne, just like people in movies did. For Letty Larkspur, New York was brand-new, and so was she.

That night she had learned something that every pretty girl making a go of it in the big city learns at some point or another: In New York there is always something to look at, but it is all infinitely more interesting through a window in the backseat of a limousine.

But Cordelia-who, back in Union, had a year on Letty in school, a few inches in height, and many more forbidden words that she'd taught herself to sound natural saying-was now several steps ahead in understanding how fraught a privileged view can become. She sat on a tapestry spread over the gra.s.s on a rise above the white tent on the Dogwood estate, her legs bent upward and covered by the flowing skirt of her black sequined dress, watching the scene before her. Under the glow of the tent's many tiny electric lights, partygoers laughed and swayed to the music, the girls' eyes darting about, the boys making advances.

The young lady of the house was not interested in them, of course. Her father had already retired, and Charlie was off playing billiards in the house, and Astrid had not shown at all. However, she was not alone. Per her father's instructions, Danny had followed her all night and was standing just behind her, his hand resting on his belt, which Cordelia knew held a gun.

While her mind returned again and again to the dock where she knew Thom was waiting, there was no more restlessness inside her and no more desire to escape. Not since the end of lunch, when she'd practiced shooting with her father. She hadn't felt like saying much-and it seemed that he hadn't, either-and they'd fired off rounds in silence for what felt like hours. When they were through, he showed her how to properly clean a shotgun and then a six-shooter, and when she had brushed and oiled the latter to his satisfaction, he put the pistol in her hands.

"I want you to have that," he'd told her.

"You do?" She'd looked down at the gleaming barrel, the shiny wood grip, the solemn trigger.

"It was my first gun. The first that was really mine, not on loan, not grabbed in a pinch. I bought it from an Italian I used to know, in the old days, when I was just starting to run liquor." He'd given her a serious, intent smile. "You may find it strange, my dear, but I trust you completely. Charlie, too, of course-but his gifts are different than yours. I don't expect you to understand it yet, but in time you'll see."

They had been standing by the pool, in the noonday sun, and she had blinked rapidly several times and wished that she really were were trustworthy. It was at that moment that she began to regret sneaking off with Thom last night, and as the minutes pa.s.sed, her regret only grew. trustworthy. It was at that moment that she began to regret sneaking off with Thom last night, and as the minutes pa.s.sed, her regret only grew.

"Oh, don't worry, I know you're sad about that-about the Hale boy," he'd gone on quickly, almost as though he'd read her mind. "I knew him a little as a boy, and there was always something brilliant about him. But this is another thing you'll learn in time: That kind of love is always changing, you can never plant your feet on it. Trust me, there will be others. But those kinds of affairs-you can't ever count on them like blood."

For a brief moment, Cordelia wanted to confess everything she'd done and ask for his forgiveness. But then he smiled at her-wisely, and almost a little sad-and it seemed to her that he knew already and wasn't angry. She felt the weight of the pistol in her hands, and smiled back at him. "Thank you for this. I hope someday I really will make you proud."

By the time the party began, she still wasn't in anything like a festive mood, but she knew that even if she could've slipped away to find Thom, she wouldn't have tried. Darius Grey's first pistol was now tucked away with an old letter he had written for her mother and an even older trench coat-the family relics, her most prized possessions.

Every now and then, a pair of young men would look up at Grey's daughter, whisper something, and smile. But Cordelia would only avert her eyes and turn over the memory of Thom's touch in her mind. She tried to remember what the prettiest thing he'd said to her was, but nothing came right away, and she sighed to think that she'd had all of him she was going to have, and that these meager recollections were going to have to sate her for the rest of her life. That's the way it has to be, That's the way it has to be, she reminded herself. The thought was still wrenching, and she closed her eyelids to soften the pain. The girl she had been on the train had had only one hope, she reminded herself: To be reunited with her father. She'd been an orphan then, but she wasn't anymore. she reminded herself. The thought was still wrenching, and she closed her eyelids to soften the pain. The girl she had been on the train had had only one hope, she reminded herself: To be reunited with her father. She'd been an orphan then, but she wasn't anymore.

Exhaling sadly, she opened her eyes. The stars were spa.r.s.er tonight, and she supposed that had something to do with the clouds.

"I'm feeling a little tired, Danny," she said as she stood up.

Once he had deposited her in her suite, she pulled the pins out of her hair so that it fell down over the straps of her dress. She draped a delicate shawl over her shoulders as she crossed to the great open windows, and pressed herself against the back of the white chair that sat just inside the balcony. She was all sighs that evening. For a while she remained very still, listening to the faint music rising up from the tent below, and letting an exquisite melancholy spread through her veins.

Time pa.s.sed, though it felt like nothing to her, and eventually her eyes drifted shut. In that gentle place, just before sleep, she could feel the way Thom's arms had wrapped around her the night before, and perhaps because of the vividness of her imaginings, she was not immediately surprised by the sound of his voice.

"You're pretty when you're sad, too." He had come through the door and shut it silently behind him.

She raised her head from the cushion of her arms and regarded him. The brim of his hat was tipped down enough to make him unrecognizable, but then he took it off and revealed his smooth, perfect face.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was half yearning and half angry.

"When you didn't come to the dock ... I snuck in through the tunnel."

The many sentences she'd told him in her mind over the course of the afternoon-that they would simply have to end it; that she couldn't betray her family; that she was sorry, but it was over-abandoned her now.

"Let's not say anything just yet," she said after a pause.

"All right." He nodded and stepped toward her across the white carpet.

All day she'd been picturing his face, but now she found that her heart was beating too fast, and she had to turn her eyes to the floor. Her knees collapsed together, and she rested her elbows on them heavily, her whole posture bowing with the hopelessness of the situation. Wavy strands of hair obscured her face, and her naked toes turned in toward each other.

"What did they do to you?" Thom asked. He came closer and sunk down on his knees at her side.