A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,79
woman was deaf. “Fix?” The seamstress’s smooth forehead creased.
Up on the makeshift podium, Lizzie closed her eyes.
Gia forced the zipper to the top with a lightning movement that left Lizzie’s nipples begging for mercy. “Got it!”
Thank God.
A vision of seed pearls exploding over all the open boxes of shoes and gloves and silk stockings made her afraid to breathe except in tiny sips through her mouth.
All of a sudden the giant blue box hunkered in the corner roared to life.
“Yes!” cried Maisie, like a cheerleader. “They said it couldn’t be done, and I simply insisted they do it anyway. A little determination, that’s all that’s required to accomplish most things in life.”
The machine shuddered and hiccupped and a blast of freezing air shot across the room, sprinkling goose bumps over Lizzie’s arms.
It felt really good.
It wasn’t even all that loud.
Euphoria accompanied the icy air. No more sweat drenching her armpits and pouring down her spine! No more droplets beading her upper lip and wetting the hair at her temples! No more—
The machine shuddered to a halt at the exact same moment all the lights went out and Dino issued a resounding, “Fuck.”
“Power’s dead,” yelled Roger from the other room.
“Someone give that boy a Pulitzer,” growled Maisie. “Get it going again!” she yelled through the doorway. She tapped her foot on the floor for a few seconds. It was encased in a rather frumpy beige pump to match her slim beige suit. “You leave Manhattan, and it’s like you’re in another century.”
Would someone please unzip me? was the only thought on Lizzie’s mind, which felt as squished as her torso. She didn’t voice it until Maisie had stalked out of the room, tut-tutting about primitive conditions and the need for hardship pay.
Gia unzipped her and she sagged with relief.
“I’m going outside for a smoke,” muttered Dino.
“I’m with you,” said Gia, already striding for the door.
Lizzie was left standing on the podium in a too-tight fifteen-thousand dollar dress, towering over a tiny Japanese woman whose name she’d not managed to catch.
This was all your idea.
Con’s blood crept like Arctic ice as he and Lizzie stood in the Parish records office with Dino’s camera trained on him. You weren’t allowed to look in anyone’s file but your own, but the kind young clerk had agreed to check Danny’s file to see if it contained a death certificate.
She pulled a folder from the file drawer and flipped through it. It took all Con’s strength to keep his face calm. He held himself steady as blood pounded in his head and cold fingers squeezed his heart.
“No death certificate.”
He sagged with relief. “Thank God.” Of course it didn’t mean Danny was alive, but there was hope.
Lizzie let out a breath too. She looked almost as nervous as him, twisting her fingers together, her face white. He wanted to hug her, but didn’t.
“Could Con see his own file?” she asked, as the clerk put Danny’s away.
“Yes.” The clerk looked at him. “Would you like to?”
Not really, was the answer that sprang to mind as a queasy sensation sneaked into his stomach.
“Come on, Con. You need to see your mother’s maiden name.” Lizzie put her hand on his arm.
No, I don’t. He didn’t want to know if she was that sad woman in the letters. His memories were sad enough already.
“Okay.” He couldn’t help feeling nothing good could come from digging up the past. Who knew what other skeletons lay rotting in the muck down there? He shivered in the air-conditioned room as they waited for the clerk to come back. Lizzie rubbed his back, and he took a deep breath.
“Conroy Aaron Beale.” The clerk drew out the file. Aaron? How could he not even know he had a middle name? He became acutely aware of the camera on him, like he was being stripped naked. It’s just a piece of paper.
“Can I see it?” His voice sounded disembodied.
The clerk handed it to him, and he pulled Lizzie close so she could see it too.
“Father, Daniel Patrick Beale.” That name still gave him a chill. Made bile rise in his throat.
“Mother,” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Mother, Katherine Marie Milford Beale.”
“It’s her,” breathed Lizzie. “I knew it.”
A hurt deep inside him started to throb.
“Can we see her birth certificate?” Lizzie asked quietly.
“I’m afraid birth certificates are confidential for 100 years.” The clerk’s soft voice was apologetic. “You can only see your own file.”