Diva (The Flappers) - By Jillian Larkin Page 0,30
in awe at Parker’s story, while the girls all sought desperately to meet Parker’s jade eyes. When Parker wasn’t looking, these women fluffed their bobs and checked their makeup in the mirror on the wall. They were trying to be subtle and they were failing miserably.
Parker and Clara stood across from the group; Parker had explained the oh-so-impressive ways in which he’d met each of these flat tires, but Clara hadn’t really been listening. So far this evening had been a total waste of Clara’s favorite dark blue Chanel evening dress.
Now Parker pulled Clara’s arm tighter around his own. “But I guess I won’t be doing that anytime soon. Not now that I’ve got this knockout by my side.”
Clara smiled and dug her red fingernails into his arm. Hopefully he could feel it through his linen suit.
“Aw, come on, it’s Madge Bellamy!” a handsome swell in white exclaimed. Clara had already forgotten his name. “I think Clara would understand.”
“He’s absolutely right,” Clara said. “You go off to Hollywood to wine and dine the pretty little actress. Meanwhile, I’ll take over the Manhattanite and turn it into something actually worth reading.”
Parker laughed with the others, but Clara could see annoyance in his eyes. “I discovered her and taught Clara everything she knows, I’m happy to confess.”
“You’ve always had an eye for talent, Parker,” said a brunette beauty in a sparkling sheath, fluttering her lashes.
Parker’s cigarette dangled elegantly between his fingers and his green eyes lit up with interest as the brunette began to tell a story about running into Charlie Chaplin at the 21 Club. Parker looked like he was posing for a photograph, just like everyone else at Forrest Hamilton’s party.
Clara had been hoping to find more stimulating conversation, but alas—she hadn’t. She’d left the dance floor when she saw a girl in an orange beaded dress dance the treacherously fast quick-time fox-trot with a man in a blue suit. Their moves were perfect, without even the hint of a stumble, their faces etched with the self-satisfied, determined smiles of people eager to impress.
It had annoyed her.
Everyone at this party was trying so hard to prove how wonderful and interesting they were. These flappers and swells were supposed to be the most fun-loving people in the world. But what time was there for fun when a person had to put so much effort into having it?
“You know, Hamilton’s a Broadway producer!” Parker’s oh-so-admiring brunette friend exclaimed, startling Clara out of her reverie. “Harold and I have invested in his new show, Moonshine Melody.”
The much-older man sitting beside her nodded. “No one liked The Cat’s Meow, but a man this young with so much money—this Forrest Hamilton must have some idea what he’s doing.”
“Mmm, because if he’s got money, he must be talented!” Clara said. No one but Parker caught her sarcastic tone. “It’s not like anyone ever made a dishonest dollar in show business. Like Parker here!” she continued. “He makes his living trying to guess which starlet might have an affair next and which ones are married to crooks.”
The mood of the group grew a bit sour. Parker loosened his collar and narrowed his eyes at Clara. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said.
He grabbed Clara’s wrist and steered her out of the room and down the hallway, back to where the party was in full swing. She could hear the faint sounds of someone, a girl with a pretty voice, singing with the band. “What has gotten into you?” Parker asked in a hushed voice.
Clara backed up. Was he serious? “What’s gotten into me? What about you? Where do you think you got the right to call me your Clara?”
He raised his eyebrows. “We’ve been together for weeks now—”
“No! No, we have not,” Clara said. It had been a stupid idea to come here with Parker. She hadn’t been able to get up the courage to embarrass him in front of his friends. And anyway, what good would it have done? It probably would’ve just gotten Clara fired. Bursting in and making a scene without thinking of the consequences—that was more horrid Lorraine Dyer’s style. Clara just needed to put an end to this … whatever it was Parker thought was going on between them, once and for all. No matter the consequences.
“We’ve gone to dinner twice,” Clara went on, seething. “Where do you get off bragging to everyone in New York that you and I are an item—ugh! I have half a mind to slap you across the