Mr. D had left our table. The waiter had already put down an ashtray and a fresh drink for Nate. I watched as he unfurled a napkin and quickly polished the table. I worked in nightclubs, I knew that waiters didn’t move that fast and mop up a dry table for just anybody. Nate seemed to know everyone, from Mr. D to Dex Hamilton to Frank Costello. How could he know who the regulars were if he wasn’t one himself?
I felt sick and dizzy, and the noise and the smoke felt as though they were swirling inside my head. I didn’t understand any of this. Why had Frank Costello stopped to talk to Nate? He was a Providence lawyer. Why would Frank Costello even know him? What wasn’t Nate telling me? Plenty, that was for sure.
What had he said when he came to the apartment? I was coming to New York — I have a new client here….
Who was his new client? One of the “regulars”? Or Frank Costello?
“I have to go,” I said. “It’s been a long night.”
“I’ll see you home.”
“No, I like walking.” I couldn’t wait to get away. I stepped away from him and started across the dance floor. I heard someone call his name, and I took the lapse in his attention to make my way to the door. I ran down the carpeted stairs. The girls had left my camel coat right on the rack by the private door to the street, the one only celebrities and regulars knew about. I threw it on and ran out.
The cold night air hit me hard.
“Kit!”
I turned. Hank was walking toward me. He looked cold, his hands in his pockets.
“You’re still here,” I said. I was so grateful I could have kissed him.
“I thought I’d missed you.” He pointed to the unmarked door. “What’s that?”
“The private door to the lounge. I had to go see the boss. I can’t believe you’re here. You’ll fall asleep in class tomorrow.”
“I have study hall first period. I can sleep.”
We began to walk, and I nudged him with my shoulder. “Hanging around with chorus girls, at your age,” I teased. “Young man, you are running wild.”
“What are you talking about?” He nudged me back. “I’m with the girl next door.”
We swung into step together, our hands in our pockets. The cold air and Hank’s presence chased away my apprehension about what had happened in the lounge. We reached the corner. The light was red, and we stopped as a taxi glided by. It was so quiet — quiet enough that I was able to hear the door open behind us. I looked back. Nate was standing in the doorway. He looked one way, then the other. Then he saw me.
He held my gaze and nodded. I couldn’t look away. Then the light changed, Hank stepped off the curb, and I snapped my head away and kept on going.
Eleven
New York City
November 1950
Dear Kit,
I don’t know what you’re doing for Thanksgiving,
but Da and I would like you to come home. I’ll meet
you at the train.
Love, Muddie
ps. please come
I held the letter in my hand. Home. If Billy got his furlough, we could take the train together. The first car, so we could stand in front and see the future rushing at us. The longing to see him was growing every moment I was without him.
I read the letter again and put it down on the dresser. I kept my earrings there, tiny pearls that Billy had bought me for my birthday last year. Funny, I thought I’d left them by the lamp, but they were lined up right there.
I opened the top drawer. A tumble of lingerie, the things Nate had brought that I couldn’t quite bring myself to wear. It seemed too intimate, somehow. Every time I saw them I blushed, wondering if Nate had peeked in the boxes.
Hadn’t I left the slip on top? I’d tucked my own underthings to the side, and the black slip had been so pretty I’d folded it on top of the bras and panty girdles that I didn’t wear anyway. My own garter belts were tossed in the corner.
I stared down at the tumble of elastic, rayon, and silk.
I figured I had to be mistaken. I wasn’t a neat person. What made me think I knew exactly how I folded underwear?
Uneasily, I shut the drawer.
Instead of wearing a skirt the next day, I pulled on my old dungarees and