The Dollhouse - Fiona Davis Page 0,59
her from groveling. But he just stood there.
“Just checking in to see if you need me today. I finished another piece early and have the rest of the morning free.”
She had to find a way to make this up to him, to smooth things over. Especially if they were going to work together for the next few weeks. “I was going to head downtown, check out the location of that old jazz club, the one with the menu tucked into the book of spices.”
“The Flatted Fifth?”
“Yes, exactly. It shut down in the seventies. But I wanted to see the building it was in. You could film it and we could use before and after footage.” The idea was lame, but she hoped he’d say yes.
“Not very dynamic.”
“No. But it’s all I have for now. Will you come?”
He nodded. “I’ll get my equipment and meet you in the lobby.”
They took a taxi down. The cabbie drove like mad, braking suddenly and accelerating aggressively, which didn’t allow for much conversation. Rose gripped the hand strap above the window to avoid careening into Jason, all while filling him in on her visit to the button shop.
“This young girl might be Darby’s only real friend, from what I can tell. I’d love to find her.”
Jason raised his eyebrows. “Well, we know her name begins with an A. Shouldn’t be too hard.”
The taxi pulled up to a stop at a five-story building on Second Avenue. The gray stone facade was filthy, as if it had been rubbed with a giant piece of charcoal, and graffiti marred the front door. At ground level stood a French bistro.
She pointed to the restaurant, which had a CLOSED sign in the window. “That’s where the club used to be.”
Jason shot some exteriors, then knocked on the glass door.
A young woman appeared, looking harried and tired. “We’re not open until five tonight.”
Rose explained who they were, adding that they were researching the location of an old jazz club from the fifties. The minute she said WordMerge, the woman’s face lit up. “Of course, I love WordMerge. If you want, come on in and look around. The shell of the place is the same, but everything else has been renovated.”
The brick walls had been recently whitewashed and big windows looked out onto the street, making the space seem larger than it actually was. Jason pulled up a black-and-white photo on his phone, showing the interior of the club during a show. Men in suits and ties and women with coifed hairdos were tightly packed into the space, practically on top of one another, while a sax player stood at the edge of a low stage. Without the windows and whitewashing, the space had been dark and seedy.
“It looks like the stage was here, and the entrance around here.” Jason pointed out the locations. “I can take some interiors if you want.”
“Sure, why not.” Rose turned to the woman. “Do you know if anyone in the building has lived here a long time? They’d have to be pretty old by now, in their eighties.” It was a stretch.
“There’s Mr. B. He comes in for a steak frites every Wednesday, before it gets too crowded. Nice guy, talks about the old days. He’s the one you want to talk to.”
“Do you happen to have his contact info?”
“No, but he lives in apartment 5D. If you buzz him and tell him that Nicole said he should talk to you, he might let you up. Or you can come back on Wednesday and catch him here.”
The name on the buzzer for 5D said BUCKLEY.
Jackpot. Maybe Sam had been living a ten-minute taxi ride from Darby the past fifty years. A rush of adrenaline surged through her.
Rose hit the buzzer and waited. Nothing. “He’s got to be an old guy; we’ll give him time.”
“You’re the boss.”
She turned to him. “Look, I’m really sorry about what I said before. I don’t think I’m Snow White, I assure you of that. And you’re not . . .”
Again, she couldn’t finish the sentence.
He did. “A dwarf?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Most dwarfs would take offense at the comment, by the way. They like to be called little people.”
“It was just an expression.” Sweat prickled her neck. She really didn’t want to have this conversation. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Whatever you say.”
God, he was frustrating, always with that stupid smile. “But you do smirk.” She couldn’t help herself. “You’re smirking now.”
“No, I’m not. I’m smiling. You’re getting all bent out of shape and