The Dollhouse - Fiona Davis Page 0,62
on the way there, but she ran into Maureen outside the building, who gave her one of hers. They walked past the monitor, each clutching a folder with one gloved hand, the bare one buried deep in a coat pocket, and sailed through. Even if Darby had gotten off to a rocky start, she still had months left to prove to her teachers that she would make an excellent secretary. And she would.
She’d also successfully steered clear of Esme for nearly a week. But this morning, her friend was back on elevator duty and she’d talked Darby into meeting for lunch at Hector’s Cafeteria on Fiftieth Street. The restaurant was packed when she walked in, and Esme waved at her from the back of the buffet line.
“You made it.” Esme handed her a tray and they shuffled along the stainless steel counter, which ran almost the entire length of the restaurant. Esme took a bowl of pea soup and a grilled cheese sandwich and Darby did the same.
The line ground to a halt while the servers refreshed the desserts.
“Where have you been?” Esme cocked her head at Darby. “Sam was asking about you.”
“I’ve been too busy with school. Mother wants me to stay focused.”
“Come on. You gotta whoop it up once in a while; otherwise you’ll end up miserable, working for a boss who makes passes at you but won’t leave his wife, and spending every Christmas and Valentine’s Day alone. Is that what you want?”
Darby had to smile. “No. I don’t want that. But I do have to support myself and this is the only way that’s viable. You should be at the club; you’re an entertainer. That’s what you want to do with your life. For me it’s too distracting.”
“Why, because Sam is after you?”
Her heart jumped every time Esme mentioned his name. She remembered the way he’d looked at her after she’d bitten into the steak, the way his finger tasted on her tongue.
“Sam’s not after me. He’s excited about his cooking, that’s all. He was happy to have someone to share it with since his father doesn’t approve.”
Esme looked about the room, holding up the line even further. Darby nudged her forward. They picked up two éclairs for dessert and paid, then made their way to a table in a corner. Esme took the chair facing the restaurant. “A friend of mine might be stopping by. I have to keep an eye out for him.”
Darby accidentally bumped into the table next to them, earning dirty looks from the older ladies seated there. “What friend?”
“Someone from acting class.” Esme put her napkin on her lap and dug into the soup. “Delish, right?”
“Very.”
“Listen up, I have a way for both of us to make some extra money. You interested?”
Perhaps she meant the extra “customer service” jobs they’d discussed at the Flatted Fifth, ones that promised greater tips.
Esme laughed. “Don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking and I’m not talking about that. Next Thursday night, Annie Ross is playing and they need two backup singers. People liked it when we sang together, and Mr. Buckley says we’ve got the gig if we want it. We each get twenty dollars. What do you say?”
“I couldn’t. I’d be too scared.”
“What’s there to be scared of? We’ll rehearse together. I’ll be standing right next to you for the gig, and then we go home richer. You’ve got to do it.”
“What about Tanya?”
“Disappeared. She was just a junkie anyway.”
“But I have to focus on my schoolwork.”
“You’ll have all weekend to do your schoolwork. This is my stepping-stone to fame and fortune. Without you, it’ll be a disaster. We work so well together, everyone noticed.”
“You can find someone who’s much better, I’m sure.”
“It’s not about that. It’s about the way we sound together.” Confusion wrinkled Esme’s forehead, her bright red mouth set in a pout. “You really don’t want to?”
Darby didn’t know how to make her understand. “You’re destined for something big, I know that. But I’m not. Why pretend? I’ll only embarrass myself.”
“You need to change the way you look at things. Why settle for your mother’s sad little picture of you? Who cares what she thinks?”
Esme’s words rankled. “You don’t know my mother, or what we’ve been through.”
“I know that she wants to turn you into a bore. When you should be enjoying life, enjoying being a beautiful girl in Manhattan.”
“First of all, I’m not beautiful. Second, it’s better to be a bore who can support herself than to throw everything away