Ingenue Part 8

But then she was in Hankas arms. Head caught her effortlessly.

He smiled as he looked at her. aSee? That wasnat so bad.a She couldnat help ita"she burst into laughter. aNot so bad? I couldave broken my neck! And I ruined my dress.a He inspected the damage as he sat her on the ground. Half the hem of the dress had ripped off, exposing the bottom of her white slip. The torn fabric hung limp against her calf.

Hank picked up the frayed edge. As he reached for it, his fingers grazed her lega"they were so warm, warmer than shead expected, and yet they made her shiver with antic.i.p.ation. It had been so long since a man had touched her. Since anyone had touched her, really. Even her mother hadnat hugged her when shead left town.

Hank toyed for a moment with the fabric he held, then dropped it, instead of ripping it further and ravishing Lorraine against a tree as shead hoped. His thin but delicious lips formed a playful grin. aI think it looks better this way. Youall start a new fashion trend for sure.a He handed over her purse.

Lorraine was sad about the dress, but a few moments in Hankas arms had made it seem less important. aItas just a dress, right?a she said, and hoped he didnat hear the quaver in her voice.

She had been to Central Park on visits to New York with her parents, but shead never seen the park like this. Now that they were over the fence, she could see the moonlight shining off the lagoon. From here it was easy to see the starry sky, framed by the bushy tree branches along the water. She stared up in wonder. aSo pretty,a she whispered.

aThis way,a Hank said, already heading off to the old wooden boathouse. There they ran into another padlock, on the two front doors. Hank began rummaging around in his trouser pockets. aDonat worry, I can take care of this.a aSure you can, Houdini.a Lorraine swatted mosquitoes away from her bare arms.

Hank turned away, and she heard clicking noises. A few moments later, the padlock opened and he dropped it to the ground.

Lorraine stared at the piece of metal in his hand. aWhy were you carrying that lock pick?a He tipped his hat. aWhy? In case a beautiful young lady needs help breaking into a boathouse for some late-night rowing.a Lorraine loved it when a man came prepared. And had he just called her beautiful? This was swiftly becoming the best date she had ever been on, and the date hadnat even technically started yet!

Hank dragged open the double doors, which creaked like a dying cat in the silent night.

He bowed his head and gestured to the open doorway. aAfter you.a Lorraine couldnat see much in the inky dark of the boathouse, though her eyes adjusted quickly to the light peeking in through the slatted wooden walls. Flimsy-looking rowboats rested in the water. Everything smelled like mildew. No wonder shead never come for a boat ride. This was disgusting.

Hank tugged a rope and the doors onto the lagoon swung open. He plucked two oars off the wall and hopped inside one of the boats. As he untied it from its moorings, he said, aYou going to stand there all night? Or are you coming along?a He held out his hand, and Lorraine took it. His hand was bigger and harder than hers, as it should be, and she loved the feeling of her palm against his. Once she was seated, he took an oar in each hand, dropped the shafts into the oarlocks, and rowed them out onto the lagoon.

He rowed hard for a bit and then stopped. The chorus of creaks that accompanied his rowing vanished as he let the boat drift, and all Lorraine could hear were crickets chirping and the gentle lapping of the water.

Lorraine realized her cheeks were sore from grinning. It was beautiful out here, and cool. And a tranquila"that was the word. As late night bled into early morning and the sky lightened overhead, she felt something she hadnat felt in ages. Peace. Contentment. It was all very strange.

Hank had left his blazer by the fence, and in the growing light she could see his muscles bulge under his thin chambray shirt. How had he gotten into such terrific shape? Lorraine had never seen a bartender who looked anything but unhealthy. She wondered whether the booze bottles were any heavier out in Los Angeles.

aWhat are you thinking about?a Hank asked, breaking the silence.

Lorraine laughed awkwardly. aOh, just how beautiful it is out here.a She leaned forward a little. aIave never done anything like this before.a aNo? Manager of a speakeasya"I wouldave thought this would be a tame night for you.a aTame would be a good word to describe my other nights,a she replied. Then she realized how boring that made her sound. aNot that I donat do anything, of course. Just, you know, I donat usually steal boats a at five in the morning. But I should more often, because itas fun, really fun.a Oh G.o.d, she sounded like a halfwit. Here she was feeling more a like a regular person, and she suddenly couldnat talk. What was wrong with her?

She pulled her flask out of her purse and screwed off the top. Liquid courage was exactly what she needed. Before taking a sip, she offered the flask to Hank. aToast to a successful caper?a Hank shook his head. aNo thanks. I try not to take my work home with me.a Lorraine laughed again. aMe neither!a she lied, leaning over the edge of the boat to pour the contents of her flask into the water. She tried not to grimace at the waste of good gin. aThere,a she said once it was all gone. aSome little fishies are gonna have a party!a Hank gave a brief chuckle. aToo bad you donat have any lime to toss their way.a Lorraineas eyes brightened. aLime, did you say?a She reached into her purse and pulled out half a lime she had wrapped up to take home with her.

Hankas jaw dropped. aDo you always keep lime in your purse?a Lorraine shrugged and tipped an invisible hat. Then she squeezed the lime into the water. aOf course! In case a beautiful young man breaks into a boathouse for some late-night rowing, and then I offer him a drink but he refuses, and so I pour my liquor into the water.a Hank gave her a look that was difficult to describe, but she was sure the gist of it was: Iam impressed by you, Lorraine.

aTouch,a he said. aYouare a wonder.a Which was such a nice thing to hear that she just giggled in response.

aSo tell me about yourself, Lorraine. When did you move to New York?a She thought for a moment. It felt like a lifetime, but in trutha"aItas been about a month or so.a aYouare almost as new here as I am!a His face sobered. aSo you got the job at the speakeasy pretty quickly, huh?a Technically, shead had the job long before she arrived in New York. aYep.a aYou know, youare way too young and beautiful to be running a second-rate gin joint like the Opera House. A sophisticated dame like you should be in college, or getting married, or having a swell time somewhere, not working in one of those seedy places.a The compliments were just too many and too perfecta"it was too much fun, as if head been reading Lorraineas diary. aBeautiful,a asophisticated,a aadmired by everyoneaa"well, he still might say that last one.

Instead, he asked, aHow did you get this job?a which wasnat any fun at all.

aOh, I just kind of stumbled on it. I needed to do something with myself before I start college this fall at Barnard.a aYou said youare from Chicago?a She nodded. aI lived there my whole life. Went to a fancy bluenose schoola"such a stuffy old yawna"and did the whole debutante thing.a She reached over the edge of the boat to skim her fingers through the water. aThis one girl at school and I were best friends. But she literally stabbed me in the back.a His eyes widened. aLiterally?a aWell, not literally,a she said. aFiguratively.a Hank relaxed. aWhat did she do?a aShe was supposed to marry this pompous blue blood. But she started sneaking out to speakeasies, got a gig as a singer, and had an affair with a black piano player. When her fianc found out, he showed up and humiliated her and ran her out of the club. It was awful.a aThat sounds rough.a aThe worst part was that she blamed me. Gloria a.s.sumed I was the one who told Bastian.a Lorraine stopped talking when she realized shead been using Gloriaas name. She was under strict orders from Carlito not to talk about Gloria, ever. Nor, for that matter, Bastian. Nor the Green Mill. But she was pretty sure Hank didnat counta"what harm could he do to Carlito? He was just a bartender.

Hank reached out to touch her arm. An electric thrill ran up her spine. aThat must have really hurt,a he said. aThat she could believe youad do that to her after years of friendship.a Lorraine exhaled slowly, hoping he wouldnat take his hand away. aIt did.a aWhat happened to Gloria?a Lorraine knew she shouldnat say anything more. But it felt so nice that a man was finally showing some interest in her, not as a plaything, but as a person. When was the last time a man had done that?

So she just went for broke. Suddenly she was telling him about Gloriaas engagement party, how she had drunkenly exposed Clara.

Hankas eyes were melancholy by the time she finished. aOh, Lorraine,a he said softly. aIam so sorry you had to go through all that.a How long had she been talking? She had no idea. The sun was already rising, and the sky had begun shading into a deep and luminous blue. Finally, after years of her being ignored, someone cared what Lorraine had to say. Take that, Marcus Eastman!

It was time to make a move. On an impulse, she stood and rubbed her arms. aBrrr! Itas so chilly! Why donat I sit over there next to you?a She began to move to his end of the boat.

aNo, sit back down!a he barked, alarm on his face. aYouall capsize thea"a As he spoke, the boat wobbled. Lorraine windmilled her arms, trying to regain her balance, but it was no use. She fell, sensing as the water closed above her that Hank was going over, too.

The water was colda"shockingly colda"and it ran up Lorraineas nose and into her mouth and tasted like a million unclean things that were all moldy and sitting in the bottom of a fish tank. Hank grabbed her arm underwater, and they both swam to the surface. In the cool air, they coughed and sputtered, and Hank said, aWell!a And then they were laughing.

For a moment, all they could do was cackle hysterically, out of breath and trying to keep afloat. Lorraine wiped water out of her eyes. If there had been any hope of saving her dress before, there certainly wasnat now.

aYou are one wild girl,a Hank said. His hair was matted to his foreheada"Lorraine wanted to lean forward and push it back.

aGracefulness was never really one of my strongest traits,a she replied.

Hank swam to the capsized boat. aHelp me flip it back over,a he said.

Lorraine joined him, and they both pushed as hard as they could, but the boat only moved away from them.

Lorraine paddled around to the other side. aMaybe weall have better luck over here!a aNah, this thing is never turning back over,a Hank said. aI say we just get under it and swim it back to the boathouse upside down.a Lorraine nodded and ducked underwater, then resurfaced inside the sh.e.l.l of the overturned boat. With the sun rising, just enough light streamed in through the water of the lagoon that they could vaguely make one another out. But under the boat it was still quite dark, and almost quieta"she was reminded of what it felt like to hold a sh.e.l.l up to your ear so you could hear the ocean. Only, in this case, all she heard was her own breathing, and Hankas, and the lapping of the water.

Lorraine felt herself blush, and was grateful for the darkness. Surely whatever lipstick and rouge had survived her shift at the Opera House had washed off long ago. Her hair hung in limp ropes.

aYou know, I thought you were pretty before, but wow a youare really beautiful. No makeup or fancy headdressa"youare just who you are.a Hank smiled. aWhy would you ever want to hide that?a Lorraine was mortified as she realized that tears were br.i.m.m.i.n.g in the corners of her eyes. She had always a.s.sumed that insults were the only way a man knew how to communicate his feelings. But here Hank was, being completely honest and sweet.

Hank swam closer. aYouare not supposed to cry,a he said.

Lorraine had kissed plenty of boys before, but when Hank touched his lips to hers, something about it felt brand-new.

CLARA.

Clara concentrated on slathering b.u.t.ter onto her roll.

aWhoever this writer is, he is eeeeeevil,a Leelee muttered, settling a cloth napkin over her ivory day dress.

Light streamed in through the nearby window, giving Leeleeas dark bob golden-brown highlights. Chez Jacques, a cozy but chic French bistro on Spring Street, was always packed. The dark-blue-papered walls and jazz playing softly on the Gramophone even in the middle of the day gave the bistro an authentic Parisian atmosphere.

aOh?a Clara said, leaning over to get a better look at the magazine spread out on the pale blue tablecloth. Leelee wasnat the only one in their lunch party with the most recent issue of the Manhattanite. Actually, Coco, Julia, and Nellie were all reading the second aGlittering Foolsa column.

Everyone but Clara.

aHow can they get away with printing trash like this?a Coco exclaimed.

aIsnat it true?a Clara asked.

Coco scowled. aThat doesnat mean someone should write about it!a Clara had to admit it: She was proud to be a part of the Manhattanite. The magazine was glossy and smart, and everyone in town was reading it. But even though she was dying to tell them that she was writing for the magazine, she knew better: It was more important than ever to keep her secret, especially now that people were reading and discussinga"and outraged bya"her columns.

Leeleeas plump pink lips turned downward. aHe says Edie Burrowsas feathered headdress was so enormous that heas asurprised it didnat jump off her head and fly through an open window.a I thought Edie looked adorable.a aShe looked like a crazy person, Lee,a Coco said. The other girls giggled in agreement. aThatas one thing the reporter got right. And no way is this writer a man.a aIt says Anonymous,a Leelee replied, pouting. aHow do you know itas a woman?a aA man wouldnat have such an eye for fashion. And a man could never be so vicious,a Nellie said, tucking her curly light-brown hair behind her ear. aThis is one cold, calculating b.i.t.c.h.a Nellie Abrams had been one of Claraas favorite old New York friendsa"shead always been willing to say what everyone else was thinking. Nellie wasnat bone-thin like the rest of the girls at the table. She had plentiful curves, which she showed off with the scooped neck of her ruffled peach blouse and a short skirt. Though she wasnat glamorous like Coco or a beauty like Leelee, she had a charisma that was undeniable.

Julia Spence squeezed lemon juice into her gla.s.s of water. aMaxieas going to be sore over the way she made fun of him.a At Maxie Gabelas eighteenth birthday party (had it only been two weeks ago?), Clara had given Arthur Spence her phone number. The next day, his older sister, Julia, had called up, eager to reminisce. Clara had always adored the exquisitely pretty redhead.

aI donat even know how the writer saw that!a Coco said. aIt was hilarious!a aSaw what?a Clara asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

aApparently,a Julia said, aMaxieas mother sews his initials into his underwear. Sounds like the party was oodles of fun.a Coco flipped ash off the end of her cigarette. aIt was. But whoever Anonymous is, she makes it sound like all the girls there were too scared to do anything interesting. Until Arthur swanned in and saved the day.a aBut isnat that true?a Clara asked. aWe were about to leave when he showed up.a aPeople know I was at that party,a Coco lamented. aThis column doesnat exactly make any of us there sound a you know. Bold. Daring. Lively.a Nellie continued to flick through the pages. aI feel the same way, darling. And what about her snarky mention of the fire Robert Eames set on the balcony at the Webster Hall Garden Party? How did she even know about that?a Julia tapped her finger on the column. aThis girl has to be someone we know.a Clara gave a tiny cough and said, aAll I know is that this Anonymous has a real stick up her b.u.t.t, donat you think? She needs to loosen up and have some fun. What a dumb Dora.a The waiter served their food. Once he was out of earshot, Nellie picked up again. aLizzy Banks has always hated me, and she writes all those stupid short stories. It might be her.a aWasnat there one with a talking bear?a Coco asked, and she, Nellie, and Clara all laughed.

aA talking bear?a Leelee asked, confused. aThat doesnat seem possible. Bears canat talk!a She turned to Nellie and lowered her voice to a whisper. aCan they?a Nellie ignored the question and turned to Clara. aLizzy has always liked you. I donat think she ever wouldave called youaa"she paused for a moment, searching through the columna"a aa spoiled goods that should have been pulled from the shelf ages ago.a a Nellie reached over to grip Claraas hand. aDoesnat that bother you?a aTalking bears!a Leelee said as she dug into her salade nioise. aHa!a The rest of the girls stared at Clara, waiting for her to respond.

Clara merely shrugged. She was glad shead been smart enough to trash herself in the article and make it seem less likely that she was the author. aAt least sheas writing about me,a Clara said. aThe only thing worse than being made fun of is getting no mention whatsoever.a Really, Clara was doing her friends a favor: making them the talk of the town. Any publicity was good publicity.

aI donat know, Clarabella,a Coco said. aIf it were me and I ever found out who wrote this, Iad put her eyes out with a hairpin.a Leelee abruptly closed the magazine. aSo, is everyone enjoying their food?a she asked, her voice oddly high-pitched.

Coco narrowed her eyes. aWhat is it, Lee?a Leelee looked from one to the other of the girls, then turned to Clara. aWell, this terrible Anonymous person says Quentin Harkingtona"a aUgh, what a brownnoser,a Coco said, groaning across the table.

aHe is,a Leelee agreed. aAnyway, heas throwing a birthday party for Twiggy Sampson tonight at the Waldorf.a aI know all about it,a Clara replied. aQuentinas brother Blake told me about it at the garden party.a This, of course, was how the upcoming event had made it into the article in the first place.

Julia nodded. aIam going with Maxie, Arthur, and Sally. Youare all welcome to join us, of course, and I wouldave invited you sooner, but aa She glanced over at Clara. aI a.s.sumed you wouldnat want to go.a Clara gave a tight-lipped smile. That would make sensea"apparently, Harris Brown (Claraas ex-whatever-you-call-it) had taken up with Twiggy soon after he had trieda"and faileda"to get Clara back to Chicago.

But Clara did want to go: How else would she get material for her column?

Only, shead be going without a date. Marcus would never understand.

aI already know about Harris and Twiggy,a Clara answered softly. aItas fine with me. Really.a She waved her hand. aLadies, Iam in love! With Marcus Eastman. Harris is free to carouse with whichever roundheels he wants. And Twiggy, I hear, is a total lollipopa"all sugary sweet and nothing of substance. Besides, this is supposed to be a fabulous party. I hear Dorothy Parker will be there.a Coco clapped. aDorothy Parker! Well, hot d.a.m.n.a Coco had been completely addicted to Parkeras dry wit in her old Vanity Fair articles, before shead been so unjustly terminated (afor being too bitingly brilliant,a as Coco liked to say).

aWhen are you going to bring this Marcus around for us to meet?a Leelee asked curiously. aWe promise not to steal him away.a Clara said, aOh, youall meet him soon,a but she felt more than a twinge of guilt.

My old flapper ways are gone, she had promised Marcus, but already they were returning, werenat they?

That afternoon, Clara gazed out at the East River from a bench on the Brooklyn Bridge and ate chocolate ice cream. aSo, how was your day?a Marcus shrugged, taking a lick of his vanilla cone. His gray vest gave his blue eyes a stormy look. aDandy, I suppose. Just went shopping with Charles Drakeman. He bought a new racket, but I couldnat find one I liked.a aHe leaves tomorrow, right?a Clara asked. aIam sorry I never got a chance to meet him.a Marcus grinned. aOh, no need to be sorry: youare going to meet him. Then you can be sorry.a He rummaged around in his trouser pocket and pulled out a ticket. aThereas an exhibition opening at the Met tonight. Itas all about Crusadersa helmets or britches or gauntlets or something like that. The art will be steely and boring, but the food should be fantastic.a aI canat,a Clara said. aI already made plans for tonight.a aPlans? With whom? Who are these mysterious figures who fill your hours? Iam not normally the suspicious sort, but Iam starting to feel as if I should be.a It was true: Shead seen less and less of Marcus the more work she did for the Manhattanite. Theyad shared a few intimate dinners, and theyad gone to see A Woman of Paris, a Charlie Chaplin movie that had been marvelous, but every time Marcus had wanted to come back to her apartment, Clara had made up excuses rather than reveal the truth: She needed to work on her column. She was finally successful. People were talking about her writing, and nothinga"not even Marcusas kissesa"had ever felt so good.

aItas no one, really,a she said now.

aWhat can be better than Crusadersa steel underwear? What marvelous alternative is luring you away? Maybe Iall drag Drakeman to that, and we can all have fun.a aIam afraid you canat,a Clara said. aI have to go alone.a aMysteriouser and mysteriouser.a Marcusas lips turned up a little at the corners. aYou didnat get a job singing with a black band, did you? Because that is so last year.a Clara laughed longer than the joke about Gloria warranted. aNo, no a itas just that Iave been working on a little project. I want to try to get a story published in the Manhattanite. Iave been doing research into the cityas red-light districts and the plight of the working girl. I thought a hard-hitting story like that might have a shot at getting the editoras attention.a Marcus stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language.

Clara took his hand. aI know that sounds sordid and secretive, but I didnat want to worry you.a aOf course Iad worry. Prost.i.tutes run with a violent crowd.a aBut I donat need to worry! An old friend from my flapper days has an older brother whoas a cop, and he accompanies me on my research. He knows all the right women to talk to, and he makes sure Iam safe.a How easy it was to lie.

Marcus stared deep into her eyes for a moment, then gazed down at the wooden bench. She prayed that he believed her. If he approved of her writing articles like this, it would make it easier for her to eventually tell him the truth about her flapper column.

After a moment, she saw that he looked relieved. aI canat say I like it that youare spending so much time with another man. Nor with loose women.a He made a face. aBut I have to admit it: Iam proud of you. Youare a crusader yourselfa"just like Lewis Hine. Only a woman has the means of really exposing the sordid underbelly of prost.i.tution in the city. Iam just proud that Iam the lucky fellow who is dating such a forward-thinking woman.a Clara suddenly felt like a fraud. aYou make me sound like a saint. But Iam doing this for myself, letas not forget!a He laughed. aOf course, but still: Itas a n.o.ble cause. And I had no idea you were so interested in writing!a aItas kind of a recent interest, but yes.a She gave him a small smile. aI think itas what Iam supposed to do.a He settled back against the bench. aTheyall eat this sort of thing up at Barnard. You can use this article to get into an advanced journalism cla.s.s. Youall probably arrive on campus a crusading celebrity!a aMmm-hmm.a She leaned her head on his shoulder and stared blindly at the water. She doubted her actual Manhattanite columns were the sort of thing Barnard would approve of.

aI really am relieved,a Marcus said. aI was worried.a aWorried?a Clara asked. aAbout what?a aAbout us,a Marcus said quietly. aWhat else? Iave already lost Gloria, who was like my kid sister. I couldnat bear losing you, too.a He turned his head then, and the sunlight glinted off his burnished hair. This was the boy who had convinced her that not all men would stomp on her heart. The boy whoad brought her back to New York in the first place. And how did she repay him? With lies and deception.

She made up her mind to tell him the entire truth soon. As long as she made it clear that she wasnat falling back into her old life, and that all this really was just for a magazine, he would understand.

Wouldnat he?

The sparkling teenagers shuffled through the crowd of people waiting to get in. aMake way! Make way!a Arthur cried, and Clara had to laugh at the haste with which people scurried to move aside. It was as though one of them were a film star. Both Leelee and Julia were certainly pretty enough: Leelee a shimmering sylph in white, and Julia snake-hipped and slinky in venomous green silk.

aClara, my dear,a Arthur said, ayour public awaits.a For this party, Clara had pulled out all the stops. She looked good tonight. Better than good: She was a knockout. Her dress was a rich depthless blue that fell in sheer overlapping layers down to her knees. Pearls wound around her neck in so many loops that they were hard to count, and teardrop pearls hung from her ears. A pair of pearl-colored Mary Janes and a black feather boa completed the ensemble. She looked dark and dangerous and s.e.xy.

Their group pa.s.sed under the gaudy glitter of the chandeliers in the lobby and packed themselves into one of the elevators. aMake room! Make room!a Arthur cried, shoving himself against everyone and making a nuisance.

aYouare not that fat,a Maxie said, trying hard not to laugh.

aNo, but my ego is gigantic,a Arthur said.

Claraas friends had finished the contents of Arthuras flask and were starting on Cocoas by the time they reached the top floor. The operator dragged the doors open.

This was the kind of party Clara remembered.

There was so much light and laughter and motion that she didnat know where to look. The ballroom seethed with glittering bodiesa"flappers in their bejeweled best, dancing with young men in white tie, and around the dance floor, men and women squashed tightly into red velvet booths, talking and gesturing and guffawing. At the head of the room, an all-black band in white suits played hot jazz on a tiny stage. Cigarette smoke wafted around the chandeliers and curled against the tall windows.

And there, toward the backa"a champagne fountain! Clara grabbed flutes and filled them from the bronze basin.

Then it was onto the dance floor. As theyad arrived, the band had just swung into aThe Black Bottom Stomp.a The crowd cheered. Clara raised the hem of her skirt with one hand and held her other arm out, then began to stomp her feet and swing her hips. She could feel herself glowing with frantic energy.

Arthur grabbed her hand, spinning her into his arms and back out again. aYou have just the right amount of jump to your jive!a aHorsefeathers!a Clara exclaimed.

After shead had one more dance with Arthur, everyone lined up to knock back shots of whiskey at the bar.

aI think Iam okay,a Clara said, pushing away the small gla.s.s teeming with amber liquid.

Her friends all stared in dismay. aBut weare doing it together!a Leelee cried. aAll for one and all for a wait a You know what I mean.a Clara groaned, picked up the shot gla.s.s, and drained it.

After another dance, she made her way to the edge of the crowd and leaned against a window. She studied the partygoers, taking notes in her head. The champagne fountain and a brief sighting of Dorothy Parker would make nice details in her column. But Clara hadnat found her columnas heart yet.

Behind her, Arthur cleared his throat. He stood with Maxie, Leelee, and Coco, and they each wore the same conspiratorial smile. aClara, we have something wead like to show you,a Arthur said.

Her friends pulled her to the stairwell, down one floor, and into a corridor lined with hotel rooms. Dozens of party guests crowded the hallway.

aI was asking my friend Jeremy where they got the sensational gin at this party,a Arthur explained. aAnd he told me that they made the gin in this very hotel!a They had at last reached a particularly large group outside an open door. Arthur extended his arm. aSee for yourself.a Inching forward, Clara could see into an elegant hotel room and its adjoining bathroom. A white marble counter, a lightbulb-ringed mirror, fluffy white towels like clouds draped over a silver towel rack. And then there was the main attractiona"the large, claw-footed bathtub, filled to the brim with what looked like water.

A long line of formally dressed guests, each with a bottle, flask, or cup in hand, approached the tub one by one. There two tuxedoed men standing beside the tub dipped the containers into the clear liquid and handed them back.

Suddenly Clara was being lifted into the air by Arthur and Maxie and carried forward.

She was somewhere between screaming and laughing when the boys dunked her. She coughed hard and thrashed and got to her feet. She tried to breathe out, and gin leaked from her nose. Disgusting. The gin might have looked like water, but it certainly didnat feel like ita"the liquid left a slick film over her entire body. And the gin was freezing.

aGood lord,a one of the servers said. aNot again.a aCla.s.sy move,a Clara said to her friends, stepping out. She tugged wet strands of hair out of her face and pulled her headband farther down over her forehead. aI will kill you all for this,a she said in a low voice, though she couldnat help grinning.

It would certainly make for a great story.

Ten minutes later, Clara walked back into the ballroom in bare feet, an enormous fluffy white towel wrapped around her. She was still wearing her pearl necklace and headband. Her towel-dress invited questions, and soon Arthuras prank was the talk of the party.

aI saw that dress you had on,a one girl said. aWas it ruined?a Clara trilled out a showy laugh. aArthur promised to buy me a new one!a Clara had found long ago that embarra.s.sing situations could be spun into gold with the right att.i.tude. A dapper young man strolled up, praised her new dress as even better than the last, and offered to get her a whiskey and soda to even out the gin. She didnat refuse. Before she knew it, one whiskey soda turned into two. Then she just stopped counting.

And then a familiar voice whispered into her ear, aI should have known youad be the one swimming in gin.a Clara turned and saw the Cad himself.

Harris looked as polished as ever in his tailcoat and blue silk tie. Head been little more than a boy during their love affair, but now his face had thinned out a bit. His c.o.c.ky smile and the devilish glint in his dark sapphire eyes were the same as ever.

Clara was mortified.