Daisy and I spotted Jay at the same time by the lion fixture at the front steps. “There he is,” Daisy said, walking forward to greet him.
I got the sudden urge to squeeze a thorny stem on a rose. Instead, I retied my cummerbund and hoped no one would come and talk to me.
“Oh, Nick!” And of course someone was coming to talk to me—Cannon.
“I meant to give you this,” he said, fishing a small pamphlet from his jacket pocket. “The Harlem police department is hiring. I know you must be looking for a place to live now that the Blue House has met its tragic fate. There’s still time for you to get off the streets and become something more.”
I took the flyer and examined the image on the glossy paper—Cannon himself dramatically lunging and pointing a gun. “Only problem is I’m a writer—not a cop.” I crumpled the pamphlet in my hand and gave it back to him. “Thank you, though.”
Cannon sneered as he took it, holding it like a wet rag. “If you insist on ruining your future, be my guest.”
“My future will be fine, thanks.”
“Hmm.” He straightened his posture and the pamphlet.
“Congratulations on the promotion,” I said. “It must be tiring doing the Buchanans’ dirty work.”
I watched to see if he’d flinch, but he was stone-faced. “I work for what I have—legally. Unlike some people.” And he spun away from me.
Damn.Left alone once more, I spotted Daisy and Jay walking up the stairs and into the home of Tom Buchanan. I decided to follow after them. I’d attended as Daisy’s escort after all, and I’d have to stay close to her, so it seemed like I had a reason to be here.
Inside, wide marble steps led down to an expansive room lit by crystal chandeliers. The beveled ceiling helped give the room its dimensions as an event space. Linen-draped tables sat to the side of an open dance floor and temporary stage. The white faces and blue stares caused my stomach to nearly erupt like a sleeping volcano. My kind was hardly welcomed.
How could I move through this room unnoticed?All eyes would be on me, no matter what I did. There’d be no poking around without intense scrutiny. In the far-off corner was a Negro band who I’d feel more comfortable in proximity to.
“Did you hear about the haul Davis’s squad got last week?” someone in front of me said. A loud conversation was happening between two cops in uniform. “Found a whole stash of gigglewater on West 14th... but the boss? Nowhere to be found!”
Another conversation from a taller man moving very slowly in front of me, blocking my way. He told the person next to him, “Glad we could get the kid promoted. It should work out well for us overall.”
“Excuse me, sir,” I said to the tall man, trying to move past him to get to the Negro band.
He turned around, and I realized at once I was facing the cold eyes of Tom Buchanan.
“Hi there,” he said, smiling tensely. “I take it you’re one of my staffers. You got any of that bathtub gin?”
“Selling liquor is illegal, sir,” I told him, my voice cracking slightly.
“I was testing you.” Buchanan laughed and winked. “I’d recognize you if you were staff. You do look familiar, however.”
So, he hadn’t even remembered our meeting, which happened weeks ago—typical.
Buchanan’s wife, Myrtle, stood with her arm linked through his, but she was busy watching Daisy and Jay pass. With the movement of the party crowd, they didn’t even notice I’d stopped.
Charlie was standing beside Buchanan too, digging food out of a side tooth.
He looked bored, glancing around the room and eventually landing on me. “I didn’t realize you’d be attending. Happy to see you’re staying social.”
“Charlie,” Tom said. “You haven’t introduced me to your friend.”
“Oh, of course, Father—it’s Nick Carrington. The boy I wanted to write for theChronicle. That is,beforeI readhis writing.” Charlie laughed at himself and then said, “Sorry.”
“Oh, yes!” Buchanan crooned. “I was very impressed with your draft for theWest Egg Chronicle. It’s a shame it wasn’t published. You had wonderful things to say.”
“Oh.” I was a bit surprised he would say that. “Thank you.”
“I’m thinking of opening a new press for the youth in Harlem,” Buchanan said, looking off into the distance as if imagining it. “It’d be wonderful if you would come and sit with us for lunch to discuss a potential opportunity. Channel all that rebellious energy into something positive.”
Lunch at the Buchanan house? Well, one reason to want that was to get into Buchanan’s home again when fewer people were around and scout things out. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “Sure—I guess I could.”
