“I wonder if theChroniclehas become too invested,” Buchanan said. “Are we showing respect to our neighbors or encouraging a revolution?”
“I think if we keep it politically neutral it will be fine. Mynew point of interest has been the Harlem nightlife scene ever since...the purge. It’s fascinating to observe them let loose. And they play music well—it’s how they’ve given such value to the city.”
“So, you’ve taken a liking to them,” Buchanan said snidely. After a pause, he added, “That’s the son I raised! I have no issue with Negroes when they know their place. My maidservant is a fine girl—on time and efficient.” It was like he added this because he knew I was somewhere listening.
My first thought was to jump out and interrupt—they were talking about my cousin! But I had to keep calm.
“You reward her nicely for a maidservant, father. Mother has begun to notice it.”
“Well, I keep her close to keep a rapport,” Buchanan said. “As you’ve done with the writer.”
Which writer? Artie? Or someone else entirely?
“I think he’s made good on our deal,” said Charlie. “He’ll do anything for a little money.”
Artie. It had to be—
Someone stirred behind me. “Listening in?” said a feminine voice.
I jerked around to find Charlie’s mother standing behind me like a statue. Her eyes were more vigilant than any police dog’s, and the wrinkles around her mouth tensed with disdain.
“You are quite the snooper.” She attempted a smile, but her eyes were daggers.
“I was just lost,” I said.
“Young man, the private matters of our family should be of no concern to the people we deal with professionally,” Myrtle said expressionlessly. “We don’t go around looking through your things, now do we?”
Did she see me upstairs? How did I miss her?
“I should be going,” I said, taking a few clumsy steps toward the front door. I wanted to be as far from this place as possible, and Myrtle didn’t try to stop me.
I opened the door and heard Charlie’s voice behind me. “Off so soon?” He was coming from outside, smiling big. “You hardly touched your food.”
“I don’t feel so well. I think I’ll have to take myself to the doctor.”
“Ah. Good luck with that.” He gave me a wave, his grin insincere as if he knew what was making me feel ill.
And then I left. This place was not as beautiful as it was when I arrived. I was beginning to think all the fancy architecture of this estate was designed to hide the ugliness of its residents.
I walked past the stone lions—exquisite on my way in, which now seemed to forebode the ending of a horrible novel. A novel that had tricked its reader into thinking it was something it was not.
I shouldn’t have taken this invitation, not even to spy. The more I learned about Buchanan, the more I wanted to hide in my corner of Harlem and never come out. I couldn’t handle much more stress.
Why did I come here for a meal?
How could I have been so stupid?
19.
I tossed and turned through the night, my mind cycling through disturbing questions.What if Jay was everything I’d hoped he wouldn’t be? What if he and his father were just like the Buchanans?
Morning came with the wail of a harmonica outside the window—someone was playing the Livery Stable Blues. As I walked into the kitchen, I realized from the calendar tacked on the refrigerator that today was March 15, which meant I was officially eighteen.
Did I feel any different? Not really.
The phone rang in the late morning, and I almost didn’t bother picking it up. I figured it was one of Auntie’s friends calling, but when I answered, Jay’s voice came through.
“Nick? That you?”
