“How many glasses of champagne have you had?” I ask.
“Since your birthday celebration?” Katherine counts on the fingers of her right hand. “More than two.” She smiles.
“Do you need some coffee?”
“No, I’m fine. Just a bit lightheaded, and honestly, it feels fantastic. This evening will be less stressful if I’m a little tipsy.” Katherine stops a waiter and sets her flute on the tray. He offers her another glass, but she declines. “No, thank you. My friend says I need coffee and something more substantial than rum cake in my stomach.”
“I could use a sandwich. Though the shrimp-filled deviled eggs are delicious.”
Katherine and I spend the next fifteen minutes filling our tummies, grabbing every hors d’oeuvre within reach. We might have stayed at the buffet all night and had a grand time if we hadn’t been rudely interrupted by Katherine’s husband, Jordis, who showed up uninvited and in a foul mood.
CHAPTER 8
OTHELLA
Robert S. Abbott’s Mansion, Chicago
The Lincoln turns onto Grand Boulevard, just a block from Robert S. Abbott’s mansion. I tap the driver on the shoulder—he’s one of Tony’s boys. I tell him to stop and let me out. “I’ll walk from here.”
“You sure, doll?”
“I’m sure,” I reply quickly. What would people think if I stepped out of a Lincoln that looks more like a hearse than an automobile, with one of Schaefer’s goons as my chauffeur?
I go to slam the door shut but hold back because my brain is working. After I steal the pocket watch, I’ll need a ride back to the Savoy. I tap on the driver’s window. “Pick me up on this corner in an hour.”
“That’s all the time you need?”
“That’ll be plenty.”
As I stroll toward the Abbott residence, it sinks in that I’m about to hobnob with some of the wealthiest Negroes in Chicago—shoot, in the world. I’ve conned plenty of fat cats, primarily men, both colored and white, but the thought oftesting my skills in this grand old house thrills and rattles me at once. It’s a big night.
A line of well-dressed people exits their Bentleys and Cadillac limousines, accompanied by properly uniformed chauffeurs. They parade up a wide walkway and vanish into the house. I blend in with a group toward the end of the line, and within minutes, I find myself in a spacious ballroom filled with people. I can smell the money and the jewels—necklaces, brooches, diamond rings, and silver lapel pins. They sparkle in the candlelight, gleaming as brightly as the chandeliers. My fingertips tingle with excitement. Perry and I could make a fortune at this party. But he’s not here, and I need to stay focused, keep my fingers nimble, and find my mark quickly. Tonight, I’m a Single O.
An army of waiters glides gracefully through the room, carrying large silver trays filled with champagne and hors d’oeuvres. I hate champagne—just give me a gin and tonic or a Coca-Cola. Those tiny hors d’oeuvre sandwiches seem pointless. I prefer a hearty Italian beef, Chicago style.
I stop a waiter to grab a glass of champagne. Moving from group to group, I pretend to recognize this person or that. People at these parties rarely question an it’s-been-so-long greeting from someone they don’t know. That would be impolite.
After a few moments, I spot my mark, and he looks just like Tony described. He’s in his sixties, with a mustache, a goatee, and salt-and-pepper hair, and is sporting those peculiar nose glasses.
I approach him as a young man in a tuxedo blocks my way.
“May I assist you, miss?”
“Excuse me?” I reply, slightly too forcefully, temporarily forgetting my façade as a delicate young socialite.
“I apologize for being so forward, miss, but you’re quite lovely, and I’ve admired you since you arrived. You seem to know everyone, and I know just about everyone, so I thoughtI’d introduce myself. I’m Robbie Barnes,” he states in what I imagine is his usual long-winded manner, accompanied by a deeply dimpled smile.
“I’m a student at the University of Chicago, majoring in botany, specifically plant ecology and tropical botany.”
What the hell is he talking about, and how can I get him to leave? I can’t lose sight of Major Thomas. I mustn’t miss my chance.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barnes,” I say hastily. “I’m Othella Montgomery.”
His expression brightens, as if I’ve just given him a piece of the sky by sharing my name. “Oh my, Miss Montgomery, it’s such an honor to meet you. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance—please call me Robbie.”
Why does he speak like that? Like some smarty-pants college student. Am I supposed to be impressed? “The pleasure is mine, Robbie,” I mimic his tone. If he can talk that way, so can I. He then starts quizzing me about my favorite flowers and plants. My blank expression doesn’t deter him, either. He continues chatting while I keep glancing over his shoulder to keep tabs on Major Thomas.
It dawns on me that he’s not gonna leave me be. I need to think. There has to be a way to escape without causing a scene. I take a long look at him. He’s not unattractive. He has decent height and a strong jawline. Despite his tendency to ramble, what else is there about him? He claims to know everyone and that everyone knows him.
