When Mattie stepped into view, Leo’s brain blanked. Utterly and completely blanked.
Surrounded by a kaleidoscope of hues from a massive stained glass window as she stood at the top of Vera’s grand staircase, Mattie looked like a royal pixie or some other fair princess from a lushly drawn children’s book. Not a maiden in distress but a dragon slayer herself. Her short locks blazed in a wild nimbus about her head, bringing to mind a fiery sunrise.
And there was the dress... the green, flowy slip of a dress. Despite the fact that she stood three stories above him, Leo swore he could feel the delicate fabric of her skirt rustle against his borrowed dark-blue dress pants.
“What do you think? Do I look ritzy enough for my first speakeasy?” Mattie, still being Mattie, hung over the banister as she called down to him, heedless of the more-than-three-story drop. She mightbe wearing a society darling’s clothes, but she was still the intrepid pilot who’d taught him how to fly.
“You look like a daring aviator ready to take the town by storm.”
She rewarded him with a huge grin. “I clean up good, don’t I?”
“Not bad.” Leo was very proud that he didn’t choke on his words. His voice remained remarkably steady despite the bolt of need searing through him. He was fairly certain he flushed, but luckily Mattie didn’t seem to notice as she raced down the steps.
“What do you think of the new Mattie?” Vera appeared next, flanked by the other women, all dressed in their glad rags.
Leo held Mattie’s gaze as he answered Vera’s question. “I wouldn’t saynew. Mattie’s always bold no matter what she wears, but I think she looks swell.”
“Why, Leo, darling, you may have an unexpected honeyed tongue,” Vera teased.
“I think it is just Mattie who inspires it,” Alice chimed in.
Leo knew for certain this time that his face brightened into an uncontrollable scarlet. Luckily, the women turned their attention from him as they discussed who would ride with whom into Chicago. Wisely, he and John did not offer their opinions. After a five-minute debate that involved as much strategizing as an entire military campaign, Leo found himself wedged into the passenger seat of Vera’s Duesenberg with Mattie crammed next to him in the center and Vera at the wheel.
“I’ve never been to a speakeasy.” Mattie lifted her hands in the air, much as Vera had done when Mattie had first driven the Duesy.
“You will absolutely adore it, darling.” Vera turned the wheel to whiz past a farm truck lumbering down the road. Leo clutched the dashboard and earned a reproving look from both women.
Despite her speed, Vera was a skilled driver, and the countryside eventually gave way to the outskirts of Chicago and then to the city itself. Imposing skyscrapers rose like bold monoliths from the western shore of Lake Michigan. Traffic had noticeably thickened—and not justwith Fords, Dodges, and Studebakers, but with horse-drawn vehicles as well. The motorcar might have started to take over the American road system, but the clip-clop of the past still echoed through the streets.
Vera pulled up to the front of a swanky hotel, the Bolton. After climbing out of the vehicles, the women linked their arms to form a brilliant line of finery as they crossed the boldly lit threshold into the equally bright lobby with Leo and John taking up the rear. Several sparkling Murano glass chandeliers hung high over the black-and-white diamond-patterned marble floor. Part of Leo wanted to turn heel at the opulence and head to the dingiest establishment he could find, but he wouldn’t leave Mattie.
“My usual table, Claude.” Vera bussed the maître d’s cheek when they arrived at the grand dining room. “The one out of the draft. You know how I detest getting a chill.”
Claude inclined his head and guided them behind a beautifully painted screen surrounded by a profusion of tropical foliage. On the other side of the gilded artwork was a surprisingly utilitarian hallway. Waiters hurried by, their trays laden with food arranged in fussy displays. Claude opened a door that looked like the entrance to a storage closet but instead revealed narrow, plain steps.
When their party reached the top, there was another unembellished door made remarkable only by its sturdy metal construction. A sign on it readEMPLOYEESONLY. The maître d’ knocked in a distinct pattern. A muffled voice responded, and their guide said, “The usual guests.” The heavy steel door swung open, revealing a hulking bruiser of a man. Although all the hotel’s employees wore impeccably tailored uniforms, the bouncer’s fit a tad too snugly, showcasing his rather impressive set of bulging muscles. He was the type of man who ruled the boxing ring and was clearly the first line of defense in any raids.
“Miss Jones!” The man’s pale, craggy face burst into an incongruously wide smile. “It’s good to see you. You haven’t stopped in for a long time.”
“I’ve been busy starting a flying circus, Harold.” Vera winked at the man. “You should see one of our performances. I walk on the wing of a plane. It is quite thrilling.”
“I’ll be sure to see that!” The man’s brown eyes had grown wide.
“I’ll send you tickets for you and your wife,” Vera promised before she strode into the room, her graceful steps like those of an empress. Taking up the rear, Leo entered last and found himself in the middle of the most subversive tea party ever.
Gaily dressed patrons sat around round tables and sipped from elegant teacups. Waiters suspiciously shook elongated chrome teapots. Not only did the metal not burn their hands, but when they tipped over the device to deliver the contents into the awaiting china, the liquid that poured forth decidedly did not look at all like tea. Still, the scene was peaceful enough that a policeman, especially one encouraged with a bit of dough, could accept the illusion presented to him. Yet even as the diners ate their beautifully plated five-course dinners and sipped their special brew, raucous sounds occasionally invaded the faux peace.
“Welcome to your first speakeasy, the Gilded Secret,” Vera told Mattie, Sadie, and Lily. “This entire floor of the hotel is dedicated to the most delightful debauchery.”
“But it’s an entire city block!” Sadie gazed around the initial room, clearly calculating how much speakeasy was still left, which by Leo’s estimate was quite a bit.
“And the police don’t know about this?” Lily whispered the words, her voice sounding just as awestruck as her starry-eyed expression.
“They’re paid not to know,” Carrie explained.
“The subculture that Prohibition is creating is immensely fascinating.” Aida nodded to the scene around them. “Many of these people never would have considered encouraging lawbreaking, yet here they are, Chicago’s wealthiest, sipping contraband from priceless porcelain. After the flying circus research, I might do a study on speakeasies.”
“Subculture?” Mattie asked.
