“It’s a rather new word,” Aida explained. “It is used to describe pockets of society existing within a broader population.”
“Which is a terribly academic explanation of such freewheeling fun.” Vera linked arms with Aida and gently pulled her along the pathway leading away from the dining area, waving for the others to follow. “Come on. This is the dullest room. We have so much more to explore. If you want to start building your reputation in high society, this is the best place to start doing it. You never know who you’ll be rubbing shoulders with. Could be a businessman in need of a pretty face to help hawk his newest brand of detergent. And don’t forget, whatever happens tonight, any press is good press when you’re a bear cat.”
The sounds of people laughing grew progressively louder and the lighting moodier. Vera expertly wound their troupe through the spiffily dressed throng. Bright, tinkling laughter mixed with loud guffaws. Soulful strains of music drifted through the noise along with the enchanting notes of a powerful female contralto. Some groups seemed divided by gender. Young women giggled, their sequined headbands glittering as they pressed their heads close together before fluttering long mascara-blackened lashes toward men. The playboys lounged against tall tables, the bar, or even the walls, trying to look casual and bored by the proceedings. But their half-lidded eyes didn’t fool Leo. The males were here to flirt as much as the females.
Leo’s own party wove its way into another section of the club. Black Carrara glass covered the walls, rising in repeating onyx columns. Between each shiny panel were gilded floor-to-ceiling murals of stylized cranes stepping out from behind clumps of papyrus reeds. Continuing the architect’s wildly fanciful and inaccurate interpretation of ancient Egyptian art, the equally golden ceiling also boasted a Nile theme. A sparkling river flowed above their heads, surrounded by marshes and various birds taking flight.
It wasn’t the architecture that impressed Leo, though, but the singer crooning onstage. Her rich voice filled the room in defiance ofthe chatter and surrounding chaos. Leo had always appreciated music, although he’d had little exposure to it growing up. The blues, especially, resonated with him.
“My goodness!” Carrie clutched Vera’s arm, her voice vibrating with pure excitement. “That’s Thelma Stanton!TheThelma Stanton! I have all her records.”
“I know,” Vera said. “When I heard she was going to be singing here tonight, I knew I had to bring you.”
“She has her own train car.” Carrie’s eyes remained glued to the woman commanding the entire room with her powerful contralto. “She, a Black woman from rural southern Alabama, who started with nothing and fought her own way to fame no matter how many times prejudice has tried to pull her down.”
Letting go of Vera, Carrie drifted closer and closer to the stage. Leo figured it was only the instincts of an amazing pilot that allowed her to navigate around the dancing couples. She was clearly lost to the music. He would have been, too, if he hadn’t wanted to stay sharp to watch over Mattie and the rest of the women. He didn’t consider himself or John their chaperones. The gals could do as they wished. But if any of them required his assistance, he could help in an instant.
Vera waved cheerily to someone in the crowd, and a tall, dashing fellow in a dinner jacket and white gloves stepped forward. Leo could tell instantly the man originated from money—old money. He had the kind of polish that came from a good education, a carefully prescribed childhood, and scads of ever-present wealth. In his youth, Leo might not have been able to distinguish one dapper gentleman from the next, but he had served with enough aviators from privileged backgrounds—solid men with guts and determination such as Quentin Roosevelt and Douglas Campbell.
This man with his square jaw and neatly groomed blond hair seemed affable enough. When he was introduced to Mattie, he leveled his full charm on her. Leo didn’t blame him. Mattie just carried thisbrightness with her, and why wouldn’t a fellow want to bask in some of her warmth, even if only for a little bit?
“A girl flyer, huh?” The fellow grinned down at Mattie, his teeth a white gleam against his lightly tanned skin. To Leo’s disgust, a dimple appeared in the interloper’s cheek. The gentleman could outshine even the suave leading man Douglas Fairbanks.
Although Leo understood the aristocrat’s interest, he couldn’t quite stamp out the curl of jealousy slipping through him like a poisonous serpent. But what Leo could do, and did do, was ignore it. It wasn’t his place, his right, to feel such emotions.
Mattie blessedly did not melt under the rays of the gentleman’s male beauty. Instead she gave her normal impish grin. “We preferfly girl.”
“Fly girl, huh?” The man cocked his hip and leaned against one of the tables. “Sounds exciting.”
“Oh, it is.” Mattie winked. Clearly, she was enjoying the attention, and more importantly, she could hold her own. Realizing that Mattie didn’t need him hovering behind her like some sort of antiquated chaperone, Leo slipped away. He didn’t leave the room, though.
Instead, he took up a seat by the bar and ordered tonic water with lime. From here, he could establish a good vantage point from which to observe the room. Carrie had found a table near the stage, and Sadie and Aida had joined her. John and Alice had taken to the dance floor while Vera and Lily flirted their way around the room. And Mattie... Mattie was still talking to the aristocrat. But her eyes kept flitting about, drawn to the band, the swaying couples, and the laughter bubbling up all over the gilded room.
Relief crept through Leo, and he wished it weren’t so powerful. One day Mattie would find a man worthy of her, and this fellow, with his fancy clothes and highly polished dress shoes, could offer her a lot more than Leo could even dream of giving her. Annoyed with his own reaction, Leo glanced away. By the time Mattie and her companion cameinto his field of vision again, she was leading him over to Lily and Vera. The two women gladly chatted with the handsome devil while Mattie slipped away. She seemed to be intent on joining Carrie and the others at the table, but another pretty-faced man intercepted her.
Earl Crenshaw.The bastard whose dangerous pranks had almost gotten Alfred killed on the front.
Chapter Eleven
“Where’s your alarm clock?” The gruff voice was oddly soft around the edges, like a half-sanded surface. Mattie debated whether she should just keep on walking. She probably should, but the man’s assumption that she would or should have a chaperone irritated her.
“Where’s yours?” she shot back as she spun on her heel. Her borrowed dress flared out around her legs, drawing the attention of the man standing before her. As he stared down at her gams, shocked recognition slammed into Mattie.
Sheknewthat face.
After all, for the past few years, it had stared back at her from every can of Rockol machine oil that she’d used to maintain her Jenny. Since it was her favorite brand, she’d seen a lot of his smiling, debonair mug. She’d never, however, actually met the famed ace of the Great War, even though he’d served in the same squadron as her brother and Leo.
Earl Crenshaw finally lifted his eyes to her face and smiled. Wolfishly. Mattie did not like wolfish. It irritated her.
“You’ve got a smart mouth on you, don’t you?” He leaned a little closer, and a distinctive floral and antiseptic scent slammed into Mattie. The aviator had recently consumed gin—and a lot of it, judging by the intensity of the odor.
“I like to think so,” Mattie retorted, trying not to destroy her imperious tone by gagging at the overbearing aroma of alcohol.
She started to turn, but he caught her arm. Hard. Her brothers had taught her how to unman a brute like him with a knee to the groin, but she didn’t want to employ that trick, not just yet. It might not even be necessary. She’d rather extricate herself from the situation. Although she wasn’t above causing a scene, she had a feeling that starting a brawl in a speakeasy, even an upscale one, was akin to throwing a match in a vat of nitroglycerin.
“You’re that petticoat flyer? Alfred McAdams’s lil sis.” The man peered at her, his nose almost touching hers. His pale-blue eyes were glassy from drinking, and Mattie found herself suppressing a shiver. But that wasn’t the only sensation she felt. There was a prickle of awareness, and she knew at once Leo was watching her.
Leaning back to avoid smacking the edge of her nostrils against Crenshaw’s, she caught Leo’s gaze. He’d already started moving toward her, but she shook her head. She didn’t exactly have the situationundercontrol, but it wasn’t out of control yet either. If, however, Leo charged forward with his quick fists flying, trouble would definitely start.
