“It’s not me,” Florence protested. “The entire world thinks girls like us aren’t worth anything.”
“Maybe, but you don’t have to go believing them.”
“And you don’t have to go out of your way to prove them right,” Florence snapped, her cheeks bright with anger.
Vivian closed her eyes. So much for building a bridge. Apparently one night of confidences wasn’t enough to break a habit of distance and disapproval that had built up over years.
“We’re just going to a film and maybe out for a bite afterwards,” she said. “Nothing sinister, nothing illegal. So you can quit your worrying and your mothering, okay? I deserve a little fun. You do too, if you’d ever let yourself have it.” She hesitated, then suggested, “Maybe we could go out to a film together, one of these nights?”
“We don’t have the money for it, you know that,” Florence said. “You let your fellas take you out all you want if they’re paying, but I’m not wasting what we have.” She dropped her head back onto the bed, and her voice was so muffled by the bedclothes that Vivian could barely hear her last words. “I’m too tired to go have fun.”
Stung by the rejection, Vivian held back her own sharp answer. “Don’t wait up then,” she replied at last, just barely managing not to slam the door behind her.
Her stomach churned with anger and guilt in equal measures. She hated that everyone who looked at her would assume she was the sort of girl who needed to get frisky to convince a man to do nice things for her. Or a woman, she thought with bleak humor, imagining Honor’s red lips.
She wanted to go back and apologize. She wanted Florence to see things her way as much as she wished she could stop making her sister worry. Or maybe she wanted to tell Florence just what she was doing on Honor’s behalf, to point out that someone, at least, thought she was smart enough to accomplish something dangerous and important. Instead, she stomped down the stairs, her steps only slowing when she reached the front of the building and discovered Leo just arriving.
He grinned, his surprise so sweet that for a moment she forgot to be angry and smiled back. “Were you that excited to see me, then?” he asked.
Vivian pursed her lips. “More like I had a fight with my sister and needed to get out. I wasn’t actually sure you were coming, to be honest.”
“What?” He looked affronted. “We had a date, I’ll remind you. You said the day after tomorrow—which meant tonight—andyou gave me quite the kiss. That’s an agreement if I ever saw one.”
“It was a normal, average kiss,” Vivian protested.
Leo smiled, his voice dropping. “I have a feeling I’ll never call kissing you average, Vivian Kelly,” he murmured.
Vivian rolled her eyes. “God, you’ve got a sappy line,” she said to hide her pleasure. “Where are we going tonight?”
“Have you seen that new film,Beau Brummel?” Leo asked, holding out his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it, shaking her head. “Me neither. I don’t know a thing about it, but I hear it’s a good time. Interested?”
“Sounds good to me,” Vivian said, the last of her anger falling away as they turned south. “Lead the way.”
The film had been entertaining, and Leo—along with half the other moviegoers—had a flask hidden in his jacket pocket that they shared giggling sips of in the dark theater while the ushers overlooked them with knowing but unconcerned eyes. It was simple, being in the dark and letting herself get swept up in the story.
And when the final credits swooped over the screen and Leo leaned close to whisper in her ear, “Want to come home with me for a drink?” that was simple too. Vivian only hesitated a moment before she smiled.
“Sure,” she whispered back, her mouth hovering just above his ear, where she could breathe in the scent of his cologne. She thought of hersister’s disapproval. She thought of Honor saying that she wasn’t the sort to make promises. “Why not?”
Vivian smothered a giggle as she clung, monkey-like, to Leo’s back. He tried to turn his head enough to glare at her but couldn’t manage more than an exaggerated squint, which made her giggle even more, bursts of snorted laughter sneaking out of her tightly clamped lips.
“Quiet,” he hissed, though he was laughing too, trying to walk steadily up the stairs with her on his back. If his landlady was listening from her apartment, which was right next to the front door—“She hearseverything,” he had said solemnly as they made their way to his building—she would think there was only one person entering the building.
At least that was the hope. Vivian wondered what would happen if the eagle-eared woman poked her head out and discovered one of her tenants sneaking up to his room with a lady friend on his back. The thought sent her into another fit of silent laughter, leaving her shaking so hard that Leo stumbled on the last step before he reached the landing.
“You are an impossible girl,” he whispered as they started on the second flight of stairs. “How do you ever manage to get out without your sister noticing?”
Vivian tipped her head so her mouth was as close to his ear as possible. “Florence doesn’t make me laugh the way you do,” she murmured.
“Under the circumstances, I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Leo muttered, nearly losing his footing again as she held back another burst of laughter.
When they reached the third flight of stairs, he decided they were far enough away from the landlady’s door that they could both walk. Vivian held her shoes by the ribbons as they crept up to his door, and Leo grinned broadly at her as he unlocked it and they tumbled inside.
“Nice to have you visit,” he said, catching her around the waist and pulling her in for a kiss as he kicked the door shut.
He tasted like wintergreen and whiskey, and the evening stubble on his cheeks made her skin prickle. When his hands crept around her waist, she slipped her hands under the front of his coat with a murmur, greedy for the heat of his body. She let herself forget her worries and fears, just for a few moments, before she at last lifted her head and looked around.
Leo’s home was newer and nicer than hers, or at least fixed up more recently, with electric lights and an icebox by the stove. It was only one room, and there was a cozy, sagging sofa set at the foot of the bed so that it faced the kitchen table. A tall wardrobe with double doors loomed over one side of the bed, looking like it hadn’t been moved in the last fifty years and would probably stay there for the next fifty; the opposite wall was lined with books stacked two and three feet high. Prints were tacked to the walls, and a quilt that was clearly handmade by someone was folded neatly over the foot of the bed.
