Mags’s expression grew sour. “He’s not my fella anymore, that’s for sure. Real cute to know he’s still sniffing around Hattie.” She rolled her eyes as she leaned back. “Hope he enjoys jumping as soon as she snaps her fingers, in spite of everything she did.”
“What did she do?”
“Turned down his proposal,” said Mags, her mouth twisting in jealousy that was less hidden than she probably realized. “And then accepted Willard’s less than a week later. Hattie was always going to want the man who keeps his hands clean, not the one who does the ugly work behind the money.”
“Did Roy work with Mr. Wilson, then?” Vivian couldn’t help the shocked laugh that bubbled up. Mags was so good at her gossip that Vivian could almost forget what she was trying to do with their conversation—almost, but not quite. “God, that’s awkward for him.”
Mags couldn’t keep her petulant expression going, and she ended up giggling too. “It must have been, don’t you think? Roy’s family doesn’t have as much money as they pretend to, and he didn’t like people knowing he worked for his cash instead of living on daddy’s dime. Luckily Willard’s business was the sort where Roy could get paid off the books.”
Vivian raised her eyebrows. “Guessing Mr. Wilson was in the drugstore business?”
“Something like, though I don’t think he owned any himself,” Mags said. “It wasn’t even a secret; everyone knew Willard was involved in running liquor. Well, who isn’t these days, one way or another? But it was foul, let me tell you. Nasty bathtub gin from Chicago and who knows what else. Dad would never buy from him.”
“Do you think it got him killed?” Vivian asked, widening her eyes as if the thought had only just occurred to her and watching Mags’s reaction closely. She wondered how far she could push before Mags got suspicious.
But the other girl just shrugged. “I heard his heart gave out, of all things. And it seems like Hattie’s not wasting any time moving on. She can be a nasty piece of work.”
Vivian thought of Hattie Wilson’s careful politeness to even the servants and delivery girls, of her gentleness toward her unhappy sister. It didn’t seem to her like a fair accusation. But she didn’t say anything as Mags continued.
“Though that’s a real pickle for her, him dying before the baby arrives. Or maybe not.” Mags shrugged again, starting to look a little bored. “Willard wouldn’t have been any good as a father.”
“I had heard the baby might not have been…” Vivian hesitated. She hadn’t heard, of course, but she suspected. And maybe Mags knew something. “She seemed pretty friendly with Roy for a woman whose husband just died.”
Mags’s jaw tightened for a moment. “Well, if that’s the way things were, then I’m glad to be shot of him.” She snorted. “It would be justlike Hattie to manage everything so neatly.” The ugly look passed over her face once more, bitter and hurt and jealous. “Though I’ll tell you, Hattie’s a smart girl. She didn’t care about Roy enough to choose him over Willard, and now she’s a rich widow. Why would she give that up, even with a little monster on the way? Roy’s a fool if he thinks he’ll be sailing back into her life now, even with Willard out of the picture.” She looked pleased. “Poor stupid bastard.”
TWENTY-THREE
How late will you be out tonight?”
Florence didn’t look up from her magazine—three months out of date and one she had read five times already—as she asked the question.
It was the first she had spoken to Vivian since her lie to Miss Ethel that morning. They had left the dressmaker, come home to make dinner, and washed up, all without Florence saying a single word. Vivian had wanted to thank her sister, but Florence’s silences were like the border to a foreign country. She was afraid to cross, even with a white flag in hand.
“Not too late,” Vivian said. She wanted to be relieved that it was a simple question instead of a fight, but she couldn’t be. She watched her sister warily, waiting for some sign of how much more Florence could bear.
Florence nodded, still not looking up. She would have looked like she didn’t care at all if it hadn’t been for the small tears spiderwebbing out from where her fingers clutched the magazine pages too tightly. “Home before dawn then?”
“Absolutely.” Vivian hesitated. “Flo—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Florence’s words dropped like icicles, dangerous and brittle, shattering on impact. “Just don’t forget we have work tomorrow.”
“I’m trying to help us,” Vivian blurted out. “We’re stuck, Flo, we’re going in circles and there’s no way out or up or through, not honestly. And if I can just—”
“Find a man?” Florence asked. She turned a page, smoothing out the creases and rips.
“Not a man,” Vivian snapped. She took a deep breath, remembering the white flag. Florence was all she had. They had spent years cultivating the distance between them, but they couldn’t lose each other. “There are people who know…”
“Know what?” Florence snorted. “Dark secrets that can help us, if we know the right place to use them?”
“Yes,” said Vivian, helpless, close to begging. She said again, “I’m trying to help us.”
Florence shook her head. “There’s no need, Vivian. You found your escape, and that’s… that’s fine. If it makes it all bearable for you, that’s fine. I’ll stay here in the real world.”
“I’m not leaving you, Flo.”
A shrug. “You left me the first night you put on dancing shoes. You picked a world where I can’t follow. Even if I wanted to.” She glanced up at last, her expression bleak. “Just make sure it’s worth it. Before you can’t get out, make sure it’s worth it.”
“Plenty of people in this city go out dancing or have a drink and a smoke from time to time,” Vivian protested, though she wondered whether she was trying to convince Florence or herself.
