It was a beautiful night outside, fluffy clouds flirting with the moon, glowing silver in its light. And it was a wild night inside, the smell of smoke and champagne hanging in the air as they made their way down the stairs toward the dance floor. The sultry, humid heat of the night had made its way onto the dance floor, too, in spite of the electric fans that sent the fringes of their dresses trembling and raised goose bumps on Vivian’s arms.
The dancers spun around the room, heels kicking toward the ceiling and light flashing from their rhinestones. On the bandstand, Beatrice Bluebird broke hearts and mended them with every note she sang.
Vivian wound her way through the crowd, Florence’s hand in hers, until she reached the bar where Danny was making a group of girls blush and giggle. She glanced at Florence, but her sister put her chin in the air and marched straight to the bar, plopping herself down on a stool and waiting for Danny to notice her.
It only took him a minute, and his expression softened when he saw her, as though he were looking at something rare and precious.It made Vivian’s heart ache, but underneath the pain was a feeling of relief. She didn’t want to be left behind, but Florence deserved to be cherished. And even if it didn’t last, Danny was the sort of fella who could do exactly that.
Leo was waiting at the bar, exactly where she’d asked him to be when she called. He bent his head to say something to Florence, who blushed and nodded, then he gestured to Danny, who produced two glasses of champagne a moment later. Handing one to Florence, Leo spun around on his stool and held the second one out to Vivian.
Her fingers brushed his as she took it, and the heat of even that brief touch was like a breath of comfort going through her. He gave her a smile, but he looked her over at the same time, as though checking to see that she was still in one piece. “You all right?” he asked. “No trouble from… No trouble?”
“Not yet, anyway,” Vivian said, ignoring a little shiver of unease. She was getting too used to looking over her shoulder. She took a sip of her drink. “I wanted to talk to you about something else, though.”
He gave her a considering look. “Tell me on the dance floor,” he suggested.
Vivian hesitated, then nodded. “Flo, you gonna be all right until I get back?” she asked, setting her glass on the bar next to her sister.
“Mr. Chin will keep an eye on me,” Florence said. Danny, who was busy mixing up a pitcher of drinks, smiled.
The band was playing a smooth foxtrot, slow and sweet, that left plenty of breath for talking. Vivian settled against Leo, glad for the warmth of his palm at her back, the soft pressure of his hand holding hers. For a moment, she could forget everything that had happened since Pearlie’s death. For a moment, the only thing that mattered was the music and the man she was dancing with.
Closing her eyes, she fell into the rhythm of the dance, trusting Leo to guide them. She liked being able to trust him. There was so little in her life that felt easy or simple, but somehow, leaning on Leo hadbecome both. As he turned them across the floor, their bodies fitting together like the notes of the music, she told him about her mother and what they had learned that day at Hart Island.
Vivian’s voice broke a little as she explained about the missing record, and she had to stop talking. For a moment, a gentle silence hung between them. Leo didn’t press her for more, just held her close and waited until she was ready to continue. “And I was thinking,” she said at last, “if we want to find that kind of record, maybe the best place to start would be the coroner’s office. They’ve gotta keep track, right, of who comes to claim bodies?”
“I guess so.” Leo looked thoughtful. “I never considered it before. But sure. I can get you in there to find out.” He smiled, and his voice grew a little more gentle. “You know I’m always happy to help out a friend.”
“What if…” Vivian didn’t have the courage to finish the question. She didn’t know what she would have done that day without Leo. What if she wanted to be more than just his friend?
The ache was there behind her heart again, and she had to look away. As she did, she caught sight of Honor, shaking hands and schmoozing a table of suited men. It was the sort of thing she did every night, the way she kept her club in business. There was nothing remarkable in it at all, except for Honor herself, who moved like silk and jazz, who didn’t care what anyone else thought of her or her life. And who made it plain that she wanted to live that life alone.
Vivian was tired of being alone.
“Leo,” she began, turning back, then hesitated. He raised a brow at her but said nothing. Afraid of what he might say, afraid of being told once again that she wasn’t enough, Vivian had to take a deep breath before she could continue. “Leo, would you like to go see a picture this weekend? With me?”
She had caught him off guard; she could tell by the way he stumbled, the only time she had ever seen him clumsy while dancing. Thesong ended as he was recovering his footing, but he didn’t let her go as the other dancers applauded and Bea took a bow, preparing to go on her break.
“I’d like that, Viv,” he said at last, smiling at her. “I’d like that a lot.”
They were still staring at each other when someone squealed his name. “Leo!” called a girl with dark hair and a dress so stylish it made Vivian want to squirm with envy. “Leo, you owe me a dance, cruel man. Where have you been this week?”
“Around,” he said, grinning as he let go of Vivian’s waist and turned toward the girl. But he was slower to release her hand, his fingers lingering on hers as though he had to force himself to let her go. “Don’t leave before I see you again,” he murmured to Vivian.
“Count on it,” she replied as she stepped back and the band started on a quickstep. Bea had disappeared back into the dressing room, and Vivian would have followed. But she spotted Honor going after her star singer. So she turned and headed back toward where Florence waited at the bar, chatting with Danny as he filled a tray of glasses with gin and champagne.
“They said it looked like a suicide.”
Vivian stopped in her tracks, trying to figure out who had said it.
“How awful,” another voice replied with gruesome relish. “Did they say how?”
“Arsenic.”
Vivian spotted the speakers, two well-dressed women with jewels in their hair and cigarettes dangling from their fingers who were just heading toward the ladies’ powder room, gossiping as they went. Vivian changed direction quickly to follow them, her entire body jangling with sudden nerves.
“Absolutely tragic, for someone so young. And so promising, the papers said! He had set up his practice in an absolutely impoverished neighborhood, just a bit north of here, in fact.”
“How selfless,” the second woman agreed. “A handsome youngdoctor, done in by despair… that Fitzgerald fellow should write a book about it…”
