The dancing was merely a ruse to get people into the hall to drink. The band would play one number and then take a break for about ten minutes while everyone went to the bar for a libation. Much more time was spent drinking than dancing, and as the girls became drunk, the men began to take advantage. Or maybe the girls simply began allowing them to.
The most obvious result of this loss of inhibition was the way the style of dancing grew wilder. Several couples were engaged in the kind of dance Sarah overheard someone call “spieling.” The girl would stand stiff as a poker, her left arm out straight, and the man would sidle up to her, positioning himself so that his chin was on her shoulder, regardless of the difference in their heights. She’d put her chin on his shoulder, too, and they’d start pivoting or spinning around in the tightest possible circle, their bodies locked together, in a frenzy of sexual excitement. As if inflamed by the sight of this, other couples stole away to the dark recesses of the hall to engage in the kind of kissing and groping Sarah had never seen in public.
She’d lost sight of Hetty and Bertha, and she feared they had succumbed to the temptations offered by their partners. Lisle was still on the dance floor, but she was offering only token resistance to the man who was using his hands in ways never taught at the dance academy Sarah had attended as a child. Lisle’s gaze met hers across the room, and Sarah suddenly realized the girl was checking to see if Sarah was watching her. She had the uncomfortable feeling that if she wasn’t here, Lisle wouldn’t even be offering token resistance.
This whole evening had been a waste of her time, and an unpleasant waste, too. Seeing the things she’d seen here, she was overwhelmed with dismay and pity at the desperation that would drive young girls to a place like this and compel them to submit to indignities and worse in exchange for the dubious pleasures of male attention.
She should leave. Her presence was an embarrassment to her companions, and she certainly wasn’t going to find Gerda’s killer here. What had ever made her think it would be that easy? She’d have to be careful that Malloy never found out about this foolishness, or she’d never hear the end of it.
As Sarah debated the propriety-and the wisdom-of simply leaving without telling her companions, the last, crashing notes of “Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Ay” rang out, and Lisle came straight back over to the table for the first time in over an hour. Her partner was at her heels, half-angry and half-pleading, trying to convince her to go to the bar with him for a drink.
“I don’t have to put up with your sass, Billy,” Lisle told him, the color in her cheeks real this time. She’d sweated off her rouge long ago. “I’m leaving.”
“Since when did you get so particular?” Billy demanded. “I know how you got that hat. George don’t give them away for free!”
“Shut your mouth!” Lisle snapped, refusing even to look at him. She’d reached the table, and she said to Sarah, “Do you mind if we leave now?”
Sarah was on her feet in an instant, only too happy for an excuse to escape this bedlam. “Should we find Bertha and Hetty?” she asked, gathering her things.
“They know their way home,” Lisle said, heading toward the door. Sarah had to hurry to catch up to her, but she was no match for Billy, who was still pleading his case.
“Don’t be this way, Lisle. I told you, I get paid on Friday. I’ll get you something nicer than a hat! How about some jewelry?”
Lisle pretended not to hear him, but when she looked back to see if Sarah was coming, her face was scarlet in the smoky light of the hall. “I don’t want nothing from you, Billy. Find yourself another girl.”
Billy said something obscene that made Sarah gasp, and she realized her heart was pounding. This is exactly the scenario she’d imagined had led to Gerda’s death. A young man furious at being spurned follows her and waits for an opportunity to…
But Billy wasn’t following anymore. He’d turned on his heel and returned to the hall, most likely seeking easier pickings. Indeed, the hall was full of young women who would be more than willing to accept his attentions. Why should he subject himself to further rejection when within minutes he could most likely be enjoying success with someone else?
Lisle didn’t stop to wait for Sarah when she reached the street. She plunged through the group of drunks still lingering at the foot of the stairs and was halfway down the block when Sarah caught up with her.
“Wait, Lisle, there’s no need to run!” Sarah cried, finally stopping her. Lisle’s slender body fairly radiated fury as she stood on the sidewalk, waiting. Tapping her foot impatiently, she wouldn’t look at Sarah, either.
Sarah couldn’t resist looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was following them, but no one seemed to care that they were leaving the dance. “Come on, I’ll walk you home,” Sarah said, taking Lisle’s arm gently.
Lisle signed, the anger draining out of her and leaving her looking very young and extremely vulnerable. Sarah had to resist an urge to hug her.
“That Billy,” she said, her disgust sounding sad.
They started walking, and Sarah waited awhile, letting Lisle calm down a bit. Finally, she said, “You were right about that being a waste of time. I don’t know what made me think we’d find Gerda’s killer that way.”
Lisle glanced over, her expression wary. “You didn’t look like you was having much fun.”
“I didn’t go to have fun,” Sarah reminded her. “You didn’t have much fun there at the end. Don’t you like Billy?”
“He was being… fresh,” she admitted.
Sarah didn’t point out that every man in the room was being fresh with someone or that Sarah had concluded taking or allow such liberties was the entire purpose of coming to these dances. They walked another block down Fourteenth Street before Sarah said, “Who’s George?”
Lisle’s head snapped up, her expression frightened now. “Nobody. He’s just… He’s a fellow I know.”
“Did he give you a hat?”
Her mouth tightened. “Don’t pay no attention to what Billy says. He don’t know what he’s talking about.”
Sarah waited a few seconds before saying, “Someone gave Gerda a hat right before she died. Was it George?”
“Could’ve been anybody,” Lisle said defensively.
“But if it was George, maybe the police should talk to him. Find out where he was the night Gerda died. Who is this George?”
At first she thought Lisle wouldn’t answer. Then Sarah realized she was weighing her words very carefully. “He… he’s a salesman. Sells ladies things.”
“And he gives girls presents?”
Lisle seemed to flinch. “He’s real generous,” she allowed, although the admission seemed to pain her.
“You mean he’s generous to girls who are generous to him,” Sarah corrected.
“It ain’t what you think!” Lisle insisted.
“How do you know what I think?” Sarah asked.
“We ain’t whores!” Lisle said. “We don’t take no money!”
“Lisle, I didn’t-Sarah tried, but Lisle ignored her.
“It ain’t whoring if you don’t take money!”
“Lisle, I’m not going to judge you,” Sarah assured her. “I’m just trying to find out who could have killed Gerda before he kills someone else, and the more I know about her, the easier that will be.”
Lisle didn’t say anything for another block. They were getting close to St. Mark’s Place. Sarah didn’t have much time left before Lisle would be home. She gambled. “Lisle, you know this is a dangerous way to live. You could become pregnant. You could get a disease.”