Darby wanted to say more, to reach out in some way and let Esme know how much she appreciated her help and kind words, but Esme closed the door with a quiet click before she could utter a word.
Mrs. Eustis had promised to look into a room transfer for Darby, but four days later, she hadn’t heard back. Darby’s routine consisted of getting up early, before the other girls rose, running in and out of the bathroom as quickly and quietly as possible, and then heading off to class at the Katharine Gibbs School. The first day, the school director had listed off the qualifications for Gibbs graduates, including a strong work ethic and a respectable background. When she added that graduates were known for having a “natural physical endowment,” Darby could have sworn she looked right at her, and not in a good way. What the heck did that mean? Pretty? Buxom? She’d pulled her shoulders back and sat up straighter.
The classes were tedious, for the most part: typing, shorthand, communication, and spelling tests. She’d already received bad marks for having a run in her stockings, and another for slouching. She missed her English teacher from high school, who’d assigned short stories and Russian novels to be analyzed in great detail. Learning to type and memorizing Gregg shorthand symbols were deadly boring in comparison.
By Thursday evening of her first week, she was frustrated. And hungry. She’d waited until all the other girls left before going down to the Barbizon dining room, and missed dinner by five minutes. She was staring longingly at the menu posted outside the doorway when Esme walked by, carrying a mop and bucket.
“Esme?”
“Miss McLaughlin.” Esme nodded in her direction but kept walking.
“Wait.” Darby dashed after her and put a hand on her arm. Esme’s expression was pleasant but not warm. “I wanted to say thank you for everything you did for me last weekend. You really helped me out there.”
“I’m glad.” She put the bucket down. “Are the giraffes leaving you alone?”
“So far. And I asked Mrs. Eustis for a transfer and she’s working on it. In the meantime, I try to work around their schedules. I’m in school full-time now, so it’s easy.” She didn’t mention that she was dreading the upcoming weekend, when she had nothing at all to do. If she sat inside her room the entire time, she’d go mad, she was sure of that.
Esme nodded in the direction of the dining room. “You miss dinner?”
“I did. So busy with homework.”
“Do you want me to get you a roll or something?”
Darby clutched at her stomach. “Would you? I’m starving. Could you do that without getting into trouble?”
“I’ll meet you up in your room. Be there in ten.”
As promised, Esme showed up with several slices of bread tucked into her laundry basket, along with a small jar of raspberry jelly and a knife.
“Oh, this is wonderful, thank you! Do you want some?”
“No, I’ll just fold some sheets here while you dine, if you don’t mind.”
“Go ahead.” Darby sat at her desk and slathered the jam on the bread. “May I ask about your audition?”
Esme gave her a wide smile. “It was great. I had it yesterday, and they’ll let me know in a week or so.”
“Tell me, what was it like? Were you nervous?”
“I’m never nervous. I think they were, though. The minute I opened my mouth, you could see they weren’t expecting a Puerto Rican to apply to their fancy academy. All the other people auditioning talked right. But I did my speech and the judges flipped.”
“I’m so excited for you. I couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. What courage you have.”
“Courage is easy when the other choices are folding sheets and dealing with guests all day. When you want to get out of a situation fast, you get courage.”
“It must be difficult, dealing with so many girls.”
“It’s a dirty, nasty job. But to make up for it, I do something beautiful at night.”
“What’s that?”
“If you like, I’ll show you. Come out with me. I finish at nine thirty.”
“I couldn’t. I’d miss curfew.”
“You can easily sneak in the back way. I’ll show you how.”
“That’s awfully late, isn’t it?”
“Did you have other plans?” asked Esme.
Darby swallowed and tore off another piece of bread. “Not really.”
“Have you been out since last weekend?”
She hated to admit she hadn’t. It had taken all her energy to get to school and back each day, and although the other girls in her classes were friendly enough, she’d been too skittish to try in earnest.
Esme didn’t give her a chance to respond. “C’mon, Darby, live a little. Come out with me tonight. I’ll meet you outside. Don’t be late.” She walked over to Darby’s small closet and opened it, pulling out the black brocade dress she’d last worn at Daddy’s funeral. “And wear this.”
When Darby walked out of the Barbizon at nine thirty on the dot, Esme ran toward her, squealing. She’d changed into a bright red taffeta dress with a delicate scalloped trim around the neckline. Her hair, unleashed from its updo, fell in gentle curls around her head. She looked more fashionable than any of the girls on Darby’s floor.
As the cab ventured into the East Village, the street scene changed. The buildings were no higher than six stories, the sidewalks dirty with cigarette butts and crumpled newspapers. Darby almost gagged at the smell of urine as she stepped out of the taxi, but she followed Esme along a narrow alleyway between two buildings to a tiny, treeless courtyard at the back of the one of the tenements.
Esme smiled up at a black man smoking a cigarette outside a doorway and dragged Darby into the darkness.
“Where are we going? How do you know where to go?” Darby asked.
“I work here some nights as a hatcheck girl. Good tips, and it’s a wild scene.”
“What is it, exactly?”
“The Flatted Fifth. A jazz club. All the greats come here, after they’ve played at the posh places on Fifty-Second Street. It’s gritty and grubby and the best.”
She agreed with the first two adjectives. They walked through a tiny kitchen, where a cook stared hard at them as they breezed by.
“What are you doing, Esme?” he said. “You know he doesn’t like it when you bring in nonpayers.”
Esme thrust out her chin and put a hand on her hip. “Sam, meet Darby. Darby, this is Sam. He thinks he runs the place, but he doesn’t. Right, Sam?”
The cook scowled back. “If he catches you, you’ll get fired, Esme.”
Darby stared at him. While none of his features was remarkable on its own—the nose too large, the edges of his eyes sloped downward—he was oddly handsome, with a perfect dimpled chin. He looked to be in his mid-twenties but had a boyish frame, all long limbs and sharp points.
He turned back to the oven.
“Manners, Sam. I’ll have to talk to your dad about that.” Esme didn’t wait for a reply but pulled Darby farther into the bowels of the building, pushing past a swinging door.
They were in the basement of the tenement. The low-ceilinged main room was packed, a mixture of blacks and whites, young men and women posturing and smoking and talking over one another.
Esme squeezed Darby’s hand. “We’re waiting for Stick Hawkins. They say he’s coming tonight, but you never know with that cat.”
Stick? Cat? Darby looked at Esme, perplexed.
Esme laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll catch on.”
Darby wasn’t so sure. The place was frightening, and she scanned the exits, wondering which was the quickest way out in case there was a fire or a fight. All these people pressed together, in the smoke and darkness, made her heart beat faster and her mouth grow dry in panic. She wanted to run away, go back to the lonely safety of her room. But she couldn’t bear another night of tossing and turning and ruminations.
“You look like you’re about to be sick.” Esme’s eyes were animated, slightly mocking.