proud of him, she said, “Rory wants to check himself back into the hospital in New Orleans,
Birdie. It was his idea. He feels sure the treatment will work this time.”
“Oh my God.” I shuddered and it went all the way deep. “What do you think they’ll do to
him, Franny?”
I watched for any sign that she understood that it would be awful, but she just said, “It’s
Rory’s decision. He wants it to work this time. That makes all the difference.”
“What does Mrs. Tartt say about this?”
She shook her head. “I think she’s in shock, Birdie. She thinks it would be better if he
went to prison, which doesn’t even make sense. Rory told me he wants to be a normal man. And
when he gets out, he says we’ll have a long talk about our marriage.”
“Do you want to stay married to him, Franny?”
She sat up straighter against the wall. “I don’t want to be known as a divorced woman
around town. If that’s what he wants, then I want these doctors to cure my sick husband.”
“Even if it . . . destroys his soul?” I asked.
She looked away. She didn’t want to know about that.
These last two months had humbled my sister but oh, she still had a ways to go.
Chapter 42
Good Lord, this is not the day to oversleep. I shot up but then saw it was only seven thirty in the
morning. When I peeked out into the hall, I saw the door to the attic was open. I threw on a dress
and hammered down the main stairs. Halfway down, I could hear Mrs. Tartt talking, perhaps to a
room of prostitutes or to the sheriff on the telephone or maybe directly to Jesus, instructing Him
746
which warm room in hell she’d like to reserve for us.
Dining room.
“How’d everybody sleep?” I asked, strolling in. Charlie was sitting at the head of the
table, very upright. She had on her most stoic of her stoic dresses, black silk with a high lace
collar and long sleeves. She seemed eerily collected. Mrs. Tartt sat in her usual place, at her
right. I gave the room a quick sweep for anything illicit, but it looked the same as before they’d
left for Jackson. But it was oh so different.
“As well as can be expected,” Mrs. Tartt said. “It’s a little warm up there.”
Indeed, it felt pretty warm this morning, perhaps a final heat wave of the season. Or
maybe it was just my nerves, though it’d gone so well last night. Mr. Binny had played slow,
easy numbers at half volume, nothing that would induce stomping or yelling. Virginia’d been on
guard for a cowbell clanging upstairs, but she’d heard nothing. Doors closed softly, shoes came
off inside, and after a while the girls just quit putting them back on. They danced most of the
night in stocking feet, and it would’ve looked very carefree and innocent if you didn’t know any
better. At two a.m., I’d pulled the plug on the lights and learned that my exhausted sister and
Mrs. Tartt had slept through sixteen jitterbugs, five Flossies, three foxtrots for an hour each, and
a two-hour tango in Rory’s room.
This morning, Mrs. Tartt looked much, much better. She had on her favorite ice-blue
housecoat and had covered her hair with a scarf, though significant tufts of gray showed out the
back. But the deep arcs under her eyes were just a scatter of ash now. She’d gotten some real
sleep, which meant she’d be harder to keep upstairs tonight. In the morning light, the task of
telling Frances seemed freshly horrifying.
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“Birdie, you didn’t tell me Picador and Polly are back!” Mrs. Tartt said, her smile
brimming over. “When Picador saw me, I tell you, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.”
I excused myself to get some coffee.
“Bring the pot in, would you?” Mrs. Tartt said. “It must be laundry day today, looks like
they’re both out at the clothesline.” Charlie gave me a look and a small nod that I hoped meant I
handled it.
When I went in the kitchen, I could see a reasonable number of sheets on the line outside.
The rest were in the washroom, door closed.
In the dining room, I poured everybody more coffee and sat next to Charlie.
“I was just telling Mrs. Tartt that you’re behind on the bookkeeping, but we hope to know
in a few days how close we are on her mortgage,” Charlie said.
Mrs. Tartt sighed sadly at this. I nodded back and tried to look honest. I hated to make
her suffer like this.
“Could you at least tell me how much longer you expect to stay open?” Mrs. Tartt asked
Charlie.
My eyes burned on Charlie. Couldn’t we give her this one thing?
“We’ll let you know in a few days, I promise,” Charlie said.
She reached over and patted Charlie’s hand. “Don’t for a minute think I’m not grateful to
you both,” she said. “Because I am.”
“I’m grateful to you too, Mrs. Tartt,” Charlie said. I saw no guilt on her face and heard no
regret in her voice.
Mrs. Tartt took a deep sip of coffee. “I reckon I’m not surprised our houseguests aren’t
up yet. I thought I heard motorcars driving by after midnight last night.”
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“It went later than usual,” Charlie said. “It’ll go even later this weekend with
homecoming.”
“That electric fan up there should muffle the noise,” I said. “You should keep it on.”
“I wish I looked a little more presentable before I meet the ladies,” Mrs. Tartt said. “I
must look like ten cents on the dollar, as my daddy used to say.”
Charlie reached into her pocket and slid two bills and two quarters across the table. “We
had a little left over from the grocery account. I thought you might like to go to the beauty parlor
today.”
Mrs. Tartt’s mouth opened. She touched the back of her head where the tufts of gray
showed. “Could I?” Her blue eyes were round and shiny, but suddenly she looked worried. “Are
you . . . sure? It’d be alright to spend money on something like that?”
Charlie nodded and touched her hand. Maybe I’d been wrong about her guilt. “I’m sure.
Go treat yourself. The Unique said to just call and tell them what time you’d like to come this
morning. They’ll fit you in.”
“Thank you, Charlie,” Mrs. Tartt said.
When we could hear Mrs. Tartt on the telephone in the hall, Charlie closed her eyes and
exhaled. Now I could see how anxious she really was.
“Can you ride to town with her and run a few errands?” she asked.
“Course, what do you need?” I needed a radio.
“A few things, but also . . . I think it might be wise to get some of her money out of the
house. What would you think about going to the bank and paying off her note?”
Even though the note wasn’t that big it was still drawing pennies in interest, so it made
sense to do this, but: “Why? Are you worried?”
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Charlie glanced in the direction of the front sitting room. “The car came back about four
o’clock this morning. I don’t think it’s the sheriff, but somebody’s been out there watching us.”
It took a second for this to sink in. It made even more sense why we needed to keep our
closing date a secret. If whoever was watching us was biding their time to do something,
whatever that was, they certainly didn’t need to know that Saturday night would be their last
chance to do it.
***
Half an hour later, Mrs. Tartt and I were rolling down North Lamar in Mr. Binny’s taxi. When
he’d pulled up at the house and gotten out, I’d given him a knowing look and shaken my head—
left, right, left, right. She. Does. Not. Know. After he’d helped Mrs. Tartt into the car, he’d given
me a deeply irritated, frustrated look back. Me and Mr. Binny were not suited for this kind of
pressure.
Mrs. Tartt opened a little mirror from her handbag and eyed the gray hairs poking out of
the scarf. “I tell you, I cannot wait to get my cullah back.” Dressed in her light blue suit, white
blouse tied in a cheerful bow, her new slimness suited her body, but her face had lost its girlish
plumpness. “It’s so kind of you and Charlie to let me go and do this.”
With each nice thing she said, I smiled and felt queasier.
“Tell me, is there something I could do to help out tonight?” she asked. “I could greet the
customers or take their hats or, well, I’m probably too old to give a dance lesson but I suppose I
could try.” She giggled at the thought of teaching the jitterbug to a college boy.
“You don’t need to do anything, just get some rest tonight.”
As Mr. Binny approached the square, he slowed down for the line of traffic. “Heavens to
Betsy, look at all the people,” Mrs. Tartt said, rolling the window down to look. Students,
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townsfolk, out-of-towners of all ages were strolling around. A sign hung from the second-floor
balcony over the bank that read Ole Miss Homecoming 1933 Go Red and Blue!
“Mr. Binny, how do you like playing in the backyard again? Does it look like the big
parties we used to have back in the old days?”
“No ma’am. It ain’t nothing like your old parties out back,” Mr. Binny said. He hit the
brake hard as a group of boys walked in front of his car. I gripped the door handle. “I’ll get out
here, Mr. Binny. I’ll see you at home, Mrs. Tartt.” I was ready to get off this ride.
***
I couldn’t help myself and went to check the mail before going to the bank. Mrs. Nutt was gone
now, fired for Section 213 so she could stay home and cook supper for her husband. Mavis
checked the out-of-town box for me. Please, Jack. Don’t let me go so easy, I prayed. But there
was nothing. The summer of Jack was over.
In the bank, my gaze went straight to his empty office. It ached so much I wanted to turn
around and walk out, but I couldn’t. And anyway, I couldn’t stand the thought of those filthy
bankers drawing another cent of interest off Mrs. Tartt.
“May I help you?” Eleanor asked. I looked down at her. She had on a cinnamon-colored
suit today that went perfect with her curly red hair. She was probably a better match for Jack
anyway. She could probably bear him so many children that her uterus would fall out. Virginia’d
shared that bit of medical phenomenon with us. “I need to see Mr. Allison.”
“May I ask what it’s concerning?” Eleanor smiled the smile that wasn’t friendly. It was a
patronizing gate of teeth meant to keep the riffraff away. You should not be at the hello desk. You
are not a hello can I help you person. She was too beautiful and probably too fertile to be
working here.
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“I’m here to pay off Mrs. Tartt’s note.” I reminded myself that this was going to be the
easiest part of my day, so I’d better relish it.
She raised her thin, tweezed eyebrows. “You mean the Tartts’ mortgage?”
“Yes, I’m here to pay off Mrs. Tartt’s mortgage.” To get this over with quicker, I set a
fat, paper-clipped stack of two hundred eighty-four dollars on her desk. I had more in my purse
to cover whatever extra interest they were charging.
She looked at the money like it was dirty, and oh it definitely was. “I don’t handle
mortgage payments,” she said in a clipped tone and stood up. “I’m not really sure what to . . .
do.”
My stomach dropped. I sensed there was a problem here. “It’s not due until the 13th . . .”
I called after her but she was walking toward Mr. Allison’s office. He had somebody in there
with him. She went to the wall of file cabinets, opened a drawer, walked her fingers across it, and
pulled out a folder.
When she came back with it and opened it on her desk, I saw an ominous red stamp on
the first page: PENDING CLOSURE.
“What is this? Is this a foreclosure? You can’t—”
She pointed to a series of numbers. “The bank has filed the loan as fulfilled, Miss
Calhoun, or it’s about to be.”
My neck turned hot. As in, they’d sent it to the auctioneers already and were feeling very
fulfilled that Mrs. Tartt would lose her house? Why didn’t she speak plainly? “They said we had
until Friday, October 13, to pay it, the 13th—”
She pointed again. “Mrs. Tartt only owes one dollar,” she whispered, looking around.
“Due October 13.”
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“What—no. What happened to the . . . the rest she owes?”
“It’s been dismissed. I called Mrs. Tartt’s house three weeks ago to let her know, but the
telephone’d been disconnected. And then we heard she’d gone out of town, so I sent her a letter.
Two, actually. Nobody’s been checking her mail?”
“I did, but—” I hadn’t opened those stupid bank letters. I knew they’d just say the same
damn thing they always did, you’re late. “I don’t understand. Did somebody pay it off? Did Rory
pay it off?”
“As I understand it, it was a bank decision. Now would you like me to send Mrs. Tartt
another notice, or I can call her if she’s somewhere with a—”
“No. She’s . . . not available. I’ll tell her.” Standing there with all Mrs. Tartt’s money, I
felt a ripple of indignation—we could’ve paid it ourselves. But then it passed, and I just felt
wondrously relieved. But it didn’t escape me how strange life was. If I’d opened either of those
letters instead of spitting on them, I might’ve insisted we close shop right then. Mrs. Tartt could
have all the money she’d made now, which she’d need. Especially if they were giving Rory
every last cent. In the end, she’d be in better shape than any of us.
“Excuse me, but whose decision was this?” I asked.
Eleanor paused. “I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am.”
I glanced over at Mr. Allison’s office, then back at her, just to see. She stared at me, but
then like she couldn’t resist, she shook her head. She glanced all the way to the back to the
empty glass office. Jack’s office. My chest burned. Jack really was one of the nice ones. I guess
this was his parting gift.
I should’ve known Pripp’s cousin couldn’t keep a secret. I took a dollar off the stack,
about to give it to her. “You’re certain she has until October 13 to pay it?”
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She gave me that unsmiling smile, took the notice from the folder, and handed it to me. “I
am sure.”
I tucked the dollar back in the paper clip and put the stack of bills back in my purse. Mrs.
Tartt should have the satisfaction of paying off the rest of her note when all this was over.
***
I walked into the house with my packages and all seemed quiet. I’d bought a secondhand radio
for a painful fourteen dollars, making sure the volume played LOUD. Just as I pushed open the
swinging door to the kitchen, Frances gasped. She turned around to me and said, “Maids.”
Picador stood at the sink. I shrugged my apology to her—they gave us no warning—but I
should’ve gotten word to them.
“I have so many things for you to wash, Picador, they’re upstairs,” Frances was saying,
“and I need you to iron all my clothes. Everything I own’s wrinkled as old prunes—”
“No,” I said. “No, Franny, Picador has plenty to do already for the boarders. You’re
gonna have to wash and iron your own clothes.” They needed to get the rest of the sheets clean
and put away before Mrs. Tartt got home.
Frances raised an eyebrow. I’d hit a nerve. “Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t do with
my own help. She doesn’t work for you.”
“Or you, Frances. Picador and Polly work for Charlie right now.”
I’d hit the nerve twice now. “Is that so? Well, I can’t wait to tell Viktoria that Charlie, the
leech, seems to think the Tartts’ lifelong help’s working for her now.”
Before that could happen, Flossy came into the kitchen with Ruby behind her. I knew it
had to happen sometime. I just wished it weren’t right now.
“Flossy. Ruby. This is my sister, Frances. That I told you about.”
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Frances stared at them. It took a second for her to process it all. Ruby was wearing her
black cotton shift, a long crease of cleavage showing down her front, her dyed red hair sticking
out six ways to Sunday. Flossy looked a little more composed, though I had to assume she was
naked under Frances’s pink bathrobe.
“Well, well, we finally meet,” Ruby said, smirking. “Funny, I say your name about ten
times a night.” She grabbed a biscuit off the stove and stuck it in her mouth.
“It’s very nice to finally meet you, Frances,” Flossy said. It sounded surprisingly genuine.
Frances, who was already miffed at me, put on one of her larger scary smiles. “It’s very
nice to meet both of you,” she said. She nodded like she just could not wait for Mrs. Tartt to
meet these two tramps and get me in trouble. I guess if you didn’t know Frances, though, you
might mistake the smile for friendly.
“Golly gee,” Flossy said. “Birdie didn’t tell me you was so pretty. People must tell you
that all the time, huh.”
“How kind of you to say that,” Frances said, still beaming at her. The smile was sticky
sweet. “Now, if you don’t mind my asking, is that my bathrobe you’re wearing?”
“Oh, is it?” Flossy looked down and let out an embarrassed staccato laugh. “I’m sorry, I
been wearing it so long I kinda forgot.” She took it off and I froze but she had an old short
nightgown on under it. She held it out to Frances.
“Oh no, please. Don’t worry about it,” Frances said, backing up.
“You sure? It ain’t dirty or nothing. I could wash it out, be done in a jiffy.”
“Really. You keep it.”
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“Oh. Well, thanks a bunch, Fran. Hey, by the way, thanks a lot for letting me use your
room. The pink’s real pretty, and I been reading those magazines a yours. Lotsa good tips for us
homemakers. I hope one day to have a house nice as the one you and Birdie got here.”
“Oh I bet you do,” Frances said, smiling and nodding to me. She really liked that part
about it being Birdie’s house.
“It’s prolly been a real big change to come home to all these people, staying in your
room, using your things”—No, no, do not mention the dresses—“but I want you to know how
much we like this one.” Flossy tilted her head to me. “You’re lucky. I don’t got a lot a family,
and the ones I do, don’t—they don’t really like me. I wish my own sister was more like Birdie.”
“She is definitely one of a kind,” Frances said and turned around to the sink, putting her
back to Flossy.
Leaning against the counter, Ruby was watching this. She stuck more biscuit in her
mouth, crumbs dropping down the front of her chemise.
“Well. I guess I’ll see ya later then,” Flossy said and she walked out with Ruby, who
looked slit-eyed and suspicious.
I don’t know why I’d expected more of my sister. When they were gone, I said, “Can you
please try to be nice to these women? Flossy’s a very nice person.”
“Was I rude?” Frances asked, batting her eyelashes. Her back still to the door, down went
the phony smile. “Why would you let those cheap floozies live in this house? And did you see
those awful teeth?” Frances wrinkled her nose and called out loud, “Pee-yew! Somebody needs
to take the trash out.”
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I turned to see Flossy’d come back in the kitchen, looking excited like she had one more
thing to tell Frances. I could practically hear a soft crumpling of bone, possibly soul. Behind her,
Ruby leered at Frances, cleaning her teeth with her tongue.
“Floss,” I whispered, but she waved a hand—it’s nothing. She tugged Ruby back toward
the doorway.
Frances, unaware, turned on the tap to fill a glass. “I’ll be right back,” I said. “Stay here,
Frances.”
I went after Flossy and Ruby up the back stairs, into Flossy’s room. I needed to tell
Frances now, before Mrs. Tartt got home. I just needed to think it through, but first I gave Flossy
a hug. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to her. “She’s not nice sometimes.”
“Please. It’s fine,” Flossy said. She still looked embarrassed.
“Alright. I’m gonna go tell her,” I said. “Now.” A cold, bright fear trickled down my
spine. “I’m not sure how I’m going to tell her . . . but I’m gonna tell her.”
“I’ll tell her,” Ruby said, licking her thick lips.
“No, y’all just finish getting dressed to meet Mrs. Tartt when she gets home.”
Ruby was changing into a red dress, Flossy was putting on stockings. “What’re you so
afraid of, she’ll be mad at you or something?” Ruby asked.
“That’s not nothing, Ruby,” I said. “You don’t know what Frances is like.”
“Oh, I got a pretty good idea,” Ruby said. “Look. She’s gone be a bitch no matter what
you do. Wouldn’t you rather she be a bitch to you for making a thousand bucks, instead of six
hundred?”
It took me a second to sort that out. I guess Ruby had a point.
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“How I’d love to do this to my sister,” Flossy said stepping into a dress. I guess she’d
gotten over being embarrassed.
Charlie had materialized from somewhere and was listening in the doorway with her
arms crossed. “Good luck,” she said. “I sure don’t envy you.”
***
“Go sit in the dining room, Franny, I’ll bring you some cake,” I told her. I was a nervous wreck.
My hands were shaking as I sliced yesterday’s pound cake and spread butter on top the way she
liked it. I took my time.
Since Frances had left her dirty breakfast dishes at her usual spot at the table, instead of
clearing them, she sat down at the head. “I know they’re paying rent but it’s just so unpleasant
having all these yucky strangers in the house.” Carefully, I arranged a plate of cake and a glass of
milk in front of her and sat down at her right. As I took a deep breath, I saw Ruby saunter past
the doorway in the front sitting room, watching us.
“Frances,” I said and cleared my throat. “Remember when you were saying how . . .
when a boy grows up to be a man, he starts to have these . . . urges—” Now Flossy was trolling
past. I tried to ignore her. “To have . . . intercourse—except I don’t mean like Rory’s urges, I
mean like a man and a woman have urges in marriage—but regular marriages, not like what you
and Rory had, or didn’t have, in the bedroom.” My voice was hoarse and, God knows why, I
laughed. Nerves.
Frances set down her glass of milk. “Why would you . . . say that?”
“What do you mean?”
“About the bedroom—are you . . . are you making fun of me?” Her neck was growing
tall, dangerously tall.
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“No, no—” I smiled. I couldn’t control my own face. “I wasn’t mocking you, Frances.”
“Yes you were, you just said it, ‘regular marriages, not like what you and Rory didn’t
have in the bedroom.’ He’s sick, Birdie. So what is it, a joke to you that I never had intercourse
with my husband?”
“I—” Never? With her own husband of a year? “I—I didn’t know that Frances.”
We were at full goose-neck now.
“You are so selfish. First you bring these low-life, cheap gypsies into my home and turn it
into some embarrassing dance parlor with no concern how it would make me feel or make me
look, and now you say this?” Her mouth was turned down like one of those frightening drama
masks. She looked disgusted by me. “Or maybe that’s why you did it, to humiliate me because
you’re jealous! You always have been. Because I can have children and poor, poor Birdie can’t,
so now you’re making fun of me because of my sick husband. My God, it’s no wonder that man
ran back to Jackson like he did!”
That. It hit me like a hard kick in the stomach. So hard I blinked. Of course I was
envious, but I’d never wanted bad things for Frances. And she was calling me selfish? I’d lost
my job in Footely to stay here and help her. That was not a small thing in these times—and now
I was working my tail off until two o’clock in the morning, risking my life as a free citizen to
help her and her family—and yes, help my family, but that was her family too. And what had she
done for us? She’d had to ponder over loaning us two hundred fifty dollars. On top of that, I’d
been buttering her damn pound cake and telling her what she wanted to hear for years.
I was so blindsided, I didn’t realize Flossy’d come into the dining room. She set a hand
on my shoulder. “Let me do this for you, Bird,” she said softly. “I know a thing or two about
sisters.”
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I nodded. I simply could not do this myself.
“Are you . . . wearing my dress now?” Frances said, standing up. God, I’d missed that,
but sure enough she had on Frances’s favorite green dress. There was no phony smile on
Frances’s face now, just a long neck and an ugly frowning mouth.
Flossy had powdered her face and only wore simple red lipstick to meet Mrs. Tartt. No
heavy rouge or kohl around her eyes. She looked nice.
“Ya don’t mind, do ya?” Flossy said, smiling wide, not embarrassed about her teeth as
she sometimes was. In fact, she looked damn proud of them. “Please. Switch with me, Bird.”
Numbly I moved over one and gave Flossy my chair. What my sister had said to me years ago
came to mind: Why try? Why try to make my sister like me, when her heart was buried so deep?
“Sit down, Frances,” Flossy said to her. Frances didn’t sit. She glared at Flossy. She looked to be
sizzling mad.
“Siddown, Franny,” Ruby said, striding into the dining room. Frances looked at her and
something drew her back down into her chair, perhaps Ruby’s slitted green eyes, perhaps the
knuckle sandwich she was polishing in the palm of her hand. Ruby took the seat on the other side
of Frances and moved her chair closer to her.
Flossy shook her head at Frances and tsked. “Sistahs. You’re really something, ya know.
It’s funny, but my little sis always wanted me to take what she thought a me and turn it into what
I thought a myself. Ain’t that a gas? And you bet your last dollar, I use to think that too.” Flossy
nodded. “Those were some real dark times, they were. I could hear her voice like she was sitting
in my ear. Till one day I realized that my sister only wanted me to hate myself on account a she
hated her own self even more. And, I mean, who can blame her. She’s very hateable. You should
think about that, Frances.”
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Frances didn’t respond. She looked ready to spit.
“Anyhoo,” Flossy said, “we’re prostitutes. Dance club is just a front.”
Frances stared at Flossy. Then she looked at me. “What?”
“It’s just a front, Franny,” Flossy said and started using her hands. “We do the one-dance
minimum, look at the back a the old man’s head, five bucks later we take ’em upstairs and
fadoodle the daylights out of ’em. Questions?”
Frances was frowning like she’d tasted something rotten and was very confused how it’d
even gotten in her mouth. “What are you—Birdie, what on earth is she talking about?”
“It’s a brothel. We’re running a brothel,” I said quietly, kindly, actually. Now that it was
out, a strange calm crept over me. The sun moved out from behind clouds and streamed into the
dining room. A fly landed on Frances’s cake, and she didn’t wave it away.
“Aim it back here, I ain’t done.” Flossy pointed two fingers at Frances’s eyes, then her
own. “To continue. We prostitutes get 50 percent a the rate, be it for the straight lay, the hand
job, the snickety snack.” She chomped her teeth together. “The two-on-one in those little beds a
your hubby’s—”
“Is this one of your stupid jokes? Have you lost your mind?” Frances spat at me.
“Flossy, please just get to the point,” I said.
Flossy nodded. “And the other half, as I understand it, gets divided three ways, a slice for
Charlie, a slice for Birdie, and a slice for . . .” Flossy snapped her fingers twice.
“Mrs. Tartt,” I said.
“To save this house that you also live in, which, hereforto, we feel, benefits you.” Flossy
smiled. “So. We decided you need to do your part. From now until we close in the wee hours of
Sunday morning, your job is to keep Mrs. Tartt upstairs so she don’t find out.”
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No one spoke. Frances’s mouth was open. It was strange how tranquil I felt, like I’d
reached a far-off destination. The light was so bright here, past the point of no return.
“Is that understood or you need further explanation?” Flossy asked her.
Frances, blank faced, white with shock, started to get up.
“Siddown,” Ruby said again. Frances smacked her rear back on the seat.
“Franny, just listen to me, please,” I said. “We will pay you to help us. Think about it:
This house, the valuables, even what we’ve earned, it’s all Mrs. Tartt’s. You have nothing. It’s
only three more nights. We’ll pay you . . . fifty dollars.” In Frances speak that was seven dresses
from the Neilson’s, or twenty-five new pairs of rayons, or twenty visits to the Unique. It would
come from the too-generous house fund I’d set aside and off the top of our last three nights.
At that figure, I thought I saw Frances’s eyes focus the tiniest bit sharper on me. Though
it might’ve just been hate.
Behind Frances, in the distant sitting room windows, I saw Mr. Binny’s taxi pull up. I
nudged Flossy and she saw it too.
“A few more particulars and we’re done here, doll,” Flossy said. “So’s you know, Birdie
ain’t got nothing to do with the prostitute side a the business, so don’t blame her. All she sells is
cold drinks and tiddlywinks, but she works hard for us gals. Which brings me to my next point.”
Flossy leaned up at Frances. “Sisters like Birdie don’t come a dime a dozen. So from now on,
until the day you die, I want you to treat her like nothing short of the queen of darn England.”
“And if you don’t, you’re gone wake up baldern Daddy Warbucks,” Ruby said softly in
Frances’s ear.
Frances turned to Ruby with wide eyes.
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“This place gets busted ’cause you didn’t do your job, we’ll tell the sheriff and the whole
town for that matter that you’re a prostitute too.” Flossy smiled. “Just like us.”
“Hell, that might be worth getting arrested for,” Ruby said.
“Do I—have a choice?” Frances asked, looking face to face.
“No,” Ruby said and stood up and she and Flossy slipped into the kitchen.
Out in the hall, we heard the front door open and a cheery, “I’m home!”
Frances gave me a long, cold stare. Funny how I hardly even felt it. “Come on, it’s time
to get to work,” I said.
“I will be upstairs. In my room,” Frances hissed.
“You will be down here, Frances. Doing your job.”
She licked her lips, I reckoned considering her slim options. Realizing there were none,
especially with the way Ruby’d whispered in her ear, she said through clenched teeth, “When
this is over, I want you to promise me I will never, ever have to see you again.”
At this, I did feel something again. A deep blue heaviness, that wasn’t sadness, it was
more like homesickness or nostalgia for something that no longer could be. Was this worth that?
I didn’t know, and it didn’t really matter. I’d done this for a lot more people than just Frances. So
I told her I agreed to her terms.
***
“I tell you, it looks as pretty as it did in 1923,” Mrs. Tartt said out on the back porch. Still
dressed in her blue suit, she was blond again, her hair styled in a stiff arc around her face. “Now
about how many boys come out here for a dance lesson each night?”
“Twenty-five, sometimes as many as thirty-five on a busy night,” Charlie said. Behind
me, I heard Frances chirp.
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“I had no idea this would be so popular,” Mrs. Tartt said. “I do believe you have a knack
for business, Charlie. I can’t wait to see it all lit up tonight.”
The screen door whined open and everybody on the wrong side of sin filed out on the
back porch. The air stilled as I watched Mrs. Tartt take them all in. I’d been very clear about how
they should look: “You know how mothers teach their boys to watch out for girls like you? Well,
Mrs. Tartt is that mother.”
“Mrs. Tartt, this is Flossy.” My plan was to move quickly through the first four of them,
but Mrs. Tartt paused solidly.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Flossy. And lookathere, doesn’t Frances’s dress suit you?
Frances, that was so kind of you to loan her your dress.”
Flossy made a little curtsy. “Your house is real nice. You got some taste, Mrs. T.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Tartt said, showing no judgment at all, a true lady. I snuck Frances a
look.
“And this is Ruby, and these are the twins . . .”
Ruby nodded to her. Her bosoms were crammed down into her tight red dress. (“What
am I s’posed to do, leave my tits upstairs?” she’d argued. The best we could do was drape a
black shawl over her chest.)
“Nice to meet you, Ruby.” And then Mrs. Tartt moved on to the twins. They looked like
skinny orphans with long, sad faces, barefooted in blue drop-waist dresses. But innocent.
“Just about identical, aren’t you two?” Mrs. Tartt said. “Tell me, what type dances do you
specialize in?”
“Just about anything he wants,” Trixie said solemnly.
Dixie added, “’Cept we don’t—”
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“And this is Virginia,” I said, stepping in. “Virginia’s going to medical school next year
to be a doctor, isn’t that something?”
“Oh my, a lady doctor?” Mrs. Tartt said. I prayed she wouldn’t say anything that would
start Virginia on one of her lectures, which so often cut a path to her favorite subjects, gonorrhea
and pubic lice. Mrs. Tartt leaned in and said, “We could use more women in the field, couldn’t
we, dear?”
Virginia’s eyes lit up. “Yes, we could.”
“And this is Esmeralda.” She was the only one I truly trusted to keep things straight. She
wore the rose-colored dress that went so well with her olive skin, her long, tapered hands crossed
primly in front of her.
“What a beautiful name.” Mrs. Tartt tilted her head like maybe she recognized her.
“Whereabouts are you from, Esmeralda?”
“Here in Lafayette County.”
“What’s your family name, dear?”
“Lincoln. Esmeralda Lincoln.”
“Lincoln,” Mrs. Tartt said, tugging that around. “I thought I knew every family in
Lafayette County, but I can’t seem to place your people.”
Mrs. Tartt stepped back and surveyed all the girls in a way that made me stop breathing.
She did look a little confused by this unusual army of ladies living in her house, but one thing
about Mrs. Tartt was she was never rude. At least not to a stranger.
“Well. I’m certainly happy to have y’all here,” she said. “And I can’t believe not one of
you is married yet, so pretty and fit in the figyahs as you are.” She glanced down at Ruby’s
fantastic dance legs. “I bet you’re mighty good at the foxtrot, aren’t you, young lady?”
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