“Well, the thing is”—he kept speaking, undeterred—“I need a woman to do something for me, and I can pay you a hundred dollars to do it.”
A hundred dollars? That was a lot of money, more than George made in an entire month. And if it was a hundred dollars George was none the wiser about, I could do with it as I pleased. George had two loves, cars and pistols, and any extra money he made he put toward those, not me and my happiness. But with my own money, I could treat myself to a nice dress, a new pair of shoes, the kind of things a girl needed to make herself pretty that I’d almost forgotten after so many years living in the blacks and whites and grays above George’s garage… “Wait a minute,” I said, stopping myself midway through the fantasy. “What does this have to do with Cath?”
Instead of answering, he took out a photograph from his jacket pocket—a picture of an unfamiliar but well-dressed man. The photograph was torn—you could still see a woman’s disembodied arm clinging to the man in the picture, a diamond bracelet snaked around her wrist—and I wondered who it was he’d ripped out from the other half of the photograph. “I need you to find this man,” he said. “He takes the nine o’clock train from East Egg into the city every Friday. I want you to find him on that train, sit with him, and talk to him.”
I frowned, confused. Why was he willing to pay me $100 to find a man on a train and sit and talk to him? “I don’t understand,” I said again.
“It’s very simple, really. I need a beautiful woman to do me this favor.” I blushed at his implication that I was beautiful and reached a hand up to smooth my hair. “So? Will you help me out?” he said easily.
I wasn’t stupid. Something illicit was most likely going on here. Certainly, at the very least, something… strange. But one hundred dollars? And all I had to do was ride the train into the city, find and talk to one particular handsome stranger. “All right,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
* * *
CALL CATH.
That’s what my head told me to do later that night as I stared at the crisp $100 bill in front of me, John J. Knox’s spectacled eyes staring back at me, taunting me. It was after supper, after George had gone to bed. After I’d lied to him and told him the man in the yellow car had only wanted to know Cath’s favorite gemstone so he could pick her out some new jewelry. Diamonds, of course, I’d said with a forced laugh, picturing the snaking bracelet on the disembodied arm. What man doesn’t know every girl prefers diamonds? George had rolled his eyes, already tiring of the subject.
I knew I should pick up the telephone, call Cath, and ask her what was going on. I should ask her who this man was and why had he come out here, to me, of all people. And besides all that, if she really had dated him, a man wealthy enough to drive such a bright, extravagant car, why hadn’t she ever told me that? And why in heaven’s name had she let him get away from her? A house in West Egg, on the water, was probably a very nice house indeed.
I had so many questions, but, as I put my hand on the telephone, I pictured Cath on the other end of the line, getting quickly frustrated, worried, fretting over me that way she was so inclined to do. I could already hear her raspy voice, imploring me not to go, not to get on that train. Maybe this man I was supposed to talk to on the train was dangerous… a murderer? But I looked around my small, dark kitchen, and I wondered if there were, perhaps, worse fates than being murdered.
I walked away from the telephone. I’d tell Cath the next time I saw her in the city. We could laugh over gin rickeys that I could afford to buy her for once. And maybe we could even go shopping and I would buy her something pretty.
Catherine May 1922
NEW YORK CITY
“YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE IT,” MYRTLE said to me, as we both sipped gin rickeys inside the Monte Carlo, my favorite and right now, on a Saturday afternoon, very crowded speakeasy. “I’ve met someone.”
“Met someone?” I turned to look at her, and we sat so close together I could see every detail of her face. She smiled slyly, and her cheeks were pink, glowing, in a way I hadn’t seen them in, my goodness, years? Since we were girls in Rockvale maybe.
“A man,” she clarified, lowering her voice. “A wealthy, beautiful, delicious man, Cath.”
I stopped drinking the gin, mid-sip, wanting clarity to understand this unexpected news. For years I’d been worrying about Myrtle, wanting her to leave George and come live, unfettered, in the city with me. I never considered she’d leave him, for another man. “You left George?” I asked, both stunned and a little proud that she’d finally been so brave.
“Not yet,” she said, lowering her voice. “He still has a wife. But he’s going to leave her soon, and then I’ll leave George.”
“Oh Myrtle.” I sighed.
“Don’t Oh Myrtle me, Saint Catherine. People get into unhappy marriages. It happens. I should know.” She paused to take a sip of her drink, and I pushed my own away as a new worry bubbled up inside of me. “Anyway, he set me up with a real nice apartment in Manhattan, and I’ve told George you need me to spend more time with you, so I’ll be coming into town, more and more. We can see each other when I come to see him! And he buys me such pretty things, Cath. Look at these.” She turned her head to the side and pointed to the two sparkly hairpins, peeking out slyly from underneath her hat.
“Are those… diamonds?” I asked, not quite believing that they were even as I reached my finger up to touch them. The stones were cool and sharp, and too sparkly to be anything but diamonds.
“You’d better believe they’re diamonds,” she said. “Tom only buys me the best, Cath.”
“Tom?” I repeated his name, and it felt unexpected on my tongue. Sharp and cold like the illicit diamonds in her hair.
“Why are you frowning?” Myrtle pouted. “I’m finally happy.”
I forced a smile. “I’m glad you’re happy. But… a married man?” My voice faltered a little. I felt this new fear for my sister rising up inside of me, creeping and spreading in circles in my chest like a spider methodically building a web. “And what if George finds out?” It frightened me to think of what he might do to her if he did.
“He won’t,” she said, vehemently. “He thinks I come to the city for you, Cath. How would he ever know?”
I bit my lip, trying to force myself not to speak again until I could think of something cheerier to say. “Those hairpins are real pretty, Myrtle,” I finally said.
“They are.” She sighed, happily. “Aren’t they?” She ran her fingers across them, then paused for a moment. “You know, I’ll give you a key for my apartment and you can come in and borrow them anytime you like. Borrow anything you want, Cath. I’ve got a whole collection of nice things now.”