She counted to sixty, trying to breathe silently and slowly. Finally she stepped out onto the front stoop in her stockinged feet and pulled the door shut, locking it behind her. She was hot with nerves, and the concrete steps were blessedly cold beneath her warm feet as she descended to the street. The bumpy sidewalk dug sharply into her soles, but she was afraid to make the slightest noise beneath the front window, where her parents’ bedroom was located. She didn’t put on her shoes until she was halfway down the block.
She had never been out this late on her own, perhaps never even in the company of her parents. The Chinatown streets were lit by tall neon signs advertising CHOP SUEY and NOODLES, and the pagoda rooflines of many buildings were outlined in white lights. The sidewalks were lively with people coming to and from cocktail bars, most of them Caucasians, with the ladies in fur stoles and the gentlemen in fedoras. Laughter and music spilled from the Shanghai Low, and the smell of deep-fried food wafted through the air. She hadn’t realized so many people would be out at this hour, and as she passed the Chinese man working at the corner kiosk she kept her head down and walked quickly, afraid he might recognize her. When she reached Broadway and crossed over to Columbus, she relaxed a little. North Beach was just as lively—it was Friday night, after all—but there were fewer Chinese to see her.
The escape from Chinatown left her buoyed; she wanted to laugh, but at the last moment she suppressed it out of fear that someone would notice a solitary girl laughing on the sidewalk, and it came out of her in a wheezy giggle. That sobered her up quickly, and suddenly Columbus Avenue seemed very large and possibly dangerous. Men passed her, their faces obscured by hats, while women clicked by in their heels. Her shoes began to pinch, and as she approached the corner where she and Kath had agreed to meet, she worried that Kath wouldn’t be there.
At Columbus and Vallejo, nobody was standing beneath the streetlight. Lily slowed down, hoping that Kath would appear soon. She looked northeast toward Washington Square, searching for a sign of a girl coming through the dark, but she didn’t see Kath. Lily stopped about ten feet from the corner, afraid to be spotlighted. She slid her hands into her jacket pockets and glanced around warily. When they’d discussed their plan, they’d had the sense to know it wouldn’t feel safe to linger alone on a street corner in the middle of the night, but now Lily realized that five minutes was far too long. Every passing man seemed like a threat. She moved toward the wall of the building on the corner, hiding herself in its shadow. She glanced at her watch, wishing that the minutes would pass faster. She eyed a couple walking down Columbus toward her; the woman’s arm was linked through the man’s. As they went through the light from the streetlamp, the woman turned her face up to him, smiling. She looked so relaxed, so certain and natural. Lily shrank back against the side of the building and felt ashamed of what she was about to do.
She began to second-guess their whole plan. She began to calculate how long it would take to scurry home through Chinatown and up the block to her building. She studied her watch again, angling it so that she could read the slim hands, and when she looked up, Kath was standing beneath the streetlight, looking around expectantly.
Lily exhaled in relief. “Kath,” she said, stepping away from the wall.
Kath came out of the light and met her on the dark edge of the sidewalk. “Are you ready?”
“I don’t know,” Lily admitted.
“Do you want to go home?” Kath asked, concerned.
Now that Kath was here—really here, scarcely a foot away from her—the doubt that had risen inside her was held back by something stronger. She wanted to see Tommy Andrews. She shook her head. “Let’s go.”
20
The Telegraph Club’s white neon sign was smaller than Lily had expected, and it glowed over a circular awning that was also printed with the name of the club. Beneath the awning, half-lit by the nearby streetlamp, was a black door, and in front of the black door stood a person whom Lily initially thought was a short, stocky man in a suit, but soon realized was a woman. Lily had seen people like her before (she had always noticed; they had drawn her eye magnetically, somehow, in a way that made her pulse leap), but never in this context: as if it were natural, and even expected, to be dressed this way.
“You girls sure you’re in the right place?” the bouncer asked.
Lily felt for her fake ID in her handbag, wondering if she should take it out.
“I’ve been here before,” Kath said. “We’re sure.”
The bouncer gave Kath a little grin, and waved them inside with a flourish. “Well then, welcome back,” she said cheerfully.
Relieved, Lily followed Kath into the club, avoiding the bouncer’s gaze. The black door opened into a narrow, dimly lit space. Lily didn’t know where to look at first; she wanted to see everything, but she was afraid to stare. There was a mirrored bar on the left where patrons sat on stools. There was barely enough space on the right for Lily and Kath to pass in single file. Lily was struck most forcefully by the smell of the place: a mixture of booze, perfume, sweat, and cigarette smoke. As she followed Kath down the side of the room, she noticed some of the women turning their heads to look at her, their eyes reflecting the globe lights hanging above.