Lily suspected that she had more pocket money than Kath, but there was a hint of pride in Kath’s tone that suggested she wanted to pay. It was confusing but also flattering, and as the spotlight came on and the pianist began to play, she let her hand sink down to her lap, still holding the money.
This time she knew what to expect, but that knowledge didn’t blunt her anticipation. Instead it seemed to magnify it: the slow electric thrill that built from deep inside herself as she heard the opening bars of “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.” When the murmur from the back of the room began, she turned in her chair to search through the dimness for Tommy Andrews’s dark-suited figure. When she finally appeared, her face coming into the light for a transitory moment, Lily caught her breath. And then as she stepped onto the stage, her back to the audience, Lily felt that sweet, warm buzz spreading over her skin as if a charge were rising from her very pores.
When Jean returned with the drinks, Lily barely noticed. Unlike her first visit to the club, when she had squirmed with worry that someone might notice her, tonight she allowed herself to look, to sink into the looking, until all she saw was Tommy. Tommy’s hands as she adjusted the knot of her black tie, the gold signet ring glinting in the light. Tommy’s mouth, surprisingly pink and pretty, as she sang with a tiny smirk into the microphone. Tommy’s dark eyes, lazily half closed or winking at a girl in the front row. The more Lily watched, the more she began to pick out the tiny feminine details that had eluded her last time. Tommy’s face was smooth and softly rounded; her hands were small and slim. And beneath the starched white shirt and tailored tuxedo jacket, Lily detected the slight swell of breasts. That made Lily’s face burn, and for a moment she had to lower her gaze to the table, where she saw the glass of beer Jean had bought for her. She reached for her drink and was startled to discover that she was still clutching her money, now crumpled and limp from her sweaty grasp. She smoothed out the damp dollar bills under the table, replacing them in her purse, and then picked up the beer. She took a trembling sip of the cold, faintly bitter liquid, and then another, and when she raised her eyes back to the stage she could watch again.
* * *
—
Lily leaned toward the mirror in the women’s bathroom, raising her lipstick to her mouth. Behind her, the door to one of the two stalls opened and a woman in a slim purple V-neck dress emerged. She carefully balanced her handbag on the edge of the sink before she turned on the taps to wash her hands. She caught Lily’s eye in the mirror and smiled. “I like that color on you,” she said.
“Thank you,” Lily said shyly.
“Where’d you get it?”
“At Owl Drugs, on Powell.”
The woman dried her hands on the rotating towel. “What’s the name of the color?”
Lily capped her lipstick and peered at the bottom. “Red carnation.”
“I’ll have to look for it.” The woman reclaimed her handbag and took out her own lipstick, while Lily slung her purse over her shoulder. “See you down there,” the woman said.
“See you,” Lily said as she left. She felt buoyed by the brief encounter, as if she’d been admitted to a club she hadn’t known existed. As she passed the line of waiting women in the upstairs hallway, she didn’t mind so much if they gave her curious looks.
Downstairs in the stage room, Jean and Kath had met a couple of other women during the break between Tommy’s acts. They had pulled up two more chairs and drawn into a loose circle around the little table. Lily’s seat was still empty, and when Kath saw her she waved her into it, saying, “Jean ran into some friends from Cal.”
Jean made the introductions. Sally was the girl in the green-and-white shirtdress, and Rhonda was the one in the lavender sweater and gray wiggle skirt. They were both brunettes who wore their hair almost identically, but Sally wore hardly any makeup, while Rhonda had a lush, dark red mouth, and eyelashes so long Lily thought they must be false. Jean seemed to be paying Rhonda quite a bit of attention, flattering her and offering to buy her another drink even though she hadn’t finished her gin and tonic. Sally, meanwhile, went back to her conversation with Kath. They appeared to be discussing something they’d both seen on Toast of the Town the other night, an act involving two little girls and a dancing monkey. Lily hadn’t seen the show and had nothing to add to the conversation, and the buoyancy she’d felt earlier began to dissipate. Kath, on the other hand, seemed very free and easy talking to Sally, leaning forward slightly, smiling as she sipped her beer. When Jean offered around a pack of cigarettes, Kath even took one, though she held it stiffly, barely smoking it. She miscalculated the trajectory of the ash when she flicked it toward the ashtray, and a gray cinder dropped onto the scarred surface of the table, breaking up and scattering like crumbs.
There was a hubbub on the other side of the room, and for a moment all of them turned to watch as a couple got up—the wife was wobbly, and her husband had to put his arm around her waist to keep her steady—and after the couple had departed, Rhonda turned back to the table and her gaze fell on Lily.
“There’s a girl in my psychology class from Chinatown. Helen Mok. Do you know her?” Rhonda asked.
“No. I don’t think so.”
Rhonda lifted her cigarette to her mouth, the filter stained red from her lipstick. As she exhaled she said, “I’ve even seen Helen around here once or twice.”
Lily felt a twinge of excitement at the idea of another Chinese girl at Telegraph Club. “Really?”
Rhonda nodded. “I don’t think she comes here anymore though. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“People come and go all the time,” Sally said.
“Just like these bars,” Rhonda said. “This place has been around for a while though. I wonder how much the owner’s paying the cops.”
Lily’s eyes widened, but nobody seemed surprised by what Rhonda had said—not even Kath.