Last Night at the Telegraph Club

All of her senses rushed to that tender spot where Tommy’s warm hand was touching her, her fingertips softly pressing against her neck, her thumb running lightly but deliberately over her mouth.

“Sweet sixteen.” There was a honeyed tone to Tommy’s voice, a low dip to it that sounded like a secret.

Lily felt as if Tommy was onstage again. Her voice and her touch and the way she was looking at Lily: a performance that she had slipped into effortlessly, like water.

For a moment—an excruciatingly long moment—Lily was sure that Tommy was thinking about kissing her. Silky heat ran through her like a river. She swayed on her feet—as if she were standing on the deck of a ferry in the Bay—and Tommy gave a brief, breathy laugh.

“You’re drunk, sweetheart.”

“No,” she whispered. Tommy’s finger still nudged against her lips.

“Yes.” Tommy withdrew her hand almost reluctantly.

“I’m not sixteen.” Lily felt, dazedly, as if she had to make that clear.

“You sure?” Tommy smiled a little—almost flirtatiously. “You shouldn’t be in here, doll,” she said gently. “You better go back to your girlfriend.”

Lily felt as if she were sinking, as if the floor were tilting dangerously. But even in her state, Lily knew who Tommy meant. “She’s not—we’re not—” Lily said, and immediately felt as if she had betrayed Kath.

Tommy raised her eyebrows. “Does she know that, sweetheart?” She stepped toward the door and made a flourish as if to show Lily out of the room. “After you.”





32





Kath was still sitting on the sofa. She was holding a wineglass half full of sangria in one hand, the other hand resting on her thigh, her fingers loosely curled up as if something had recently been pulled out of her grasp and she hadn’t yet noticed.

When Lily saw her, she felt a fresh pang of embarrassment. She had been so stupid. If she had been so obvious to everyone else, Kath must surely know, and she had never said a thing. That could only mean that Kath didn’t—

She couldn’t even think it. She had to leave. She needed to go home.

Lily began to skirt the edge of the living room, going around the dancing couples, and caught Kath’s eye on the way. Kath rose from the couch immediately, nearly spilling her drink. She righted it just in time and set it on the table, heading toward Lily to meet her at the bench where everyone’s coats made a multicolored pile.

“What’s wrong?” Kath asked.

“I have to go,” Lily said at the same time.

“Did something happen?”

“I just need to go home,” Lily insisted. She glanced down at her wristwatch, which enabled her to look away from Kath. “It’s three o’clock already.”

“All right. I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You can’t walk back alone.”

“I don’t want you to go out of your way.”

“It’s not.”

“You really don’t have to bother,” Lily said as she dug through the coats.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

One of the coats—a blue wool peacoat—tumbled to the floor, and several others cascaded down after it. “I’m fine,” Lily said, bending over to grab the fallen coats. She was mortified by her encounter with Tommy, but she wasn’t about to tell anyone what had happened—especially not Kath. “If you want to come with me, then come with me. I just can’t stay here anymore.”

It was awkward after that, but Kath wouldn’t let her walk home alone. Kath helped her find their coats, which were near the bottom, and when Lily dislodged hers at last, an envelope fluttered down to the floor. She bent over to pick it up; it was addressed to someone named Theresa Scafani. She shoved it back into the pile. Kath had pulled Lana away from a group of dancers to say good night. Lily wished she hadn’t done that, but now here she was, beaming at them with her face flushed from dancing.

“Thank you for coming,” Lana said, and reached out and took Lily’s hand in hers.

“Thank you for inviting me—us,” Lily said.

“You’ll be safe heading home?”

“Yes, we’ll go together,” Kath said.

“Good. Be careful, girls.”

As Lana went back to the dancing, Lily saw Tommy emerge from the kitchen, a cigarette in her mouth and a cocktail glass in one hand. Tommy’s eyes met Lily’s, and a little smile passed over Tommy’s face—that same flirtatious smile from the bedroom—and Lily turned away and headed for the door.

She went so quickly that Kath had to rush after her. “What’s gotten into you?” she asked as Lily plunged out onto the street.

“I’m just tired.” Lily crossed her arms against the foggy chill and began to walk away from Lana and Tommy’s building.

Kath tugged at her elbow. “That’s the wrong way.”

Lily stopped and looked up. She was walking directly toward Coit Tower, which was still illuminated in the dark. She glanced around in confusion and realized she had no idea where she was.

“It’s this way.” Kath gestured in the opposite direction.

They went back past Lana and Tommy’s building. The living room window was curtained, but through the cracks Lily saw light and movement, and the faint sound of music leaked out into the night. At the end of the block, Lily saw the street sign—Castle Street—right before they turned steeply downhill. They hadn’t gone much farther before Kath reached for her arm and said, “Wait—wait.”

Lily felt Kath’s hand slide down her arm and lodge around her wrist, then around her fingers, pulling her to a halt.

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