“Don’t move a step. You want to see the damage? Is that what you want?”
Without ceremony, Esme pulled off the hat and veil and tossed them on the floor. What first struck Rose was the elegant line of her neck and head, like a ballet dancer’s. But the slashes from the knife had brutally disfigured the upper part of her face. A thick white gash cut across her forehead like a waxy centipede, and another crossed from the corner of her forehead, down across the bridge of her nose and below the eye, stopping at the top of her cheekbone. The skin around her nose and forehead was pulled taut and looked weirdly translucent, and one eye drooped at the corner. The blade had barely missed her greenish-gray eyes, which stared back at Rose with bitterness.
Rose kept her gaze steady. She needed to reach this woman, to make her see that she was not the enemy. “What happened to you was awful. You’ve suffered, and we think we understand what happened. Would it help to talk to us? We won’t publish anything, we won’t tell a soul.”
On the couch, Bird whimpered.
“You charge in here, take my dog, spread your things around.” Esme grabbed the urn from the windowsill and held it up with one hand. “Redecorating, were you?”
Horrified, Rose ran over and snatched it from her, holding it close to her chest. “No, it’s not like that.”
“Now you know what it feels like to have a stranger manhandle your belongings.”
Shame washed over her. She should have never camped out at the Barbizon after Griff kicked her out. What she’d done was unforgiveable.
“Rose, are those your father’s ashes?” Jason spoke quietly.
Rose nodded.
Esme’s eyes grew wide. “Her what?”
“Her father’s ashes.”
“Dear God.” Shaking her head, Esme sat back down in her chair, mouth slack. She looked at her empty hands. “Dear, dear God.”
“No, this was all my doing. I’m sorry. We’ll go now.” Rose stepped toward her suitcases.
“Stop.” Esme thrust out her chin. “Sit. I need a moment to think.”
They did as she commanded, side by side on the couch.
Rose held her breath.
“You are obviously in distress, Ms. Lewin, and I was once like you.” Esme lifted her head. “I’m going to tell you what you want to know. But only because I don’t know which of us needs this confession more.” She took a deep breath. “You. Or me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
New York City, Halloween 1952
Darby’s room was dark and quiet, a contrast to the hallway where girls in an assortment of costumes roamed, screeching with excitement as they readied for the evening’s delights. A light rain had begun to fall, tapping against the window like the snap of tiny rubber bands. Darby was already packed, thanks to Mother, and in little more than an hour, she would simply gather her things and go. She’d meet Sam at the station and they would begin a new life together, someplace far away.
But first, she had to try to find Esme. She remembered when they’d met. Esme had rolled her eyes and made faces as the elevator crawled upward, while Mrs. Eustis ticked off the rules of the hotel. Darby had been terrified that day, and Esme offered a lifeline with no expectation of kindness or reward. Only a coward would abandon a girl like that when the tables were turned.
Darby tucked the recording of the two of them singing in one side of her suitcase, where it wouldn’t break, and added her hairbrush and comb. That was it. She’d be traveling with a man who was not her husband, but that couldn’t really be helped, given the situation. She wanted Sam to be safe, and if he had to leave the city, she would be by his side.
As she made to leave the room to search for her friend, the door opened and Esme flew in.
Darby almost fell into the bureau, shaking with surprise. And relief. “Esme.”
Esme ran into her arms and they held each other for a moment. “Are you ready to hit the big time?”
“What?” Darby pulled back.
Esme’s skin was shiny with sweat, her eyes wide. “I stopped by earlier but couldn’t find you. Where have you been?”
“Talking with Sam. About you.”
She studied Darby’s face. “I see you’ve heard the news. The police screwed me. Royally.”
“Sam showed me the article. You talked about babies being given heroin; did you really see that happen?”
Esme shrugged. “I live in the slum. Of course that’s what I see.”
Darby should never have assumed Esme’s world in any way mirrored her own. She’d seen more foulness in her life so far than Darby probably ever would. She pulled Esme down to sit on the bed. “Why would you work for Kalai in the first place?”
“You saw those louts. I had to; it was part of my job at the club. Buckley knew it; everyone knew it. No surprise there. Why do you think the Flatted Fifth was so popular? Because it was an easy place to score. And I needed cash, in order to get all decked out and make a scene. I couldn’t do it if I looked average. Glamour ain’t cheap.”
“Why did you go to the police?”
Esme flinched. “For you, of course. I figured we’d use the money to get an apartment. Then they fucked me. Quigley swore word wouldn’t get out, but it got leaked to the papers.”
“You named the musicians. You didn’t think the police would go after them?”
“Everyone knows jazz musicians do drugs. No surprise there. And now I have enough dinero that we can hang loose until our careers take off.”
Darby’s heart ached for her friend. There was no way Esme could ever show herself again in New York. “You ruined people’s lives.”
The bravado fell from Esme’s face and she stared blankly at the floor. “Well, I’m sorry for that part. But I got screwed, too. Mrs. Eustis just fired me.”
“You’re in terrible danger. So is Sam.”
“I wonder who you’re more worried about.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m terrified for the both of you.”
“We’ll be fine.” She glanced over at the suitcase. “And I’m glad you’re packed up. I have a cousin with an apartment where we can crash until the coast is clear.”
Leave it to Esme to have a backup plan. But it was too late. “I went to your acting school and they said you’d never enrolled.”
Esme walked to the window, pressed her forehead against the glass. “Those idiots wouldn’t recognize talent if you gave them a roomful of movie stars.”
Darby had taken Esme’s ambition for something solid and positive. A girl who could rise up against all odds and prejudices with her confidence. When in fact she was willing to hurt other people, betray her own friends, in order to get her way. The signs had been there all along, the nagging feeling that Esme wasn’t telling the truth, or perhaps manipulating it.
Yet no matter how awful Esme had behaved, her actions weren’t born of malice. She’d fought tooth and nail, never faltering when insulted by the acting school or abused by stuck-up hotel guests. Esme had stood firmly by Darby’s side since day one. She’d been a good friend and now she was in trouble.
Darby walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Sam’s asked me to go away with him.”
Esme spun around. “You can’t. I need you, Darby. We make a good team. I’m sorry for what I did, but you understand why, don’t you? We have to stick together.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“I love you so much.” Her voice cracked. “I can take care of you. Better than Sam. I’ve worked two jobs since I got to New York, and when we needed extra cash, I came up with it.”
“I was in a bind. But that wasn’t right, what you did.”
“It was all for you.”
Darby needed to find somewhere quiet to calm her down and make her understand. If she caused a scene and Mrs. Eustis was called, they’d both be in serious trouble and Darby might miss her meeting with Sam. “Come with me.”
She headed up the back stairs to the sky terrace, and Esme followed with no fuss. A cool wind blew and the stone floor was slick with puddles.