“Let’s do this,” Buck says, now grinning, and double-checks that his mustache is in place.
A Rosie-like voice hits us as we walk in. A glowing THE SUPPER CLUB sign hangs behind her. Scanning, I see poker tables, a dance area, the bar.
“It’s almost identical,” I say.
“Only bigger,” Blanche says. “A lot bigger.”
“Twice the size,” Buck adds.
“But they don’t serve food,” Blanche says matter-of-factly.
“Baby, neither do we.”
“Sure,” she counters. “But we don’t put it in our name.”
Buck and I can’t deny that; Blanche’s logic makes sense, for once. We fumble through the too-crowded dance floor to the bar and order drinks. Chewing on my straw, I peer over my glass, taking in the room, but mostly watching the girl onstage. With Christmas not far away, she’s got on a Santa hat.
I lean toward Blanche and talk into her ear. “Rosie is better.”
Blanche nods. “So are you. You see Red Head?”
“Nah,” Buck says. “But that’s fine. We got what we need, now that we’ve seen the inside. Our location is better. We’re more exclusive. And as Bonn here said”—he winks at me—“the entertainment ain’t as good. Mary won’t be happy, but she won’t be piss mad either. This place ain’t a real threat.”
I exhale a breath I hadn’t even known I was holding. With Roy turning my life upside down, I needed this. I needed Doc’s not to be in jeopardy.
“Well,” Blanche says, “we might as well make the most of the night.” She grabs Buck’s hands, tapping her feet like she wants to dance. He laughs.
“You two have fun,” I say. “I’ll keep the bar company.”
Blanche pats my butt, and I climb onto a recently vacated stool, watching them go off to the dance floor. The familiarity of the speakeasy puts me more at ease. I order another drink and begin to watch the people. Among the flailing limbs, I spot Blanche in her red dress and fake dark hair.
She once said she was jealous that Roy and I were each other’s firsts. With how she smiles now, I reckon none of that matters to her anymore. She may’ve found Buck after going through a laundry list of men, but it’s like Buck and Blanche were always meant to be. Like Roy and me. Right?
Roy—he’s obviously on my brain, ’cause I spot a fella who looks eerily similar, striding toward the bar. I sip my drink, swallowing slowly as his eyes pass over me. Every fiber in my body tightens. The square chin, prominent brows, slicked-back blond hair … That ain’t a Roy replica; that’s Roy himself.
I force the drink down my throat. It burns. I cough and massage my neck, my eyes glued on Roy. He pushes through the crowd, his torso twisted to one side, one arm trailing behind him.
Anger flares inside of me, adding to the burn. What the hell is he doing here? Roy promised me he’d stop gambling after he got himself into trouble, but here he is, walking away from the poker tables. I stare at him, willing him to acknowledge me so I can catch him in the act. Brunette disguise or not, there’s no way Roy won’t recognize my glare—he’s seen it plenty lately. I shake my head, sipping through my straw, waiting, almost anticipating more sharp words with him. But his eyes pass over me.
He creeps nearer and nearer to the bar, finally breaking through the crowd, and behind Roy, fingers intertwined with his, a blonde girl leans forward to whisper something to him.
I choke on my drink. The smile that crosses Roy’s face is a punch to my gut. That smile steals my resolve, and I turn my body, putting my back to him, protecting myself from seeing any more. Staring at the bar, I grasp my drink with shaky hands, cursing myself for losing my will to confront Roy, cursing myself for ever trusting him.
Roy squeezes up to the bar, next to me, and flicks his hand toward the bartender to catch his attention. Breath neither enters nor leaves my lungs. The closeness of Roy—with another girl—freezes every part of my anatomy, including my brain. He bumps into me, and the rigidness of my body sloshes the drink in my glass, spilling it.
“Oh, sorry.” Roy passes me a napkin, our bodies entirely too close. I feel his breath on my face, reminding me to breathe, and our eyes meet.
“Bonnelyn?”
I stutter something incoherent.
Over the next few seconds, his face transforms, the paleness of his skin turns pink, his nostrils flare. “Did you follow me? In a disguise?”
“No,” I manage, now hating myself for sounding so weak. But I ain’t weak. And Roy is the one whose voice should be trembling. Not mine.
The blonde girl wraps her body ’round Roy, peering to see me. A deep sound rumbles in my throat. “Baby, who’s this?” she says.
That does it. Seeing the possessiveness in her eyes, the anger in Roy’s—both reactions snap my wits back into place. I think of Hazel. I think of myself, sans my dark wig. I think of this tramp. Ignoring her, I focus on Roy, and I ain’t going to let him treat me like this. “Clearly, you have a thing for blondes, baby.”
His tramp gives me a Huh expression. I rip off my fake hair, pin her with the coldest glare I can muster. “I’m his wife. Who might you be?”
Roy grabs my elbow, drags me toward the room’s outskirts.
“What the hell are you doing here, Bonnelyn?”
“Me?” I shout. “I could ask you the same. Though I think it’s quite obvious.”
“I ain’t doing nothin’.”
I bunch my dress in either hand, fighting for composure. “I find that hard to believe.”
He shrugs. “Fine, I ain’t doing nothin’ you haven’t already done.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, and mimic his shrug, exaggerating it.
“That you’ve made it easy.”
“I made it easy?”
“Yes, you.” Roy’s lips curl into something resembling a smug, vindictive smile. “You’re the one who dragged me into this world of sin. You’re the one who got caught first.” He crosses his arms, as if he’s just made a monumental point.
He hasn’t. I throw up my hands, let them slap against my thighs. Though I should be slapping him ’cross his conceited face. “This isn’t a tit-for-tat situation, Roy. You don’t get a free pass to cheat ’cause of something stupid I did over a year ago—something I apologized for; something you said you forgave me for. Something that happened before we were married.”
Roy doesn’t say a thing, his arms still tightly crossed, so I say, “You know what, I always thought you were oblivious to how other girls fancied you.” Hazel’s ongoing attempts to steal Roy flash through my mind. “But now I’m thinkin’ you knew, and you liked the attention.” I shake my head, furious, disgusted. “You were only pretending to be a good guy.”