“See you tomorrow,” she said in the doorway, and shut the door before he could reply.
The common room was dark and cool and quiet. She crossed the floor to her and Ada’s bedroom. Ada was asleep, curled on her side. Corinne dropped onto her cot and stared at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure why she’d lied to Gabriel. The truth was that she did feel guilty sometimes, when she forced regs to see something that wasn’t there, when she traipsed over the sanctity of their free will for whatever cash was in their wallet. She refused to let the guilt fester like Ada did, though. She didn’t see the point, when there wasn’t any other choice. Without Johnny and the Cast Iron, she and Ada and Saint had nowhere to go.
Corinne instinctively shied away from the thought. The chill of the room was starting to settle over her. She breathed in deeply and caught the scent of the grape-seed oil that Ada used in her hair, as well as a lingering hint of smoke and copper. She pulled the blanket over her head and recited poems to herself until she drifted off.
CHAPTER SIX
The residents of the Cast Iron slept until almost noon the next day. When Ada woke up, Johnny was still gone. She knew that it would be futile to try to keep Corinne indoors all day. She was still sore at her for the comment last night, but it was hard to stay angry with Corinne, who was rude almost as often as she was witty. Ada had decided long ago that it came with the territory. She did make a point of banging around her compact mirror and cosmetics loudly until Corinne finally woke up and muttered a bleary apology.
“Accepted,” Ada said.
“Good. Can I go back to sleep now?”
“Where were you last night?”
“Waiting for Johnny.” Corinne groaned and sat up halfway before falling back down to her pillow. “With Gabriel.”
The way she said it made Ada turn around. “And?”
“Don’t get too excited,” Corinne said, pulling her blanket over her head. “We just talked. And slept.”
“Together?”
Corinne threw off her blanket and sat up.
“I am a lady of class, Miss Navarra. I don’t appreciate your insinuations.”
Ada smiled and went back to her morning routine. After some coaxing, Corinne climbed out of bed and wiped away last night’s powder and kohl. Her frock was a wrinkled mess, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary.
“Have you called your parents?” Ada asked her.
“Do I have to?” was the immediate reply.
Ada didn’t bother responding. She knew Corinne would do it rather than risk her parents’ starting a citywide search for her.
“What are the chances of us sitting quietly today and practicing our embroidery?” she asked, once Corinne had struggled into something halfway presentable.
“Is Johnny back yet?” Corinne asked.
“No.”
“Then the chances are exactly zero,” Corinne said.
“I figured,” Ada said, pulling her hat onto her head. “What’s the plan?”
“The Gretskys. We have a sketch of the shooter from last night, and they know every thespian in town.”
“You sure they’ll want to talk to us? You know they steer clear of the Cast Iron’s problems.”
“I happen to have something that Madeline wants.”
“And that is?”
“A warm body to fill a seat in her precious theater. Apparently, their insurance agent told their accountant who told Madeline’s mother who told my mother that attendance is perilously low.”
“Listen to you,” Ada said, jabbing a comb in Corinne’s direction. “Picking up society gossip and using it against your friends like a true lady. Your mother must be so proud.”
Corinne made a face and snatched the comb away.
“Curtain’s up at seven.”
“I’ll be back by six. I have to visit my mother.”
Ada left Corinne wrestling the comb through her tangled hair. She could hear her cursing all the way up the stairs. At the top she nearly ran into Saint, who was holding what looked like an egg in his hand. He wisely ducked his head and stepped aside so she could pass. She knew Gordon was watching them, even as he feigned interest in his bag of sunflower seeds. Corinne had told her there was a bet going around the Cast Iron as to how long it would take Ada to break one of Saint’s bones.
Ada didn’t find it as funny as Corinne did. She and Saint had been friends. They had shared drinks and swapped stories and rolled eyes when Corinne was being incorrigible. Not long ago, Ada had comforted him at his father’s funeral, holding his hand as the gunshots of the three-volley salute ripped through the summer air.
Ada was so preoccupied that she arrived at her mother’s apartment building with very little recollection of the trip there. She climbed the interior steps slowly to the second floor, trying to arrange her features into remorse and brace herself for the oncoming wrath. Her mother was sitting on the couch, her back ramrod straight, her hands folded in her lap.
“Hi, Mama,” Ada said tentatively, shutting and locking the front door behind her.
“What did you do, Ada?” Nyah asked. Her voice was quiet and precise.