Madam Read Free

alcohol had taken hold and loosened their tongues and their inhibitions. Even still, there’d always be the ones who couldn’t resist the urge to touch her, to rub or pinch her bustled behind, or daringly grab at her breasts. There was a time early on when she’d welcomed these advances, welcomed any sign of being wanted. But those hungry days were long gone and now, upon being touched, she had to stifle the inclination to flinch or, worse, to smack the perpetrator. Instead, she’d patiently remove his hand from where it had unfortunately landed and chide, “Uh, uh, uh, you mustn’t spoil your appetite for the delicacy that awaits.”
    Josie had trained her girls to keep a sharp eye out for this type of misbehavior toward her. The girls knew precisely when to swoop in and cause a distraction that would allow Josie to glide out of the parlor and, once out of sight, scurry up the back servants’ staircase, and up, up, up to the solitude of the fourth floor, forbidden to everyone else.
    But now, as she scanned the parlor, wanting to catch the eye of one of her girls and give the look indicating it was time to relieve her, she saw no one, only a sea of black worsted wool. No lace, no bustles, no feathered hats or hair bows. This was odd—the girls had been prancing around moments earlier. Josie strained to look to the foyer to see if perhaps the girls had been delayed with welcoming duties. But the foyer was empty, and Josie was suddenly struck with a sinking feeling that something was quite wrong. Maybe one of the girls was ill upstairs and the others were assisting? But why wouldn’t someone have informed her if that were the case? She could think of no other explanation, and, with no one near to rescue her, the circle of men hovering about her seemed to be closing in. As they leaned in, their bodies grazed hers. As they laughed, she could feel their hot breath.
    Her thoughts darted to Ferdinand—he would undoubtedly help her. But the idea of calling out to him was quickly dismissed, for she knew that if the colored piano player tried to break through this ivory circle, he was likely to get a beating. It was already considered generous that some of these aristocrats tolerated Ferdinand’s presence in the room, even though it was known throughout Storyville that Madam Arlington’s place was loose about these things. Josie strained to look beyond what felt like wolves circling. She narrowed her eyes in hope of glimpsing a single one of her girls.
    Just then, the lamps sputtered and, all at once, fizzled out. A jolt of panic shot through Josie, and she felt as if her knees might buckle. And then she saw glowing lights dancing on the ceiling.
    In paraded Josie’s girls, tossing streamers and confetti. The crowd parted to four girls precariously balancing an enormous layer cake covered in sugar roses. They tried to step in unison as everyone began to crow, “For she’s a jolly good fellow!”
    Josie’s jaw tightened, her fists clenched. She pushed aside the men in her way.
    “Stop!” she commanded. But she was drowned out as the entire room joined in singing. She gave a defiant stomp of her foot and bellowed louder, “Stop! Stop! Stop!”
    At this, the singing trailed off. The girls exchanged fretful looks as the boisterous room was struck uncomfortably silent. Josie’s eyes darted to the piano. Under other circumstances, Ferdinand would have been quick on the pickup, joining right in with a clever little riff or even a snarky “ba-dum, dum” when someone told a particularly loud or groan-worthy joke. But this time he knew better, and he rose from his bench in hope of catching Josie’s attention.
    He was far from the only one trained on Josie. The entire room felt like nothing but dropped jaws and wide eyeballs, and it suddenly occurred to Josie they must all be wondering if they’d get to witness firsthand a notorious Madam Arlington tantrum, the last of which had made newspaper headlines.
    Her eyes found