Rare Objects Read Free Page B

looked down. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
    â€œWell, I do.”
    All my life, she’d been a medium between this world and the next, advising on what my father would’ve wanted, believed in, admired.
    â€œHe had everything it took to really be someone in this world—intelligence, breeding, a good education. Everything, that is, except luck. I just hope yours is better than his.” She sighed.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œNothing. You’re a clever girl. A capable girl.” Leaning in, she scrubbed the coffee stains out of the sink. “It’s just a shame you lost that job in New York.”
    A knot of guilt and apprehension tightened in my stomach. This was the last thing I wanted to talk about. “Let’s not go into that.”
    But Ma was never one to let a subject die an easy death if she could kick it around the room a few more times.
    â€œIt just doesn’t make sense,” she went on, ignoring me. “Why did Mr. Halliday let you go after all that time?”
    â€œI told you, he’s traveling.”
    â€œYes, but why didn’t he just take you with him, like he did before? Remember that? You gave me the fright of my life! I didn’t get a letter from you for almost six weeks!”
    It was if she knew the truth and was torturing me, the way a cat swats around a half-dead mouse. I glared at her. “Jeez, Ma! How would I know?”
    â€œIt just doesn’t make sense. You’ve been his private secretary for almost a year, and then, out of the blue, you’re suddenly out of work and back in Boston!”
    â€œWell, at least I’m home. Aren’t you glad about that?”
    She gave a halfhearted shrug. “I’d rather have you make something of yourself. You were on your way in New York. Now you’ll have to start all over again.” Scooping some porridge into a bowl, she set it down in front of me. “I’ll hang the gray suit in your room.”
    I gnawed at my thumbnail. I didn’t want porridge or the suit. The only thing I wanted now was to crawl back into bed and disappear.
    She gave my hand a smack. “What are you doing? You’ll ruin your nails! Don’t worry so much. With your training and experience, you’re practically a shoo-in.”
    I prodded the porridge with my spoon.
    My experience.
    If only my experience in New York was what she thought it was.
    SOMEWHERE IN BROOKLYN, NOVEMBER 1931
    I was falling, too fast, with nothing to stop me . . . down, down, gathering speed . . .
    I came to with a jolt. I was sitting on the side of a bed wearing only my slip and stockings—a wrought-iron bed in a cold, dark bedroom. Only it wasn’t my bed or my room.
    Suddenly the floor veered beneath me, the walls spinning, faded yellow flowers on the wallpaper melting together. Please, God, don’t let me be sick! I pressed my eyes closed and held on to the bed frame tight.
    I had to think. Where was I, and how exactly had I gotten here?
    It had been a long, dull night at the Orpheum dance palace on Broadway where I worked. The joint was full of nothing but out-of-towners and hayseeds—guys with little money and lots of expectations. By the time we’d closed and I’d cashed in my ticket stubs, I was ready for some fun. Another girl, Lois, had made a “date” with a customer, and he had a friend . . . Was I game?
    Why not? After all, it wasn’t like I had anything to lose.
    I remembered two big men, grinning like excited schoolboys, in New York for a convention and laughing the way tourists do—too easily and too hard, willing themselves to have the best night of their lives. One was reasonable-looking, and the other—well, let’s just say no one was going to mistake him for Errol Flynn or Douglas Fairbanks. But there’s that old adage about beggars and choosers, and tonight I felt like a beggar for sure. The last thing I wanted was to be alone