“And your Pop took you to Shimmy’s, you say?” Terrence asked, his voice conversational.
It was my turn to squirm, wondering if I’d said something wrong. He was too innocently curious. I hated this damn town. Every time I came back, I remembered why. You never knew what the sides were and what you could and couldn’t say. You didn’t know who was snooping for who. Everyone tiptoed around, spoke in code, or didn’t speak at all. Watching your back and worrying about the double cross was a nonstop job.
“Sal plays cards there sometimes,” I said, echoing Pop’s excuse, and finished my song.
“Huh. Well. You can play until I’m ready to lock up. Another hour at least. No hurry.”
But I was ready to leave. I was unsettled, like I’d forgotten something important or misplaced my trust. I said good night, wishing for my car, and set off at a good clip for my hotel.
The hotel lobby was 4:00 a.m. empty; the clusters of chairs illuminated by intimate lighting near the grand entrance were no contest for the beds in the rooms upstairs. I couldn’t wait to crawl into mine. I heard a vacuum running, and the night clerk was nowhere to be seen. I strode toward the elevators when Esther Mine stepped out from the gloom, still wearing the polka-dot dress and blistering red heels she’d performed in hours before. Her curls were neat and her lipstick bright, and she carried a cloak of determination and a coat over her arm even though it was cold in the lobby and brisk outside.
“Mr. Lament?” she said. “Could I have a moment, please?”
I halted, hardly believing my eyes. Esther Mine was calling my name and walking toward me. I looked around, trying to find an explanation.
“Mr. Lament?” she said again, and the throaty purr of her voice made my fingers flex, wanting piano keys and complementary chords.
“Mr. Lament?” the night clerk called, echoing her query. He’d reappeared, his cheeks red, trailing cigarette smoke. His eyes bounced from Esther to me and around the room, like he wasn’t sure if he should intervene.
I waved him off with a sharp frown. He turned away, but not far enough. He was hovering.
“He’s the guard dog,” Esther said softly. “He’s been yipping at me for an hour. I told him I was waiting for you.”
I stuck out my hand in greeting, and she walked toward it.
“We haven’t met,” I said. She slid her hand into mine, shaking it firmly. Her fingers felt like icicles, thin and cold, and I released them immediately, afraid I would squeeze too tight. My reaction embarrassed her. I saw it in the widening of her eyes and the tightening of her lips.
“You’re cold,” I tried to explain. That just made it worse. Her slim back was so stiff I rolled my shoulders in commiseration.
“I’m Esther Mine,” she said. “You came to my show tonight.”
“Yeah, I did,” I said, not trying to hide my surprise. I didn’t know how she knew, but that was New York.
“I would like just a minute of your time. Please,” Esther said.
The clerk approached again, tugging at the bottom of his maroon jacket. “Can I offer you some coffee?” he asked. “Or maybe a nightcap?”
“You can leave us alone,” I said. He turned on his heel and obeyed instantly.
“He’s not sure how to handle me,” Esther murmured. “I don’t look like your type. And I’m definitely not his. He’s afraid he’s made a mistake letting me linger.”
An attendant stepped out of the elevator, eyed the two of us, and asked, “Are you going up?”
“No,” I growled. I couldn’t take this woman to my room. Wrong impression. But I didn’t want to sit in the lobby either. The attendant folded his hands and stepped back inside the gold box. The doors slid closed, and I looked down at the woman before me.
“Can you walk?”
Her brow furrowed.
“In those shoes. Can you walk? I don’t like being on display, and I’m not in the mood to keep running people off. We’ll sit in the park.”
She nodded, but she didn’t put on her coat. I took it from her arm. For a moment I thought she would argue, but she relented and allowed me to hold it while she slid her arms into the sleeves. It was the color of her shoes and the dots on her dress, but it was too big and the cuffs and hem were threadbare. I suddenly understood her reluctance to wear it.
“It’s nice to meet you, Esther Mine,” I said gently, and offered my arm. She took it, and we turned for the door. She matched my stride as though her legs weren’t half as long and capped in ridiculous shoes. Her feet had to be on fire, but she didn’t teeter or slow, and we walked for a few blocks without saying a word. The park was just ahead, and I veered toward the closest bench. The air was cold but perfectly still, and the park was strewn with political detritus. Tuesday was election day. It couldn’t come too soon.
“Who’s going to win?” I asked her, breaking the silence. “Kennedy or Nixon?”
“Does it matter?”
I kicked at a flyer with John Kennedy’s smiling face beaming up at us. “Probably not.”
“Everybody I know wants Kennedy. All but my brother Money. He says he doesn’t trust pretty men. But Money doesn’t really trust anyone,” she said.
“Money, huh? How’d he come by that name?”
“That’s what his daddy wanted him to have. Money.”
I laughed. “And ‘Esther’? Why’d they name you Esther?”
She shrugged. “Esther married a king. Saved her people. It’s in the Bible.”
“True. Now she coulda been president. I would have voted for her.”
“She was a queen. President would have been a step down.”
“True. But Frank Sinatra sure likes him.” I sang Frank’s jingle for Kennedy beneath my breath. It’d been stuck in my head for months. How could Kennedy lose when Frank Sinatra was singing his campaign song?
“He’s got friends in high places. That’s for sure,” Esther said, voicing what I was thinking.
“They all do,” I answered.
She halted, perfectly positioned beneath a streetlamp, and looked up at me.
“Do you?” she asked. “Do you have friends in high places, Mr. Lament?”
Beneath the light, her skin was glossy, her lips red, her eyes shadowed, and the moment took on an otherworldly sheen.
Suddenly, I was afraid.
Of her.
Of the quiet.
Of the oddness of our meeting.
I pulled her from the pool of light and dropped onto a bench just beyond the glow. The darkness felt safer.
“Why are you here, Miss Mine?” I asked, my voice harsh with my sudden unease.
“Ralph saw you at our show tonight. He told me and my brothers who you were.”
Ralph? I searched my memory for the name. Ah, Ralph. The bartender.
“And . . . Pete overheard you say where you were staying. He told Ralph. Ralph told me,” she added.
Overheard? He must have followed me and Pop up to the street. The thought made me shake my head. Damn town.
“And who did Ralph tell you I was?”
“Benny Lament. He says you play piano and write songs for all the big names. Colored and white.”
“Huh. And you couldn’t wait until morning?”