Movement to her left pulled her gaze.
A figure with a crooked profile crept into the streetlamp’s weak glow.
She relaxed. “Hey there, Grimby.”
Same pants. No hat. Day after day. Boots looking as worn out as the man who filled them. A trench coat swallowed his feeble frame, the tattered edges looking like a giant windsock that’d been dragged through the dirt.
“It’s kinda late to be out, old man.” Vera spoke above the muted hum of the factories and stepped closer to the guy who was as much a mystery as he was a vagrant.
He clung to a rickety vendor’s cart. Where he’d discovered it, she hadn’t a clue, but he employed it as a cane. The bed of the basket housed his furry creature, Fred. Boy, that Pomeranian was as loyal as they came. She wished she could say the same about Grimby’s other dog, Peppin.
“Peppin’s gone,” Grimby said. “I set food out. She didn’t come. Peppin’s gone.”
“Don’t worry about Peppin. She’ll be back. Just like I said last week.” And last month. And the month before that.
Grimby smiled and patted Fred’s ginger coat.
Poor guy.
“The light’s on,” he muttered and gazed toward the river. “The light’s on and the boat comes.”
Had he been a sailor? A fisherman? Rumors had spread that, years ago, Grimby had suffered a fall while mining along Pittsburgh’s coal seam. Others blabbed he’d lost his sweetheart to tuberculosis and had never been the same since. All Vera knew was the man’s anchor was out of the water, and he’d been drifting for years. If only she could find a way to draw him back to the shores of reason.
“Did you used to work on boats? What about the lights?” One would think she’d understand the meaning after hearing it for the thousandth time.
“The light’s on and the boat comes.” Make that a thousand and one.
“Sure, sure, Grimby.” Her smile fell. The man hunched over the cart more than usual. She squinted, focusing on his aged face. How old was he? Seventy-five, eighty? He had all his hair, though grayed, and deep lines framed his mouth. “You doing okay?”
Dull eyes blinked back at her.
She withdrew her handkerchief and dabbed away the dirt striping his cheek.
Carson’s car rounded the corner, its headlights cutting the black mist.
Vera reached for Grimby’s hand and pressed the handkerchief to his callused palm. How long had it been since he had something fresh and clean? “Take care of yourself and Fred.” She lightly squeezed his fingers and then joined Carson in his Rolls Royce.
“Grimby?” Carson asked as Vera settled in.
“Yeah, old man Grimby.”
“What makes you want to speak to him?” He yanked the gear shift, jerking the car forward. “The man won’t remember. Says the same thing over and over. If you ask me, he’s a nutcase.”
“He’s gentle.” And wholesome. She’d rather listen to Grimby’s ramblings than the vulgar drivel thrown at her a hatful of times a night.
Carson drummed the steering wheel with his thumbs. “Vinelli told me there were a decent amount of customers this evening.”
“Yeah.”
The car lurched over train tracks leading to the rail yard, which whistled more than a Saturday night crowd.
“Was it mostly the regulars?”
“Some. People off the riverboat too.” Though she couldn’t understand why anyone enjoyed boating in the three rivers framing the city. Factories fed their waste to the watery bellies, the filmy sludge earning nothing from her except a disgusted glance.
“It’s time to make some changes, Vera.”
The whip of his words lashed her heart with a sting. Had he overheard her conversation with Artie? Was he aware of her visits to the Moonlight Club?
“It’ll be uncomfortable for a while, but it’s for the best.”
Her mind tangled with excuses she could prattle, but all would crumble against the grinding reality. If she got tossed out, where could she go? It didn’t matter that her heart hummed along to the melody of her dreams because the tip jars she’d emptied last month for rent lamented the truth—affording New York was beyond her means. “What’ll be for the best?”
“The club. It could stand some improvements.”
She swallowed and willed her queasy stomach to behave.
“You know I’ve been bored with my real estate businesses. And as lucrative as they are, I found where the real dough lies. The club started as a way to turn a dime into a dollar, but it’s really taking off.” Pride filled his voice. “Must be the entertainment.” He smirked but kept his eyes on the road. “The crowd is enthralled with you, baby.”
Yet she couldn’t sing her way into Carson’s locked heart. Not that she’d been entirely open with hers either. The gamble wasn’t worth the consequences.
“Best thing I ever did was let you sing.”
The words, though spoken smoothly, scraped her ears, peeling the raw truth from the swell of doubt—she’d become more of a business asset than his girlfriend.
“I’m moving my offices to Forbes Avenue.”
Her brow scrunched. She had never been sure why he’d chosen a sooty old building along the factory-lined river for his real estate headquarters, but after all these years, why move it now?
“As for the club, I have big plans. Gut it out and refine it.” Carson’s deep voice invaded her ears. “I need it to rival Moonlight’s joint or even the speakeasy inside the William Penn. But my place will gleam brighter because of the gem that’s inside.” He tossed a wink her way.
How could Carson speak so casually about breaking the law? Her fingers fidgeted the chain necklace her grandmother had given her.
“Just wait until my men are done. We’ll see where the hoity-toity flock to. Without the offices acting as a smokescreen, it’s gonna cost me more to get the club safeguarded, but everything will be worth it.”
Safeguarded. More like bribing cops and city officials to turn a blind eye. Oh, how did she ever get caught up in all this? She clenched her teeth.
To survive.
To make it through the cold winter. But had she lost her soul in the process?
He dropped one hand from the wheel to grab hers. “I need you, Vera. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy. A raise. A new wardrobe. You name it.”
His offers flitted through her mind. As much as her vanity admired newer gowns, her instincts prized the raise. She’d have to finagle a way to get her pay directly from Carson, or Artie would sink his grimy fingers into it. Perhaps it’d be enough to fill her escape-to-New-York jar to the brim. That way, she wouldn’t have to sneak away to the Moonlight Club in search of Tony Russo’s assistance. She could finance herself.
“It’s gonna be a natural, baby. Your golden throat’ll draw ’em all in.”
And there it was. His smile. She’d bet he could charm a whole fleet of ladies with his broad grin and crinkly eyes.
Carson put the car in neutral but let the motor purr. Her apartment building at nighttime seemed almost passable. She couldn’t spot the flaking paint or the bowed balusters. No signs of the neighbors drying their undergarments on the support beams. Yep, viewing her world through the slant of darkness allowed her creativity to brighten what was sallow. Good thing she had a vivid imagination.