Palmetto Moon (14 page)

“Where are we?”

He’s right where he wants to be. “City limits. Do you know where this place is?”

“I have directions.” As crazy as Vada’s plan is, she sounds giddy. “What if Darby’s come back? What if she’s waiting there for me?”

He hears the excitement in her voice and wants to hurry up and get her there, but he’s loved having Vada all to himself.

“Turn right on Adams Street up ahead,” she says.

Holy shit. This looks more high-dollar than Charleston. Frank gawks at the big houses, and Vada barks at him to watch out for a car parked on the street. “Are you sure this is the right place? Somebody who lives here wouldn’t miss a couple hundred dollars, maybe a couple thousand.”

“You’d be surprised at what lengths the wealthy go to, to hang on to their money.” Vada points to a monstrous house and whispers “French Victorian” like the words are holy. “Stop here.” She waves toward a home that isn’t quite as grand as the fancy French one.

Frank parks the car. By the thin light cast off by the holy house next door, this place looks small and gaudy. A pair of shiny gold lawn jockeys welcomes them. The landscaping has cracked the walkway around it into concrete puzzle pieces. Vada’s pace slows like she’s come to her senses and is as unsure of her plan as Frank is. But the minute she hears the yipping of a little dog from inside the house, she makes a dash for the front porch and rings the doorbell.

Frank takes off after her and trips over a root that has pushed its way up through the concrete, landing on all fours. Before he can get up, the front door opens and a harlot is standing there with the tiniest black dog he’s ever seen in his life.

“Miss Wentworth? I’m sorry we’re so late; I hope we haven’t kept you up.” Vada gushes. The woman nods and eyes Frank as he gawks at her. “I’m Vada Hadley and this,” she looks surprised to see him on the ground, “is my boyfriend, Frank Darling.”

Frank should be ecstatic or, at the very least, dazed that Vada has called him her boyfriend, but the sight of that woman looking down on him like he’s her last meal holds him in place. Her scarlet lips part, and she runs her tongue over them. She says something to Vada, still looking at Frank and making no pretense about the way she’s dressed. Vada blushes and looks away from the woman in the black lace negligee, which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. The black ball of fluff in the woman’s arms is yipping for Vada like it knows her.

“Have you found Darby?” Vada scratches the little mutt behind the ears. “Is she here?”

“No,” she snaps, and then she catches herself. “Where are my manners? I’m sure you’re tired from your trip. I have many rooms, all of them made up and ready for guests. Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep and we’ll talk business tomorrow?” The little dog struggles to get to Vada, who looks like she might cry from disappointment. The woman sizes Vada up quickly, taking note of her weakness for wayward friends and poodles, and hands the dog, no bigger than the palm of Frank’s hand, over to her.

“I’m sure we can find a hotel,” Vada says, like she really hadn’t thought of that until now.

“Nonsense, my dear. I won’t hear of it. You’ll be my guests.”

“That’s so kind of you,” Vada says, glancing at the negligee and then looking away quickly. The dog bathes her face in kisses. “And I’m so sorry to have gotten you out of bed.”

“Oh, I wasn’t in bed. Yet.” She winks at Frank.

Frank gets to his feet; he isn’t sure if Vada realizes this place is a cathouse, but there’s no way he’s going to let Vada sleep here. He brushes off his hands. “We’ll find a place in town. We’re not staying here.”

“You can try, but with the Fourth of July holiday tomorrow, the hotels are probably full. And I assure you, Frank, my place is as grand as the Peabody and has some amenities they don’t. Besides, I’m sure your girl needs her rest.”

“I know what my girl needs.” Frank reaches for Vada’s hand. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Vada looks at him, irritated, and pulls away. He wants to throw her over his shoulder and take her away from this place, but that’s a bad idea. The harlot’s breathy little laugh says she’s enjoying the standoff. He looks at the place again, and then at Vada. Does he really want to have their first fight here, in front of a high-dollar cathouse? But can he let his girl sleep in some whore’s bed?

“Stay, Vada,” the woman coos seductively, “you can sleep in Darby’s room. It’s a servant’s room, but it’s nice enough.”

That settles it. Vada doesn’t say anything to Frank, turns on her heels, and heads into the house.

Miss Wentworth stands too close to him in the dark entryway, like an animal taking in the scent of its prey.

He reaches for the light switch beside the door, so this woman can look at him and see his heart belongs to Vada Hadley, but nothing happens. He works it back and forth a couple of times, praying it sputters on. “You’ve got a bad switch.” Frank’s voice sounds nervous.

“Yes, it seems I’m having a little trouble tonight, but I bet you could make it work, Frank Darling.” She draws out his last name, her lips close to his ear. She smells like hard liquor and cheap perfume. She lights a candle on the foyer table, then her long silver cigarette holder, and blows out the smoke so it billows down over his head. She laughs, because she knows he refuses to look at her dressed like she is. “Are you handy like that?”

“Maybe I could take a look at it tomorrow,” Frank says and bolts toward the woman he loves, in the parlor.

The woman grabs his arm, her long fingernails digging into his skin, stopping him in his tracks. “The electricity goes out from time to time in these old houses, but no one ever complains. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed. And I’m counting on you to fix it quite well, Frank.”

The room is lit by three cheap lamps, the kind Frank sells at the store. Oh, God, everything about this place looks wrong. There’s a long mahogany bar in the living room, and a dozen settees line the walls, making the place look more like a dance hall than a home.

“Oh, Miss Wentworth, your little dog is adorable. Thank you for having us in your lovely home. I hope we’re not putting you out.”

“Of course not. My girls are gone for the holiday. They work fifty weeks out of the year, so it’s a well-deserved respite, and I happened to have empty rooms.”

“How delightful and progressive. I’ll be working myself in a few weeks.”

“How delightful indeed,” the harlot coos.

The little dog bathes Vada’s face with its bright pink tongue. She laughs that musical laugh, and doesn’t seem to see what Frank sees. He wants to reveal Wentworth as the scoundrel she is, but Vada’s made it clear she’s not leaving here, and Frank’s not about to leave without her.

He spies several large trophies on the mantel over the white marble fireplace. They sit gleaming and gaudy. He runs his finger over one of them marked
BEST IN SHOW
. “Keep your damn mouth shut, Frank,” he whispers under his breath. “At least until morning.”

“You like my trophies, Frank Darling?” With her back to Vada and her hand on Frank’s shoulder, it must look like the woman is proud of her hardware, but her breasts are pressed against the back of Frank’s arm.

“I don’t see you or your trophies; I only see Vada,” he says, clearing his throat and sidestepping away from Wentworth.

She takes a long draw off of her cigarette holder and blows the smoke away from her prize. Her fingers trail down her neck, and Frank looks away to avoid where they are leading.

“So you’re ready for bed, then.” Wentworth picks up the puppy, turns off the oil lamps, except for one, and leads Frank and Vada up the long staircase. The higher they go, the mustier the air gets. The baby-powder scent is odd for a brothel, but it’s strong enough to make a baby smell good. There is a more dominant scent, some kind of overpowering perfume, a trick Smudge’s wife used after they’d had sex, so the reverend wouldn’t suspect anything. Vada threads her fingers through Frank’s and smiles warily, like maybe she’s seen the blood-red walls, the portraits of naked women. Maybe she does know what this place is.

“Vada, this is one of my finest boudoirs. You’re welcome to stay here instead of Darby’s room.” Wentworth opens the door to a grand room. The oil lamp casts long shadows against a pretentious four-poster bed, similar to a rice bed back home, and a matching chifforobe overflowing with garish costumes. “There’s a basin if you want to wash up. The bathroom is down the hall, on the left.”

“Thank you, Miss Wentworth,” Vada whispers, like she’s actually considering sleeping here. Her gaze settles on a fanciful-looking chair with a long seat and stirrup-looking things on each side. “What an unusual piece.”

“Yes.” Wentworth’s smile is wicked and proud. “I liked the design so much, there’s one in every bedroom.”

“What’s it called?” Vada asks of what can only be described as a sex chair.

“Why, it’s a chair, my dear, and those appendages on the side can be quite handy for many things.”

“Like—like—putting on stockings.” Vada nods slowly.

“Precisely. Seams are always straight as an arrow. If you like, I could give you the name of my carpenter. You could commission one for yourself.”

“Does Darby have one of these—chairs—for putting on stockings?”

“No. Darby was very handy with a needle and thread, and an excellent help to the cook. I treated her as well as any of my girls and yet she took off without so much as a thank-you.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Wentworth, and I’m grateful for your hospitality, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather sleep in Darby’s room.”

The harlot opens the door to a tiny room where Vada’s friend spent the last three years of her life. It seems more like an afterthought than a bedroom. Wallpaper peels off the walls, and heavy draperies look like someone started hanging them but gave up before the job was done. There is no sex chair—just a cot no better than the one at the cabin, a bedside table with a lamp, and no basin. If this was Darby’s room, no wonder she left.

The harlot lights the lamp on the bedside table. “My dear, your face is tearstained.” How could Frank not have noticed?

Vada swipes at her cheeks. “Happy tears. Mostly. I haven’t been this close to Darby in a long time,” she says sadly, reaching out and scratching the puppy behind the ears. “When I was a little girl, I was so lonely, sometimes I’d cry myself to sleep, and then I met Darby.” She waves her hand in front of her face like she can shoo away the tears. The little dog yips at her, like it’s trying to distract Vada from her sadness.

“Perhaps you should have Franceline tonight. She’ll sleep on your pillow and guard your dreams.” She holds the puppy out to Vada, and it leaps into her arms.

She turns to leave, but Frank stays put, hoping Vada will come to her senses. He’s more than ready to get the hell out of this place. All Vada has to do is say the word. “Frank,” the harlot draws out his name. “Are you coming?” Vada is entranced by her sadness, and she barely looks at him to say good night.

“Will you be okay?” he asks.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be fine. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Her words surprise him, reminding him that he’s responsible for Vada being here in the first place. But he knows how much Vada loves Darby and understands the regrets she has about what happened between them. Frank has lost friends before, a few during the war. But he also knows what it’s like to want to undo things, to make them right, and the truth is, Vada wants that so much, she would have come with or without him. Good thing he came along to protect her from this Wentworth dame. “Good night, Vada.”

He follows the woman to the opposite end of the hallway. She opens the door to another opulent chamber, and he steps inside. “Your room, Frank.”

Wentworth moves in, and Frank moves away from her, until she has him pinned against the wall. Her lips move toward his. He turns his head. His heart beats so fast, he can barely breathe. There’s no way to get this woman off of him without knocking her on her lacy chiffon ass.

“There’s a big, comfortable bed and one of those lovely chairs your girlfriend found so interesting.” The black strap of her gown slithers off of her shoulder on cue. “And my room is directly across the hall.”

A soft knock at my door makes the tiny black ball of fluff yip. I whip on my robe and hold the little one on my shoulder. “Come in.”

Frank looks like he didn’t sleep a wink, but still he’s devastatingly handsome, even though he’s not smiling. “Good morning,” he says from a gentlemanly distance.

“Good morning, yourself. I was just getting ready to take the dog outside. Care to join me?”

I step into my slippers and start down the stairs with Frank trailing behind me. The house smells funny, like perfume trying to mask something earthy and musky. The whole place is garish and not at all as grand as the neighboring homes.

“Did you sleep well?” Frank asks, opening the French doors that lead out to the backyard and a fabulous garden with hedges so high, the rooftops of the neighboring mansions are barely visible. There is a pedestal that almost looks like a throne, with one of those curious chairs in the center, all made of marble and encircled by rows of crescent-shaped benches.

“Not at first. How about you?”

“Not a wink.” He hesitates, searching my face. “You know what this place is, don’t you?”

If the overabundance of seating, lack of accent pieces, and, of all things, a bar in the living room didn’t give it away, Miss Wentworth and her stirruped chairs did. “I’m not stupid, Frank. But nothing is going to keep me from finding Darby, not even a night in a brothel.”

“I didn’t mean to imply anything of the sort. I just don’t like you being here.” His tone is apologetic. He rubs his hands up and down my arms, making me weak. “All I want to do is keep you safe. Take you home. But I know how important Darby is to you.”

The puppy noses around one of the crescent benches, makes a perfect little pile, and runs back to be scooped up and nuzzled.

Frank smiles and scratches her behind the ears. “You like this dog?”

“Yes.” It’s like Miss Wentworth knew the one thing I’d always wanted but never had. “But I didn’t come here for the dog.”

“So you’re still going through with this?”

“Yes, of course. Why shouldn’t I?”

“I’m not so sure this Miss Wentworth is on the up-and-up. There’s no evidence Darby was ever here, as far as I can tell.”

“But she was here. I found a stack of letters she’d sent her mother, in her bureau; they’d all been returned, unopened. Even if I never see Darby again, Frank, after all she did for me, I owe her this.”

“She was a childhood friend, Vada. It seems to me what this woman is demanding goes above and beyond obligation. Darby chose to live here, and she chose to leave. If there’s a price to pay, it seems like Darby’s the one who should be responsible.”

“She changed my life, Frank. Before I met her, I was a miserable, lonely little girl. She changed all of that, but when she needed me, I was away at college, home for a few weeks during the summer. I discarded her. I hurt her. And when she needed me most, I destroyed her.”

“Vada, you had no idea your mother would break your trust. You don’t have a hurtful bone in your body.”

“That doesn’t matter, Frank. Even if Darby never knows what I did for her here, even if I never see her again, I can make things right now.”

“From what I’ve seen, Vada, you give as much as you take. Isn’t that what loving someone is about?”

I’m not sure if Frank is talking about me and Darby or me and him. I rub my cheek against the puppy’s soft black curls. There was a time when I wanted a dog more than anything. To be honest, there is a small part of me that melts over this little one, like I’m six again, in my bedroom on Legare Street that looks more like a queen’s room than a child’s. Only this time, instead of waking up to the disappointment of a stuffed dog beside my bed, this precious little girl is in my arms.

Frank comes close, smiling at me with those jade-green eyes that say he loves me. The puppy leaps out of my hands, and he catches her. He rubs her tiny face against his, studying me with a thin smile. I know he can see how much I want to help Darby, how much I love her.

“I want to give you everything,” he says in one breath, wrapping his arm around us. The puppy nestles between us. “We’ll sort this thing with your friend out. Hell, maybe we’ll even get us a dog when we get home.” He cups the puppy in the palm of his hand and pulls me close, lavishing me with a long, wet kiss.

Frank tries to place the feeling he gets when he holds Vada in his arms. It seems comforting and familiar, yet utterly foreign. The tightness in his chest. The way his heart beats so fast, the way every inch of him is anxious, yet he is as content as he has ever been in his life.

“Well, aren’t you all just a picture.” The light of day sharpens the angles of the harlot’s face, and the sheer negligee does little to hide her nakedness. He keeps his eyes on Vada.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Wentworth.” Vada presses the pup against her cheek and then puts her down. She runs to the small, older poodle trailing after her mistress and tries to nurse but is rebuffed with a deep growl.

“Just can’t stay away from the teats.” She bends over so that the bodice of her gown falls away from her breasts, and then picks up the mama dog, making the little one beg.

Frank looks away quickly, and Vada is looking anywhere but at the harlot. “Thank you, uh, for letting Franceline stay with me. She really is a lovely little dog, but can we talk about Darby now? I’d like to get on with our transaction.”

“As much as I’d like that, I’m a creature of the night and make it a policy never to do business at such a wretched hour. We’ll continue our transaction at a more decent time. Say, three o’clock?”

“Of course. We don’t want to disrupt your schedule, Miss Wentworth,” Vada says tentatively. “We’ll entertain ourselves until you’re fresh and ready.”

“Would you like to see what Memphis has to offer, Frank?” The harlot twirls a set of pearls around and then lets them drop on her cleavage, which is inhumanly high and makes her tits look like they’re resting on a shelf. “
The Velvet Touch
is showing. I could tell you how to get there.”

“I didn’t come here for that,” Frank says. The quicker he and Vada start looking for Darby, the quicker they can leave, and maybe get out of paying this woman off. But Frank’s not about to tell either woman that. “Rather go see the sights. Just me and Vada.”

“There’s definitely plenty to see.” She rattles off several local attractions and gives general directions to a park Vada acts like she’s interested in. “It was the city’s oldest cemetery, and they’ve turned it into a fabulous park, so the newspaper says. I’m sure Franceline would love to tag along.”

“Thank you, Miss Wentworth.” Vada scoops up the puppy. “We’ll return promptly at three.”

Vada takes Frank’s breath away in the blue dress that matches her eyes. The little dog is so small, it fits in her handbag. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat?” he asks as he opens the car door for her.

Vada shakes her head and gets in. “I want to find Darby, but I don’t know the city and haven’t the slightest idea where to look.”

“If she’s still in Memphis, she’d need a job. Wentworth said she kept house and sewed. We could ask around the grocery stores, places that sell fabric.” Franceline barks in agreement. “You’re sure you want to take the dog?”

Vada nods. “Let’s get started.”

Every shopkeeper who claims to know nothing about Darby seems to take Vada’s spirits down a notch, until she is so low, neither Frank nor the puppy can perk her up. After three hours of searching, Vada sits down on a bench, nuzzling the dog, and Frank ducks into a Woolworths to grab some sandwiches at the lunch counter.

“I’m sorry we haven’t found her.” Frank tucks the sack under one arm and wraps the other around Vada.

“Thank you. I don’t know why I dragged you around to look for her. Darby’s not here. I can feel it. I’m never going to find her.”

“I’ve got to tell you, Vada, if I was Darby and I’d finally gotten away from that Wentworth woman, I’d go as far away as I could get.”

“You don’t have to run far to run away,” she says absently and shrugs. “But you’re right. I’ll do what I came to do, settle Darby’s debt and go home.”

She looks at Frank with a sad smile. “Look, I know you’re disappointed, but we still have some time to kill. Let’s head over to the park. The guy at the lunch counter says it is really something. We’ll have a nice picnic and be on the road home before suppertime.”

The park is as crowded as the World’s Fair and looks like the back lot of a movie set. Young mothers are flocked together, completely enthralled with one another, while their children run wild on the cemetery playground outlined in small American flags for the holiday. Men dressed in church clothes, carrying golf sticks, move in groups of four toward a caddie stand and a sign that promises championship golf.

The way Vada is rubbernecking, Frank can tell she likes the liveliness of the place, but she won’t set the dog down until she can get away from the commotion. A rise under a large spotted oak gives them a good view of the place, away from the frenzy. They stop short of getting run down by a group on horseback headed from the stables to the trails. Vada presses herself against him, breathing hard, her cheeks flush with excitement.