The Dollhouse (28 page)

Jason took her hand and squeezed it. She smiled and nestled next to him, imagining the ghost of Esme hovering around the darkened room, soaking in every note and breath.

A
fter only a couple of weeks of searching, Rose had scooped up a one-bedroom apartment on the Lower East Side, right around the block from where the Flatted Fifth used to be. Its uneven, sloping floors and blackened brick fireplace only added to the charm, in her opinion. And when the tiny retail shop on the ground floor came up for rent, Sam and his stepdaughter, Jessica, signed a lease and opened up Sam's Spice Shop. News of their magic powders spread among the chefs of Manhattan with lightning speed, and a feature story in
The
New York Times
stoked demand from amateur gourmets as well.

Rose spent her days working on a book about the women of Barbizon's fourth floor, for which she'd received a healthy advance, while a floor below, Jessica filled orders in the shop and Sam played around with new spice combinations. A few evenings a week, Rose would meet up with Jason to hear about the progress on his documentary on the history of the city's heroin trade, and after he'd often stay over in her spice-infused bedroom. The arrangement worked perfectly, with time for play as well as time for work.

Every weekend, Rose would pay a visit to Sam and Darby in their apartment at the Barbizon, followed by a walk with Bird in the park, where the regal woman with the hat and the man holding a cane drew looks from passersby for their obvious devotion to each other.

The Dollhouse, once the stalwart host to thousands of girls, was now
dwarfed by skyscrapers that were taller and shinier. The guest rooms were gone and so were the young ladies who had once dreamed and plotted beneath the building's Moorish arches. But every time Rose approached the building, she would stop and look up and think of them all, forgetting—for a few quiet moments—the steady stream of pedestrians who curled on the sidewalk around
her.

T
his book couldn't have been written without Stefanie Lieberman's encouragement and expert guidance, as well as Stephanie Kelly's enthusiasm and sharp eye. The entire team at Dutton deserves a huge round of applause, as do those who weighed in on early drafts, including Lisa Nicholas, Madeline Rispoli, Lindsey Ross, Jess Russell
,
Tamra Tuller, and Jamie Brenner.

In terms of research, I am grateful to Carol Kirn, Joan P. Gage, Olga Jiménez de Wagenheim, and Swing University at Jazz at Lincoln Center. Several books and articles provided inspiration, including
The Art of Blending
by Lior Lev Sercarz (which I first read about in Alex Halberstadt's
New York Times
article on Lev Sercarz),
Katharine Gibbs: Beyond White Gloves
by Rose Doherty, and
The Puerto Ricans: A Documentary History
edited by Kal Wagenheim and Olga Jiménez de Wagenheim.

Finally, I want to thank my dear friends Linda Powell, Cynthia Besteman, and Carrie Molay, and my family—Brian, Dilys, and Martin—for their unwavering
support.

F
iona Davis lives in New York City and is a graduate of the College of William and Mary in Virginia and the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism.
The Dollhouse
is her first novel.

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