Harlem sunset, p.17
Harlem Sunset, page 17
“Where have you been?” Harriet asked. The question was so subtle, so quiet, it was as if Harriet was just thinking about it now. “No one answered at your apartment.”
“I’m shuffling around some things,” Louise said. “I’ll have to get you an address when I get one.” She had never given Harriet her address. Louise had been quite careful not to give that information away. “I didn’t feel safe in my apartment. There were multiple break-ins.” Louise searched the other woman’s face for anything, any sign of guilt or recognition
“Oh,” Harriet said. She dropped the butt of her cigarette and ground it under the heel of her shoe. “How awful.”
“Yes, it is.” Louise agreed. “But I’m going to get to the bottom of it. I always do.”
* * *
• • •
IF LOUISE FELT out of place in Harlem, she could count on blending back in with the faceless masses in Midtown. Still, even though she had been to the Tribune offices before, even on a Saturday like this when they ran a skeleton crew, the idea of going there made her nervous.
She didn’t pause to talk to the receptionist, the same one who had been at the desk a year ago and was probably reading the same book. She descended the stairs to the bullpen, where a few reporters wrote, a couple women typed, and another woman was on the phone.
Walter Hart was sitting alone at his desk, furiously scribbling something. He looked up as she approached. He didn’t look surprised to see her standing in front of him. In fact, he smiled as if this were a lovely luncheon.
“Miss Lloyd, welcome.”
“Let’s get to this,” she said.
She didn’t have that much time to wait. She could have chosen any one of the Black papers, but her attack was two pronged. The Tribune had a much bigger reach, and her story had run in these very pages.
“I knew you’d show up.”
He was smug as he spoke. He was younger than she was. The weekend crew at the Tribune was made up of the reporters who needed to prove themselves. Hart had Bernard Thomas’ old desk.
“If I do something for you, you have to do something for me,” Louise said.
“Intriguing. What?”
“I need the name of the person who delivered the photos you printed.”
Walter raised an eyebrow. “Interview first. Information after.”
He escorted her and a clever-looking redheaded girl named Gina to an empty private office. Walter and Louise sat at the ends of the table with Gina in between them. She had glasses of water, cigarettes, and a notepad ready to take Louise’s story.
It was chilly in the room. Louise was glad for her cardigan. Hart took his time lighting a cigarette, fancying himself the award-winning writer when it was Louise and Gina who were about to do the majority of the work.
Louise knew that she had to tell her whole story and keep nothing hidden. If she wanted the public on her side, she had to give them what they wanted.
There were so many better things she could have been doing. She needed to get back to the investigation and make everything right.
But she didn’t know how to do that without first doing this.
“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” Walter said.
He leaned back in his seat. Gina picked up her pen, ready to write. They both looked at Louise intensely—their eyes were almost the same color—and Louise swallowed hard.
“Nothing is off the table,” she said. “Ask me anything.”
Telling a stranger—two strangers if she counted Gina—about her entire life was less nerve-racking than she thought it would be. She had already told Harriet most of it. Walter leaned away from the facts and more toward the sensational, asking about her love life, the way she was raised, the horrors of the last summer. She reiterated the story of the faked photographs, saying again that she wasn’t a deviant.
Hart lobbed questions at her in a quick and brusque way, trying to get the most out of her that was possible. She maintained her composure. It was the least she could do.
They finally finished, after an hour and a half in the little room, tearing through Louise’s life. When it was over, Louise followed the journalist to his desk. Gina disappeared to begin typing everything up.
“What do you want from me?” Walter asked. He paused to light a cigar.
Louise thought that there was no better way to look disgustingly pretentious and new money than smoking a cigar in public.
This was a power play. He wanted to look intimidating. Luckily, Louise didn’t find a baby-faced white man with a too-big cigar between his thin lips in any way intimidating. “I need to know who sent you the photos of me.”
He reached into his desk, pulled out an envelope. “Hand delivered to my desk.”
“By who?”
“The courier.” He looked at her as if she should have known the Tribune had a courier.
Louise suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Did the courier say from who?”
He sat back down at his desk, taking a moment to go through his papers as if this was an inconvenience to him. “No, but you can go ahead and ask. He doesn’t come back till tomorrow, though.”
Louise cleared her throat. “Do you know a Harriet Sinclair?” she asked. She didn’t know what she wanted him to say.
“I’ve never heard of anyone with that name.” He rushed his sentence.
“Why did you print them?” Louise asked.
“I thought they weren’t real.” He wasn’t moved by anything she asked him.
“But you still printed them.” Louise wanted to know why. She wanted to know what type of person tried to destroy someone else’s life. “You thought they were falsified. Did you even check?”
He tilted his head to look up at her. He considered her, taking his time. Every look was deliberate, as if he was trying to hold the power in this conversation. “It was a good story. You were a good story. That’s why.”
Louise felt pangs in her stomach, one of anger, one of confusion. “You printed it without talking to me because you thought it was a good story?”
“Everyone loves when a hero falls, Louise. Be more careful next time.”
He winked and she knew she had been dismissed in the most insulting way.
* * *
• • •
EVEN THOUGH SHE insisted she was fine, Louise’s security detail escorted her up to the Bed-Stuy apartment. She wasn’t used to having two people follow her around to make sure that she was safe.
She knocked on the door of Rafael’s unit. Eugene opened the door. “Hey, boss.”
“Eugene, we aren’t behind the bar right now.” Rafael gave the men behind Louise a wary look.
Louise turned to them. “Can you wait in the car? This won’t take a moment.”
The two men were unoriginally identical, both in crisp, expensive black suits with unamused looks on their faces. They hadn’t bothered introducing themselves. Louise hadn’t asked their names. She hadn’t known what to say to them. Once they left, after sharing a quick look that said a thousand words, Louise turned back to Eugene.
“Is Rosa Maria in? I need to talk to her.” She hadn’t seen, much less talked to, the woman in days. She remembered how hurt Rosa Maria had been over the newspaper.
“Yeah. Why?” Eugene asked as if Louise had asked just because she was curious.
Louise had been dreading this, but she had no greater ally than the woman she loved.
“Can I talk to her?” Louise asked. She tried to keep her sentences short and clear. No way Eugene could misunderstand.
“Come in.” He pulled the door open. She sat on the couch, falling into it as she waited.
Rosa Maria appeared, partially dressed in a half slip and a brassiere that formed a diamond in the center of her chest; her hair was unbrushed. She stopped when she saw Louise. “What do you want?”
Was this a bad choice? Was this a wrong move? When Louise looked at Rosa Maria, her mouth ran dry. “I need a favor.”
“Why should I help you?”
Rosa Maria was fiery, bold, and passionate. It was something Louise loved about her. She knew it would take some time for Rosa Maria to get over everything. Louise knew Rosa Maria was furious—in fact, she herself was furious—after seeing their intimate business printed in the paper like that.
Louise cleared her throat, changed the subject. “I am so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I never meant to lie to you.”
Rosa Maria rolled her eyes. “Why should I help you?” she asked again.
“I think I know who tried to frame you but I need information on someone.”
Rosa Maria sat down at the coffee table. She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t work at a newspaper anymore.”
“But you know people who do, right? All you have to do is ask.”
Rosa Maria was silent for a moment. Louise waited, watched her turn over the idea in her mind.
“Who is it?”
“Harriet Sinclair. Your height, red-brown hair, blue eyes. She’s always dressed beautifully and she’s not from here.”
“Is she the girl in the photograph?” Rosa Maria asked. She lit a cigarette, anything not to look at Louise.
“Yes,” Louise said. Guilt settled on her skin. “She said she was trying to get a job writing at a paper.”
At that, Rosa Maria snorted her derision. “I’ll ask around.”
“That would be wonderful. Thanks.” Louise breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’ll get my brother to tell you what I find.”
Rosa Maria rose from her seat and disappeared into her bedroom. Louise sat on the couch for a moment, then exited.
The backseat of the car was a lonely place. She pressed her face to the glass of the window as they glided down the road in an uncomfortable silence. She understood where Rosa Maria was coming from, that her life had been turned upside down because of Louise. Louise didn’t realize it was possible to miss someone as much as she missed having Rosa Maria by her side. They had been together for almost all of Louise’s adult life. And one thing had changed that.
She didn’t know how to explain. She didn’t know how to say something to change the other woman’s mind.
Louise closed her eyes, letting the motion of the car lull her to sleep. The drive to Schoonmaker’s mansion was a fast one, all things considered. She hoped that Rosa Maria would be able to find something on Harriet. She hoped that she was right, that she hadn’t wasted her time following bad leads.
She hoped for a lot of things, and mostly, she just wanted this to be over.
The car lurched to a stop. Louise looked up. There was smoke coming from the engine. “Miss Lloyd, you’re going to need to get out of the car.” The driver looked at her. “Mr. Norris will stay with you while I work on it.”
Louise did as she was told. The moment she was out of the car, another came careening down the road, slamming into the Ford. Mr. Norris tackled Louise, throwing her out of the way.
She remained on the ground until the dust around her settled. Until everything was still and quiet. Cars passed without stopping. Louise pulled herself to her knees and then her feet, blood rushing through her body. Mr. Norris was leaning over in the street. His partner had been killed instantly. The cars had crumpled like they were paper, wrinkled and creased.
How many times could she narrowly escape death? Was this a dream? Louise pinched herself. No, she was awake, but it was a nightmare.
“Change of plans, Miss Lloyd.” Mr. Norris was collecting himself. He turned to her, his square face grim. “I’m going to get you back into the city. Then I’ll make contact with Mr. Schoonmaker from there.”
He talked quickly, keeping his eyes on her face. She nodded, unable to say anything. She was barely able to conjure up a coherent thought, let alone say something out loud.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Norris asked.
“Yes. Thank you,” Louise said.
He had acted quickly, getting her out of the way just before anything happened.
She exhaled, feeling her heartbeat slow down. And she knew then that she wouldn’t be safe anywhere.
29
LOUISE PUT HER foot down. After walking from the middle of nowhere to the Schoonmaker residence, Louise had taken her shoes off within ten minutes, preferring ripped stockings to bloody feet. Schoonmaker and Mr. Norris had taken it upon themselves to discuss her fate in front of her.
“Stop.”
Louise was drowned out by the two men sitting at opposite ends of the table, talking rapidly over each other. She picked up a knife and tapped it against her glass. The chiming silenced both men and Louise cleared her throat.
“I am very grateful for the help you have given me over the past couple of days, but I’m not leaving this place. I am not being run out. This is what they want. I don’t want to go to any safe house. And I’m not separating me and Josie.”
Now she stared at the two men on either side of her; she was sitting in the center of the table. “I’m not changing my life any more than I have to.” She had already given up a lot. She had lost her girlfriend, her apartment, her life as she knew it. She wasn’t going to lose anything or anyone else.
She paused to light a cigarette. “I can get to the bottom of all of this, but you have to promise to trust me.” She didn’t know if these two white men could do that, these men who had so much more than she had, who were so much more well-off. “I am not putting my sister’s life in any more upheaval.”
Everything she did, she had to ask herself if it was worth it. Every choice she made had to be a conscious one. She had Josie to think about.
Schoonmaker started to protest but she held up a finger before he could say anything. “I am so close. I think I have it all figured out. You just have to trust me.”
“And if someone attacks you in my house?” Schoonmaker asked.
Louise raised her skirt under the table, removing her little pistol from her garter strap. Not the best place to keep it, but until her dresses came with pockets as deep as those in men’s clothes, it would have to do. She placed her gun on the table, receiving raised eyebrows from both men. “I can handle myself.”
Schoonmaker laughed, and the tension in the room dissolved. Sure, she still had a lot of work to do, but she felt as if staying in one place was the best.
She sipped from her glass; she was drinking some abominable concoction of alcohol with Coke and a cherry on top. It was just enough to deal with the brutalities of the day. She leaned back in her seat full and calm now. Anna had made several dishes, even though there were only three people constantly in the house. They had already had dinner. Every moment she spent in this mansion was, somehow, more luxurious than the one before it. She didn’t know how Schoonmaker stood it, every moment of this existence in this pretty little house, indulging every whim and thought he had. Actually, as she thought about it, it didn’t sound so bad. Louise exhaled. She was tired of being a nervous wreck.
“What a Sheba, huh?” Schoonmaker asked.
“She’s a bearcat,” Mr. Norris said.
For the first time since Louise had met him, he smiled, a crooked smile that betrayed no real emotion.
Louise wondered if he was grieving his partner.
“It’s a shame Mr. Rollins died.” Louise was twenty-seven and she had already seen enough death to last her a lifetime. He had died for her.
Schoonmaker nodded. His mood turned somber. “I’ll have to contact his family.”
Louise drained her glass, picked up her gun, and rose from the table. “If you don’t mind,” she said, “I’m going to retire now. I’ve had quite the day.” That was the understatement of the year.
The men rose when she did—good manners could be learned—and she allowed both men to kiss her cheek before she left.
Josie was sitting on the bed, writing in a journal. This was a new habit for her, one she kept just as private as the rest of her life. Louise climbed into bed without changing out of her dress and lay on her back, nudging Josie in her side.
“Leave me alone,” Josie said.
“Is that any way to talk to your favorite older sister?” Louise asked.
Josie closed her little notebook. It was small, easily concealed in a purse. She put her pen down. “You know, I’ve always preferred Minna.”
“Liar.” Louise looked up at her sister.
Josie smiled. She no longer wore bandages on her wrists, but wore sleeves to cover the scars. The scars were something she would never outgrow.
“Are you happy?” Louise asked.
“I like it here.” Josie did everything thoughtfully, quietly. She never lied and Louise knew she was telling the truth, but there was something Josie wasn’t saying.
“I’m sorry this didn’t work out the way I planned for it.”
Louise had to give up the idea of cozy mornings with Josie in 3I, give up the idea of walks in Morningside Park, staying up late and doing all the things they hadn’t been allowed to do as children.
But this big room with its navy walls and scarlet sheets, this was as close as they could get to perfection.
She just knew it wouldn’t last long.
* * *
• • •
LOUISE OVERSLEPT. WHEN she’d awoken, bathed, and dressed, it was almost noon; she hadn’t slept so late in a while. She made sure to keep her gun on her at all times. She descended the stairs to find Josie and Michael sitting at the table, looking very close. She paused and turned before they could see her.
She was not about to ruin a romantic dalliance for her sister.
It had been a couple of days since she had been in the city, a couple of days since the accident, and the whole house seemed to be nervous. She had had to ask specifically for a copy of the Tribune, and when she received that morning’s copy, a photograph of her, hazel eyes narrowed and a frown on her lips, was on the front page. She had never seen herself look that actively angry.
