Harlem sunset, p.18
Harlem Sunset, page 18
LOUISE LLOYD IN HER OWN WORDS
More like her own words twisted to match a story that already had been written. Louise exited to the backyard, lit a cigarette, and began to read.
The Tribune in the past year or so had become more slanted toward yellow journalism. She understood that she was on the front page. It was the least she deserved.
She scanned her words, scanned her interview, her life altered to fit a story. She read about her upbringing, her kidnapping, and her brief stint as a “consultant” to the NYPD the previous summer.
A lot of the piece was filled with Walter’s own observations, mostly about her looks. Apparently she could be rather attractive if she didn’t dress so dowdily.
That was news to her.
“Miss Lloyd.” It was Anna who broke into her thoughts. The maid stood a few paces away from her, a strict frown on her face. “You have a visitor. Mr. Moreno is waiting for you in the drawing room.”
Louise folded her paper and rose.
“If you would be kind enough as to follow me,” Anna said, and turned on the heel of her sensible shoe.
The drawing room was different from the living room, which was different from the parlor. When Anna opened the door, Rafael was seated on the new couch, boater hat in hands. It was the first time in her life she had seen him look grim.
“Ah, lady of the house?” Rafael asked.
“Only for a little while.” Louise sat across from him, leaning forward on her elbows.
Rafael looked her over. “Old Schoonmaker’s taking care of you and Sunshine?”
“He has been the perfect gentleman.”
Rafael laughed. “Doesn’t sound like Schoonmaker.”
Louise wished this could be a congenial chat between old friends. She didn’t ask after Rosa Maria, although that was the only thing she wanted to do.
He lit cigarettes for both him and her, and when Louise accepted, he began. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“Rosa Maria dug as much as she could. She doesn’t think anyone named Harriet Sinclair exists at all.” Rafael leaned back in his chair, puffed on his cigarette. He was silent and totally still in a way that was unnerving to Louise.
“What’s the good news?” She was hesitant to ask.
Rafael smiled. “You look very pretty today.”
She rolled her eyes at his attempt at charm and wit. “Who is Harriet Sinclair?”
“She doesn’t know. Just knows that no one with that name has applied to basically any paper in the city.”
“How could she have found this out?” Louise tapped her cigarette in a nearby ashtray.
“My sister, bless her, has a type of magic no one can explain. Or, I assume, she just asked around. She spent a lot of time on the phone yesterday.” Rafael raised an eyebrow. He was unbothered by the workings of his sister. “I, in case you were wondering, have decided to write a show. I think you’d be perfect for the lead.”
“Can you please focus?” Louise asked. She bounced her right leg impatiently. She wanted answers and she wanted them now. “Harriet said she was new in town, trying to be a real reporter.”
“Have you considered the possibility she was lying to you?” Rafael smirked, pleased with himself for coming up with the obvious conclusion.
“No,” Louise said, deadpan. “Thank you for raising this option.” She used the butt of her cigarette to light a new one, then dropped the spent one into the ashtray. “I know this isn’t about Nora or about Rosa Maria, but how exactly could this be about me?”
“Have you gotten into any trouble in the past year or so, Lovie?” Rafael didn’t need to say anything more. “I know you’ve been thinking about your past, but what about Gilbert?”
Nora was one of the kidnappees. Louise had killed Gilbert. It all led back to him.
But she was sure he was dead.
So who else?
Rafael rose, dusting off his trousers. He clutched his hat in his hand. “I gotta go find Schoonmaker. Any idea where he may be?”
“No,” Louise said.
“Pretty bad lady of the house,” Rafael said.
“I’m working on it.” Louise rose with him, collecting her paper.
Rafael slid the paper, the angry photo of her, toward her. “Interesting article this morning.”
“You read it?” Louise asked.
Rafael put his cigarette back between his lips. “I looked at the picture. Same thing, right?”
Louise rolled her eyes. He left her there in the drawing room, holding her newspaper with a story about her life.
She couldn’t believe that things had gone so wrong so quickly.
Louise returned to the backyard porch, settling herself in the weak spring sun. She opened the paper and resumed reading.
She had to know what was being said about her.
* * *
• • •
THE LAST TIME Louise had seen Minna’s son was when he was a squealing infant. Now he was over a year old, and hiding behind his mother’s skirt as Louise faced them at their doorstep.
“Louise,” Minna said.
She was bigger now than she had been the last time Louise had seen her. This was supposed to be a quick trip, and now Louise was unsure of why she had come here in the first place. Getting out of her father’s house, letting Michael escort her and Josie to the Schoonmaker mansion: it had all happened fast and her head was still reeling.
“Why are you here?” Minna asked.
“I want to talk to you, but it couldn’t be over the phone,” Louise said.
“Come in, then,” Minna said, pushing the door open.
They settled in the kitchen, sitting across from each other. Minna leaned back and sighed, rubbing a hand on her stomach. Benny, the toddler, tugged on Louise’s skirt. She picked him up and placed him on her lap. He immediately began to crawl around, trying to reach for her hat.
“It’s about Josie,” Louise said. “I want you to know that she is safe and she is with me for the time being.”
“Where is that?” Minna said. She closed her eyes for a moment, her hand still on her stomach.
“I’ll give you the phone number. We’re staying with a friend.”
Louise shifted the toddler so he was sitting again. She looked into his open, trusting eyes and big smile. He was so little, so small and defenseless. She ran a finger over his cheek and he tried to bite her.
“What friend, Louise?” Minna asked.
She looked around. She knew that no one could be watching her in Minna’s house, but she still felt eyes on her. “A friend. He lives outside of the city. What’s important is that we’re safe.”
“What’s going on?” Minna asked. “I saw you in the Tribune. Can you please tell me what is happening?”
Louise inhaled, trying to keep herself steady. “It’s better if I don’t tell you too much, okay? It’s better if you don’t know.” She realized that this might be her last time seeing and talking to her middle sister.
Minna was frowning, displeasure crossing her face. “Your life isn’t that mysterious, Louise. Tell me what’s going on right now.”
Her voice was low and cool. She was angry. Benny stopped shifting in Louise’s arms, momentarily stunned into behaving.
Louise knew that she should try to relate to her sister. She should try to be honest. So swallowing hard, Louise told her the whole story. She told it as they drank coffee, Louise eventually setting the toddler down so she could reach for her cup. And when she was finished, Minna nodded, taking it all in.
“And the photographs?”
“All lies. Someone is trying to really mess with me.” The resentment was acid on her tongue.
“And the friend you’re staying with?” This was typical Minna. She needed all of the facts.
“A friend of a friend who can take us in for the time being,” Louise said.
Even though Louise was the eldest, it was Minna who tried to domineer. “What if she wanted to stay with me?”
“She doesn’t,” Louise said.
“How do you know?” Minna asked.
Louise was craving a cigarette but Minna didn’t allow her to smoke in the house. Visiting her sister always made Louise tense. She wondered how they could be a result of the same set of parents.
“I know because she told me. She loves it there. Don’t pull her away from it.”
Minna narrowed her eyes and inspected Louise closely for a lie.
“You wanted me to help her. This is how I’m helping her. Look, she is happy and that’s what we need right now.” Louise shouldn’t have been discussing Josie’s life without Josie. It felt wrong, but she needed Minna to know this. “You can call anytime you want. I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you.”
Minna nodded with a snort. “Right. Because why would she talk to me when she has you, the fun sister? The sister who indulges every one of her whims. She doesn’t need structure or anything when she has Louise!”
“Why are you angry at me? You’re the one who asked me to talk to her.”
“And set her straight. Not let her go gallivanting off wherever. She needs to be serious. She’s seventeen. If she doesn’t settle down now, she’ll—”
“I’m twenty-seven and I haven’t settled down. Just because you got married and had a kid doesn’t mean everyone else wants to. She should be able to explore the world if that is what she wants.” Louise was yelling. She stopped when the baby started to cry.
Minna kissed her teeth, rolled her eyes. She moved to pick up her crying child and disappeared farther into the house without saying anything else.
Louise waited until she was outside to light a cigarette. Her anger was bundled up inside of her, and as she stormed down the street, she realized she’d forgotten to give Minna the phone number for the manse.
It didn’t matter now. She could call after both of them had had some time to cool off.
Louise had always known that Minna didn’t exactly agree with her choice of a lifestyle. Like their father, Minna believed there was one real way to live a life.
Louise stomped down the street and smoked, bumping into people as she passed them. Minna was so set in her own life, she couldn’t see anything different. And it made Louise angry, knowing that Minna would never understand what her life was like. Maybe it was better if they lived their lives apart. Just because they were siblings didn’t mean they had to talk or see each other. They had tried to mend their relationship, but maybe they were too different after all.
Louise exhaled, and seamlessly lit a new cigarette with the butt of her old one. She dropped the butt to the ground as she walked.
She and Minna would never see eye to eye and that was fine.
Or she wanted it to be fine.
30
LOUISE STILL HADN’T given up the key to her apartment. She was the rightful tenant of apartment 3I for a few more days. She was going to clear out her last few belongings. The envelope she received the photos in was still in the drawer. She hadn’t thought about taking them out now that the entire neighborhood of Harlem and most of Midtown had seen them, but she pulled them from the drawer.
Louise turned on the kitchen light, sat down at the table. She pulled the photographs out of the envelope, the things that had come to ruin her life, and spread them out on the table, looking over them. They weren’t pieces of art; they were quick and dirty. She picked up one that showed Rosa Maria’s arm around her waist, Rosa Maria’s lips near her neck, an intimate portrait of climbing into bed after the Dove and a late night.
She held the photograph up, trying to figure out where it had been taken. The building next to hers had windows that faced into 3I. She couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone in those windows. The thing about apartments, though, was that you never really had any type of privacy. Louise picked up her purse, then slid the photograph into the pocket of her coat, right next to her gun.
Getting into the building next door was easy. There was no one watching the door, and she used a hatpin to unlock the front doors. She climbed the stairs, craving some exercise, a feeling she got when she had been lying around the Schoonmaker manse all day. Louise felt her shoes click on every step, old and unsteady under her slight weight.
She had to guess; that was the hard part. Louise paused at every door, pressing her ear to it, trying to find out which apartments were empty. She heard children crying, men and women yelling, and then she got to one that was quiet. . . .
She hoped she was right, or she was breaking and entering for no reason.
Louise got on her knees to pick the lock. She pushed open the door with her fingertips. She was expecting something similar to her unit, but this was smaller, shabbier than her apartment. There was no room for a separate bedroom, and one small bathroom was hidden in the corner.
It was neat but empty. It was clearly lived in, with a small cot, a chair in the corner. It was the most basic of living, making it seem as if this apartment wasn’t being rented, but borrowed. Louise took the photograph from her pocket. She held it up toward the window. This was it. This was the angle used to take that photograph. Whoever was spying on her had taken the photos from this unit. She didn’t know why she hadn’t noticed sooner.
Louise pulled the chair toward her and sat down. She drew her pistol from her pocket and aimed it at the door. She was going to wait all night if she had to, but she was going to find out who had taken the photos.
* * *
• • •
THE PERSON LOUISE faced when the door opened again, the man of average height and build wearing an average brown suit with common dark hair and dark eyes, was not who she was expecting. He stopped short when he realized he was on the wrong side of her pistol.
“Who are you?” Louise asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice.
“Who are you?” He adjusted the bag he had slung on his shoulder.
Louise assumed that was where the camera was. “I’m asking the questions here,” Louise said. “Who are you?”
He took his hat off, keeping his muddy brown eyes on the pistol in front of him. “My name is Philip.”
“Who do you work for?” Louise asked.
“No one . . .” He trailed off.
Louise raised an eyebrow. She could do this all night if she had to. She was going to get the answers she wanted.
“Wait. You’re her. You’re Louise Lloyd.”
“From the photos, yes. Who do you work for?”
“No one. Please, lower the gun. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Louise rose from her chair, keeping her gun between them. “How do you not know who hired you?”
She wasn’t going to let him think that he was in charge here. She stepped toward him. With her heels, she was only a little shorter than he was.
“I work freelance. People hire me to take pictures. I run ads in all the papers.”
“And who hired you for this?” Louise asked.
She kept her voice level, trying to hide all emotion away. But he had had an active part in ruining her life. She was furious, but she wasn’t going to show it. She thought she was always taken less seriously when she exploded in anger. No, she had to remain calm to get the answers she needed.
“I don’t know. The letter came with a key to this apartment. I was told to take photos and send them away after I developed them. Please, don’t shoot me.” His voice shook.
Louise frowned. “Where did you send them to?”
“I just sent them off to an address. I don’t know who wanted me to do this. I am so sorry.” He seemed repentant but Louise didn’t believe him.
“You ruined my life with those photos. You ruined everything.” She couldn’t stop her voice from quaking as she spoke. “How much did you make?”
“Ten dollars a photo.”
“A hundred dollars?” Louise asked. The ten photos that had been sent to her and to the Tribune were worth that much. “That’s what my privacy is worth to you.”
“I am so sorry. I didn’t know what would happen with them. I thought it was an angry wife looking for something. I thought it was a marital thing. I didn’t know.”
“But you did it anyway,” Louise said.
He didn’t look at her. The remarkably average Philip stared at the floor beneath his dull brown shoes.
“I am so sorry.”
“You wouldn’t have done it if you were sorry,” Louise said.
He was silent for a moment.
Louise glared at him. “If you knew what my life was like.”
“I saw you in the Tribune. Front page. I didn’t ruin your life.” There was an edge to his voice now. An unrepentant one, an angry one.
What had she gotten herself into?
“That was damage control. You made one hundred dollars and I had to save myself from the gutter.”
“Girls like you deserve to be in the gutter.”
He knocked the pistol from her hand, shoving her down before she could react. She fought back, arms flailing and legs kicking in ungraceful self-defense. She managed to get her gun back, a bullet firing errantly in the melee, and she ended up with her legs straddled over his chest, the gun near his temple.
“Give me the address.” Louise’s breath came out in heaves. “Give it to me now.”
“Let me up,” he said. “I’ll give it to you.”
She slowly rose and allowed him to his feet. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He drew out a scrap of paper and handed it to her. His hand shook as she took it from him.
