eleven.
She was still pulling the pork chops off the grill when Dany found her.
“Marsden, have you seen Wynn? Has she eaten?”
“She has, and she’s outside collecting ants in a pickle jar. I know, don’t ask—and don’t tell Nina, okay?”
“Don’t tell me what?”
Her mother’s boss strode into the kitchen. As usual, she was dressed as though she were going to high tea instead of dinner with sunburned guests who smelled of the river. A long slim dress the shade of pale lemons. Hair, a shimmer of a brown bob. Rose-tipped nails—claws in disguise, Marsden had realized long ago.
She pretended to check the doneness of the pork chops so she wouldn’t have to look up. Her mother hadn’t exactly been excited at the idea of telling Nina that Marsden wasn’t going to become one of her girls, but she still said she would do it. Marsden wasn’t sure she was ready to see if Shine had failed her.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Dany pick up the bread basket full of still-steaming rolls. “Dinner’s going out right now, Nina—coming along?”
“Hmm, shortly. I actually came in search of aspirin. The bottle in the medicine cabinet is empty and a headache is starting.”
“Extra supplies are in the basket in the pantry, top shelf.”
Nina disappeared through the pantry’s wooden doors.
Marsden began to move the meat over again. Her face was hot, and it wasn’t all from the stove. Nina’s voice said Shine hadn’t talked to her at all. Marsden would have been angrier if she hadn’t been grateful for one thing—from what she could tell, Shine hadn’t told Nina yes, either.
Suddenly, Dany stepped close and spoke into her ear. The steam from the bread basket wafted up against Marsden’s arm, warming her skin.
“For your information, one of the dinner guests is a longtime client, all right?” Dany kept her voice low. “So when you go in there, please don’t react.”
Marsden piled more meat onto the platter next to the grill, chilled despite the steam against her skin, the heat of the stove. “Shine’s.”
“Yes. But just do your job. Don’t look over if it bothers you, and then you are free for the whole rest of the evening, all right?” Dany squeezed Marsden’s arm and left the kitchen for the dining room, bread basket tucked beneath an arm.
Marsden turned off the stove and finished stacking the sizzling meat on the platter. She didn’t want to think about Dany’s news, which meant she could think of nothing else.
Johns were only ever around the boardinghouse from post-dinner onward, when they slunk in, did their thing, and slunk back out before breakfast. Anything to do with Nina’s day business was free of their presence, and this included official meals in the dining room. It worked out for everyone—johns could go live their safe lives, and boardinghouse guests who had no clue they were staying in a brothel could stay happily ignorant.
Only the johns Nina called “clients” were welcome to eat with her girls. Clients were the repeat customers, the ones who kept coming back over the months, if not years, usually requesting the same girl each time.
Shine, despite being far from a young girl, had her share of them.
Nina emerged from the pantry, a new bottle of aspirin in her hand, and came to stand next to the stove. This close, Marsden smelled her perfume, the light and inoffensive floral that did nothing to soften Nina’s ruthless heart. Nor did it mix well with the scent of meat that still lay heavy in the kitchen, and Marsden’s stomach rolled.
“Before you bring that food out, I need to speak with you,” Nina said. “Something that’s been on my mind lately.”
Marsden knew what it was, of course. Shine had already told her. “No, Nina, I don’t think so.”
“I’m merely asking you to consider it—really consider it.” Nina’s voice was mild, as though she were discussing items for a new menu. She squeezed Marsden’s arm, right were Dany had, but instead of feeling motherly, it was like a warning. “You and I both know you’re only making a fraction of what you could be, choosing to stay here in this kitchen the way you have.”
“That’s because you’ve cut my wages so they’re next to nothing.”
Nina dropped her hand from Marsden’s arm. “Your keep has to come from somewhere, as does your share of repaying my having settled your father’s loans.”
“Then talk to Shine about that—she works for you because of those things.”
“And your mother works hard. But she’s only getting older, and she’s simply not bringing in as much as she once did.”
She couldn’t meet Nina’s gaze, which burned the side of her face. “So I’ll take over more of Dany’s shifts here. It should be enough to make up the difference.”
Nina sighed. “What can I say to persuade you? Make you come to your senses? For your own sake.”
“Nothing.” Marsden carefully set the meat tongs down, untied her apron, and dropped it onto the counter in a heap. She was, at the very least, glad her hands weren’t shaking.
“All these years, you’ve had a place to live, call home. The collection agency no longer after your mother, her actually having a job. Wynn, safe. There is a debt.”
Marsden’s hands did shake now as she lifted the platter. “Like I said, I’ll take more of Dany’s hours.” How she would do this, she had no clue. How to create time out of nothing? “I’ll work it out.”
The small tight smile that Nina eventually offered did not reach her eyes, and it left Marsden far more uneasy than relieved.
“Fine,” Nina said. “I’ll speak to Dany about rearranging the schedule. It’s just . . . such a shame, the opportunity you’re passing up.”
Marsden nodded, thought fleetingly of the money she’d sent away to the dead over the years, and wished the concept of guilt had never bothered her. “Sorry.”
“We’ll talk about this again soon, I think.” Nina gave her arm another squeeze before letting go. “Your face, your youth—it won’t last forever. And there’s something to be said about having a certain kind of look, for those with a certain kind of taste.”
Something sour crawled up Marsden’s throat. “I’m going to bring out this meat now.”
“Thank you, dear.”
She followed Nina out to the dining room. Dany was finishing arranging vases of flowers on the tables, guests were milling about with glasses and plates full of tiny food in their hands, and Nina immediately began her rounds, her greetings full of welcome.
And her girls, they seemed everywhere, laughing and smiling and being attractive—part of their job. Their filmy summer dresses floated. Their jewelry winked beneath the lights like stars. Their faces were those of dolls—lips glossy, cheeks ashimmer, eyes like paintings.
Vibrant hothouse flowers to her plain old weed, Marsden thought, standing there in her worn Heart shirt and sloppy cutoffs, food clutched in her arms, feeling as out of place as she almost always did. Her gaze sought and found Peaches and Lucy, and she could barely recall the rumpled girls who’d been in her kitchen just yesterday, kissing each other over the heat of a stove and through cigarette smoke, talking to her as easily as if she were one of them.
Shine’s pleas to not be left alone came back to echo in her ears along with Nina’s thinly veiled threat from just moments ago. The scent of ginger—of the covert—drifted in from the open windows, and the walls of the room suddenly pressed inward. She wanted to run—to the kitchen, to the covert, all the way across town lines, in whatever direction. It didn’t matter, as long as it meant being elsewhere.
“Whoops, watch out, your tray’s tipping.” It was Lucy, swirling close, smiling and smelling of honey. But her celery eyes were watchful behind her glasses, the hint of quiet sadness she always carried also there in their green depths. She reached for the platter of meat to help steady it. “You want a drink? It’s hot in here, even with the windows open—you look pale.”
Walking over to the buffet table, Marsden waved her away. What had Lucy seen on her face? Fear? Desperation? Nina was in the room. If she saw Lucy acting like kitchen help, both of them would hear it. Marsden set the pork chops down and scanned to make sure everything was there—salad, quiche, dessert—so she could leave.
Peaches came up, her lips slicked in red, her auburn curls shining. She was scowling at her drink. “Tell Dany she can’t make the sangria anymore. She forgot there’s supposed to be booze in it.”
Nina had asked them to cut back—I want my girls sparkling, not tipsy. “It’s a new recipe, Peaches.”
“Then use a different new one.”
“Nina would still have to okay it.”
Peached sighed. “I need a smoke.” She scowled again. “Nina needs a smoke.”
Marsden let a half grin slip free. “Well, maybe the new recipe somehow gets lost and we have no choice but to use the old one.”
“Thank God. I’ll love you forever.” With a wink, Peaches left in a cloud of musk, earth, and a kind of confidence Marsden knew she would never have.
A man laughed, low and appreciative, and she turned.
Her mother’s client.
It took her only a second to recognize him, standing at Shine’s elbow, his face smiling down at hers.
Brom Innes. He’d been coming to the boardinghouse for years, from the very beginning of Shine’s time as one of Nina’s girls. Every few months, he’d stay for a week or two before leaving again. She had no clue what he did, had no desire to know, had never even talked to Shine about him. With his average height, pale-blue eyes, and light-brown hair, he was like the oatmeal of johns, as placid as plain white bread. Dull, agreeable, and safe enough, she supposed—for a john.
A tug at her arm, and she was completely stupefied to glance down and see Wynn, jar full of roaming ants in her hand.
Her little sister, exactly where Nina asked her not to be during meals—and within spitting distance of their mother’s steadiest john.
“You’re supposed to wait for me outside,” Marsden whispered.
“I wanted more dessert.” Her sister’s eyes weren’t on her, though. Instead, they roamed the room, drinking in all the details. Wynn’s gaze caught on each of Nina’s girls, studying the art of their carefully powdered and curled hair, their pretty, glistening mouths. Her eyes traced the swing of their dresses, learned the studied, deliberate movements of their limbs.
Marsden grabbed a bowl from a table, heaved two scoops of pudding into it, and dragged Wynn toward the kitchen by one arm. “C’mon, runt. Before Nina bans you from the dining room for the whole entire summer.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere else. Anywhere else.”