THIRTEEN
We made it to the edge of Main Street and Drake stuck his hand out for a ride. Even in 1910, New York was still the city that never slept.
“She’s a prostitute?” I asked, my eyebrows rising to my hairline. I never saw that coming.
Drake eyed me, as if trying to weigh my reaction. “Some might use that derogatory term, but I prefer not to.”
I had to hide the bristling sensation at hearing his quick defense of her. “What is she then?” I asked more gently.
He turned his focus back to the street, putting his hand out to hail the cab that was puttering toward us. “She is a business woman, and her clients are among the most powerful in the city. She is well attuned to the heartbeat of the city, and thus, she could prove a valuable resource.”
The cab stopped in front of us, and Drake opened the door for me to get in. I scooted in and sat on the far side, making room for Drake. Even though my senses were dulled, the absence of chilly wind on my face was a welcome change. I felt bad for the driver; this car was different than the one we took before and our driver was relegated to sitting outside the cab and being exposed to the raw elements.
Drake settled in next to me, bringing with him the distinctive smells of alcohol and smoke. Then we were off. I watched out the window for a bit, trying to organize all the thoughts in my head.
“So how do you know all of those people? Who are you? You told me you spent some time in New York and your distant family members were here but all of a sudden, you’re the mayor? What did you do here? How did those women know your name? What did you mean when you said you valued different things?” I rattled off the questions as quickly as they crossed my mind, but Drake simply shook his head with a knowing smile.
“In time, mon chaton, please be patient.”
I huffed at his lackluster response. The questions were springing up with such frequency, my head began to hurt.
“So Mrs. Flynn and Miss Walsh?” I asked, settling for an easier question.
“Also escorts,” Drake said casually as he removed his hat and set it on his lap.
Without thinking, I reached out to smooth his hair, and my fingers stopped just shy of brushing the silky locks. Only then did I realize how intimate my gesture was in the closed space of the car. Drake’s eyes fell onto mine and I gulped at the predatory gleam I spotted in them.
I opened my mouth, but it took a moment to speak and immediately drew Drake’s attention to my lips. “How…” I started, and Drake looked into my eyes again. “How did you know they were escorts?”
He seemed resigned to strictly business as I hastily patted down his hair.
“By the way they were dressed. Did you notice they seemed more fashionable than some of the other women we passed?” He looked at me for confirmation.
“Yes,” I said, agreeing with his assessment. “But how did you know they weren’t just wealthy?” I felt a little judgmental, as if I expected prostitutes to look trashy.
He shrugged. “They were seen in a bar frequented by men and without chaperones, they wore lipstick, and they drank whatever they pleased. Those are all things women of high repute and domestic recognition would not do. At least, they didn’t in my time.”
I considered his explanation with a nod, then looked back at Drake, studying him closely. “So she’s what…? A dear friend?” My eyebrows rose sarcastically at the familiar description.
Drake gazed at me, his expression revealing nothing. “She is that.”
My face fell into a disappointed scowl, “So… what? You traveled all the way from New Orleans to New York just to reunite with Lola Reilly?”
“I was previously here under very different circumstances,” he sighed heavily. “I wasn’t lying when I said I valued different things from the rest of my family. I was very young when I spent time here, but it was transformative. Lola was a great source of comfort to me, ma minette.”
“Ha, comfort!” I scoffed, trying to ignore the hurt growing in my chest.
Drake cast me a sideways glance from beneath his thick brows, and seemed amused by my reaction to Lola, but I was feeling much less than that.
The cab swerved and lurched to a stop when a man holding his hat on his head with one hand ran in front of us. I began to brace myself with both hands as there were no seatbelts, but I was quickly restrained by Drake. The car started forward again, but Drake didn’t remove his arm from around my waist. The warmth from his breath and skin hit my cheek, a pleasant mix of alcohol, cologne, and manly man. I couldn’t help turning my face toward him, breathing in the delicious scents as I did so.
“Are you all right, ma minette?” His voice was very low, and he made no move to shift his arm away.
The way he said it indicated he wasn’t talking about being startled from the car jerking to a stop. For a fleeting second, I was absolutely sure he was ready to kiss me. My heart pounded at the thought despite the haze of beer running through my veins. I didn’t get the chance to answer him before we stopped again, although this time, it was on purpose. The cab eased to the side of the street before gently braking.
“We’re here, mon chaton.” Drake popped open the door and slid off the seat, his solid form leaving my side.
It took me a second longer to gather my wits, but I began following Drake, shimmying across the wide bench seat of the car and stepping into the frozen December air. Drake paid the driver and told him to wait for us as he held out his arm for me. I took it without hesitation, letting him pull me forward while I observed the building in front of us. I didn’t know what I expected – a brothel? A run-down apartment complex? The structure in front of us was far from either. The entrance was covered by a stone archway decorated with stately scrolling. Even though it was late, an inviting glow illuminated the entry through the cloudy glass of the large, wooden doors.
Once inside the foyer, I was surprised to see a man sitting behind a large desk made of what looked like rich mahogany. He smiled politely at us, and Drake returned the smile.
“We’re here to see Miss Lola Reilly.”
“Your name?” the man asked as he leaned over to pull a drawer open. He produced a large book and placed it on the desk, then began to flip through the pages.
“Drake Montague.”
The man paused, looking at Drake over his glasses before returning his attention to the book in front of him.
“Mr. Drake Montague. Yes,” he said, getting up from his seat. He took a key from his pocket, walked across the small foyer to a large door, and unlocked it, holding it open for us.
Drake tipped his hat to the man who nodded in return.
I followed Drake down a hallway before we started up three flights of stairs. The luxurious ambiance intrigued me. “Why did you have to give him your name?”
“Lola is particular about the guests she allows into her home. As you can imagine, her clients aren’t accustomed to restrictions or being told no.” We clomped up a few stairs before he added, “That is, if they even know where she lives, of course.” Clomp clomp. “And those that do must be on the list. She never brings her work home with her.”
The stairwell felt drafty—and the cold seeped in from the windows on each landing.
It was obvious Drake resented the disingenuous entitlement that came with being rich and powerful. It rattled me that there was so much I didn’t know about him; and his half-hearted explanations did nothing to improve that. Sure, some mystery is alluring, but too much and it becomes frustrating. I was way out of my element here and wished I could get a little sympathy from this enigma of a man walking in front of me. Instead, he chose to give me the cold shoulder.
I tugged at his arm, forcing him to stop mid-step. My free hand was clenched in a fist at my side. He turned to face me, the extra stair adding another six inches to his already impressive height. I took a haughty step up to level the playing field, until I realized I was acting like a spoiled teenager. The booze made me sway slightly, but I grabbed the railing for support and pointed my finger at his chest.
“We’re supposed to be in this together, Drake!” I shouted. I had to compensate for my slur. “You mentioned having relatives as if they were of no consequence; and now you’re acting like the King of New York and his multiple… what? Escorts?” I said the final word in a lowered tone with an exasperated wave of my hand. My mouth spat out the word. “Who are you taking me to see? And if you say ‘dear friend’ one more time, I’ll kick your ass all the way back to 2018!”
I could tell he was restraining a smile. My mood darkened. I took another step up until I was taller than him. He looked at me with mild amusement, like he was watching a favorite show.
With calm sobriety, he joined me on the step. His face was only inches from mine, and his dark eyes looked down at me with the same playful expression he had moments before. I hiccupped as I gazed at him and felt off balance again; but this time, I knew it wasn’t because of the alcohol. Grabbing the small of my back to steady me, he leaned into my ear. His whisper tickled the downy hairs on my cheek.
“I need,” he began slowly, pressing my body even closer to his, “for you to trust me.”
It took me a moment to realize I forgot to breathe. My chest went still where it was pressed up against him, and his heat radiated all the way to my neck. He never left my ear, not even a long time after his words faded into the drafty air. The goosebumps that covered my arms and legs were not caused by the lingering chill. He released me slowly before turning to resume his ascent up the stairs. Swiveling to face me, he offered his hand and waited for my response with a raised eyebrow. Begrudgingly, I took his hand and trailed behind him all the way up the two remaining flights.
I was slightly out of breath by the time we reached the third floor, and my muscles were too loose with alcohol saturation to feel any soreness from the exertion. Drake led me through another door, then down a hallway until we finally reached a door that was numbered 324. He knocked firmly and we waited.
I expected Lola Reilly to be asleep, but she answered Drake’s knock remarkably fast. Naturally, I couldn’t help staring when she opened the door. She was stunningly beautiful with dark, curly hair, full lips, and big, brown eyes. Her eyelashes were so full, they seemed to weigh down her eyelids, giving her a sleepy expression, but in a seductive sort of way. She wore a plunging, red silk robe that was tied at her petite waist. I deflated like an old balloon.
“Well, well, how nice to see Drake Montague in the flesh,” she said, drinking in the sight of him. Then she turned and looked to me. “And who, may I ask, is this?”
“Peyton, mon amour,” Drake said to me, although he was looking at her. I bristled when I realized he used the same French pet name for her as well as me. In fact, the longer I thought about it, the more I began to dislike everything about the situation.
“This is Lola, Peyton. As I’ve already mentioned, she is a very dear friend.”
I shook her hand, and even through my dulled senses, I was amazed by how soft her skin was.
“Come in,” she said, opening the door wider and allowing us to pass. “Something to drink?” Before she asked the question, Drake was already helping himself to a decanter filled with amber liquid. He poured three glasses and passed them out to us.
Lola sipped as she continued gazing at Drake.
“Unfortunately, we cannot prolong our visit. We need your help to locate a Mr. Thomas Dickerson, and we must find him as soon as possible.”
Lola’s eyes flitted to mine, then descended to my midsection, before she looked back at Drake with dark eyes and raised eyebrows. “Why do you need to see Mr. Dickerson?” she asked slowly.
“We’re actually looking for a woman who was last seen getting into his car,” Drake said.
Lola’s chin lowered slightly, and she sipped her drink. “Are you aware of what Mr. Dickerson does?”
Drake eyed her. “No, actually I am not, but I would like you to enlighten me.”
She swirled the contents of her glass. “He is a middleman. He provides transportation and care for women who need doctors to remove blockages.”
I saw the understanding when it dawned on Drake’s face, but I was still wondering what the heck she meant.
“Could you tell us where we might find him? We already went to the residence that was listed on his car registration, but it appeared to be abandoned.”
“Yes,” Lola said as she stared into the depths of the amber liquid in her glass. Then she tipped her head back in one dainty movement and swallowed the rest of her drink. “I can arrange a meeting with him. Shall we say… tomorrow evening?” She looked at Drake. “If you seek information, it might be helpful if you pretended to have a reason for needing his services.” She glanced at me, then looked back at Drake.
“Yes, of course,” Drake agreed. He downed his drink, and never the one to be left out, I did the same.
“Where are you staying?” Lola asked.
“The Cumberland Hotel.”
“I’ll send you word by noon tomorrow.”
***
I took the bottle of amber liquid from Drake and knocked back some of the velvety smooth liquor. I wasn’t an expert in the quality of alcohol by any means, and I was definitely not familiar with the brand Lola so kindly provided for us, but I did know enough to postulate that it was some fancy shit. And strong too. The woman had good taste; I had to give her that.
“I’m just going to come out and say it,” I said, slurring some of my words together.
Drake raised a crooked eyebrow at me, his eyes twinkling with humor and booze. We were both feeling a tad more relaxed after securing a chance to meet Thomas Dickerson. And we were also drunk off our asses. Our brief chat with Lola led to several more drinks, then we took a bottle for the road before we left. We’d been walking for quite a while now, although we weren’t sobering up since we kept drinking.
“You totally tapped that, didn’t you?”
Confusion temporarily made Drake’s face crinkle up. “’Tapped that?’”
I snorted, then roared with laughter, and the flowery hat on my head listed limply toward my face. I tried to push it back into place, but eventually gave up, still laughing.
The confusion left Drake’s face, replaced by an enormous smile. He leaned closer to me as he took the bottle from my hands to take a drink. We both stepped sideways to keep from falling over since he leaned a little too hard on me.
“It means you slept with her,” I said after I briefly managed to suppress my giggles. “Not slept with her, but slept with her.” I tried extra hard to emphasize slept but my ability to utter coherent words from my lips was turning out to be such a challenge.
Drake mouthed Oh before taking another generous gulp of liquor and examining the bottle. He threw back his head, putting the bottle up to his lips. Just before he swallowed, he said, “Drinking this nectar straight from the bottle is a terrible crime.” He swallowed the gulp of alcohol, and shut his eyes. “It should be savored slowly. Sipped and appreciated from your best crystal.” He took another gulp and released a thoroughly satisfied, “Ahhh.”
I knew he was avoiding my question, but I giggled and leaned against him to steady myself. His sturdy arm wrapped around my waist, tucking me even more tightly. I felt his breath on my neck when he whispered in my ear.
“It would be the same with you, mon amour. You should be enjoyed very slowly.”
His voice was so thick with suggestion, that despite the alcohol slowing down my responses, my reaction to his remark was instantaneous. My core turned to a bowl of jelly and I felt the heat radiating up my neck into my face. The pleasurable sensation soon had me smiling ear-to-ear.
I was dimly aware that I should have been shrugging him off, and establishing some distance between us, but I didn’t. Instead, I found myself even more acutely interested in my prior fixation. “What about Lola? Did you enjoy her slowly?” Had I not been so drunk, I would have cringed at saying those words. I meant it only as a playful dig, but it didn’t exactly come out that way.
Drake laughed hard, and it came directly from his gut. So hard, in fact, that he had to remove his arm from my waist to grab his belly when it began to ache from laughter.
It wasn’t easy, but I managed to narrow my eyes at him when I realized he was laughing at me. Experiencing true annoyance was difficult when Drake was so openly amused.
When he finally managed to compose himself, he said, “I daresay you’re jealous, mon amour.”
“Jealous?” I replied, but my light-hearted tone from the alcohol failed to emphasize the word to the point of sarcasm. I snatched the bottle from him and downed some more booze. “I don’t get jealous.” I pointed the bottle his way, squinting at him with one eye shut for better vision, “I just didn’t think you’d be someone who’d have to pay for sexual favors.”
“I don’t,” Drake responded slyly. “And you are right, mon chaton, I do not ever pay for lovemaking as a general rule.” He took the bottle from me, his eyes staring down into mine before he took another drink.
Had I been sober, I might have tried to conceal the scowl on my face at his reply, but in my current state, that wasn’t exactly a possibility.
He took one look at my face and chuckled, although this time, he appeared more subdued. “I met Lola during the summer I spent in New York when I was young.”
“How young were you?” I asked before he could tell me his story.
“Sixteen.”
I whistled. “You weren’t even legal!”
“Back then, oh, yes, I was,” Drake replied.
“Oh, well,” I grumbled under my breath and took the bottle back. I was surprisingly annoyed to finally hear his version of an admission that he slept with her. His dear friend, indeed! I thought as I downed more liquor. At this point, I could barely taste it or feel it when it passed my numbed lips and tongue.
“Truly,” Drake said, his tone growing more serious. He had somewhat better success than I did in curbing the slurring of his words. “It wasn’t because I thought you’d be offended by her profession when I suggested you should not meet her.”
“Oh?” I encouraged him to explain, ignoring the men we walked past who eyed us with disapproving frowns. Their daunting presence and snobby glances alerted me that we were in a much better part of town than we were at the bar. For a brief second, I wondered where the hell we were.
“Non,” he said, and any hint of smile vanished from his face. He opened his mouth, but paused as if he were trying to think of the right words. “I know how it feels… The incapacitating pain over seeing your true love showing and feeling affection for another.”
The last remnant of the light-hearted, good cheer that existed between us, thanks to our success in discovering the identity of Thomas Dickerson and our drunken states, evaporated at his words. I didn’t know what to say. Even worse, I didn’t know how to feel. But it should have been better than what I was feeling. All I could imagine was how Drake must have felt being constantly bottled up in my head, watching my life through my eyes. I was crushed with guilt for being so selfish as I remembered how many times I indulged Drake when I wanted to, and lived my own life by literally shutting him out whenever it was convenient for me to do so. I had Drake all to myself, trapped in a bubble that seemed so separate from my own life. And now I didn’t anymore. Now he was back in his own time, amongst the people who knew him, whom he cared about, and who obviously cared about him.
Feeling guilty about Drake was one thing; I should’ve felt guilty about Ryan! And I learned something else: Ryan was spot on to react so defensively toward Drake. The intensity of that realization made me lean into the solid warmth of Drake pressed against my side. Ryan seemed so far away. A wave of utter confusion descended on me. What was real anymore? I always dismissed my feelings for Drake because nothing could have existed between us. He was a spirit, a ghost haunting my body. That allowed me to push any other feelings away without exposing myself to the dangerous temptation of exploring them. But what now? Here we were, breathing the same frozen December air of 1910, and both of us very much alive. Meanwhile, Ryan, who hadn’t been born yet, didn’t even exist.