THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE

Evie’s first week in New York City had proved to be every bit as exciting as she’d hoped. In the afternoons, she and Mabel took the El to the movie palace to watch Douglas Fairbanks, Buster Keaton, and Charlie Chaplin, and one particularly warm day they’d ridden the Culver Avenue Line out to Coney Island. There, they dipped their toes in the cold surf of the Atlantic and strolled past the penny arcades and carnival-like amusements, pretending not to notice the calls of the Boardwalk Romeos who begged for their attention. When Mabel had finished with her schoolwork and Evie with her recommended reading from Will, they window-shopped at Gimbels, trying on shawl-collar coats trimmed in fur and brimless cloche hats that made them feel like movie stars. After, they’d buy freshly roasted peanuts at Chock Full O’Nuts or stop for a sandwich at the Horn & Hardart Automat, where Evie thrilled at retrieving her food from the little glass compartment after she’d deposited her coin and pushed the button.

Evenings, Evie and Mabel went downstairs to the Bennington’s shabby dining room and sat beneath its sputtering lights to drink egg creams and plot their great Manhattan adventures. When Mabel had to help her parents at a workers’ rally one evening, Evie took the liberty of calling on Theta and Henry in their flat. Henry had met her at the door wearing a smoking jacket over a pair of baggy Moroccan pants worn with an unbuttoned tuxedo shirt. It was clear at a glance that he and Theta couldn’t be related—his freckled fairness was a stark contrast to her dark, smoky looks—but it was also clear by the way they were with each other that they were not lovers, only dear friends. Henry had raised an eyebrow at Evie as he leaned against the door frame and said, in his long, slow drawl, “I don’t suppose you’ve come about the leak under the sink?” Evie had laughed and promised to chew enough Doublemint gum to fix it and Henry had swung the door open wide with a grand “Entrez, mademoiselle!” Theta lay on a velvet fainting couch wearing her silk men’s pajamas, a peacock-patterned scarf tied dramatically around her head. “Oh. Hiya, Evil. What’s doing?” The three of them had knocked back shots of gin stolen from a party Theta had been to at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel and made up silly songs that Henry picked out on the ukulele, and no one complained that Evie was completely tone-deaf. Then they played cards until the wee hours, and Evie crawled home to Will’s apartment just ahead of the morning sun with the feeling that everything was possible in Manhattan and that a great adventure lay ahead of her—just as soon as she slept off the night.

Now the first hints of red and gold limned the treetops in Central Park and an Indian-summer sun shone over Manhattan. Evie, Mabel, and Theta, outfitted in their fashionable best, boarded the crowded trolley for an afternoon jaunt to the movies. The three of them raced to the back and squeezed into a double seat, talking excitedly.

“Evie, how is Jericho these days?” Mabel asked and bit her lip. She tried to seem casual about it, but she had absolutely no poker face, and Evie knew she must be dying inside.

“Who’s Jericho?” Theta asked.

“My uncle’s assistant,” Evie explained. “The big blond fellow.”

“He’s absolute perfection,” Mabel said, and both of Theta’s pencil-thin eyebrows shot up.

“You goofy for him?”

“And how,” Evie confirmed. “It is my solemn mission to join together these two lovebirds. We’re off to a slow start, but I’m sure we’ll pick up steam for Operation Jericho now.”

“Yeah?” Theta appraised Mabel coolly. “What you need is a visit to the barber, kiddo.”

Mabel clamped a hand protectively over the braid coiled at the back of her neck. “Oh. Oh, I don’t think I could.”

“Well, of course, if you’re scared…” Theta winked at Evie.

“Yes, of course. Not all of us can be brave,” Evie tutted, patting Mabel’s hand.

“I could bob my hair anytime I wanted to,” Mabel protested.

“You don’t have to, Pie Face,” Evie said, batting her lashes.

“Not if you’re scared,” Theta teased.

“I’ll have you know I’ve faced down angry mobs at my mother’s political rallies and walked on picket lines. I’m certainly not afraid of the barber!” Mabel sniffed.

“Fine. Let’s put some dough on it. I’ll pony up a buck if you bob your hair today.”

“Two dollars,” Evie chimed.

Mabel paled. But then she tilted her chin just like her society-born mother. “Fine!” she said and signaled the trolley driver to stop.

Mabel glanced nervously at the Esquire Barbershop window, with its ad proclaiming WE BOB HAIR! LOOK LIKE THE STARS OF STAGE AND SCREEN! along with a drawing of a beautiful flapper in a feathered headdress.

“Mabesie, that style would be swell on you,” Evie said. “Jericho would adore it.”

“Jericho is a deep thinker and a scholar. He doesn’t pay attention to hairstyles,” Mabel said, but she sounded terrified.

Theta touched up her lipstick in a store window. “Even a scholar’s got eyes, kid.”

Evie brushed her hand across an imaginary screen. “Just picture it: You breeze into the museum as a whole new Mabel—Mabel the Enchantress! Mabel the Flapper! Mabel the Hot Jazz Baby!”

“Mabel Who Better Make Up Her Mind or We’ll Miss the Picture,” Theta added.

“I’ll do it.”

“Attagirl!” Evie said. She pushed Mabel toward the barbershop. Evie and Theta hurried to the windows and pressed their faces to the glass to watch. Mabel spoke to the barber, who ushered her into a chair. She looked nervously in the girls’ direction. Evie waved and gave her a winning smile.

“She won’t do it,” Theta said.

“I say she will.”

“Fine. Let’s up the ante on it. Ten dollars.”

Ten dollars was a princely sum, but Evie wasn’t about to back down.

“Done!”

They shook on it and put their faces back to the window. Inside, Mabel sat in the barber’s chair and let him wrap an apron around her neck.

“I’m going to buy the swankiest stockings with your ten dollars, Theta.”

Theta smirked. “Ain’t over yet, kiddo.”

Mabel gripped the padded armrests of the barber’s chair as he pumped the foot pedal, lifting her higher. He brought his scissors toward Mabel’s hair. Her eyes widened and she jumped from the chair, threw down the apron, and bolted for the door, setting the bell over it tinkling like Santa’s sleigh.

“Ah, applesauce!” Evie hissed.

Theta held out her palm. “I’m gonna enjoy those stockings, Evil.”

“I’m sorry, I-I just couldn’t,” Mabel stammered as the girls made their way toward Times Square. “I saw those scissors and I thought I’d faint!”

“It’s all right, Mabesie. Not everybody can be a Zelda,” Evie said, linking arms with her pal.

“If I’m going to win Jericho, I have to win him as I am.”

“And you shall!” Evie reassured her. “Somehow.”

At Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue, they waved to the policeman perched in the glass enclosure atop the traffic tower with its red, green, and yellow signals. He tipped his hat and the girls laughed, buoyed by the crowds crossing amid the motorcars and double-decker buses. Steam pulsed up through sewer grates, as if the city and its bustling people were but part of a great mechanism powered by unseen machinery. As they waited to cross the street, a ragged man in a rickety wheelchair rattled his tin cup at them. He was dressed in a filthy army uniform; his legs were missing below the knees. “A bit of charity for one who served,” he rasped.

Evie reached into her coin purse and retrieved a dollar, which she stuffed into his cup. “There you are.”

“Thank you,” he said. He looked at Evie and muttered softly, “The time is now; the time is now; the time is now. Careful… careful…”

“If you fall for every sob story on the street, you’ll be broke by next week, Evil,” Theta cautioned as they crossed to the other side of the street.

“My brother served. He didn’t come back.”

“Oh, gee, kiddo. I’m sorry,” Theta said.

“It was a long time ago,” Evie said. She didn’t want to start their friendship on such a sour note. “Oh, look at that woman’s dress, will you? It’s the cat’s particulars!”

When they reached the Strand movie palace, the girls bought twenty-five-cent tickets and a white-gloved, red-suited usher showed them to their seats in the balcony overlooking the enormous gilded stage with its gold curtain. Evie had never seen anything so grand. The seats were plush velvet. Friezes and murals decorated the walls. Marble columns reached up to ornately decorated boxes and balconies. In the corner, a man played a Wurlitzer organ, and down below sat a pit for a full orchestra.

The house lights dimmed. The light from the projectionist’s booth played across the slowly opening curtain. Evie could hear the clack of the film as it moved through its paces. Flickering words filled the screen: PATHE NEWS. GENEVA, SWITZERLAND. THE 7TH GENERAL ASSEMBLY OF THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS MEETS. Official-looking men in suits and hats stood before a beautiful building. THE ASSEMBLY WELCOMES GERMANY TO THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS.

“We want Rudy!” Evie shouted at the screen. Mabel’s eyes widened in alarm, but Theta smirked, and Evie felt a small thrill that her rebelliousness had hit the mark. A man four seats down shushed her. “Get a job, Father Time,” she muttered, and the girls tried to stifle their giggles.

On-screen, a movie-star-handsome man inspected a factory and shook the hands of workers. The screen cut to white words on a black background: AMERICAN BUSINESSMAN AND INVENTOR JAKE MARLOWE SETS NEW RECORD IN INDUSTRIAL PRODUCTION.

“That Jake Marlowe sure is a Sheik,” Evie murmured appreciatively.

“My parents don’t like him,” Mabel whispered from beside her.

“Your parents don’t like anybody who’s rich,” Evie said.

“They say he won’t let his workers unionize.”

“It’s his company. Why shouldn’t he do as he sees fit?” Evie said.

The disgruntled man waved for an usher. The girls immediately quieted and tried to look innocent. The newsreel ended and the picture began. Metro presents Rex Ingram’s production of Vincent Blasco Ibañez’s literary masterpiece THE FOUR HORSEMEN OF THE APOCALYPSE flashed upon the screen and they fell silent, held rapt by the screen’s glow and Rudolph Valentino’s beauty. Evie imagined herself on the silver screen kissing someone like Valentino, her picture in Photoplay magazine. Maybe she’d live in a Moorish-style mansion in the Hollywood Hills, complete with tiger-skin rugs. That was what Evie loved best about going to the pictures: the chance to dream herself into a different, more glamorous life. But then the film came to the scenes of war. Evie stared at the soldiers in the trenches, the young men crawling across the rain-soaked no-man’s-land of the battlefield, falling to explosions. She felt dizzy, thinking of James and her terrible dreams. Why did they haunt her? When would they stop? Why did James never speak to her in them? She’d give anything just to hear his voice.

By the end of the picture, they were all misty-eyed—Mabel and Theta cried for the dead movie star; Evie for her brother.

“There’ll never be another like Rudy,” Mabel said, blowing her nose.

“You said it, sister,” Theta purred as they stepped out into the late-afternoon sun. She stopped when she saw Evie’s angry face. “Whatsa matter, Evil?”

“Sam. Lloyd,” Evie growled. She took off at a clip toward a cluster of people who were watching a three-card monte game.

“Who’s Sam Lloyd?” Mabel asked Theta.

“Don’t know,” Theta said. “But I’m pretty sure he’s a dead man.”

“Watch the Queen of Hearts, folks. She’s the money card.” Sam arranged three cards on top of a cardboard box, moving them around so quickly they were a blur. “Now, sir, sir—yes, you. Would you care to wager a guess? There’s no charge for this first round. Just to show you it’s an honest game I’m running.”

Evie turned the box over, upsetting the cards and the money. “Remember me, Casanova?”

It took Sam a minute, but then he smiled. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite nun. How’s the Mother Superior, sister?”

“Don’t you ‘sister’ me. You stole my money.”

“Who, me? Do I look like a thief?”

“And how!”

The crowd watched the argument with interest, and Sam looked around nervously. He snugged his Greek fisherman’s cap low over his brow. “Doll, I’m sorry you got fleeced, but it wasn’t me.”

“If you don’t want me to call a cop over here right this second and tell him you just tried to take advantage of me, you will give me my twenty dollars.”

“Now, sister, you wouldn’t—”

“I pos-i-tute-ly would! Do you know the Museum of American Folklore, Superstition, and the Occult?”

“Yeah, I know it, but—”

“You can find me there. You’d better bring me my twenty bucks if you know what’s good for you.”

“Or what?” Sam taunted.

Evie spied Sam’s jacket draped across a fire hydrant. She swiped it and slipped her arms through the sleeves.

“Give that back!” Sam growled.

“Twenty bucks and it’s all yours. The museum. See you soon-ski!” Laughing, Evie ran down the block.

“Who is that?” Mabel asked once she’d caught up and they’d ducked into a cafeteria.

“Sam Lloyd.” Evie nearly spat the name. She told them about her encounter with him at Pennsylvania Station, about how he’d kissed her and picked her pocket.

Theta sipped her coffee, leaving a perfect red Cupid’s bow mark on the white ceramic cup. “He looks like he could make off with more than just your twenty dollars, if you catch my drift. You better keep an eye on that one, Evil.”

“I don’t have enough eyes to keep on that one,” Evie grumbled.

“Go through his pockets. See if you can find your money,” Mabel suggested.

“Why, Mabel. What a spiffing idea! Is that what the progressive education of Little Red Schoolhouse has taught you?” Evie rifled through the jacket’s many pockets, but she found nothing except a collection of lint, half a roll of Lifesavers, and a colored-pencil postcard of mountains and tall trees. Something had been scrawled in Russian on the back of it. She knew she could try to read any of the objects to find out more about Sam Lloyd, but it wasn’t worth the headache. She’d trust that he’d come looking for the coat. It was September, and the weather would turn soon enough.

When Evie returned to the museum, Uncle Will and Jericho sat at the table talking to a barrel-chested gentleman with the sort of sad brown eyes one saw on pet-store puppies not chosen for Christmas and a nose that looked to have been on the wrong end of a few fights. A detective’s badge was pinned to his suit.

“Unc! What’d they get you for? You need bail?”

“Terrence, this is my niece, Evie O’Neill. Evie, this is Detective Malloy.”

Despite the sad eyes, Detective Malloy had a warm smile. He offered his hand. “I’m an old friend from the days when your uncle worked for the government.”

“Oh? When was that, Unc?” Evie asked.

Will ignored her. “I know I said we’d go to Chinatown for dinner, but I’m afraid I have to go downtown with Detective Malloy for a bit.”

“So you do need bail,” Evie said to Will.

“No, I do not. The police have asked for my help. There’s been a murder.”

“A murder! Oh, my. Let me just change my shoes,” Evie said excitedly. “I won’t be a minute.”

“You’re not coming,” Uncle Will said.

Evie hopped on one foot while removing her shoes and putting on her new oxfords. “Miss a real-life murder scene? Not on your life.”

“It’s ugly, Miss. Not meant for a lady,” Detective Malloy said.

“I don’t scare so easily. I promise I’ll be as tough as Al Capone.” Evie laced up the first shoe.

“You’re staying here.” Will turned his back, dismissing her.

“Unc, you promised to take Jericho and me to Chinatown for dinner. No sense coming back uptown for me.”

“Evangeline…”

“I promise I’ll be no trouble at all. I’ll sit in the back of the car and wait until you’ve finished,” Evie promised.

Will sighed. “All right by you, Terrence?”

“Okay by me.” The detective held the door for her. “But don’t complain to me if you have nightmares after, Miss O’Neill.”

Evie stifled a gallows laugh at that.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 702