Glitter and Gold (The Canary Club Novels Book 1) Read online

  A Canary Club Novelette Boxed Set

  By Sherry D. Ficklin

  THIS book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  NO part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Glitter & Gold

  Copyright ©2017 Sherry D. Ficklin

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-63422-258-7

  Cover Design by: Marya Heiman

  Typography by: Courtney Knight

  Gilded Cage, A Canary Club Novelette

  All That Glitters, A Canary Club Novelette

  Nothing Gold, A Canary Club Novelette

  About the Author

  There’s no sound as I pad barefoot down the long corridor toward the headmistress’ office. She waits for me in her high-back leather desk chair, her horn-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of her thin nose, only the silver chains on each side preventing them from falling off the slope and onto her desk as she leans forward, sliding the telephone toward me. Standing beside her Sister Margery stands erect, her usual Catholic habit replaced by a white, terrycloth robe hanging to her thick ankles.

  They say nothing, but watch me with varying degrees of wariness as I take the telephone, bringing the speaker to my ear with one hand and the receiver toward my lips with the other.

  “This is Masie,” I say with little preface. There are only a handful of people who would dare phone me here, fewer at this hour.

  Butler’s thick, heavily accented voice crackles in my ear, “Miss Masie, your father requires you home immediately. A car will arrive within the hour.”

  I clear my throat, struggling to keep my expression neutral under the women’s watchful gazes.

  Never discuss family business with outsiders, that’s the rule. It’s been drilled into me since I uttered my first words. Even so, I find myself asking.

  “What’s happened?”

  To my credit, my voice never falters, my face never changes.

  “It’s your mother, miss. There’s been an…incident.”

  I want to ask more, every fiber of my being revolts, demanding details. But I stomp it down, clinging to my father’s words echoing in my head as if they were a rope and I was drowning. Never discuss family business with outsiders.

  I find the headmistresses’ gaze and hold it as I respond. “I’ll be ready.”

  Dropping the ear piece back onto the cradle I hand the phone back. It’s Sister Margery who speaks, “You have exams in the morning.”

  As if I’d somehow forgotten. As if I hadn’t spent the last week studying long after lights out, hiding in the closet with a lantern so as not to wake my roommate as I went over page after page.

  “Family emergency,” I say flatly, not taking my gaze from the headmistress.

  Finally, she stands, crossing herself before she speaks. “There will be no make-up tests given,” her voice is sharp and matter-of-fact. “If you leave now, you will fail the semester.”

  My instinct is to argue, to remind her that I, despite her dislike of the fact, am the top student in my class, that even failing the exam wouldn’t drop my grades so low as to prevent me from graduating. Taking a deep breath, I prepare for a fight, but then, as I exhale, I change my mind.

  It’s not worth it.

  Neither she nor the Sisters had ever bothered to hide their disdain for my family. Not just our new money status but the fact that daddy, as one of the city’s most powerful bootleggers, had pulled a host of strings to get me admitted. I was a constant reminder that even their hallowed institution wasn’t free from the corruption rampant in the upper class.

  And they hated me for it.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I say with a slight smile and bow of the head, “I’ve got to go pack my things. Please alert me when my car arrives.”

  With that I turn, not waiting for a response, and head back to my room.

  Packing my trunks quickly, I nudge my roommate Ella, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

  “Masie, what’s going on?” she asks, wiping the sleep from the corner of her eye. “Is everything alright?”

  I shrug, trying to seem calmer than I feel. “Family stuff, you know how it goes.”

  She nods once, though I doubt her picture perfect cape cod family has ever had even a whisper of trouble, not an ounce of scandal.

  “Are you coming back?” she asks, and I have to look away.

  Our Lady of Eternal Peace had been my mother’s choice—not mine. Though to suggest I wasn’t glad to be away from home would be a lie. As soon as I arrived on this doorstep, I’d lifted my chin and decided to prove everyone wrong. I wouldn’t be the empty-headed, spoiled daughter of a criminal that they all expected. Slowly, over the past three years, I’d chipped away at them all until every girl here wanted to be my friend, until every teacher respected my mind and my abilities.

  Well, most of them anyway. I never could quite get the virtuous good-girl act down enough to fool Sister Margery. She continued to look down her nose at me no matter what. I’d long since given up trying to win her to my favor.

  A rap at the door brings a frown to my face, “Sorry, Ella. I’m flying the coop. You’re gonna have to soldier on without me.”

  Sitting up she pulls me into a tight, quick hug.

  “Good luck, Masie.”

  Standing I drag my trunks to the door and blow her a kiss over one shoulder before I throw it open, no longer concerned with silence. Sister Margery stands at the door with her hands on her hips.

  “If you could give me a hand with that one,” I say, pointing to the second trunk.

  “I’m not your maid, girlie,” she barks.

  Squaring my shoulders, I sigh. “Fine, I suppose my driver Albert can come up here and retrieve it.”

  I watch as her cheeks flush, her lips pressing into a thin white line at the thought of a man up here in the girls dormitory, in the middle of the night.

  Finally, without a word, she bends over and takes hold of the handle, dragging it out the door and down the hall. I follow with the other trunk, closing the bedroom door with a soft click.

  Albert greets me at the foyer. The headmistress has dressed in a plaid overcoat and wool scarf and she’s leaning against the wall, waiting for us.

  Albert steps inside, taking the trunk from Sister Margery. “Please, allow me,” he says courteously.

  She releases it to him and straightens, not bothering to thank him.

  I don’t allow him to get three steps before step forward, offering him a warm hug, “Albert. It’s so good to see you.”

  He pats my back once. Albert’s been my driver since I was a girl. He’s older now, far older than seems possible, with silver hair and deep lines escaping from the sides of his eyes. I release him and he loads my cases into the back of the sedan.

  “Be sure your father knows that early departure does not mean reduced tuition,” the headmistress says finally.

  Turning to her, I realize that this is it. I’m never coming back here. And with the realization, something clicks inside me.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get your money, even if he has to knock over a bank to do it,” I respond with a wink.

  Albert opens the door and I slide across the leather seat, waving once as we speed off, shooting gravel beneath the white-w
all tires as they gape in horror at my farewell.

  By the time we reach the penthouse, the morning sun is already crawling up the Manhattan skyline. When I open the front door, the glow streams in through the massive picture windows on the east side of the apartment. It should be warm against my skin, but even the heat can’t drive away the goosebumps covering my arms. Getting called home from private school on a mysterious family emergency wasn’t how I planned for this week to go. I’d planned on taking my exams, then sneaking out of my dorm with a few other gals and hitting the local speakeasy for some relief. I’d planned on picking up some local boy and letting him hold me a little too close while we danced our cares away. I planned on racing barefoot across the commons just before dawn, my heart racing as I sneak back into my room, avoiding the watchful eyes of the nuns guarding us like hawks. I planned to go to mass and kneel, pretending to pray away my sins all the while planning my next escapade. All those plans are gone now. Devoured by the ringing of the headmistress’s telephone in the middle of the night.

  To say the call had been a surprise would be an understatement—I’d half come to believe my family had forgotten about me entirely except for the fact that they kept on sending my tuition checks. Now, standing here in this room again, a chill drives its way through me like a spike, all the reasons I left—all the reasons I’d been glad to be sent away—come flooding back. Every sharp slap in the face, every cutting word, every blow I’d endured or watched someone else endure. Every broken glass. Every tear stained pillow. Every lie I’d ever been forced to tell, even the ones I had to tell myself.

  My family isn’t like other families. We’re a powder keg, an accident waiting to happen, a stick of nitroglycerine just waiting for a spark.

  Needless to say, I hadn’t expected a welcome home party, but even so, the place is abnormally still. Though Mother usually keeps to her bedroom, normally my brother JD, Daddy, and a half a dozen guards wander about at all hours but the place is quiet as a tomb. No maids, not even Butler comes out to see to me.

  My driver Albert drops my trunks and with a tip of his page boy hat, he’s back out the door, pulling it shut behind him, leaving me alone in the foyer.

  “Daddy?” I call out. “JD?”

  Pulling off my gloves and cloche hat and tossing them on a chair I make my way past the den, beyond the entrance to the terrace, past my own bedroom, and down the hall toward the last door at the end. It opens and JD steps out, quickly shutting it behind him.

  Seeing me he rushes forward, and I match pace to meet him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

  He holds me, one hand on my back, the other at the back of my head, the way one might hold a child—or a frantic woman. I recognize the gesture immediately. It’s how Daddy holds Mother when she’s having an episode.

  “What’s going on?” I demand, wriggling free. “Where’s mother?”

  He relaxes a bit, but doesn’t release me, clinging to my arms. “She’s not here. The doctor came and went. Daddy took her to the hospital.”

  Steering me away from her door he pushes me back down the hall and onto the rooftop terrace, finally depositing me into a chair at the round glass table.

  “What hospital? I want to see her.”

  JD kneels beside me, running one hand down his face, scratching at the day old whiskers on his chin. His eyes, grey like mine, are red-rimmed and carry dark bags underneath. “Not like this you don’t. Trust me on that, Mas.”

  I stand up, “Tell me what is going on now JD. I mean it.”

  He stands, motioning for me to sit back down. I obey, if only to avoid a drawn-out battle of wills, and he turns away, heading for the cart of crystal decanters by the wall and pouring two glasses of honey-colored liquid. Carrying them in one hand, he drops one in front of me then takes a seat across from me.

  “Mother…she had an episode. Butler found her a few hours ago.” His voice is tight, his tone clipped.

  I’m not too surprised. Mother has been having episodes for years. Female hysteria, the doctors call it. Some days she’s vibrant and bright, laughing at everything and flitting through the house as if on a cloud only she can see, but other times—most of the times—she’s so sad she can’t move for the heaviness of it. She wallows for weeks at a time, refusing to rise from bed, sitting in deep tubs of water until she’s blue from the cold, throwing tantrums when anyone tries to rouse her. “Is she alright?”

  I ask. He shoots me a frown, so I revise my question. “Is she alive?”

  “Yes,” he hesitates, “barely.”

  Leaning forward on one elbow I cradle my head in my hand and lift the glass to my lips, inhaling the bitter scent of whiskey before draining the glass in one swallow. It’s good, no doubt part of daddy’s private reserves. Prohibition has brought the quality of booze down to the point where you can smell the difference, if you have a good nose. And I’ve been around the stuff for as long as I can remember. Even before everything else, daddy delivered the stuff. His trucking company was big before, now it’s the only game in the city, and he’s expanded form just delivering to manufacturing as well. His success changed things for us. It made him powerful. It made her crazy.

  “He bring home another floozy?” I ask, sliding my empty glass toward him and motioning for him to refill it.

  JD shakes his head, obeying my request before returning to his seat again and sliding the glass back across the table. “Not that I know of. But you know how it is, anything can set her off.”

  That’s not entirely true. Mother, a devout woman born in Poland and moved state side when she was just a baby, was once the most beautiful dame in town. She had canary yellow curls—like me—and big blue eyes. She was graceful, kind, and soft spoken. Dozens of fellas tried to court her—or so she told me—but she fell for daddy, even though her parents disapproved, even though her friends told her he was trouble, a no-good bum with a record to boot. But she loved him, the crazy kind of love that makes you overlook everything else, and married him.

  After prohibition passed, he went from just trucking and delivery and started dealing with lots of unsavory characters, doing lots of back alley deals and questionable associations. He’d never been what you’d consider on the level, but the longer he was in the game, the more he won, and the more he won, the meaner it made him. I was barely ten when he started stepping out on mother with some fan dancer from a club by the docks. That’s when she really went downhill. Started taking pills or whatever she could get her hands on just to get through the day. The higher he rose, the further she fell, until she had her first episode. It was right before I got sent off to school. I’d come home one afternoon from shopping and found her bleeding in the bathtub. She’d sliced her wrists.

  The docs gave her some meds after that, kept her quiet and calm, but she was never herself again, not really. She tried for JD and I, but then he joined the business with Daddy and she sort of fell apart. Said she didn’t want me raised in a home like this and sent me away. I was angry at first, but I understood, and as time went on, I realized what a relief it was, the kind of life she’d saved me from. It’s funny that I didn’t know what a family was supposed to look like until I was far away from mine.

  “I haven’t seen her since Christmas,” I admit.

  “It wouldn’t have made a difference,” he says, trying to reassure me and failing. “Doc says it’s her condition getting worse. Nothing Dutch could have done.”

  I snort, draining my second glass. He’s been Dutch, not Daddy, to JD for three years, since my brother took his place beside daddy in the business. I tried to get away with that once and got slapped so hard my face was swollen for a week. “Only because there’s no diagnosis for being tormented to death by your husband,” I say, holding the glass to my cheek.

  He frowns and I know I’ve hit a nerve. Still, the alcohol is swirling in my belly, making me warm and bold.

  “Don’t pretend he didn’t do this,” I say flatly, tipping my now empty glass upside down and flic
king it with one finger. “It’s what he does. He destroys people.”

  I hear the front door open and slam shut, then the sound of heavy footsteps approaching from behind. I assume it’s Daddy so I don’t move, I just close my eyes to try to force back my anger, to swallow my rage.

  “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” a familiar voice cackles.

  My eyes fly open and I spin in my seat, hesitation for only half a heartbeat before I jump up and throw myself into his open arms.

  “Vinny,” I say, relaxing into his embrace. “I thought you were Daddy.”

  He holds me tightly, kissing the top of my head as I nuzzle into his neck. “Not yet. Though he wasn’t that far behind me.”

  From behind me I hear JD stand, scooting his chair across the stone roof. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Taking care of business,” Vinny responds, his tone clipped. “Someone needs to.”

  I pull away, sighing heavily. JD and Vinny have been rivals since Daddy took him in when we were kids. Of course, Daddy did nothing to mitigate their feud, rather he’d often pour gas on the fire by showing preference to one over the other. He’d even brought Vinny into the organization before he allowed JD to take his place there. He’d bought Vinny his own apartment, while forcing JD to stay here in the family penthouse.

  A little competition is good for them, he’d say. Keeps them on their game.

  “Now, boys. No fighting. I just got home,” I chastise lightly. “So, what can you tell me? How is she?”

  Vinny touches the tip of my nose with his forefinger, “I wish I could tell you, Mas. By the time I got here, they were already loading her into the car. Dutch sent me to deal with some fellas making noise about the new club. I came straight back here afterwards. Didn’t expect to see you home so soon.”

  He grins, his soft, toothy grin.

  How I used to dream of that grin.

  “Why don’t you make yourself useful and go clean up the bedroom,” JD suggests, his back to us as he looks out over the edge of the roof.