All parties were painful for Richard. This one must be absolutely unbearable, she thought, trying to locate him in the swarming crowd. Meyer wasn't anywhere in sight either, so perhaps they were together. It was beyond her understanding how her husband had befriended Meyer Lansky. She sighed. Meyer wasn't Clara's favorite person, but she'd seen in Alice's eyes the woman's intentions for Charlie and she felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt. Needs must, though, Clara resolved. And Elsie Daugherty needed to be taught a lesson. Anyway, she reminded herself, it wasn't like Charlie was faithful.
Clara stumbled upon a quiet hallway that seemed to her the sort of place where Richard would escape.
"Just what do you think you are doing?" a voice said from a dark door.
"Attending my friend's father's party?" Clara said, annoyed at the feeling of relief that it was only her father lurking.
"Does that thing you married-"
"Don't you dare-"
"Allow you to wear a whore's getup-" Nucky continued.
"Allow me?" Clara answered. "I'm neither child nor slave, I needn't be allowed-"
"Darcy would have at least-"
"Ah yes. Darcy," Clara had determined not to let her father know how badly he could still upset her, but her resolve faltered. "Do you know what I keep thinking tonight? How lucky I am that I escaped. Or else I would have been a miserable little creature like Elsie Daugherty, determined to make everyone around me as unhappy as I. Or in another decade I would be Alice Longworth, so desperate to escape my life I entertain myself by going after men fifteen years my junior. Instead-"
The fury that began the moment Nucky walked into the party and saw her dressed like a showgirl standing with that thing and her little group of misfits overflowed as Clara stood there in that awful frock (that looked like something Lucy would wear for fuck's sake) and lectured him about how Darcy would have been the mistake.
It was Mabel's fault, he thought. Had Mabel been here she would have kept Clara away from that semi-decapitated backwoods creature, she would have made sure Clara knew how to dress correctly after marriage, she would have made sure Clara made an appropriate marriage...
Not, Nucky admitted ruefully, that Mabel had overly concerned herself with making a marriage her father deemed appropriate.
"Once I met you, there could have never been anyone else for me," Mabel had whispered as they clutched each other under the Boardwalk, making their plans to be together forever.
He could have understood if it were James, as sickening as he found the idea now. They had known each other since they were children, just like he and Mabel had known each other. It would make sense that they couldn't let go of each other. After all, they hadn't. Wasn't Clara shacked up with James and his little boy as much as she was the freak?
But Harrow. Not only was he a completely inappropriate choice, but...
Nucky knew in his bones how it would end. Darcy might not have been a grand passion, but Clara was young yet, she didn't know how grand passions could consume, leaving only ash and ruin behind.
Clara continued, not realizing her father's attention had splintered. "Gillian and I do have at least one thing in common, don't we? Trading our flesh to improve your lot in life was something you were able to do without a moment's hesitation. Tell me, will little Emily's infliction save her from a similar fate?"
"How dare you-" Very few times in Clara's life had Nucky been tempted to lay his hands on her, but now his fingers clenched into his fists and his muscles strained as he held back from shaking her until she stopped talking.
"You are correct. I'm being dreadfully unfair. I was twenty-one when you coerced me into trading my body for a marriage to a man I despised. I was your daughter, when I was thirteen you would have never allowed some old man to hold me down and-"
"Clara, I suggest-"
"Tell me, is that what you like best about Matheson? All of Jimmy's muscle and madness, but when you look at him you don't see someone who exists only because you betrayed a child who trusted you?"
It was for you, Nucky thought. For your mother and for the family we meant to have.
It was what he believed.
"I never heard you say no to your pretty life."
"Because you never listened," Clara said from between clenched teeth. "I wasn't even conceived when you handed Gillian over to further your own aims, how dare you-"
"What do you want me to say, Clara? How I'm sorry I improved my lot in life so I could take care of your mother? Gave you a childhood most people could only dream of? Do you want me to admit that James should have never been born, he's an abomination created from-"
The words hit like a slap, causing her to recoil backward, to put as much distance between her and the person saying them as possible. "Jimmy is not an abomination," Clara gasped out, hating the weakness even she could hear in her voice.
"So what I did was an abomination, but the result of it was not?"
Neither heard footsteps in the hall nor were they aware of how long someone had watched from the shadows.
"Nucky, there you are. It's time for our little get together," Rothstein said, eyeing Clara.
"I'll leave you to it," Clara said, struggling to slip her social smile back into place. "I must find Richard."
"Harrow will joining be us. I'm sure there are people left for you to meet," Rothstein responded in a tone Clara understood to be an order.
Clara forced a nod to go with the smile and left.
Nucky seethed anew after watching Clara following Rothstein's commands.
"A moment before we join the others, Nucky?"
"What is it, Arnold?" It was more disconcerting, Nucky thought, when Arnold tried to look pleasant.
"We are standing at a precipice. Already we are seeing more and more hijackings. People's pre-Prohibition supplies are running out."
"I understand the business we are in."
"Do you? What I understand is that you don't always notice what's happening before you."
"Are you implying I don't pay attention to my business, to my city?"
"I'm implying you were blindsided by your daughter running off with Mr. Harrow-"
"No one could have seen-"
"I saw, Nucky. Meyer saw. We saw the first time they walked into our presence. You were with them everyday. Perhaps all fathers are blind to their daughter's entanglements, but you also missed the treason your own brother, mentor, and ward were plotting together against you."
"If I remember correctly, your little apprentices were neck deep-"
"In the plot against you. They did not move against me, nor would I have missed the signs they were planning such a move. You have a new apprentice, Nucky, and whatever James Darmody and your brother plotted they were somewhat restrained by their history of affection towards you. Matheson has no such restraints."
"I can control Matheson, Arnold."
"You can do great things when your mind is on the task. You have a tiger by the tail, Nucky. Just make sure he doesn't get you by the throat," Rothstein sighed. "Everything surrounding the Irish rackets and their control over the docks is delicate. I understand that's why you sought an allegiance with Matheson, but one wrong move, Nucky, and you could set off factional war like nothing my city has ever seen. My city. Do we understand each other? The foibles of Atlantic City must never cause issue in New York."
Rose took a deep breath. She and Romola had watched until Alice escaped to the Juliet balcony to approach her and introduce themselves.
Alice had sighed inwardly when she heard footsteps approaching. She'd escaped to this balcony to watch this ridiculous party go on beneath her, knowing Borah would love every salacious detail when she wrote him in the morning. "Of course, how do you do?"
Romola steadied her nerves. "You met our friend Clara? We were wondering if you knew about her father?"
"Isn't the same story with all politicians and all fathers?" So young, so earnest, Alice thought. These two were about to ask her for a favor. Damn if she'd help Nucky Thompson, though.
"My father is far from perfect but he's never had me committed to an insane asylum. I don't believe your father did either," Romola said.
"Pardon?" Alice responded.
Romola told the story more succinctly than she would have managed, Rose thought.
Needing a moment, Alice turned back to watch the party below. "That's what they do, isn't it? Thompson shoved her into a gilded cage, and was astonished that even after he tried to break her wings she didn't fly the way he wanted her to," Alice said, and Romola recognized the barely repressed fury in her voice.
"He wouldn't have done this to a son," Romola replied.
"A son? A son he would have groomed to have his own political career. But Clara's a woman, so her charm and bright mind just meant she was good bait for some man who lacked her cunning or intelligence just because he suited her father's political agenda. Even if it meant Clara was condemned to spend the rest of her life bashing her wings against the bars of another cage. Even if it meant Clara was stuck in a marriage she hated long after the political winds changed enough that the Blaine family was no longer important to her father's political maneuverings."
"So you'll help?" Rose asked gently.
"Well, I also am but a woman, but I think it's time that Nucky Thompson learns women also know how to wield their power."
Fuck, he ain't never seen a pool like this one, Charlie thought as he lit two cigarettes and unthinkingly passed one to Meyer. Fountains, statues, Christ it was fancier than Rothstein's entire Saratoga spread and that was also fucking something. How much damn money was Remus fleecing them all out of if this was the digs he was building so his hot to trot new wife could take a daily dip?
Harrow must like it, though, Charlie pondered as he saw Harrow had rooted himself in the shadow of a statue with truly spectacular tiddies. Having now seen most of Clara's thanks to her new dress, Charlie figured Harrow was a tit man. Statue must make him feel all homey and shit.
This meeting was shaping up to be like every other he'd attended since he'd scrambled onto the game board and refused to leave. Except that when Rothstein walked in, someone else was behind him.
AR's bodyguard Peter, Charlie assumed, feeling a twinge of regret. It would have been more impressive to have Darmody shadowing him and Meyer around this godforsaken party. It had just been so damn satisfying at the moment to tell Darmody to stand outside.
But it wasn't Peter's familiar bulk behind Rothstein. It was a sight Charlie was becoming all too familiar with. Dennis Malley, whose hair was perfectly fucking straight (there weren't enough Brylcream in all of New York to keep Charlie's curls smoothed down by the end of the night), and whose smirk made Charlie's hand itch.
At least the man wasn't aiming for Meyer like a bullet this time. Just stood there grinning like a jackass behind AR.
"Hey kid," Torrio's voice said from behind him as Remus started talking about Remus's successes.
"Johnny! You need a drink or anything?"
"Nah, I'm good," Torrio's eyes swept around the pool area. "Quite a setup, ain't it?"
"Whole thing is quite a setup," Charlie answered.
"Couldn't let these idioti dice up the country without Chicago being here."
Meyer had stepped away, but Charlie knew Meyer had listened to every word. Meyer didn't understand Charlie's fondness for Johnny. To Charlie, Johnny was a standup guy who did things right. Like Charlie wanted to do. Johnny was someone who showed him how to be a man. To Meyer, Torrio was barely better than the Moustache Petes they all despised.
Remus was still talking.
"Saw Darmody outside," Torrio continued. "Smart of you to take him on. Man was a soldier. Good at strategy, at thinking things through."
Charlie heard the rebuke and bristled. He'd been further along, it wouldn't have made sense for Johnny to take him to Chicago when he left Brooklyn. Like he'd taken Al. Just cause it made sense didn't mean it didn't sting. He'd also heard what a success Darmody had been in Chicago from Al back when they'd all tried to be partners.
The only happiness Charlie got from that was how much it pissed Al off.
Remus finally stopped talking about his plans to deal with hijackers-Charlie had to admit that if nothing else they were thorough-but before Thompson could get up and start talking about how Atlantic City was the most important piece of the puzzle (like most Boardwalk attractions the man was a one-trick pony) Matheson stood up.
Charlie's reputation was staked on the idea that no man could scare him. Few did. He wasn't stupid, he wasn't Benny, always rushing off to prove his mettle. But still.
There was some men that made him feel sick. In general, he wasn't exactly crazy about micks. Buncha fucking lunatics in his opinion. Look at Darmody. And he and Miss Fancypants had been born here to parents born here. They wasn't really Irish. And god knows Legs Diamond was a headache from hell, but he still weren't as bad as Peg Leg Lonergan and his ilk.
So it maybe it was just that, Charlie told himself. He just didn't like micks.
It weren't just that, though. Something about Matheson made him want to move closer to Meyer-to protect or be protected by Charlie wasn't sure, it was all the same with them anyway-because the man made his skin crawl. It wasn't just brutal practicalness, the kind they was all capable of. It was something uglier and darker. Matheson was the kind of man who liked the sound of women and children and little pets crying out in pain.
There was a guy, at Hampton Farms. Charlie didn't like thinking about him. Charlie hadn't filled out yet, was barely more than a scrawny kid. That guy, though. All them fucking potatoes, Charlie guessed. He was bigger. But more than that he was meaner. Meaner even than Charlie's old man, and Charlie was an experienced veteran of his cruelty. At night the guards didn't care what happened, ignored the cries of the younger inmates. The smaller ones.
The pretty ones.
Charlie never hurt nobody that hadn't hurt him first. He could go find that guy. Destroy him. But he didn't. Not that he didn't think about the feeling of his knuckles covered by brass slamming against the man's face again and again and again until there was nothing left but pulp. Just a mangled mess. Of making the man scream. But somehow the idea of finding him, of seeing him, was worse than the idea of letting him live his life unpunished. Because even after he wasn't in the same block no more, Charlie'd still see him in the yard. It gave him the same feeling every time, like fire leaping up from his stomach into his heart, which would beat so fast Charlie thought it might just explode in his chest. The heat would move into his skin until he felt like he was burning from the inside out. He couldn't stand the idea of feeling that way again.
It weren't that bad with Matheson, but he felt some of that same heat in his chest every time. It's why he'd coined the name Leprechaun Jimmy, one 'cause it was clear Thompson was just trying to replace Darmody anyway he could, but mostly 'cause the name put Matheson in his place.
Charlie took a deep breath. He was being crazy, that's all, he told himself.
And then he looked across the pool and saw the good side of Harrow's mouth pull to the side. Harrow felt it. Charlie remembered him holding on to Clara like he was afraid Matheson might just snatch her. Next to him, Meyer stood perfectly still, but Charlie could see Meyer's fingers tense to the point where his cigarette was slightly crushed.
Rothstein finally cut Matheson off. "As Mr. Matheson has extensively brought to our attention this evening, it is important we all come to some sort of understanding with the Irish. The public is on our side, gentleman, but if the trafficking of liquor turns violent that could easily change. Then all of our lives will be more difficult, and, we can safely presume, far less lucrative. That is why I have brought on Mr. Dennis Malley. Not only does he extensive ties in the Irish community, but he also married into New York society. He will be working with Mr. Harrow and Mr. Luciano to ensure good relations among those factions in the city."
Once Charlie would have said Harrow was just a piece of tin with legs. Now he knew that wasn't the case, 'cause he could see Harrow was as disgusted by the idea of working with Malley as Charlie was.
"Just why am I supposed to give a flying fuck about those two potato eating numbskulls?" Torrio asked where only Charlie could hear him.
Must her entire life be spent smiling up at local politicians like they were dropping pearls of wisdom instead of repeating the same tired political maxims she'd heard her entire life? Apparently, all men in Ohio were as distasteful as Harding.
If she didn't get a few minutes alone the facade Rothstein demanded was going to start showing visible cracks. She wandered down another hallway, looking for somewhere to sit and hide until she could gather the stamina to go back into the party.
Footsteps echoed off the marble floor, causing Clara's shoulders to hunch in a flash of fear. She didn't want to run into her father again, and she didn't want to be alone in this hallway with a stranger. Or Matheson.
In another second she realized the footsteps were familiar and she smiled in relief. "Sir, my husband doesn't much care for me to be alone with strange men."
"Hmm. It could be. Our secret," Richard responded.
"I'm tired of secrets," Clara said softly and reached back for his hand.
She felt him lean into her as much as she was leaning against him, and felt his tension mixing with hers. It was too much, she thought. All of it. And she didn't see a way for them to escape, not right now. Not with Jimmy in it, not with Gillian waiting to snatch Tommy the moment Clara's attention wavered, not with her father desperate.
"Did my father bring Matheson to the meeting?" Clara asked, knowing the answer was yes, but ready to rage at the unfairness of that thing at her father's side while Jimmy stood outside by the cars. Like he was no one. Like he was just the help. An abomination.
"Clara. I can't-"
No, of course not, Clara thought and sighed out loud without realizing.
"The moment the clock strikes twelve, let's leave. No one will be able to say we haven't done our duty, and-"
At the sound from the next room of bodies slamming against the floor, Richard moved them so quickly Clara wasn't certain how she ended up between him and the wall.
"Goodness!" Clara said, trying not to laugh as she saw the realization hit Richard's face. "You've gotten to listen to so many other couples this trip!"
Richard took a deep breath and brushed a stray curl back from her face. "It's. Unfair. We are. The newlyweds."
"Practically still on our honeymoon," Clara answered.
"First. Strike of. Twelve," Richard said.
Right then another sound echoed through the marbled chambers of the mansion.
"Remus must've imported his dinner gong straight from hell," Clara said, turning to kiss the hand still cupping her face. Richard moved at the same moment so that her mouth fell against the inside of his wrist.
Her crimson lipstick left a dark stain against the white of his skin.
"What the fuck is Rothstein doing?" Charlie asked the moment he and Meyer were alone.
Meyer wasn't certain. Their gang already broke all the rules, combining Jew and Italian with whatever people like Harrow and Darmody were. But the Irish. The Irish were something else but usually operated under the understanding that they wouldn't strike if left alone.
Life was about seeing an opportunity when one was available, but Meyer couldn't quite work out the angles on this one. It seemed a foolish bet.
Masseria, the other old Italian Mustache Petes, and that mamzer Waxey Gordon down in Philly, weren't they enough to contend with? AR was already in deep with Remus and Thompson, why this sudden interest in the Irish? When Thompson had taken up with Matheson-and there was something absolutely offputting about the man-Lansky figured Thompson was returning to his own roots. But AR and Malley...
"I ain't looking forward to that succhiacazzi working with us." Charlie growled.
"Rothstein must have his reasons," Meyer answered in an attempt to placate.
"Or maybe you just like the idea?" Charlie responded.
That note in Charlie's voice was all too familiar. Charlie was as hot as a tea kettle just ready to boil and it wouldn't take much to set him whistling.
"Or is it you just like the idea of him following you around like a bitch in heat?"
Meyer threw the cigarette to the ground and glanced around to make sure they were alone. "Haven't we already had this discussion?"
He didn't miss the wince on Charlie's face, even if he wasn't sure what caused it.
"Yeah, Mey, we did. I'm good enough for now, right? 'Til you find some good baleboste to come home to every night?"
"Charlie this is not..."
"Don't worry, Meyer. I got it."
It was almost midnight. Dinner had gone better than she expected, mostly because Romola had switched place cards around so that Richard sat between Margaret and Carolyn. What a silly tradition that husbands and wives couldn't be seated together, Clara thought. She'd ended up with Draper Daugherty and some ancient judge who all but drooled down the front of her dress.
The women had been sent to the drawing-room after dinner, of course, while the men had their brandies and cigars but now Imogene had (rather rudely, in Clara's opinion) decreed they should go out to the pool.
Clara had spent over a decade swimming in the pool in the basement of the Ritz and always thought it quite nice. This pool was...goodness, it was something else! Unless she badly missed the mark the statuary in the glassed-in enclosure had been imported from Europe, probably from some old house whose family could no longer afford the upkeep of their estate.
"Happy to have your own wheels?" Charlie asked from behind her. Clara had received many a party favor over the years but never had she received a thousand dollar bill under her dinner plate and the keys to a brand new Oldsmobile. From her dinner companions, she gathered Richard had also received the money, along with a diamond stickpin and gold watch.
"What a party," Clara said in response. Without speaking they moved to stand behind one of the statues as Remus climbed the ladder to the high dive with his wife and step-daughter.
For one moment Clara thought the exertion was going to be too much for the man. God only knew how he survived nights with his new wife.
They couldn't hear over everyone around them, but suddenly the girl dove off the board in her filmy white gown.
"You know," Charlie said, "looking at your tiddies all night is bad enough, but she ain't old enough to peddle her wares like that."
Just then Mrs. Remus ripped off her gown with all the moves of a Ziegfield showgirl to reveal a beaded swimsuit and followed her daughter off the board. Remus jumped in feet first after them.
"It's rare," Clara said after a moment, "but I'm actually speechless."
Others weren't. Suddenly there was a rush to the pool.
"Gillian. She called me," Charlie said.
"Whatever for?" Clara asked. "Her bed cold?"
"She got money troubles. Wants to turn that mausoleum into some sort of fancy cathouse."
Clara considered Charlie's words as she watched more people jump into the pool wearing their dinner jackets and evening dresses.
"Are you going to invest?" she asked quietly.
Charlie looked over at her, surprised. "Why? I thought you'd act all horrified at the notion."
The Commodore's estate was complicated. She knew Jimmy hadn't realized any money from it, and that he was sending Gillian money to keep her and that horrible mansion going. A self-supporting Gillian would be one burden off Jimmy's back.
But Clara also recognized an ace as it slid into her hand, waiting to be played. A brothel was no place for a child. A madam was not a fit guardian in the eyes of society. Gillian getting involved in the flesh trade was another strike against her ever getting her claws into Tommy.
"Word is she's ballin' Leprechaun Jimmy," Charlie continued. "But I guess she don't want to ask him for cash."
The first good sense Gillian had shown in years, Clara thought. Goodness, though. Poor Jimmy. A look-a-like had taken his place at her father's side, and his mother was bedding that same man. Clara knew Gillian well enough to know Gillian had run her own calculations and decided Matheson was an acceptable risk.
She shivered despite the damp heat.
"Might I have a cigarette?" Clara asked.
Charlie raised an eyebrow, but pulled two cigarettes from his gold case and lit them both before passing one to Clara. They watched Ivy Wells swan dive gracefully into the pool wearing her lovely gold gown, followed by Eddie Cantor pratfalling off the board and landing with a splash that drenched those poolside.
"I only ever seen you smoke with Darmody," Charlie said.
That's true, Clara thought. Once she only ever smoked with Jimmy. But everyone was changing. Growing up. Adapting.
"Charlie, I would consider it a personal favor if you would underwrite Gillian in this endeavor."
He had decided he would before he told Clara. It was good for him to have things that were just his. Meyer didn't want to share everything. Fucking fine. He could do this. How the fuck could he lose with Gillian running a whorehouse in Atlantic City? He could keep her amply supplied in booze, and he was sure she could find good cooze.
Richard and Meyer came up behind them.
"Peter is driving AR and Carolyn back to the hotel in her new car," Meyer said.
"Clock. Struck twelve," Richard said and Clara smiled.
"Well, sir, if you'd be so good as to drive me back to the hotel..."
Charlie considered gagging as a girl in a wet dress approached them.
"I've been trying to get you alone all night," she announced breathlessly.
Without thinking, Charlie smiled his best smile. "Well..."
The girl grabbed Richard by the arm. "I'd consider it my patriotic duty to show you a good time."
Richard stood absolutely silent, but Clara knocked the girl's arm away. "Excuse me?"
"Don't get all hot, honey. I'm sure he's got enough for both of us."
Charlie was still angry, but he couldn't stop himself from commenting. "I think the princess is gonna drown a pest."
Meyer lit a cigarette. "Can't see her put forth that much effort."
Charlie snorted in response.
"...and I suggest you tread carefully before you ever approach someone's husband again." Clara continued, and the girl backed away. Clara turned back towards them. "This party is absolutely out of control! It's going past a bacchanalia and straight into an orgy! Let's go..."
Another woman approached.
"Clara, Mr. Luciano, I was wondering if you could help me with a little difficulty?" Alice Longworth asked.
Clara didn't miss the way the woman looked at Charlie from under her eyelashes.
"I told my chauffeur I'd call him when I was ready to leave, but now I have a car and no way to get it home. I was wondering if you could assist me?"
Charlie smirked. "I'd consider it my patriotic duty to get you home. My driver is out there. He can follow us."
Clara's eye roll was so obvious Alice was the only one who missed it.
"Lovely," Alice said.
Charlie looked at Meyer straight in the eye. "You can ride with the Harrows here or AR?" and then looped his arm into Alice's and walked away.
Carolyn watched Charlie and Clara smoke and chat with a comfortable familiarity that would cause Arnold to lock her in the brownstone without hopes of escaping until she boarded a steamship for Europe. Arnold was behind her, back behind some ancient statue she knew would come to ruin between the chemicals and dank wet heat of the glassed-in pool. He only thought she was unaware of his presence. Meyer and Charlie were certainly in a tiff about something-how illuminating it was late at night when everyone's masks fell away due to drink and fatigue-but what kept Carolyn's attention were the small ways Mr. Harrow and Clara found to touch each other. It seemed almost odd, especially because it wasn't for anyone else to see.
Alice Roosevelt swept up to the group before leaving with Charlie. Carolyn thought she could feel Arnold's pleasure at that moment. The look on the woman's face as she looked at Charlie was all too familiar.
Poor Meyer. They would be the only two at the Cincinnatian laying in cold beds that night.
"Tired, Sweet?" Arnold asked, having moved so quietly she wasn't certain when he had appeared at her side.
"I certainly am capable of seeing a party through," Carolyn said and could hear the waspishness in her tone.
"Your little gamble paid off, insisting on attending. A car and cash."
Carolyn smiled. "A little extra pin money for my trip."
Suddenly Arnold's face went ice cold. "I wasn't aware I wasn't providing enough."
"Is that what I said? But at the same time, there's always the problem of ready cash, isn't there, dear?"
It wasn't enough that he'd stood outside in the cold so long his balls had taken up residence in his stomach. Charlie came swaggering out with a lady-and Jimmy could see she was very much a lady. In fact, it looked like...
Alice God Damn Roosevelt.
"Darmody, I'm gonna drive Mrs. Longworth's new car. Follow me."
A line of new Oldsmobile's had come rolling up the driveway a bit ago. "New car?"
"Remus gave all the broads at the party an Olds. Do you need to wait for the society page write up or can you start driving?"
Jimmy watched Charlie help Alice into one of the cars. The heat of anger displaced the cold. Clara got an Olds. Rose got an Olds. And if Remus was handing out automobiles to the women, then the men probably got impressive favors as well.
So Charlie, Meyer, Richard, Rose's bastard of a husband. They all were showered with gifts for coming to Ohio and all he got was shrunken testicles. They turned down Grandin Road and Jimmy hoped the night was almost over as Charlie flipped the car quickly onto a long driveway.
Jimmy just managed to make the turn. The Cadillac limo AR rented was a fucking beast. Worse even than Nucky's piece of shit Rolls.
A white stone mansion glowed before them, a tower perched over the roof making it look more like a prison than a home. Suddenly Charlie swerved onto the manicured lawn and Alice Roosevelt all but tumbled out the passenger door. Jimmy slammed on the brakes.
Charlie came around to the back of the Caddy. "There blankets in this hearse?"
"Wraps, yeah," Jimmy responded. "What-"
"Just wait for me."
Charlie went back around to where Alice leaned against the car, before throwing one blanket on the ground. Alice fell down on top of it soon and yanked Charlie down with her.
The actual fuck, Jimmy thought. No way was-
Jesus Christ, her in-laws could see if they looked out their windows!
He'd had to listen to Charlie fucking his mother, of course, when they were setting him up. That had been bad enough. But to see it. Damn, Charlie went at it like a jackrabbit. The woman was going to be rubbed raw tomorrow! How the hell would she explain that to her husband?
God damn, had he ever left any marks on Rose she had to explain when she went home to that bastard Dennis? He tried to be gentle, but fuck sometimes when-
"Hijack me! HIJACK ME!" Alice shrieked from the ground and Jimmy wondered what Charlie would do if when he came back to the car there was a bullet in Jimmy's head.
There was a lot he needed to consider and think through. At the moment he couldn't. There had been many nights where Clara had sat at Rothstein's table at the Cafe Madrid and he stood in the shadows. Those nights were difficult. It was one thing to work for Rothstein, it was another to watch Clara forced into playing some game he didn't understand. This night was worse.
Clara had survived the meeting with her father, but it still surprised him when she curled against his side as he took in the new Oldsmobile. It had been a long time since it had just been them in a vehicle on a dark street. Without Tommy or Jimmy or anything else to distract them.
"It's. A nice car," Richard said.
"It is, we should get a pretty penny for it," Clara responded.
He was surprised. "You don't. Want to sell. The Ford? Keep this?"
Clara tilted her head up to smile at him. "The Ford is ours. We've had lovely times in it."
Getting the car into second gear, he took a moment to reach for her hand. They were silent.
"What are. You thinking?"
"How lovely this is. We need to take the Ford out more, just us. But also about filling stations."
Richard frowned. "The car has. A full tank."
"Oh, I'm sure. I meant more in general. About building one. With a garage."
"You want. A garage?" He knew enough about cars to keep one going. It wasn't enough to manage a garage, to fix other people's vehicles.
"To lease out, not to run," Clara answered. "We were saving for a house, a hardware store. That's been...delayed. So we should do something with our money, and I don't understand the stock market. Do you? The idea of putting our money in something we can't touch or see scares me. My grandfather had the bathhouses and a little hotel, some houses. Other things. He was always buying and selling property. He'd tell me 'the one thing they aren't making more of, Princess, is land.' And Remus gifted us a tidy amount tonight."
Her imitation of her grandfather's voice sounded rather like Leander Whitlock. Her mother's father, then. His father had said something similar, though. Something tickled him about Clara in her fancy velvet cape planning a real estate empire like her grandfather's. She'd be more than capable of doing it, of course, but he worried what drove the impulse.
"Why. The dress?" he finally asked.
Clara stiffened. "Did it upset you? That's not-"
"Mmm. I would have. Liked it better. In our room."
"Is it terrible?' Clara said, doubt in her voice. "We wanted to upstage Imogene Remus because of how she's treated Romola. Also...I'm not Clara Thompson any longer. Ivy Wells told me I was a married woman living in New York, what was I waiting for? If you thought it was too much or I didn't look good in it..."
It had not been his intention to upset her. He took a deep breath and moved from her hand to his leg. Clara had dressed with her friends. He felt her intake of breath and her hand tightening on his leg.
He pulled off the road. "I thought. We could. Stargaze?"
The car was cold but Clara's face was hot and the windows of the automobile were so fogged Clara wasn't sure how Richard managed to see to drive as she desperately tried to finger comb her hair back into place and adjusted her cape to cover her.
"We really, really need to get upstairs," she finally breathed out.
Richard didn't speak. Goodness, his hair was in worse shape than hers. Her fault, of course. However, she was now sure keeping the Ford was the right choice. The Olds had proven far less comfortable for stargazing, and at one point Richard had simply put her back in her seat and tried to get her tucked back in her dress. Unfortunately, she'd already heard the distinctive rip of fabric so that was a bit of wasted effort.
Instead of waiting for the doorman, Clara stumbled from the passenger side door as Richard tossed the keys to the valet. She knew they were a sight, absolutely clinging to each other as they made their way across the lobby, but they were hardly the biggest spectacle in the lobby that night. The elevator doors were closing and she heard him trying to speak loudly enough for the elevator operator to hear him.
"Hold the elevator, please," Clara called loudly as Richard was half dragged her across the lobby.
They were breathless when they stepped inside, Clara despairing that no hotel lobby had ever felt bigger. Luckily there was only one other couple and they were even more-
When the man stepped away the first thing she noticed was the dress. Like Ivy's.
"Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?"
Of course, she knew the voice, and when her eyes finally went in his direction she knew the rest of him. But why was he in an elevator at her hotel with Ivy, with Ivy-
"You are in no condition to be in public..." Nucky continued.
She hadn't been with her husband since Christmas Day! And the last days had been filled with everyone but them getting to be together. And now her father stood before her with some child and dared question her behavior and appearance? She'd spent the end of 1921 angry and now it seemed she'd spend the beginning of 1922 in the same state. "Excuse me, I'm in this condition with my husband. Why are you here with your hands all over some child you just met while your wife's back at your hotel?"
"You know Gus?" Ivy asked, her eyes darting from her neighbors to her lover.
"You know Clara?" Nucky asked, turning to Ivy.
"Gus? That's Nucky Thompson," Clara answered at the same time.
"Her name. Was Clara. Thompson," Richard answered while wishing with every part of his body the operator hadn't held the elevator for them.
Richard knew the exact moment everything became clear to Nucky and Clara because they made the same expressions. Confusion. Anger. Slow dawning horror.
Nucky remembered Christmas Day, laying in Ivy's bed and hearing the herd of elephants above them. A young couple and her brother or his cousin and a real cute kid, she'd said. The husband was a sight to behold who only had an eye for his wife. Jesus fucking Christ. What were the god damn odds? That hadn't been the only time he'd heard them either, because Arnold's cheap as shit renovation had all those pipes and bad insulation that carried sound.
There were things about his daughter he had not needed to know.
Things fell into place for Clara just as quickly. Ivy's mystery man who gave her shopping money. Sometimes she'd hear the rhythmic pounding of Ivy's headboard against the wall and sounds carried through whatever bizarre way the tubing was put in for the boilers and electricity...
It was her father.
"Well," Clara said in a deadly cold voice, "you replaced Mother with Margaret so I supposed Lucy was also due to be switched for a younger, fresher version. I left the state and still I must listen to you bed some show-"
"Don't ever speak to me like that. You stand there looking like a strumpet-"
"Seventh floor," the operator said quietly.
"Clara," Richard said as he gently pushed her out of the elevator ahead of him and turned back towards Nucky. "Don't ever. Talk. To her. Like that. Again," he said, his voice not needing to rise for the meaning behind the words to be clear.
"What a bunch of horsefeathers," Ivy said from the corner while digging in her evening bag for a smoke.
AR had been what, for him, passed as boisterous and Carolyn silent on the ride to the hotel. Meyer had hoped to slip away, but AR insisted Meyer accompany them to their suite and ordered cake and tea for them all. Underneath the seeming cheer, Meyer felt something else humming in AR and was almost desperate to make his escape, but Rothstein had seemed just as desperate for his company.
He had no need for AR and Carolyn to discern his feelings so he left as possible. The elevators were quite slow, so he took the stairs down to his floor. As he walked down the hall he was treated to the sight of Clara Harrow, looking quite mussed, tumbling out of the elevator and Richard following. Even in the heat of summer when they had carried boxes of liquor, he had never seen the man look so disheveled.
Ah, Meyer realized.
Clara looked at him, her face flaming. "Did you know? Did everyone know but me?"
Perhaps he should have waited for an elevator, Meyer thought and sighed tiredly.
Just then the other elevator opened. Charlie strutted out. Darmody's face was raw and red and the man looked...well, much like Meyer felt.
"Harrow, I bet you thought you were the only one who could bag a princess," Charlie said, and although his words were addressed to Richard his eyes were on Meyer.
"I need a damn drink," Jimmy announced and pushed past Richard and Clara into the suite.
"Same," Clara said and followed behind him.
Harrow cast a worried look at one of the bedroom doors and disappeared through it while Jimmy and Clara fell on the drinks table.
"Did all of you know?" Clara repeated as she poured a healthy dose of whiskey into a glass.
"Know what?" Jimmy asked irritably.
"That my father has been bedding Ivy," Clara snapped.
Clara's friend, who lived in AR's building, in the apartment beneath Richard and Clara, Meyer realized. He didn't have to wonder how Thompson had happened to meet her.
"The showgirl who told you to show off your tits?" Charlie asked and laughed. "Fuck, she even looks like you."
The sound Clara maybe was somewhere between gagging and a deep sigh.
Jimmy poured more liquor into Clara's glass. "Nah, she looks like Mabel."
"All of Father's women look like my mother," Clara said and finished off that drink as well. "Except for Lucy."
Lucy too, Jimmy mouthed over her head as Harrow came back in the room.
"At least she's old enough to be your baby sister," Charlie said. "Anyway, I ain't here to talk about whatever cooze Thompson's banging now. Not when I just did it with a First Daughter."
Charlie was all but preening, just like he preened after he'd return from Jimmy's mother. Inordinately proud of himself, Meyer thought.
"Alice Roosevelt?" Clara asked Jimmy.
"Right on her in-laws lawn. She couldn't wait to get in my pants. She was aching for it. She-" Charlie said, still beaming with pride.
"She yelled hijack me," Jimmy intercut drily. "You know, at the finish."
Clara choked on her drink and Meyer would have swore he heard Harrow laugh.
"Well, my father had one that yelled ride 'em, cowboy, so why shouldn't Charlie have one that wants to play cops and bandits?" Clara said drily.
"That wasn't as bad as when she yelled daddy," Jimmy answered.
"Almost nothing in my life has been as bad as that," Clara responded with a laugh that lacked cheer. "We were still in high school."
"Spring of senior year. We were studying Latin," Jimmy said and smiled at her. "Jesus, you didn't even know what was going on at first."
"We ain't got time for tales from growing up at the Ritz," Charlie snapped. "Like I was saying-"
Clara and Jimmy slumped to the floor while Charlie continued to recount every detail. They weren't paying attention. Charlie was telling the story to Harrow, but Meyer knew it was for his benefit. Charlie was punishing him. Because Charlie thought Dennis Malley was making some sort of move on Meyer. Because Meyer had admitted at some point he was going to need to get married.
Annoyance flickered inside of him. How many nights had he lain alone while Charlie was god knows where? Charlie had all but vibrated each time they had gone to Atlantic City. When AR sent Charlie to go after Darmody and he'd come back preening. If they had known how quickly the war would end there would have been no need for Charlie to contract the clap. There had been no way of knowing the war would end, that the biggest danger might've been Charlie spent some months in a camp in the Midwest.
Even that would have carried dangers, though. Influenza. On balance, it had been the correct decision. Meyer believed so, even when Charlie got a little drunker than normal one night and said 'it don't work no more Meyer.'
It brought Charlie focus, Meyer thought. Instead of being distracted by chasing skirt he focused in on building their business. Meyer couldn't bring himself to admit it, but he liked it.
And then suddenly it started working again with Gillian Darmody.
Clara and Jimmy were still talking to each other.
"Hey princess," Charlie said, and Meyer knew he was jealous Clara was chatting with Darmody. The woman had been all to happy of late to play audience to Charlie. "Don't you and your neighbor go shopping together?"
"We do," Clara answered slowly. It was clear she knew Charlie was leading somewhere with this but didn't know where.
"She go with you to get the stays?" Charlie asked, and his eyes were practically dancing.
Clara's eyebrows knitted. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," she called out.
Harrow was a good man, so Meyer didn't look over to see the man's reaction.
"What the fuck are stays?" Darmody asked. No one answered for a very long time.
"Mmm. They hold down. Your shirt," Harrow finally answered.
"Harrow, come on now. They do more than that. See, Clara walked in on me changing..."
"You weren't changing," Clara snapped. "You were naked in our morning room."
"And Clara came barging in and liked what she saw so much she said she needed a pair for Harrow."
Darmody closed his eyes. "Because Richard's shirt doesn't stay in place?"
"'Cause she liked what she saw, Darmody."
"I don't want to hear this," Darmody said.
"Why? You and the Princess know all about Thompson and your ma."
"That's different," Jimmy and Clara said at the same time.
"We didn't have a choice about our parents. Gillian..." Clara's voice drifted off, and Meyer saw her look at Jimmy. "Well, discretion wasn't perhaps her strongest talent."
"Nucky tried to keep his women away from Clara, after Mabel..." Darmody's voice drifted off.
"What Jimmy meant to say is that my father thought that as long as he didn't formally introduce me to his women, or to the people who came to his parties, then anything I heard didn't matter."
"But we don't talk about these things."
Darmody had told them Clara was like his sister. That meant something to them, Meyer realized. Even now, as adults, they worked hard to keep that story going. Drawing a line between the people their parents had been and the people they were going to be. Wasn't their generation supposed to be looser, more morally lax? And yet they were determined to not be their parents, at least in this small way.
They knew what they wanted and they got it. Meyer's eyes drifted over to Harrow, who watched his wife with concern. Not jealously, Meyer noted. Sometimes it was there with Charlie-what husband would want their wife spending her evenings with Charlie-but never with Darmody. Harrow also believed that they were family.
Harrow also knew what he wanted, and he got it. No piece of skirt was worth having Nucky Thompson as a father-in-law, and there was nothing about Clara that made Meyer think she'd be worth the effort, but she was what the man wanted.
Meyer wondered if he would ever want a woman like that. He already knew he wanted a person like that. He wanted Charlie. He'd always wanted Charlie. But they couldn't have what Harrow and Clara had. People might stare at them, but in the end they were a couple like all the other couples. Their families knew. Their days of being each others secret was well in the past. Clara would never screw someone and be thrilled to tell Harrow every detail.
It wasn't that their lives were so different. Knowing the schedule AR kept, there was a good chance he spent more time with Charlie than Harrow did with Clara. And Harrow couldn't tell Clara things. They couldn't share things the way Charlie and Meyer did.
But there were so many other things they could share.
"You are such an idiot," Clara said to Darmody.
Meyer was grateful his time to find a wife hadn't yet come.
"Why? You got Luciano to pal around with, and you got Richard..."
"I love Richard," Clara answered. "So does Tommy. But Jimmy, you are still the only brother I'm ever going to have. You are still Tommy's father. You are still Richard's friend. And we all still need you."
Darmody didn't look up, so Clara leaned over and took his face in her hands. "You are always going to be the person that sat with me the night my mother died. You are the only person who doesn't look at me with pity when they find out how."
Meyer had heard rumors about Thompson's first wife. The stories were so outlandish as to be unbelievable.
"What? You act like everyone doesn't have these stories, Clara," Jimmy said and Clara laughed in response.
Something unsaid went between them. What had those two been through, he wondered. He had been cold and hungry while Thompson's money protected them. Yet they looked like they survived some awful thing that bonded them together.
"Apparently not everyone's mother prefers corpses to them..." Clara began.
Ah, Meyer thought. She and Jimmy were very, very drunk.
Harrow suddenly kneeled in front of his wife, and picked her up. It wasn't the first time, Meyer thought, that Harrow had pulled Clara back when memories of her mother became to real.
"Alice said..." Charlie continued.
"Oh for god's sake," Clara said from over her husband's shoulder. "We are going to hear about this for the rest of our lives.
Meyer realized for once he had to agree with Clara.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
*Alice Roosevelt Longworth had a long running affair with Senator Borah. In fact, her daughter was called Aurora Borah Alice in recognition that it was Borah, not Longworth, who was the likely father.
*The pool, Remus/wife/step daughter diving into the pool, and the party favors all actually happened.
*Carolyn regularly escaped to Europe, and AR did have a terrible habit of locking her in a glass cage.
*Charlie told the story of a society lady whom asked him to driver her home and then got intimate with him on the front lawn and yelled "hijack me!" is all from his memoir.
*It wasn't Alice Roosevelt, though.
*Act Two kicks off with the next chapter, and I promise A LOT of secrets start coming out!