The Pretty Ones Page 9

  “You do not know what he will do with money you give,” the woman murmured beneath her breath. Despite the early hour, Nell could already pick up the faint scent of onions wafting up from the old woman’s hands.

  The man came closer, his cup clattering above the scream of train wheels on the tracks. Help me, the clamor implored.

  “Maybe he eat, or maybe will drink, or maybe he buy knife and kill for more money. You don’t know, you see? Do not give.” The woman placed her gnarled, onion-scented fingers over Nell’s hand, hiding the coins from sight as the man limped by. “You do not know,” she whispered. “You only know what you do.”

  Nell pulled her hand away from the woman, but her fingers remained closed over the coins that were growing warm in her palm. She imagined the homeless man counting out change in a secondhand store, trying to haggle the price of a butterfly knife. Stress response syndrome could turn the city feral. The knife, held tight in his grasp, would be ready to strike at anything that dared come too close. Or maybe he’d take the money to a diner and buy himself a ham sandwich. Maybe he’d spend it on an ice cream cone—an extravagant luxury in the face of destitution and heat.

  The man scuttled past once more. What sounded like a single coin clamored against the tin cup. Not enough for food, for weaponry, for hope.

  Nell averted her gaze as he wandered by.

  “Dobra djevojka,” the woman said. “May God keep you.”

  Nell considered responding to the woman’s blessing, but the kerchiefed lady rose from her seat as the train approached the upcoming station. She hobbled onto the platform, only to look back at Nell before the doors slid shut. Crossing herself, her lips moved soundlessly as Nell squeezed the dimes in her hand. There was a quiet irony to the woman’s advice, telling the sister of a man who’d murdered a girl in an alley to count her blessings like saved loose change. And if Nell revealed Barrett’s secret? If she had leaned into the old woman ever-so-slightly to whisper into her ear: My brother is a killer. What would the woman have done? Would she have sage words of advice for her? Would she have blessed Nell then?

  The train came to a shuddering halt at 42nd Street and Bryant Park. Nell rose, the warm coins rolling out of her palm to her feet. The endless rattle of the homeless man’s cup stalled. Rather than moving on to the next car, he had taken a seat a few yards away, tired, more than likely hungry. But his hearing was sharp. Somehow, he was able to hear the ping of cupronickel against the floor over the stomping of feet. Over the pneumatic hiss of the doors opening and closing. Over the murmur of morning conversation. He rushed her like a hungry dog, as though he was about to attack. But rather than laying his dirty hands on Nell’s clean blouse and office skirt, he skidded onto his knees and began to collect the coins.

  Nell stepped off the train. She didn’t look back.

  . . .

  Savannah Wheeler stepped up to Nell’s desk a few minutes before lunch.

  “Hey, we were wondering if you’d like to have lunch with us.” She looked over her shoulder. Miriam Gould, who stood a few feet behind her, offered up a halfhearted smile. Adriana Esposito didn’t bother looking at Nell, clearly over the invitation before it was ever made. Mary Ann Thomas was nowhere to be seen.

  Nell stammered, unsure she’d heard correctly. “W-what?” She had been expecting lunch with Savannah—that was why she had tied the ribbon in her hair. Plans of bravery and asking to join her for a bite to eat had circled Nell’s thoughts all morning. It was, however, a surprise that Savannah beat her to the punch, extending an invitation rather than Nell having to inquire.

  “Well, you’re hungry, aren’t you? Don’t you want to eat?” Savannah shrugged, as if to say the offer wasn’t that big of a deal. “We’re going across the street to Moe’s. They’ve got great pastrami on rye.”

  The truth of it was Nell wasn’t hungry. She never was—not for breakfast or lunch. But when she had started skipping meals for that very reason, Barrett had immediately noticed. He’d left her a long note taped to her bathroom mirror about the dangers of buying into beauty ideals. He’d dropped words like anorexia and purging into his decree. Put ideas of emergency rooms and IVs into her head. Reminded her that if she ended up in the hospital, she could lose her job. Their income. Their home. Their entire way of life. Nell put aside her hope of losing a few pounds and ate anyway, despite feeling full. She’d clear off Barrett’s empty dinner plate—always left on the kitchen table for her to tend to—and make herself toast and jam. She’d pack a lunch, afraid that Barrett would check the fridge for signs of what she’d taken with her in a brown paper sack, and eat that too. Because throwing out good food was unacceptable. They were on a budget. Bologna sandwiches didn’t grow on trees.

  Except that Nell was carrying extra cash today. Her sandwich was going soggy in her desk cabinet, but she’d deal with the guilt of wasting it for once. She could afford to drop a few bucks on lunch, if only today. But Adriana and Miriam, were they really okay with her tagging along? That doesn’t matter, she thought. Savannah invited you, not them. They don’t have to come along if they don’t want to. She was set on change, and neither Adriana nor Miriam were going to deter her.

  But the booth at Moe’s happened to be sticky and far more uncomfortable than she had anticipated. It was as though the person who had sat in it last had slathered the table with pancake syrup and then shrunk the booth down to half its size. It reminded her of the frosting she had yet to completely get out of the kitchen floorboards. Tacky, like tiny octopus tentacles adhering to the bottoms of her bare feet.

  Nell tried to read the menu while gingerly holding it between a pair of fingers, turning the thick laminated pages without touching them too much.

  “Ugh, disgusting,” Adriana complained, turning her own menu over with a set of French manicured nails. “We should have gone to Finnigan’s. At least it’s sanitary there.”

  “So,” Savannah said, turning her attention away from Adriana’s grievances and focusing on Nell instead. “How’re you feeling?”

  Nell watched Adriana and Miriam’s faces for half a tick before settling on Savannah’s concerned expression. She nearly jumped the gun and assured Savannah that she was fine, just fine. Great really, now that she didn’t have to eat her bologna and cheese sandwich in the break room by herself. If only Barrett could see her now. He’d blow a gasket, for sure. And for some reason, picturing him freaking out amused her rather than caused the usual worry. She was in too good a mood to tarnish the afternoon with anxiety. After all, the police hadn’t bothered to stop by the office to ask a single question about Linnie. The cops were looking in the wrong direction, and her brother should have been counting his lucky stars; Nell certainly was. Just another reason to shrug off tension and enjoy the moment. But the thought of Linnie made her expression fall. Surely, Mary Ann had voiced her doubts about Nell and Linnie’s friendship to these girls. Mary Ann wasn’t the type to keep her mouth shut about anything, especially things that weren’t any of her damn business.

  “Oh.” She looked down to the repugnant menu before her. “I’m all right, I guess.”

  “It’s just terrible,” Savannah murmured.

  “Terrible,” Miriam repeated beneath her breath.

  “Terrible if you knew her,” Adriana mumbled.

  The more Adriana talked, the more Nell didn’t like her.

  “But Nell did know her,” Savannah said. “Right?” She raised an eyebrow at Nell.

  Nell nodded.

  “See?” Savannah appeared satisfied with Nell’s mute reply. “Linnie and Nell were friends. Just because Mary Ann didn’t know—” The waitress cut her off.

  “Here we go,” she said, sliding their drinks onto the table. “Ready to order?” Nell kept her eyes fixed on a picture of a greasy hamburger and ordered first—a BLT and fries. She was mortified when all three girls ordered health-conscious salads in contrast to her own not-so-healthy
choice.

  Whale.

  She slouched in the booth seat and sipped her Coke, wondering why she ever thought this was a good idea. Did she honestly think she could fit in with girls like these?

  Pig.

  They were an alien species.

  They aren’t human.

  “Anyway, you shouldn’t let Mary Ann get to you,” Savannah said. “She’s just freaked out like everyone else. The city’s gone certifiably bananas with all this crime.” She paused, gave Nell a once-over. “Are you really going to bleach your hair?”

  Nell blinked up from her glass of soda, not sure what Savannah was talking about.

  “Isn’t that why you asked Mary Ann about her hair in the break room?”

  Oh. Yes. That had been just before Adriana had made Nell spill coffee down the front of her blouse and pants.

  The memory of it sent a pang of disdain down her spine. She couldn’t help but shoot a glance Adriana’s way, but Adriana didn’t meet her gaze. She was staring out the window instead, disinterested, as though this particular lunch was the most boring one she’d ever had in her life.

  “I don’t know,” Nell replied. “Probably not. I’d look silly as a blonde.”

  “But aren’t you scared not to?” Savannah asked.

  Nell shrugged. “Not really.”

  Mary Ann Thomas had said it best; Nell didn’t need to worry. The Son of Sam only went after pretty girls. What was she supposed to be scared of, Barrett hurting her? Nell bit the inside of her cheek, stifling a smile.

  “Miriam has family in Williamsburg,” Savannah said. “They’re pretty scared out there.”

  Nell cast a glance Miriam’s way, feigning concern.

  “I’m the only one in my family who’s smart enough to lop off my hair,” Miriam said with a smirk. “You should have heard the fuss my mother made when she saw it.” She directed her last comment to Savannah rather than Nell. “My God. You’d think she’d rather me get murdered by some prowling psycho than cut my hair off to save my own skin.”

  “Well, I’m not letting some psycho freak ruin my life,” Adriana chimed in, finally shooting Nell a hard look. “Last thing I’m going to do is lock myself up after dark. If I’m gonna end up dead, I want to have a good time first.”

  Oh, you bet, Nell thought. The drunker the girl, the easier she is to knock off her feet.

  “The Cabana Club?” Nell asked.

  “We go there after work sometimes,” Savannah said. “It’s a cool place. The bartender is nice.”

  “Really nice. Good looking too.” Miriam grinned to herself. Clearly, she’d fantasized about Mr. Bartender a couple of times. “He gives us half-price drinks when his boss isn’t around, and his boss is never around.”

  “You should come,” Savannah offered. “I know you didn’t want to before, but if you feel up to it . . .”

  Nell’s heart fluttered inside her chest. So her initial refusal hadn’t ruined her chances.

  “Oh God,” Adriana murmured. “Next thing you know, she’ll be telling everyone at the office we’re all best friends.”

  That perturbed statement deflated some of Nell’s hope.

  “Anyway, it’s a free country,” Adriana said, her eyes fixed on Nell, as though the girl was on the verge of challenging their Plain Jane lunch companion to a duel. “Don’t act so flattered.”

  Nell looked down at her hands. No matter how much she wanted to reach across the table and slam Adriana’s face into the plate-glass window, Adriana had a point. Nell didn’t belong in this group, and she didn’t belong at the Cabana Club, especially not in an ugly knee-length office skirt. But she had to try, for Barrett’s sake.

  Savannah shot Adriana a look. Nell pretended not to notice.

  “I’d love to,” she said, “but . . . I can’t tonight.” She had a few folded twenties tucked into her purse. After work, she’d miss her train and go to the shops instead. She’d pick out an appropriate outfit to meet them at the club the next time Savannah went. Maybe she’d be bold enough to chat up that nice bartender, because wouldn’t that be a shock? Nell Sullivan, going out on the town in nice new clothes, talking to men and scoring a date? But as soon as the waitress slid Nell’s BLT and fries in front of her, the voice inside her head reminded her that those ideas were insane.

  Look at yourself, it said. Look at what you’re eating. They’re just being nice because of Linnie. This has nothing to do with you, Nell. Nothing at all.

  “Well, okay . . . maybe some other time,” Savannah said, stabbing at her salad with a fork.

  “Probably for the better,” Adriana muttered beneath her breath. “Best you have some time to mourn the death of your friend, huh? Wouldn’t be that great of an idea going out to party right after finding out your pal got chopped up in an alley. I mean, it seems a little crass, don’t you think?”

  Nell’s stomach twisted.

  A pang of pain, like a bullet to the brain.

  “Jesus, Adri. Cool it,” Savannah said.

  Maybe it hadn’t been Mary Ann after all. Maybe Adriana had been the one who had typed NELL SULLIVAN IS A LIAR onto Nell’s transcription. The more she considered the possibility, the more likely it seemed.

  Her insides clenched and cramped. She winced, her headache coming on strong.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Savannah muttered, but Adriana wasn’t deterred.

  Adriana exhaled an aggravated huff, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and fired off a question. “Where’s Mary Ann anyway? Why are we here and she isn’t?”

  “Just eat your food, will you?” Miriam asked.

  “This is stupid.” Adriana dropped her fork onto the table with a clang and slid out of the booth. “This place is a hellhole, and we don’t even like her. We didn’t even like Linnie.” Before anyone could ask her where she was going, she turned and stomped out of Moe’s. The trio watched Adriana through the window as she marched across the street toward the deli at the corner.

  Nell looked away from the window, stared down at her food. Suddenly, all she wanted was to disappear.

  This was a mistake. You’re fooling yourself. You shouldn’t have come.

  “Nell.” Savannah placed a cool hand on Nell’s arm. Nell pulled away, as though the chill it carried was burning hot instead. “She’s just annoyed,” Savannah said. “She doesn’t like competing for attention.”

  Nell furrowed her eyebrows. “Competing,” she said softly, not understanding how Adriana could even begin to think Nell was a worthy contender.

  The table went quiet.

  The girls ate their salads while Nell picked at her fries, doubt buzzing around her headache like a swarm of gnats around a piece of rotting fruit. Logic nagged her to get up. Reason encouraged her to go back to the office, to forget this whole confounded, impossible plan. Just eat your sad sandwich by yourself, she thought. Choke it down, Moby-Dick. She scratched at the fabric of her skirt, her right hand drifting closer and closer to her purse as she contemplated a semi-graceful exit. The restaurant was getting hotter, her sweater insulating her, threatening to boil her brain. She could forget shopping for clothes after work, pay the entire bill, and tell them that she needed to get back to her desk. Linnie’s death had put her behind schedule, and Lamont was riding her to catch up. That, at least, was true. Nell reached for her bag, deciding that it was the best course of action, but she was derailed by Miriam’s quiet compliment.

  “I like your bow,” she said, nodding to the yellow ribbon Nell had tied into her hair. “You should wear it more often.”

  Nell stalled, blushed at the praise. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had said something so offhandedly kind. Her fingers retreated from her purse just as the voice of doubt retreated to the back of her mind.

  No, this was right.

  This was what she needed.

  This was good for
her.

  Straightening her shoulders, she gave the girls a questioning look. “Do you think Adriana would mind if . . .” She motioned to the untouched salad.

  “Please,” Savannah said. “Not like she’s coming back.” With that, she scooted the abandoned plate toward Nell.

  Nell smiled in earnest then. She stabbed her fork into the leafy greens and pushed them into her mouth, chewing as she narrowed her eyes at her original order. Because she could do this; she could change her life for the better. Barrett would just have to deal with this the way he had forced her to deal with Linnie’s death. Fair was fair, after all.

  . . .

  Nell stepped off the train later than usual, a plastic Gimbels garment bag draped over her arm and her fingers looped through the handles of a large paper bag. She had thirty-eight dollars left in her purse after eating lunch at Moe’s with the girls, and she’d spent nearly all of it among the pretty, glittering racks of clothing that the world-­famous department store had to offer. The salesgirl had been helpful. She handed Nell dress after blouse after skirt—things Nell would never have chosen for herself but that looked better than she had expected under the flattering dressing-room lights. She’d even found a pair of cork-bottomed sandals she liked, ones that didn’t make her look like a tramp.

  Coming off the platform, Nell immediately took notice of the all-too-familiar bicycle gang. At first they didn’t look her way, too busy huddled together, the back wheels of their bikes jutting out from behind them. Nell knew there were drugs in the center of that tight cluster. When it came to that sort of thing, Kings Highway was predictable. She tried to sneak by them. The last thing she needed was their attention, especially with her arms loaded down with shopping bags. But it didn’t take long for one of the boys to look up, and when he did, he didn’t hesitate in pointing her out to the rest of his pals.