Symphony of Secrets by Brendan Slocumb

Author:Brendan Slocumb [Slocumb, Brendan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2023-04-18T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

—

They headed uptown again by cab, which in itself was unusual since they always economized and took the subway. Freddy could get used to this life.

“Not tonight,” Freddy told her. “We’re cabbing it. And wear your new dress.”

Last week he’d dragged her up to Harlem’s Seventh Avenue, the so-called Boulevard of Dreams, to pick out a new dress and shoes. Negroes, of course, couldn’t shop where everyone else did, down in Midtown—they had their own shops up in Harlem, so that’s where Freddy took her.

They went to three shops before he found what he wanted: what the shopgirl, eyeing Freddy, said was called a “day dress”: a sleek maroon gown with a wide golden-yellow collar. “It’ll match your handbag,” Freddy told her. “Put it on.”

Josephine had trooped obediently to the dressing room, tried it on, made her way back out, arms slightly spread, to where Freddy waited. “Ah, you look like a million bucks,” he said. She did indeed look nice: the fabric hugged her form, flared out below her hips. No way anybody would think that a few months ago she’d been homeless, sleeping in public parks or down by the river. Freddy’s heart expanded. He’d really been generous, taking her in and finding her a job and letting her sleep on his floor. Sure, he was getting something out of it, too—his musicianship had improved immensely, and now income from her songs were lining his pockets—but that didn’t stop the basic facts of how much he’d helped her. He loved this feeling, loved the gratitude and complete trust she had in him, spinning for him and the salesgirl. He’d gotten her a maroon velvet hat, too, to match.

Now Josephine smoothed the still-new maroon fabric—Freddy wouldn’t let her wear it till tonight—over her knees as she perched on the edge of the cab’s seat. He wouldn’t tell her where they were going but of course she recognized the place when the cab pulled up: the Shortstack. This black-and-tan club was getting a great deal of buzz from all over—colored and white. The house band wasn’t an ordinary four- or five-piece band; the Shortstack’s claim to fame was that they housed a genuine twenty-two-piece swing band, like the ones in St. Louis. And Freddy could tell how much Josephine loved the full-on musical immersion.

When the cab came to a halt and she moved to open the door, Freddy said, “Wait.” He got out of his side, ran around, and opened her door. He held out his hand like a butler or a footman to help her out.

She stared up at him, eyes wide, not understanding.

“Come on,” he said, reaching for her hand. “This is your night. This is how all the swells do it.”

She laid one hand lightly in his and stood, so trusting; and he vowed, again, to take care of her.

He held her hand as they made their way inside, down a short flight of stairs, where the doors opened up into a huge subterranean room.

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