Read Online The Girls at the Kingfisher Club by Genevieve Valentine - Free Book Online

going out, Jo had only had to make that lie once; the girls were quiet when they had to be.
    Lou was waiting by the door that opened to the alley. When Jo was down the stairs, Lou disappeared into the dark. Ella and the twins followed—they made up the first cab.
    The other eight waited for the rumble of an engine.
    A few minutes later, it came and went. A moment later, Doris motioned to Sophie, Rose, and Lily, and they slid into the alley.
    Fifteen minutes passed. Violet sighed softly, once, and shifted. This wait scraped at her patience.
    A car came and went, at last. Then it was Jo’s turn to slip into the alley, slip on her shoes (not bothering with straps), walk down the block, and look quietly fetching until a cab pulled over.
    Often it was quick, but she’d waited an hour, sometimes, for a taxi to take them.
    The last three girls were in the alley, a tight and terrifying wait. Violet was at the door, holding it not quite shut—if something happened and they had to run inside, they couldn’t risk being locked out.
    After less than ten minutes, a cab appeared.
    Jo waved him over and gestured behind her until the girls appeared, their stocking feet damp from the grass.
    In the cab the younger girls talked to each other—Jo was chaperone, and they knew better than to gossip with her. Jo caught Rebecca telling Violet, “Keep talking like that and I’ll marry you to someone myself,” but didn’t intervene. Let them tease, if it helped.
    Once, Araminta said, “Jo, I wish you’d let me take up your hem. It would look so pretty at your knees.”
    â€œI’ll take your word for it,” said Jo.
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    Though Jo had started everything, though she had given her sisters the hunger, Jo didn’t dance anymore.
    Dancing made Jo nervous. She knew what it could do.
    Jo had almost run off with the first man who danced a good foxtrot with her.
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    She was nineteen, too old and too young for her age, and still getting used to going out at night.
    He was a deliveryman, sneaking barrels into the Kingfisher’s basement; then he was staying to dance with her, and staying, and staying.
    His name was Tom, and he was just shy of handsome, and when he smiled she felt like an only child.
    She’d never told him (thank God she’d never told him), but he’d talked about being the only living person on the road at night like he knew she wanted to hear about being alone.
    Then he’d said, “Come with me.”
    â€œWhere do you go?”
    He smiled, drew her closer in. “Everywhere.”
    Jo rested her forehead on his cheek and imagined sitting in the car beside him, driving down a road that had no end.
    She thought about what would happen to her sisters (a reflex), but in her daydream she was free—she had served her time as overseer, and the world was wide and waiting.
    (It was only a dream, she thought; what was the harm?)
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    She danced with him for months, caught up in the music, the sharp smell of sawdust and bourbon that lingered on her hands where she touched him, the tips of her fingers tucked under his collar as they danced.
    â€œWhen I’m finished here,” he murmured into her hair, “won’t we have a time!”
    One night, he didn’t come.
    She waited three weeks for any sign before she got up the nerve to ask Jake.
    â€œIs this the same stuff you always have?” she asked as she picked up a round of champagne.
    â€œNew stuff,” he said. “Our alderman changed, and suggested a new distributor. Just as well—that other one was a racket.” He paused, as if she had her ear to the ground and he hoped she’d approve.
    â€œHuh,” she said, when she could speak. “Well, if that’s the pace of politics, I guess it’s for the best I stick to dancing.”
    â€œCome on, you know all the real deals happen after