Read Online The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress by Ariel Lawhon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ariel Lawhon
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them like a deck of cards in the hands of a dealer. Muttered prayers. Worried her rosary with puckered fingers. At one point, she lit a cluster of votive candles on the coffee table and tried to recite the doxology, but she couldn’t get through five words without her mind wandering to Jude and those envelopes in the Craters’ apartment. When Maria heard Jude’s key in the lock, there was nothing left to do and she surrendered to the inevitable. She didn’t move when the door pushed open or when she heard him stop in the doorway. Instead, she swayed to an imaginary tune and hummed beneath her breath, arm raised to pin a pile of chestnut curls to the top of her head. Maria jumped back when a glob of chutney splashed her arm. She brandished the wooden spoon like a weapon, banging the side of the pot in frustration.
“Don’t hurt the cookware,” Jude said. “It’s no match for you.”
Only then did she meet his gaze. She couldn’t help smiling when she saw his blue eyes, his hesitant dimples. “You’re late.”
Jude looked guarded. The words he chose were noncommittal. “Long shift.”
Maria set the spoon on the counter. She crossed the room in four steps and wrapped her arms around him. She kissed his cheek. Then his neck. “Come eat dinner.”
The small table sat wedged against the open window and was covered with the only tablecloth they owned. There wasn’t even enough breeze to startle the lit candle.
She pulled the platter of bifana from the warm oven and drizzled it with chutney. The meat surrendered easily beneath the knife, and she sliced several thin pieces for Jude and set them on his plate.
Maria watched him cut the tenderloin into strips, amazed at his left-handed dexterity. Writing, cutting, and eating all required a shift in posture for Jude that looked uncomfortable to her, as though he were tipping to the side to accommodate that left hand. He was fully immersed in his meal, while she swirled each piece of meat through the chutney and chewed more than necessary, trying to find the right question to ask.
Finally, Maria pushed her plate away, appetite gone, and looked out the window. On the street below, a group of boys played stickball during lulls in traffic.
“Do you know anything about Owney Madden?” she asked. “That gangster from Liverpool?”
Jude dropped his fork. He stared at her with suspicion, palms spread flat against the tablecloth. “Why?”
“He came into Smithson’s two days ago. And there was something really familiar about him, but I didn’t figure it out until today.” Not the complete truth, of course, but hearing Jude mention him at the Craters’ that morning kept Owney firmly cemented in her mind.
“You’ve seen him before?” He picked up his fork and stuck the tines through a raisin. “Where?”
“He was at one of the Craters’ parties.”
“Owney Madden was at the Craters’?” His jaw stretched tight.
She wanted to hear the truth from him. “Who is he?”
“A brutal son of a bitch. Gangster. Bootlegger. Owns Club Abbey. And the Cotton Club. Not to mention half the showgirls in this town. Among other things.” Jude gripped his steak knife, knuckles white, and cut a long strip of tenderloin. He dissected it into small pieces before taking a bite.
“I’ve never heard anyone talk that way. Like he spent his days on a fishing trawler and his nights on the dock.”
“He probably did.”
“Have you ever met him?”
Maria was startled at how level his voice was. How calm. How he chose such a careful answer.
“He’s not someone I want to know.”
She turned to the window to avoid the intensity in his gaze.
“Why was he at the Craters’?” Jude asked. His eyes had that curious slant she’d always loved. Until now. Now it unnerved her.
“Celebrating. Same as everyone else.”
“What?”
“Mr. Crater becoming a judge.”
He mopped a bite through the chutney. “What made you think of him?”
“Nothing, really.” She
“Don’t hurt the cookware,” Jude said. “It’s no match for you.”
Only then did she meet his gaze. She couldn’t help smiling when she saw his blue eyes, his hesitant dimples. “You’re late.”
Jude looked guarded. The words he chose were noncommittal. “Long shift.”
Maria set the spoon on the counter. She crossed the room in four steps and wrapped her arms around him. She kissed his cheek. Then his neck. “Come eat dinner.”
The small table sat wedged against the open window and was covered with the only tablecloth they owned. There wasn’t even enough breeze to startle the lit candle.
She pulled the platter of bifana from the warm oven and drizzled it with chutney. The meat surrendered easily beneath the knife, and she sliced several thin pieces for Jude and set them on his plate.
Maria watched him cut the tenderloin into strips, amazed at his left-handed dexterity. Writing, cutting, and eating all required a shift in posture for Jude that looked uncomfortable to her, as though he were tipping to the side to accommodate that left hand. He was fully immersed in his meal, while she swirled each piece of meat through the chutney and chewed more than necessary, trying to find the right question to ask.
Finally, Maria pushed her plate away, appetite gone, and looked out the window. On the street below, a group of boys played stickball during lulls in traffic.
“Do you know anything about Owney Madden?” she asked. “That gangster from Liverpool?”
Jude dropped his fork. He stared at her with suspicion, palms spread flat against the tablecloth. “Why?”
“He came into Smithson’s two days ago. And there was something really familiar about him, but I didn’t figure it out until today.” Not the complete truth, of course, but hearing Jude mention him at the Craters’ that morning kept Owney firmly cemented in her mind.
“You’ve seen him before?” He picked up his fork and stuck the tines through a raisin. “Where?”
“He was at one of the Craters’ parties.”
“Owney Madden was at the Craters’?” His jaw stretched tight.
She wanted to hear the truth from him. “Who is he?”
“A brutal son of a bitch. Gangster. Bootlegger. Owns Club Abbey. And the Cotton Club. Not to mention half the showgirls in this town. Among other things.” Jude gripped his steak knife, knuckles white, and cut a long strip of tenderloin. He dissected it into small pieces before taking a bite.
“I’ve never heard anyone talk that way. Like he spent his days on a fishing trawler and his nights on the dock.”
“He probably did.”
“Have you ever met him?”
Maria was startled at how level his voice was. How calm. How he chose such a careful answer.
“He’s not someone I want to know.”
She turned to the window to avoid the intensity in his gaze.
“Why was he at the Craters’?” Jude asked. His eyes had that curious slant she’d always loved. Until now. Now it unnerved her.
“Celebrating. Same as everyone else.”
“What?”
“Mr. Crater becoming a judge.”
He mopped a bite through the chutney. “What made you think of him?”
“Nothing, really.” She
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