Chapter Twelve

After two days with her mother, Norma was dying to return to Chicago. Taking care of her mother was a brutal undertaking she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy—not that she had any. What made it most unbearable was they hadn’t spoken since that horrible dinner.

But when Friday morning came around and Norma was putting on her coat to catch the commuter train, her mother finally broke the brutal silence. “I think there is still hope for you. Perhaps not me, but for you there is,” her mother said in the sweetest voice, a voice Norma remembered as a little girl.

“Pardon?” Norma wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly.

Her mother propped herself against the open door, knee bent so the toes of her bad foot were off the floor and looked at Norma with the gentlest motherly expression. “I think your fella is a lot closer than you think.”

“My fella?”

Only one word existed to describe the smile on her mother’s face. Beautiful. It reminded Norma of past days when she was a little girl and her mother was her angel on earth. Norma’s mother was a goddess and perfect in every way with blue eyes shining like life was blown into her from some unknown source—a heavenly source. She looked…hopeful.

“Your fella. I suspect you’ve met him already with the way you’ve been trotting about here like a ball of nerves. Only a man can make a woman that nervous.” She would know.

Norma felt like she had been run over by the commuter train. How could she respond? Was it that obvious? Could Mother really see how Mr. Chapel had gotten to her? Norma would never call Mr. Chapel her fella. Never.

He would never be her fella or anything remotely close to being hers in any way. Was he capable of being anyone’s fella?

That question weighed on her, made her chest tight. An irrational thought, but she didn’t like the idea of another woman claiming him as her fella. Gosh, I should stop it. She told herself she wouldn’t think of him that way anymore, but it seemed impossible. After all, Mr. Chapel probably already forgot what transpired between them anyway.

Norma shut her eyes briefly, opening them again to her mother’s soul searching gaze. “I…I…”

“I know, darling…” Her mother’s voice soothed her. “You’ll get used to it. Please take care of yourself in the city. It’s dangerous for a working woman like you. And please eat.”

“Yes, Mother.” She struggled for a complete sentence. As much as she wanted to tell her mother she was wrong about meeting a man, she couldn’t. In fact, she had an epiphany of her own, and she couldn’t hide from it anymore.

She wanted Mr. Chapel. Henry. Not as a boss, but as a man.

The breath caught in her throat. It was true. She breathed out a breath, releasing all the pent-up energy it took to maintain a lie. She wanted him. Fact. She wanted him more every second. Then her heart ached, because she could never have him. She would just have to get that through her thick skull. He is your boss, and that is all he is.

She kissed her mother, before walking out into the freezing cold to the taxi that waited on the street.

“To the commuter station,” she told the driver. He nodded and drove off once she was inside with only her thoughts of how she would be once she returned to Chicago.

****

The day was half way done when she finally arrived at the Chicago Daily. The familiar scent of the printing press and sweaty men filled her nostrils as she walked deeper into the room. She even caught a whiff of Mr. Chapel’s scent, though he was nowhere to be seen—her subconscious searched for him. Her body moved about the room toward her desk, waiting for his electromagnetic pull to yank her wherever he was. From the looks of it, he wasn’t around. Where was he?

Her oxfords tapped on the tiled floor as she walked closer to her assigned metal desk, the breath catching in her throat. Why was she so nervous? Don’t faint, Norma. Don’t faint. Where had all the air gone? If she didn’t faint before her rump hit the chair, it would be a miracle. One step, two steps. She was nearly at her desk, focusing on Ingrid who hunched over her typewriter. Ingrid had taken over the weather report while Norma was away.

She glanced at the staff, glad no one had noticed her slither in or had any questions for her. Not that she’d answer any of the male saps she worked with. They probably thought she’d been canned. She stared past the sea of metal desks and lingered over Mr. Chapel’s door. It was wide open, which was odd.

“He’s out.” Ingrid startled her.

“Oh…right,” Norma stammered, looking away. She was caught staring—yearning was more like. How obvious was she? She wasn’t experienced with the dealings with men; it was a lot harder than she thought.

Ingrid grinned with surprisingly no lipstick on her tooth. She looked as beautiful as ever in a knee length skirt and white chiffon top. Her T-strap shoes were probably imported from Paris, as most of her clothes were, and her ears bore crystal art deco flower earrings. “He’s been quite the killjoy since you’ve been out.”

“Baloney!” Norma forced her face to stop smiling.

Mr. Chapel a killjoy because of me?

It gave her the kind of hope she certainly didn’t need.

“On the level! He has been ab-so-lute-ly lost around here the last three days,” Ingrid said matter-of-factly, her eyes gleamed in the light.

Norma turned her back to Ingrid, allowing her lips to curl in a small smile as she folded her coat over the chair. She had to contain her smile before she said another word. Absolutely lost?

“Well, I don’t see how that’s changed. He’s a killjoy on a day-to-day basis. I would’ve hoped that my being away would’ve perked up the wet blanket,” Norma said dryly out of habit and not because she felt that way about Henry anymore.

“Says you.” Ingrid’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“Everything okay otherwise?” Norma had to change the subject.

“Everything is Jake, Miss Hill.” She winked and turned back to her typewriter, clicking away to leave Norma spinning with her thoughts. “Oh, Mr. Chapel re-hired John! I guess he’s giving the poor sap another chance.”

Re-hired John? Norma bit on her bottom lip. “When?”

“Three days ago.” After their conversation. After he had rejected her.

Norma’s voice didn’t quite reach a normal speaking volume. “The Big Cheese had a change of heart.”

“I guess so.” Ingrid turned to Mr. Chapel’s office as did Norma.

Norma needed to see him. “Any idea where he could be?” Not that she would go to him.

“None. Why?”

Norma shrugged, eyes shifting to Anton’s desk. “Just wondering.”

Anton. His desk near Mr. Chapel’s office was empty as if he hadn’t been in the office yet. Where a crime reporter would go during a busy day at a booming news rag? He could be on the street interviewing witnesses or following the latest mob trial. He could be undercover as a spy at a speakeasy storefront looking for alcohol distributors. The possibilities were endless.

Returning to the business on her desk, she jotted down notes on thin leaf paper. First, she would go undercover as a typical gay flapper. Luckily she’d been around Ingrid long enough to understand some of her flapper-speak. It wouldn’t be easy since she didn’t know the first thing about street language. But it was all Jake. She smiled inside. Yes, it would be all Jake.

Second, she would go to the Jazzy Cat and stake out the scene. Get a sense of it. Blend in. Interact with other birds at the speakeasy and get close to some unsuspecting sap. At some point, they’d spill some important information. She was sure of it. What jazz baby didn’t spill something after a few cups of gin?

Third, when guards were down and senses were dulled by ossification, she would go in for the interrogation kill. After hours of the Charleston and gin—possibly even a snow ride—someone was bound to talk. Satisfied with her game plan—she’d crossed the last “t” and dotted the last “i”—she sat back, smiling like a goof, she was sure of it.

Just then, Ingrid slapped her typed page on Norma’s desk. The tap on the desk startled Norma’s daydream. In a flash she was brought back to reality, sitting at her desk in the Daily press room floor. Mr. Chapel still hadn’t shown up and neither had Anton. Where are they?

“Brutal cold.” Ingrid recited from the paper. She grinned and winked—her two best habits.

“Ah, yes. Mother nature and her wicked, wicked ways.” Norma looked over the typed sentence. Lord, she hated reporting the weather.

Ingrid chuckled.

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart for covering my weather report. You are a real friend, truly.” Norma smiled. Grateful didn’t begin to describe how she felt.

“It’s my pleasure, doll face. I’m sure my report has not been nearly as entertaining as yours.” Ingrid chuckled and winked again.

As if a light bulb flipped on over her head, Ingrid’s eyes suddenly widened and gleamed like radiant jewels. She lifted a finger to denote she had something to give Norma. Ingrid turned toward the desk and from underneath it pulled a large sack with French words printed on the fine material. “I have something for you.”

“What is this?” Norma’s eyes narrowed, the pulse in her heart doubled. What could it be? A bag of gin?

“A gift for you.” Ingrid handed her the bag. She strained to lift it from her lap. Whatever was in there was heavy. Body parts could have been in there for all she knew.

Norma reached for it. A part of her wanted to know what was in the bag, and the other part knew it was something she couldn’t accept. Her arms strained at the weight of the bag as she dragged it atop her lap and with shaky fingers loosened the chiffon drawstring closing the mouth of the sack. Inside, the folded material layered atop other folded material. The colors shimmered, and Norma instinctively reached in to touch the material.

With lush softness, she pulled the dark material to the light. From her fingertips hung a gorgeous in-vogue drop-waist chiffon dress that was the color of coffee beans with chevron paneled cream colored lace on the bodice. She gasped. Gorgeous didn’t begin to describe the dress. Carefully, she placed the garment over her desk and pulled out a black skirt and white satin blouse, similar to what Ingrid wore.

Norma reached in again and found another blouse and a second jersey dress. They felt so luxurious in her hands, must have cost a fortune. She had a rasp in her voice when she spoke. “Why are you giving these to me?” The tears welling in her eyes made her feel like a loon.

Ingrid’s face dropped ten feet. “Do you not like them?”

“I adore them!” Norma held the white blouse to her chest and hugged it. “But it’s not my birthday and Christmas has passed.”

“They are from my collection. I over ordered and thought you’d like something new. Borrowing from your cousin hasn’t exactly worked out.” Ingrid winked again. The dress disaster from a week ago came to mind.

“Can I at least pay you for these? They must have cost a fortune...” Who was she kidding? She didn’t have money to pay for such clothes.

Ingrid shrugged. “Come with me tonight and consider the debt paid.”

Norma’s right eyebrow arched high into her forehead.

“The Jazzy Cat is purring your name.” Ingrid chuckled, her wrist rotated down to imitate cat paws.

Yes, it was. Norma intended to go to the Jazzy Cat. The only difference is she would wear a couture dress—perfect for her undercover work. She would be one of them tonight. She would fit in like all the other Shebas carrying on like lunatics—minus the lunatic part…or not.

She nodded an ecstatic yes, and Ingrid squealed with glee.

****

Amazing. That’s how Norma felt wearing the coffee bean dress. She never had such a luxurious dress—well, not since she was on her own. She’d had many custom made dresses growing up, but none could compare to the fabric art she donned. She felt like a film actress. The dress made her walk differently. It made her feel powerful, like Mary Pickford.

But it wasn’t just her dress that made her feel like a million bucks, her styled bob pinned with a jeweled and feather headband tied everything together. Honestly, she liked being light-headed without the wild-like, heavy curls springing in every direction and weighing her down—not just physically, mentally as well. Ready and willing, she’d show those men at the Daily how a real reporter breaks a story.

She squealed when a hard knock on the door reverberated through her drafty apartment. I should have started a fire. Darn. She didn’t have time to think about how cold she’d be when she returned. Putting herself properly together took much more time than she anticipated. Maybe her constant glances in the mirror doubled the time.

She lunged to the door, feet not hurting for once, fully expecting Ingrid to be on the other side, but she wasn’t.

George, Ingrid’s older brother standing tall and wide in the doorframe, filled it completely. Had he always been that big? Is it possible for a thirty-year-old man to still grow? She hadn’t seen him in at least a year. His bright gray-blue eyes contrasted against his dark coat and hat. Norma didn’t realize how attractive George was until then. But why was he there and not Ingrid?

“George…” She looked between the sliver of empty space between him and the doorframe. Perhaps Ingrid’s petite body stood behind him. “Where’s Ingrid?”

“S-s-she c-c-can’t make i-it tonight. S-s-she’s got a h-h-h-eadache.” Norma forgot George had a speech impediment.

“Oh dear…”

He tapped at his chest. “I-I will t-t-take you.”

She nervously nibbled on her lip, considering his offer. He was a doll to offer his company in Ingrid’s place. She hesitated, her gaze dropped to her shoes. Her intentions for the night had not changed, and she still needed to go to the Jazzy Cat one way or another. “Okay,” she said after a beat of silence.

She turned on her heels to retrieve her coat and satin purse, the door kept open by George’s thick hand. As she approached with her items in hand, he stepped back from the brownstone, and she stepped into the cold night to lock the door behind her. The two made their way lethargically toward George’s common motorcar. It must have been because she was unsure about going with George that made her drag her feet. He opened the door for her, and another girl sat bundled in a wool coat. Norma nodded a hello as she slunk into the back seat.

“Hello.” The girl was polite enough, though her eyes flickered with something. Annoyance? Norma wasn’t sure. Her fiery red hair curled at the nape of her neck, and brown freckles covered every inch of her visible skin.

“I’m Norma, Ingrid’s friend.” Norma extended a gloved hand to shake hands with the redhead.

“I’m Mary, George’s date,” the redhead said bitterly, emphasizing the word date, and quickly accepted Norma’s hand then pushed it away. Yes, definitely annoyed. Perhaps she didn’t know Norma would be along for the fun.

“Wonderful!” Yes, wonderful indeed. With that nugget of information, Norma was relieved; she could move about the Jazzy Cat at will. She didn’t have anyone to entertain or answer to. It was perfect.

George’s car rolled quietly along the dark alley behind the Jazzy Cat, crushing the snow beneath its tires. No signs announced the club’s location, of course, and no one loitered in the deserted alley—it was like a ghost town. The air between the passengers had been painfully silent the whole ride. No one spoke, not even for mindless banter. Just breathing. Mary’s breathing may have been the loudest, though. Clearly she was peeved about another girl crashing her date. Mary pressed against the door as far away from George as she could get, and she refused to look his way, especially when he glanced at her, and she just turned away. Norma felt bad for the man, and a little responsible for the hot water he was in. But, she couldn’t worry about their situation.

Find Elsie McNey.

As if she needed it, the butterflies in her stomach went haywire, dancing chaotic as if they were on a toot. Nausea came up, then her chest pounded. How could she feel those things at the same time? She pressed the bodice of her dress to calm herself and make sure her handwritten list was still in its place under her bosom. Still there. Who knew bubs would be useful outside of nursing a baby?

Being the true gentleman, George came around and opened the car door. A wide smile on his face eased her nerves, gave her assurance. Her fingers stopped shaking with that smile and the gentleness that accompanied it. He was introverted and had a calmness to him that Ingrid didn’t. Ingrid, was a burning fuse of excitement. See and be seen was her motto.

Mary lunged from the car, weaving her arm through George’s. Oh dear. She was staking her claim.

Norma smiled politely. She didn’t blame the redhead one bit. Why did women seem to lose their composure when they sensed competition? Had Norma ever acted that way with Jarrod Banks? She doubted it. In fact, she was glad when another woman took the sap off her hands.

Norma stepped back at least four feet and waited until George led the way to the door. She hoped he knew the secret knock. The good Lord knew she didn’t have the slightest clue.

Knock. Knock. Pause. Knock. Knock. Knock. Pause. Pause. Knock. The same burly doorman from last week poked his head out from the tiniest crack of the door. His gaze darted about the alley. To say he was uncomfortable and suspicious was an understatement. He gave each of them the up down.

“Who do you know?” His voice gruff.

The three of them glanced at each other. Darn. Norma didn’t know anyone except the two she was with, and she didn’t really know them.

“I-I-Ing-g-g-rid…” George was nervous.

“Ingrid? What’s wrong with you? You on a sleigh ride?” The doorman’s face twisted up to his receding hairline.

“Henry Chapel,” Norma spit out.

Why did I say that?

Her body tensed. She had no idea why she mentioned her boss and wished she would have said some other name. Any other name would have been better—even Ralph Heinz.

The doorman’s face softened a little, not too much. “You know the paper man, huh?”

“I am his associate.” Norma lied. She wasn’t his associate. She was the farthest thing from his associate; she was his subordinate, and not a very good one. But for all intents and purposes, it seemed to get her in to the Jazzy Cat.

“Well, any friend of the paper man is a friend of the J.C.” He stepped aside, and the three entered the dark, short hallway.

Norma slowly put one foot in front of the other until she reached a door with light bordering it. The beat of the orchestra instruments vibrated the floor under her feet, notes of the trumpets pulsing her belly. The gay voices of the partygoers inside penetrated the thick door. Norma could hear the crazed laughter of patrons on a toot and the clicking of shoes on the dance floor. Her feet skipped. She was anxious to get inside and join in the gay time, which was a first. Tonight she didn’t feel like a fish out of water. Tonight she was a legitimate flapper.

Anticipation ate at her as she practically kicked the door open. The sounds, sights, and smells assaulted her senses when the door flew open, and the light filled her eyes. Debonair men in dark suits and hats puffed on cigarettes or cigars, and the girls were just as lovely with their fringe dresses and feather headbands dressed with pearls and crystal jewelry. Her dress could compete with any one of the Shebas in the room. Let the games begin.

Norma scanned the room, taking in what she considered normal Jazzy Cat behavior. Her guts jerked as she glanced inside the petting room nearby and saw a lithe women straddling a man as his hand rode up the back of her thigh. Norma turned away, the image, fresh in her mind, reminded her of Mr. Chapel—she didn’t want to be reminded. Norma continued to survey the club, taking it all in. Two unsavory characters stood in the darkest corner, deep in conversation. They could be discussing some sticky illegal business or the boring weather, either way she wanted to know.

“I’m going to mingle,” she called over her shoulder to George and his date. She didn’t give them a chance to respond before she’d put at least twenty of her T-strap clad steps between them.

Weaving through the crowd, she greeted strangers as if she knew them. Found it funny that they greeted her back the same way. As she passed a group of dancing women, they recruited her to do a few seconds of the Charleston. Norma wiggled her body, crossing her foot behind the other, and then kicked it high to the front before repeating the motion with the other leg. Her hands waved back and forth with wide spread fingers. Darn the Charleston is tiring.

“Your dress is the berries, doll!” one of the debs shouted. She still danced, feather headband swaying back and forth. “Who are you?”

Norma fanned herself. The heat crept up in an instant. She was no one. But if she wanted to get a lead on the story, she’d have to be someone stat. “I’m Norma, doll face.” The girl squealed with glee.

“I’ve never seen you before! You must come dance with us more!”

“Ab-so-lute-ly!” Norma shouted over the final notes of the song.

The band stopped for a break, and the crowd dispersed to the tables covered with white linen. Some of the band members fanned themselves while others wiped their foreheads with handkerchiefs. The band was quite large for the small establishment. Norma didn’t notice the string section last time. How was it impossible to hear the booming sound outside in the alley?

“Come sit with us!” A different girl tugged Norma’s arm until they reached a table near the dance floor. Two seated men talked between themselves. Who were they, and what were they talking about? Norma’s gaze drank them in, taking note of their demeanor, deciding they seemed innocent enough.

“I’m Julia Heinz…”

Heinz? Norma’s eyebrows perked up. Could there be a relation to Ralph Heinz, the brute from last Friday?

“That is Bertha and Headdy.” Julia pointed to the girls. Julia, an absolute doll, had silky golden hair, which was tucked into a feathered headband, and black kohl lined her piercing blue eyes. Her lips were probably painted hours ago, but there was nothing left but a faint stain of red lipstick. The cigarette she casually placed between her lips probably rubbed off the lipstick.

“We are usually four, but our friend Elsie is…absent at the moment,” the brunette identified as Headdy said. Her eyes widened and darted to her friends, who failed to make eye contact.

Norma’s heart jumped in her throat.

“Elsie?” Norma’s voice was small.

“Come, sit! Don’t just stand there.” Julie kicked a chair out from under the table.

Norma tried to reel in her emotions. She had to stay calm and collected. Where was Mr. Chapel with some lessons in composure when she needed it? She frowned at her thoughts. Not supposed to be thinking about him. Sucking in a deep breath, she sat and crossed her legs, inadvertently kneeing the sheik sitting next her.

He broke away from his conversation. His pupils twinkled when he made eye contact with her.

Oh no, not again. She’d seen that look before, and it was on the face of a womanizing sap.

“Excuse me,” Norma squeaked.

“You are excused, doll.” A grin parted his face ear to ear. “I haven’t seen you around. What’s your name, sweet patootie?”

“Leave her alone, Harold!” Julia slapped the table, the drinks clinked, and one spilled a little.

“The ladies were talking about Elsie.” She had to find a way to get back to Elsie. Could it be the same Elsie? Could these girls know who Elsie was with before the assault in the alley? There were too many questions; it exhilarated her.

Harold frowned. “Where is that bird? She was supposed to get me something.”

“Well, I thought she was going to see a man about a dog,” the other man said. His voice didn’t match his brawny façade; his high-pitched timbre reminded Norma of her aunt Lillian.

“Yes, I also heard she was supposed to see a man about a dog,” the other blonde, Bertha said. She laughed a bit. “I guess she must have found a pit bull!”

“A pit bull…” Norma’s voice was low enough that time so no one heard her.

Her mind ran at full speed. Did Elsie get wrapped up in the mob? After all, that’s the only way someone could get alcohol. Perhaps Elsie got tangled up with the wrong mobster and got the bad end of the deal. Calm down. Norma’s heart palpitated; she had to stay calm, collected, and composed—much like Mr. Chapel. Not now, Norma. She kicked all thoughts of Mr. Chapel to the back of her mind.

“You know, her uncle is the governor,” Julia said matter-of-factly.

Norma perked up again, and a smile involuntarily bent her lips. She had the right girl and was talking to the right friends. Bingo. The list under her bubs poked at her skin, but she didn’t need it anymore. She’d found her “in.”

“And not a very good one.” Harold continued to eye Norma.

“I think you should join me on the dance floor.” Harold trailed a long finger down her forearm, which sent chills up her spine. Though they weren’t the threatening kind.

“I…I…”

“Come.” He rose from his seat, practically lifting her off the chair. He was strong, although not as tall as Henry. She couldn’t resist him, while the girls laughed and pointed. She simply let him take her to the dance floor where the orchestra played again, and the crowd broke out into the Black Bottom.

Norma stomped each foot and then did a double step. She was impressed with Harold’s dancing abilities, although his salacious smile made her feel he had something else in mind. She did a box step and flailed her arms about. Who would have thought a dance would be made after some cows stuck in the mud? Her choreography continued, but then Harold pulled her close, too close. She smelled the gin on his breath as he held her and continued to dance. She pushed away, putting some distance between them.

“Sorry, Harold, the bank’s closed.” The confidence in her voice was palpable.

His eyes twinkled, his mouth curved into a playful smirk. “I didn’t ask for a kiss, darling.”

Norma face grew hot.

“But that’s good to know.” He chuckled.

Norma softened a bit. Perhaps she misread his signals. She looked away, glancing at the table of girls who cheered her on.

Harold continued to stare, making her more nervous.

“You still haven’t told me your name, sweet patootie.” The warm air from his mouth hit her face.

“Norma…Norma Hill…” She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to know her name.

Darn.

Maybe she should have come up with an alias? She could have been Claire Bonet or Elizabeth Asher. She could have been anyone else.

“The weather reporter Norma Hill?” His eyes lit with interest.

“Uh… yes. I’m a weather reporter.”

No one had ever acknowledged her as a reporter before.

“The Daily! Nice work. I especially liked your report from last week. It read ‘Much like Hades when Persephone is present, Chicago residents should expect a brutal winter day’—”

“‘…therefore, should wear the heaviest coats they own’,” Norma finished. She was floored. Her bottom lip nearly dropped to the floor to hear someone, especially a man, recite her weather report. Even more astounding was Mr. Chapel had allowed the report to run.

Harold laughed, a sweet laugh. Though not as sexy as Henry Chapel’s, a smirk curved his lips.

Stop thinking about Mr. Chapel.

“You like that, did you?” Norma became breathless, too—she hadn’t missed a step yet.

Harold still smiled. “I think it was the best weather report I’ve ever read.” His eyes softened, then he became pensive. “You know, I believe I have seen you.”

Norma’s sweaty eyebrow rose. Where had he seen her?

“You were here last week. I saw you leave with Chapel,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “You know Henry—err—Mr. Chapel?”

“Everyone knows the paper man.”

She looked down. What could she say to that?

“Are you…with him?” Harold’s eyes darkened.

With him?

“Uh…no…” Her last conversation with Mr. Chapel replayed in her mind. She tried to forget what he said and how she felt. I am your boss. That is all I am. She was exposed again, and it made her uncomfortable.

“I see.” Harold stopped dancing.

Norma didn’t notice the orchestra had stopped playing.

“He’s my boss…” Desperation tinged her tone.

“I figured.”

The dance floor was empty again.

“We have a strictly business relationship.” Why was she trying to convince this stranger of anything? She didn’t know Harold from Jack, but she couldn’t stand his accusatory gaze. He didn’t believe her and couldn’t have been more obvious about it.

“I believe the song is over, Norma.” He extended his hand and waited as Norma frowned and placed her narrow hand in his and allowed him to lead her off the dance floor.

****

After Norma returned home, she sat in the silence of her apartment at four in the morning, removing the black kohl around her eyes and the thick red lipstick that surprisingly didn’t budge the whole evening. It paid to have fashionable friends, she thought as she removed the brown lace dress and lariat pearl necklace, much like the one Elsie had worn that night. She sat nearly nude, falling back onto soft sheets.

Her mind escaped to Mr. Chapel’s office. No surprise. It seemed the more she tried to forget him, the more she remembered. As if he were doing it all over again, she felt his caresses against her thigh. The kiss at her neck. Squirming, she attempted to force away the recollections. No luck. In so few days, a lot happened, changed her. But she couldn’t decide if it was better to have a taste of him than none at all. Unfortunately, that taste stayed with her far longer than it should have. She’d have to harden her heart somehow. He’s your boss, Norma.

She brought her hand to her mouth, imagining they were his lips. How much more obsessed would she be if she in fact did kiss Mr. Chapel?

Desiring a man like Mr. Chapel couldn’t be good for any woman’s health. She closed her eyes, willing the night to fade away with yesterday’s thoughts, even if it was impossible. She didn’t want to yearn for that pompous man.

Norma’s body sprouted goose bumps in the drafty apartment. Early morning was always the coldest time of the day. She grabbed a velvet robe, sliding her body in it, feeling some relief from the biting cold. Her gaze shifted to the fireplace. It was dark and full of ashes; she’d regret not lighting it. After leaving her bed, she walked to it, debating whether she should start the kindling. She may just have to tough it out—she’d done it many times before. Before she could decide, a knock sounded at her door.

Who on earth would call at that hour of the night, or morning as it were? A glance at the grandfather clock said it was a quarter after four. A second knock, harder, but still not threatening.

Norma quietly padded over the hardwood floor to the door and peered through the peephole. She couldn’t recognize the dark figure on the other side. Her heart thumped, shaking her body with each pulse.

“Norma,” the familiar voice called from the other side of the door. “It’s Henry. Henry Chapel.”