The Girls at the Kingfisher Club by Genevieve Valentine

he’s a college man. Doris, if he’s a dancer.”
    â€œThey’d all have to be dancers,” said Lou. “We’d die otherwise.”
    Jo didn’t argue; they’d gone out almost every other night for years. If that ended, they’d be anchorless. They’d have to find men who could dance—
    Jo went cold. “Oh God, what if these men are men we’ve danced with? What if they tell Father?”
    Lou took a breath. There was a small, horrified silence as they thought it over.
    â€œAt least it won’t be a dull evening,” Lou said at last.
    Jo smiled despite herself.
    Lou leaned forward. “Nothing’s going to keep me in here at night,” she said. “Neither cops nor Father. I want you to take us—it’s best—but if you don’t want to go, I’ll do it myself. I’m not going to stay here and rot because Father wants it.”
    Lou had been a blur of red in Jo’s memories of this room, the bright spot of color in the endless waiting white.
    Jo knew better than anyone how much Lou needed to be out; Lou, too, thought jail was better than sitting in the white room all night. But Lou had never been separated from the others. Jo knew better now; she knew enough to be afraid.
    Still, there was something you could learn every night, and Jo knew some things she hadn’t yesterday.
    (She knew that, for all her hard work, her sisters needed only the word from Lou, and they would rise up and disobey her. That stung; it stung her palms, where her nails had curled in.)
    There were options. It would be embarrassing for her, but it would be enough to keep them safe, for now, and that was worth a little pride.
    Jo could let them dance one more night, at least.
    â€œNo one leaves their rooms until I give the word,” she said. “Cabs leave at midnight.”
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    She remembered that spring, the night they’d been detoured away from Fifth, and as they turned she’d looked out the window and seen the remains of the new Sherry-Netherland tower burned out, bare and smoking, and felt as sick as if they’d all been trapped inside, though no one had been, though it had worked out all right.
    She expected disaster. It was a habit. You got used to planning.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    When the cabs pulled up in front of the Kingfisher, Jo leapt out and gave the two other cars the sign to hold tight.
    She snuck through the dim club, marveling at how quickly some things returned to normal, and trying not to let any of the men catch sight of her; if they did, there would be a rush outside to greet the others, and then she’d really be stuck.
    Jake was holding court, sliding highball glasses to either end of the bar, and when he saw her he grinned and pulled a bottle of champagne. A corkscrew appeared in his other hand, and he called over the crowd to her.
    â€œHey, jailbird!”
    She edged her way through until she could brace both hands on the bar. Jake was smiling at her—a coconspirator.
    â€œDrinks are on me tonight, Princess. What can I get you?”
    â€œThe name of Tom’s place,” she said.

eleven
    Forgetting You
    The Hamilton sisters entered the Marquee together.
    It was bigger and better appointed than the Kingfisher; the staircase could accommodate all twelve of them, in stocking feet, their shoes dangling from their hands.
    Without knowing they’d be going someplace new, all the sisters must still have sensed that the beautiful times could end any night. They must have known they had to enjoy themselves while they could.
    They had dressed like it was New Year’s Eve in a movie, the last night they’d ever have.
    The effect of all twelve of them standing on the stairs was striking enough that the room paused as the crowd caught sight of them, and even the musicians dropped the volume for a beat, as if the wind had been knocked out of them from twelve girls with glittering,