Authors: Elaine Lowe
Well, not a girl exactly but certainly a woman younger than her own twenty-six years. She didn’t remember seeing her on Sunday morning but that wasn’t hard to imagine. This was a woman who had made a study of how to fade into the background. She pulled back with surprising force against the grip that Sophia had on her wrist but she wouldn’t raise her eyes to challenge for her freedom.
“If I let you go, will you talk to me for a moment?”
A pause and then the softest of replies. “Yes ma’am.”
Sophia let go and the desire of the petite woman to flee was palpable, even without Sophia’s heightened sensitivities. Her abilities didn’t include reading minds but when a body wants to be somewhere other than it is, it gives off a definite aura. This woman kept her eyes on the floor, or staring at the red skin of her hands and forearms. She looked like a couple of thousand other women in this part of town, her hair tucked up into a white cap, her serviceable gray print dress and the starched white apron of a housemaid. “Are you a friend of Mr. West, miss? And don’t call me ma’am. You ain’t young enough and I ain’t old enough for any of that kind of talk.”
The woman looked up. Sophia repressed the desire to gasp. The girl…no, the woman was beautiful. A heart-shaped face, huge eyes that were a cornflower blue and wisps of hair a soft pale gold. She looked like the heroine of every pulp novel or like what every movie actress wanted people to think they looked in real life. She wasn’t an innocent though. That same defensive loyalty flashed for half a moment in those brilliant blue eyes when Sophia had mentioned “Mr. West”.
“I know Mr. West. What’s it to you?” There was a surprising amount of fight in a voice that was so very quiet. There was no way of telling by the accent where the woman hailed from but it wasn’t New York. Between that and the eyes, Sophia knew that she’d seen more pain than she should have.
Sophia gave a smile, hoping to fight her acquired tendency to suspect the worst of everybody and everything. Once, Sophia would have been friendly to a woman like this. She would have tried to help as best she could. Six years in the city had taken their toll on Sophia’s humanity and perhaps it was high time she set out to reclaim it. “Well, I would sure like to thank the person responsible for the tasty cookies I keep finding in my room. Maybe invite them to get a cup of java sometime?”
The woman giggled. It sounded like something she needed to do more often. “I don’t rightly know if that’s a good idea. Mr. Giuseppe is terrible choosey about his coffee!”
Sophia smiled again. It was truly hard to believe that someone with that honest a laugh was out to do her wrong. “The cookies are from him then? But I bet you got them here.”
The maid put her hand in her apron and pulled out a biscotti, handing it to Sophia. “I dunno what he calls ’em. They’re from his bakery. He thought Hester…well, let’s just say they was a gift but the girl don’t much like ’em.”
Ah it was all coming together. It was a bit scary that a woman who looked so young would have a daughter old enough to be in school. Sophia broke the cookie clean in half and started to nibble the almondy goodness while handing the other half back to the housebreaking maid. “They ain’t something that kids would much like I suppose. Your daughter, she’s more a fan of the snickerdoodle I suppose?”
The woman gulped and Sophia was again aware of the strong desire to flee. But the woman took her half of the cookie and plucked out a stray piece of almond, worrying it between her calloused fingers. “She’s a simple girl. Animal crackers are her favorite. With milk of course.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that, in case I ever run into her in the park again. My name’s Sophia by the way.”
The maid looked away for a moment, back at the tips of her worn practical shoes. Then she looked up again, meeting Sophia’s eyes. “I knew that already. Irene told me. I was the one who found your little purse that morning, with your little book and your key. So we could bring you home. I didn’t take nothing though.”
“I didn’t think you had. You don’t seem the type.”
The woman raised an eyebrow, as if to question Sophia’s sanity. This woman had stolen in the past, Sophia had no question. But Sophia doubted she would do so again unless her life or the health of her child was at stake. But with a smile, the maid dropped a wry little curtsey. “I’m called June. Pleased to meet you, Sophia.”
What followed had been a brief but illuminating discussion as Sophia and June rushed the four blocks from her apartment on Eighty-Sixth and First to the Lexington Avenue line. June had a job not too far from that, in the swankier part of Yorkville, ritzy enough for a maid to find regular work but not so ritzy as to demand the maid stick around full time to be at the employer’s beck and call. No, June lived up in East Harlem, Italian Harlem, along with her little girl. Hester, who had stared at Sophia that fateful morning in Central Park with large curious eyes. Apparently, Nana, as everyone seemed to call Mary, lived not too far away. Mr. Giuseppe’s bakery was on One Hundred Sixteenth St. And Daron lived off Lexington and One Hundred Eighteenth, in the same building at June herself. Once the quiet girl got talking, she was a fount of information and Sophia cursed the fact that she had to descend into the subway when she still had so many questions.
What did that man do to me? Why can’t I get him out of my mind? Are you sleeping with him too, if he lives so close? What sane woman wouldn’t?
Instead, they parted with a smile and June’s promise to knock if she wanted to check on Sophia and Sophia’s insistence on owing both June and Giuseppe a cup of coffee. If nothing else, it would give her an excuse to be up in East Harlem. Giuseppe’s bakery was no doubt worth the trip. Any chance meeting with long-haired, green-eyed gorgeous men would be completely coincidental.
* * * * *
The jostling of the subway had evaporated the good mood Sophia had acquired from finding her burglar and sharing biscotti. Her constant headache still had her in its exasperating clutches. The weather was miserable, the wind howling down the streets and cold enough to have her cursing her indulgence in silk rather than wool stockings. She lived on the cheap most of the time but undergarments and shoes were her weakness and the city made it all too easy to indulge. Barreling from Astor station across Lexington to Waverly, she banged open the door to Lowbridge and Sons Pharmacy far too loudly, as the wind bellowed her late arrival. Mr. Lowbridge Senior merely looking up from his books, pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked at the clock. He raised his eyebrow but made no comment. His elder son was another matter entirely.
“Miss Hunter!”
Oh crap
. As he was forever trying to get into her bloomers, it was a bad sign if George Lowbridge Jr. didn’t call her by her first name. At least he wasn’t trying to whisper sweet sticky nothings in her ear. Best to cut off any diatribe before he got going.
“Sorry sir, delay in the Lexington Line. I’ll leave earlier tomorrow morning in case it happens again.” She tried to suppress her amusement as his rant was prematurely snipped off and he made a kind of gurgling sound but Lowbridge Senior let out a chuckle freely.
“Father! This is a serious business. She has no business being late when we pay her…”
“Shut it, Georgie. She earns her keep a fair lot better than you do, so she’s allowed a bit of a lazy start once in a while.” Mr. Lowbridge turned a gap-toothed smile at her, running a hand through thick gray hair. “How’s the headache? Any better?”
She lied. “It’s much better, Mr. Lowbridge. Those fizzy pills sure did help a lot. Great what stuff we got nowadays!” In truth, she’d given the tablets to Mr. Banbridge who lived next door in her basement and was always plagued with stomach troubles. She’d trust her Grams’ willow bark tea more than that stuff. Tasted just as foul but at least no chalky aftertaste.
George Jr. walked into the backroom with a huff and she could think of nothing but good riddance. How his wife put up with him long enough to give him three kids in the four years they’d been married, she shuddered to think. She busied herself taking off her hat and coat and got started with her day as she put on her green apron and smiled at the first customer coming in the door.
Really, it was an odd place to be comfortable in. But the stark white plaster and white tile and the racks of gray metal drawers behind the long counter were made a little more welcoming with the green leather stools in front of the soda fountain and the advertisements for cigars, candy and the few patent medications that Lowbridge Senior would tolerate in his establishment.
Most pharmacies did a brisk business in fizzy soda drinks, aspirin and the like. Sophia certainly sold enough of those. But the secret of the Lowbridge success was probably due more to the still hidden in the basement and the other Lowbridge son, Alan. Alan was quiet and unassuming at just twenty-two but he’d managed to get over his initial crush on Sophia when he’d come home from State College. Now they were friends and he was her main defense against evil brother George. Alan was as smart as a whip and managed to produce the finest quality hooch this side of the Canadian border. Since a pharmacy had the right to dispense liquor for “medicinal” purposes, it was easier to hide various shady activities. Sophia had seen some pretty hard-boiled characters coming in to deal with George Senior now and then.
Normally, she wouldn’t want to get caught up in all the mystery but it was a good job. It paid well and Lowbridge kept his prices low and his other medicines honest, which is more than a lot of drug stores could say. And, from the very beginning, she had used her talents to push people in the right direction as far as their health. She could always tell if she tried where their energy was lowest, where they were stalled and sick. Now, she had to block out such visions as they came as easily as breathing. She could always make good suggestions, which Mr. Lowbridge Senior always called great “instincts”. She’d even occasionally dabbled in giving out herbal concoctions, if she knew it would really help someone, though finding the right herbs had sometimes sent her on treasure hunts through some shady districts of the city. All of this led to a lot of repeat customers and a happy Lowbridge and Sons. Mr. Lowbridge was prepared to let her come in late once in a while, rather than lose her to a competitor.
By one o’clock, she’d dealt with two dozen customers, including rowdy schoolboys trying to filch baseball cards, Mrs. Andrews and her arthritis complaints, two snappy dressers who were there to see Mr. Lowbridge and thought they’d go trolling for a new moll while in the neighborhood. It would have been a nerve-racking morning for any normal working girl but to Sophia, seeing the colors and shapes of the energy within each of these characters was both delightful and dire, not to mention exhausting. Mrs. Andrews was a gem, her energy tired but still welcoming. Sophia would put up with her griping with more tolerance after seeing that underlying goodness. The kids’ youthful bright fire and zest had exhausted her but made her smile. The slashing violence of the two gangsters had made the pit of her stomach ache and her head pound in fear. She loved her job but if she couldn’t bring this crazy thing under control, she wouldn’t be able to deal with much of anything.
She took a short break, luring Alan out of the basement with a cajoling smile and promise of a cup of java from down the street. He shooed her away as he took over manning the soda fountain, managing to get over his shyness for a few minutes. Even with the giggling schoolgirls sitting at those green leather stools at this particular moment. Alan had come a long way. The kid had a wisdom and intelligence beyond his years and he loved a technical challenge. But put him in the same room as an attractive female and his stomach dropped into his shoes, his tongue tied in knots and his short dirty blond hair seemed to stand out on end as though he’d been hit with a shot of electricity. Sophia had forced him into a friendship and got him over the worst of his bumbling around girls. Still, he was frightfully innocent, in deed if not in thought. Frankly, she’d even considered flashing him her tits once, just to get him over the initial shock of seeing parts of a naked woman. Otherwise, he’d have a heart attack the first time he ever got lucky. If she left New York, she’d have to make sure to hook him up with a girl of some kind, just to get his feet wet. The kid was too good a catch and with the right bird, he’d be solid gold. She had a sudden flash of Alan strolling down the street with June the pretty picklock, a smile on her face and her head held high and Alan the envy of every man who walked by.
Hmm…wonder where that came from?
With the mood she was in—had been in since Sunday—there was no help for it but to walk the block and a half to her little local corner of paradise, Washington Square Park. Most people would not have characterized the crazy mishmash of landmarks and landscape and lobbying to be paradise but this public space that belonged both to the college kids at NYU and the artists and eccentrics of Greenwich Village was the heart and soul of this corner of New York. It was one of the places she loved most in the city. And even though it was filled with people, people whose energies throbbed in a crazy cadence in her skull, it was here she’d retreated each lunch hour for the past week in order to gain some perspective.