Madam by Cari Lynn Read Free Book Online Page A

She wasn’t sure what a streetcar had to do with a five-cent cigar, but she’d decided it was a cheery picture. From her cleavage, she took what was left of her money and placed it in the box. She liked stowing her earnings under the streetcar. It reminded her that there was a whole world out there, that Venus Alley was just a pinprick on a map of the country and that with enough money, someday, she could go see places, she could go to Akron, Bedford, or Cleveland.
    The box was weighty in her hands, and she felt awash in reassurance as if the contents of that cigar box were the sole judge of her worth—and her worth was growing. Placing the box back in the floor, she slid the bureau to cover it.
    “I have grits warming,” Peter whispered. Mary nodded heartily, then bent down to remove a wad of cash she’d hidden in her boot. She handed Peter the cash. But instead of reaching for it, he just stared as if it were tainted. “Don’t you ever worry that Lobrano will find out?” he asked.
    For several months now, ever since Charlotte became sure she was with child, Mary had been skimming. Why now, she wondered, was Peter suddenly wary of the extra money?
    “He doesn’t count how many tricks I turn, and he’s no way of knowing what tips I get,” Mary said, urging the money toward him.
    Reluctantly, Peter pocketed the cash. Mary noticed he was fidgeting with his watch, clicking the lid open and snapping it shut the way he did when worries were turning over in his head. But she knew to just let him be, that he’d tell her soon enough what was getting at him.
    He set a simmering tin of grits before Mary, and she inhaled the steam. As she ate, she tried to ignore the watch cover’s rhythmic snap-click, snap-click. Mama had rescued the watch from discard by a john, and Peter had carried it ever since he was a little boy and it had been as big as his hand. It remained the nicest thing Peter had ever owned, even though it was permanently frozen at half past two.
    Finally, Peter offered up his thoughts. “Lobrano was makin’ a racket out there,” he said, then quickly busied himself again with the hearth, so as not to face Mary. “I could hear how he was talking at you.”
    Shame landed like a stone in Mary’s stomach. Out of respect, they usually avoided such talk. They all knew her work was crude, and there was no reason to go and speak outrightly about it. They talked of her work the same as they did of his selling potatoes in the market or of Charlotte’s seamstress work. Just jobs that put food in their bellies and shoes on their feet and kept them in clothes that weren’t too tattered, which was more than a lot of folks could claim.
    But Peter continued on, troubled in a way Mary couldn’t remember seeing him. “What’s gonna happen when there’s a child around?”
    “Why are you harpin’ like this, Peter? Things’ll be different soon enough.”
    “Different how?” he demanded.
    Mary brought the cup of grits to her lips and let a warm, buttery mouthful slide down the back of her throat. She could feel Peter’s eyes on her and had noticed the deepening purplish shadows, just like when he was a child.
    “Lobrano’s gonna get me my own crib,” she said staunchly, and as the words hovered in the air, she wanted so badly for them to be true.
    Peter’s shoulders drooped, and he stared blankly into the flames. “You keep tellin’ that to yourself,” he mumbled. “Might as well tell it to a fence post.”
    Mary ignored him. All she wanted was to savor the last mouthfuls of grits and enjoy the peace of the night with no one grabbing at her, no one wanting anything from her.
    But, uncharacteristically, Peter wasn’t going to let their talk taper off. He turned to face Mary. “You keep tellin’ that to yourself,” he said again, only this time his voice rose above their respectful hush. It also wasn’t like Peter to raise his voice, especially not to his older sister. But he was staring at her