The Game of Love and Death by Martha Brockenbrough Read Free Book Online

of lemonade against her forehead. The stage lights were always so hot she felt like something out of an oven after a performance, and nothing was better than something cold, tart, and sweet to drink. As she lowered the glass to sip, she tried not to think about that one moment in her performance … the moment she lost control.
    Focus on what went well , she told herself. Your club was full. No fights broke out. The tax inspectors didn’t drop by with their notebooks to count the bottles of liquor.
    Probably no one even noticed the ruined note — well, no one but Grady, who’d no doubt bring it up with her later, thinking he was doing her a favor. He was that way with her. Because he was older, he considered himself her teacher, her protector, and her superior. He could be a real jackass.
    She blamed the boy, though. The one from the airstrip. The one doing the article on the plane. Henry or Ethan. She wasn’t sure which was which. Either way, he wasn’t the sort she usually saw in the Domino, which was perhaps why he stood out in his tuxedo, his eyes glittering in his white face. It needled her that she couldn’t ignore him during the show. Usually, she looked over people’s heads. The audience couldn’t tell the difference.
    This time, though, it was as if some force had lashed her gaze to his. The moment of connection felt the way it did the instant the wheels of her airplane touched ground. There was a solidity, an inevitability to it, as though her body had been built for it, even if she wanted only to be back in the sky. It had never happened before. Never. But it was over and done. He wasn’t the Domino type, and surely he’d gotten what he needed for whatever article he’d planned.
    Flora shivered and set down the lemonade. She had no business looking twice at a white boy, or he at her, especially if he was the sort who felt entitled to take what he wanted. She’d seen it happen before, sometimes with the waitresses, sometimes with the cigarette girls. Deep in her center, a sense of danger planted itself. She trusted — she hoped — the feeling would disappear.
    To let in a bit of air while she waited for Grady to come fetch her (as if she were a child), she stood on a low bookshelf and cracked open the high window, the only one in the whole club that hadn’t been bricked shut. Sherman was scolding someone in the alley. Not the authorities. With them, he was nothing but honey, smiles, and free cocktails. Whoever it was, he was handling it. Flora smiled and jumped off the shelf. She took one last sip of her lemonade, letting the ice rattle in the glass. Then she felt ready to call it a night, and maybe feed the cat, poor thing, and then eat some of that chocolate cake Nana had made.
    Right on cue, Grady knocked and stuck his head inside the door.
    “Time to go,” he said, as if she might not have realized. Jackass.
    “Fine.” She put on her gloves and felt better, more grown-up than girl.
    “Let’s feed you some supper at Gloria’s,” he said, referring to the all-night diner that served their people. “A little sustenance for my girl.”
    “It’s late,” she said, although she was famished just thinking of the cake. “And I might be coming down with a cold. It made my voice break during ‘Walk Beside Me.’ ” That was to keep him from saying anything about the flaw in her performance, or worse, trying to kiss her.
    Grady’s face fell. “You should just let me take care of you.” He pulled her close. “You need taking care of.”
    “It’s kind of you to offer, and I do appreciate it,” she said, trying not to breathe in his heavy cologne. “But not tonight. Please.”
    “Let’s get you home,” he said. She took the arm he offered, wishing he didn’t hold her so tight. It made it hard to walk.
    “On second thought, considering how I feel, I’ll ride with Sherman.” She dropped his arm.
    “Flora,” Grady said. He looked more irritated than hurt. She gathered her things in