The Game of Love and Death(11)

“Something wrong?” Ethan said. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to your senses.”

“It’s not that. I just —” Henry shook his head. “The singer.”

“Not that it matters, but she’s not bad-looking out of that canvas getup,” Ethan said. “I’ll grant you that. Even if her dress looks like something that was in style twenty years ago.”

Henry didn’t care about the dress. It looked fine to him. More than fine.

Flora opened her mouth to sing and Henry swallowed hard. He’d never heard anything like her voice, which made him wish he had his bass in his hands, just so he could return the sounds, a mix of chocolate and cream, something he wanted to drink through his skin.

Once upon a time I dreamed

Of how my life would go …

He recognized the song: “Walk Beside Me.” But her voice nailed him to the floor. It made him feel as though something had slipped under his skin and was easing everything nonessential straight from his bones.

I’d span the globe, a lonely soul

Beneath the moon’s white glow …

“Cigarette?” A blond wearing a short red dress and a tray of Viceroys slung from a strap around her neck leaned in toward them, blocking Henry’s view.

On that day I saw you

It wasn’t love at first sight

But slowly, like a sunrise

You revealed your light

Henry craned around her as Ethan waved the cigarette girl away. “Your kind always says no to mine,” she muttered as she left. The ma?tre d’ approached holding menus.

“Follow me, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s your lucky night. We have a table right up front by the dance floor.”

Henry had heard “Walk Beside Me” many times on the wireless. But he had never heard it like this, slow and tender. And the accompanying music was nothing like the orderly, upright way the Ozzie Nelson Band played it. This was something unsettling here, something unpredictable, as if some set of rules, both written and unwritten, was being shattered like glass. The awareness of it dampened his forehead and made his blood sing, raising all the tiny hairs on his arms and the back of his neck.

Flora moved on to the chorus.

I may have dreamed before you

Of how my life should be

The only thing I want now

Is for you to walk beside me

Beneath her voice, a skinny young bass player plucked a steady rhythm, holding her on a sturdy web of notes. For some reason, Henry immediately hated the man, his mustache, his pompadour, his trim tuxedo, the way he looked at Flora as though she were a thing he owned. The music picked up a notch, taking Henry’s pulse with it as the song traveled back to the main melody, now with the full band. It was a conversation with a piano, a guitar, a saxophone, two trombones, and a pair of twins playing trumpets that turned the reflection of the chandeliers overhead into movable stars.

Henry felt as though he’d dived deep into the water of Lake Washington on a hot day, braced by the coolness of it, knowing he’d have to surface to breathe. He was vaguely aware that next to him, Ethan was saying something and gesturing with the menu.

“Beg pardon?” Henry said, unable to take his eyes off of Flora.

“I was saying,” Ethan said, his voice edged with something sharp, “I ordered you a gin fizz and a rack of ribs with collard greens on the side. This place is supposed to be the best, if you like that sort of food.”

It took Henry forever and a day to process Ethan’s words. It was as though his mind was forcing him to untangle the letters, as though they were unspooling from a knotted ball of twine.

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

“What’s with you?” Ethan asked, his expression dark. “The eating had better be good because this music does nothing for me. And this club is a shambles. It’s worse than her dress.” He flicked his hand toward the stage, and his gesture extinguished the candle burning on their table.

Henry looked again at the gown, wondering what Ethan could see that he couldn’t. Under the spotlight, the sequins followed Flora’s curves in places he wanted to touch. And the club, well, it had seen better days, but what place hadn’t? Ethan and his family might not have felt the full weight of the hardship that had afflicted most these long eight years, but it was never far from Henry’s mind that he was one friendship away from nothing.

A waiter set down their order and leaned in to reignite the candle, and Henry focused on Flora, hoping she’d see him too. The moment the flame caught, there was a flash of recognition in her eyes, a quick stiffening in her shoulders, the slightest break in her voice. She looked away, and Henry leaned back in his seat and forced himself to breathe.

Ethan’s voice cut in. “I suppose that’s the thing with real life. It has a way of not living up to the one you imagine.”

Henry downed his drink so he wouldn’t have to reply. As far as dreams went, his imagination had never conjured anything as powerful as the hold Flora’s voice had on him, and the only thing he could do was sit still and swallow it whole, trying not to feel Ethan’s disapproval too sharply.





AFTER the show, Henry stood in the alley outside the club and rapped on an unmarked door while Ethan, making no effort to hide his mortification, turned to face the street. No one answered. Henry waited a minute before knocking again.