TIL MORNING

Part Six

CHAPTER FIVE

Dorothy

            The black room, adjacent to the master bedroom they never used, had always been her sanctuary, which was the reason Dick kept insisting they change the decor. It was as wide as the entire apartment and had matte-black walls and a white ceiling. The only color came from the red furniture, the kelly-green carpet, and a huge painting depicting a scene from the Revolutionary War that Clarice, her gallery owner friend, had told her had to go.

            Dorothy collapsed against the back of the settee and watched the candlelight flicker around Billie Holiday’s ethereal voice. Lover Man, where can you be? Before her, on a cocktail table shaped like a drum, sat an untouched drink. The soft wash of rain on the windowpanes only made her feel more alone.

            She’d allowed herself to be humiliated, a graver sin than the adultery she’d committed. She still felt every step of that sharp, broken walk down the hall of Johnnie’s apartment building. But he’d chased her, shouting, almost weeping. How about that, Dotty? It didn’t console her. Johnnie Ray would weep at a change in the weather.

            He had said she meant something to him. How could she believe him, sleeping with another man’s wife, shaking her out like laundry in the morning? Then ushering in those people, that awful woman.

            “Lonely?”

            She jumped at the sound of Dick’s voice. He leered at her from the doorway.

            “Please, Dick. Can’t you announce yourself?”

            He moved closer. “Thought that’s what I was doing, darling.”

            His bloated face made his teeth look smaller and shrunken. “You’ve been here all day. Julian says you’re not taking visitors or calls from anyone, not even Jack Kennedy.”

            He settled on the other end of the settee, and she realized he had been drinking.

            “Aren’t you starting a little early?”

            He drew back as if struck and nearly knocked over a candlestick on the table behind him. “I never take a drink before five-thirty. You know that.”

            “And you never rise before four, do you?”

            “Hubba hubba, darling. I’d watch the sarcasm if I were you.”

            He thought if he repeated the term he had invented enough times, he could make it part of the lexicon. She was sick of it. “I’m not trying to be sarcastic,” she said. “I just need some time to myself.”

            “As do I.” Even in candlelight, his once-handsome face lay flat and gray. “I’ll be late tonight.”

            “Of course.”

            “Very late. We’re putting the last touches on the club, moving in the piano. Maybe your friend will sit in with the band some night.”

            Her temples throbbed. “My friend?”

            “The Prince of Wails. I’m having various entertainers drop by, do a few tunes. Cheap labor and all. So now that you and the prince are pals—”

            “I’ll mention it to Mr. Ray if I talk to him,” she said.

            “I hope you will. Considering the condition of his career, he ought to welcome any opportunity to perform he can get.”