Lair of Dreams
Page 55
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Sam’s voice crackled over the line, filled with smirk. “Well, if it isn’t the future Mrs. Lloyd.”
“Daaarling,” she trilled. “I’ve missed you.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, then: “Uh-oh.”
Through the crack in the door, Evie could see Mr. Phillips and the WGI secretary pool hovering, hanging on her every word. She perched on the gleaming edge of the lacquered desk and laughed like they’d taught her in elocution class, low in her throat, with her head thrown back as if she were catching the wind in her hair. It was supposed to be alluring and high-class, the devil-may-care laugh of a lady of leisure. “Hahahaha. Oh, you! Darling, I simply must see you. Shall we say luncheon at noon? The Algonquin?”
Another pause. “Are you feeling okay, Sheba?”
“Now, don’t be late, dearest. We have so much to discuss, and you know that every moment away from you is like torture. Adieu!”
Evie hung up before Sam could say another word.
On her way out, Evie shared the elevator with Sarah Snow. Evie noticed her stockings right away—gray herringbone, very chic. For an evangelist, she was quite fashionable. That was a large part of her appeal. God’s flapper, some called her. She gave the subject of Jesus a little hotsy-totsy. A missionary’s daughter whose parents had been killed in China when she was only thirteen, Sarah Snow heard the call at the tender age of fifteen. By the time she was twenty, she’d crisscrossed the country twice, holding tent meetings and preaching about the evils of liquor, dancing, and socialism. She’d married at twenty-one and lost her husband to tuberculosis before she’d turned twenty-three. Now, at twenty-five, she was trying to reach her flock on the radio—Moses on the Wireless. That she called for a return to simpler times appealed to plenty of Americans lost in a world turning too fast for them to find their footing. That she was a passionate speaker brought scores to her revival meetings. That she was pretty didn’t hurt a thing.
Still, she didn’t have nearly the following that Evie did. In fact, the gossip around the station was that the only reason Sarah had managed to hold on to her show was that there was nothing better to slot into that hour, and it would look bad to fire a foot soldier for Jesus.
“Congratulations on your engagement, Evie,” the evangelist said, giving one of those saintly, closed-mouth smiles that Evie couldn’t have managed if she practiced in a church mirror for a year.
“Thank you, Sarah.”
“Is he a Godly sort of fellow?”
Evie suppressed a loud “ha!” “Well, he certainly does know how to make a girl appeal to the Lord.”
“I wish you every happiness. I heard they’re putting you on two nights a week now. Is… is that true?” Another closed-mouth smile. But Evie sensed the worry behind it. Sarah Snow might have her eyes on the cross, but her heart was full of ambition. It almost made Evie like her more. Almost.
“Yes. It’s true,” Evie said brightly.
Sarah faced forward again, her eyes on the golden arrow counting down the floors. “I suppose everyone loves a great romance.”
Evie’s smile faltered. “I suppose so.”
Evie blew into the Algonquin and shook the damp from her cloche. The maître d’ led her through the packed, oak-paneled dining room. Every head turned as Sam rose to greet Evie.
“Lamb Chop!” Sam clasped her hands and gave a small sigh.
“Makes me sound like dinner,” Evie muttered through clenched teeth.
“Does it, my little Venison De Milo?”
Evie glared. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Sam whispered into her ear, “More than you can imagine.”
A waiter appeared. “Shall I bring you the Waldorf salad, Miss O’Neill?”
“Yes, thank you. And coffee, please.”
“Mr. Lloyd?”
Sam gave a small sigh. “Usually I feast on our love, but since the lady’s having something, I’ll take a Reuben. Extra horseradish. And an egg cream.”
“As you wish, sir,” the waiter said. “You two must be very happy.”
“Over the moon. Who’d’ve thought a regular schmoe like me could land a gem like Baby Doll here,” Sam said.
Evie had to lock her hands around her knees to keep from kicking Sam under the table. Once the waiter had gone, Evie leaned forward, her voice low. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, pal?”
Sam shrugged. “I heard we were in a romance. Thought I’d play along. But if you’d rather not, I’ll call the papers right now and tell ’em the truth.”
“Daaarling,” she trilled. “I’ve missed you.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, then: “Uh-oh.”
Through the crack in the door, Evie could see Mr. Phillips and the WGI secretary pool hovering, hanging on her every word. She perched on the gleaming edge of the lacquered desk and laughed like they’d taught her in elocution class, low in her throat, with her head thrown back as if she were catching the wind in her hair. It was supposed to be alluring and high-class, the devil-may-care laugh of a lady of leisure. “Hahahaha. Oh, you! Darling, I simply must see you. Shall we say luncheon at noon? The Algonquin?”
Another pause. “Are you feeling okay, Sheba?”
“Now, don’t be late, dearest. We have so much to discuss, and you know that every moment away from you is like torture. Adieu!”
Evie hung up before Sam could say another word.
On her way out, Evie shared the elevator with Sarah Snow. Evie noticed her stockings right away—gray herringbone, very chic. For an evangelist, she was quite fashionable. That was a large part of her appeal. God’s flapper, some called her. She gave the subject of Jesus a little hotsy-totsy. A missionary’s daughter whose parents had been killed in China when she was only thirteen, Sarah Snow heard the call at the tender age of fifteen. By the time she was twenty, she’d crisscrossed the country twice, holding tent meetings and preaching about the evils of liquor, dancing, and socialism. She’d married at twenty-one and lost her husband to tuberculosis before she’d turned twenty-three. Now, at twenty-five, she was trying to reach her flock on the radio—Moses on the Wireless. That she called for a return to simpler times appealed to plenty of Americans lost in a world turning too fast for them to find their footing. That she was a passionate speaker brought scores to her revival meetings. That she was pretty didn’t hurt a thing.
Still, she didn’t have nearly the following that Evie did. In fact, the gossip around the station was that the only reason Sarah had managed to hold on to her show was that there was nothing better to slot into that hour, and it would look bad to fire a foot soldier for Jesus.
“Congratulations on your engagement, Evie,” the evangelist said, giving one of those saintly, closed-mouth smiles that Evie couldn’t have managed if she practiced in a church mirror for a year.
“Thank you, Sarah.”
“Is he a Godly sort of fellow?”
Evie suppressed a loud “ha!” “Well, he certainly does know how to make a girl appeal to the Lord.”
“I wish you every happiness. I heard they’re putting you on two nights a week now. Is… is that true?” Another closed-mouth smile. But Evie sensed the worry behind it. Sarah Snow might have her eyes on the cross, but her heart was full of ambition. It almost made Evie like her more. Almost.
“Yes. It’s true,” Evie said brightly.
Sarah faced forward again, her eyes on the golden arrow counting down the floors. “I suppose everyone loves a great romance.”
Evie’s smile faltered. “I suppose so.”
Evie blew into the Algonquin and shook the damp from her cloche. The maître d’ led her through the packed, oak-paneled dining room. Every head turned as Sam rose to greet Evie.
“Lamb Chop!” Sam clasped her hands and gave a small sigh.
“Makes me sound like dinner,” Evie muttered through clenched teeth.
“Does it, my little Venison De Milo?”
Evie glared. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Sam whispered into her ear, “More than you can imagine.”
A waiter appeared. “Shall I bring you the Waldorf salad, Miss O’Neill?”
“Yes, thank you. And coffee, please.”
“Mr. Lloyd?”
Sam gave a small sigh. “Usually I feast on our love, but since the lady’s having something, I’ll take a Reuben. Extra horseradish. And an egg cream.”
“As you wish, sir,” the waiter said. “You two must be very happy.”
“Over the moon. Who’d’ve thought a regular schmoe like me could land a gem like Baby Doll here,” Sam said.
Evie had to lock her hands around her knees to keep from kicking Sam under the table. Once the waiter had gone, Evie leaned forward, her voice low. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, pal?”
Sam shrugged. “I heard we were in a romance. Thought I’d play along. But if you’d rather not, I’ll call the papers right now and tell ’em the truth.”
