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He jingles the pouch, concealing a smile at the edges of his blue lips.
Jo focuses on the pouch in the old man’s hand, wondering if it’s really possible to find salvation for just one dollar. Is it possible to get what she wants? To get back what she’s lost? To be free of guilt and sin?
Yes.
The room gets hazy at the edges. Her pulse pounds in her veins like a gong. “I’ll do it.”
The old man opens the pouch.
Strays and Waifs
The hulk who opens the door is hard faced, with dark, beady eyes that appraise them flatly. His hands are large, his nose slants to the side, and his knuckles are covered in pink scar tissue. “Who’s asking?” he says in a deep monotone.
“Josephine Lisso. I’m a photographer.” She opens her camera bag and shows him her Kodak. “Ira asked me to take a picture of the girls. Make a portrait.” She points at Grace, who stands to her right, lower lip jutting out. Prepared for the fight, it seems. “Grace is assisting me.”
“You must be new or something?”
“Or something,” Jo replies.
The man folds his huge arms across his chest and steps forward, filling the doorframe. “No pictures. Ain’t that day. Ain’t no Sunday.”
“It’s just one picture. Won’t take long. Ira wants it done today, before you open for business. And it’s not a nude picture. I’m sure Madame Ada knows.”
“Uncle Ira won’t be pleased if you won’t let us in,” Grace adds.
Every nerve is awake in Jo’s body. Are they setting a trap for themselves by using Ira’s name as a shield when it’s really a weapon that can be turned against them in an instant? When Jo came up with the idea of a photo session, it seemed like a good plan. And a fast one too—get in, take a few pictures, and get out before the place opens its doors for business. Now, it feels reckless and dangerous.
The man narrows his gaze at the girl. His dark, beady eyes gleam with suspicion. He nods at Jo. “I’ll let you in, all right.” He turns to Grace. “Not you. Not allowed.”
With a long sigh, Jo pulls herself straighter, trying to look taller. “She’s my assistant. I need help, and Ira allowed this one exception for today.”
“Let us talk to Ada,” Grace says bitterly, fixing the man with her icy-blue eyes. “I wonder what she has to say about this.”
The man sucks on his teeth and spits on the ground, barely missing Jo’s dress. He looks again at both women, shakes his head, and steps aside, letting them in. “Girls are in the back.”
Jo and Grace step inside Ada’s Dollhouse for the second time in one week. The air is thick with the smell of food. The floorboards moan and creak as they reach the staircase leading to the rooms upstairs. Jo looks back to see if the man is following them, but there’s no one in the hallway except her and Grace.
Looking up into the space, Grace clears her throat and shouts, “Madame Ada, please come on down. Ira sent us.”
It’s a bold lie, but Grace assured Jo that Ira doesn’t come to Ada’s in the afternoon. All his visits are in the middle of the night when he comes to check on the business. To appraise the customers. To make sure his dolls work hard not to disappoint anyone.
A door opens with a loud screech, and a few seconds later, Ada slowly comes down the stairs, her dark eyes fixed on Grace. Her hair is pinned into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing a moss silk housedress with a high white lace collar. Her feet are wrapped in blue velvet slippers with big silver buckles.
“What’s all this ruckus?” she says in a low, raspy voice. “Grace, why are you here again? I thought Ira was keeping you locked up in the house until the wedding.”
Grace smiles at Ada, but Jo sees how tightly her spine is drawn. “And you believed him?”
“Finn told me you two are getting married.”
Suddenly Grace’s eyes are ringed with shadows. “We’re here on Ira’s behalf.”
“Ira asked us to take a portrait of the girls,” Jo says. “I’m surprised he didn’t mention it.”
“A photograph? Of the girls? What for?” Ada searches Jo’s face with such perceptive intensity, Jo is convinced she sees right through her lies.
“Where are the girls?” Grace asks. “They need to be dressed for the picture.”
“Dressed?” Ada’s eyebrow curves.
