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Aron pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I’m not concerned about a bunch of hocus-pocus types. We’ve got real troubles to solve.”
“Perhaps Mabel could get her Diviner friend to solve it for us!” Gloria cooed.
Mabel had had enough. Arthur could keep his stuck-up, phony friends. Angry tears stung her eyes. “Well. I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said, marching over to the vestibule and retrieving her coat and hat from the hook. She hoped she could get out of Arthur’s flat before she started to cry and really embarrassed herself. “I’ve got to conduct a séance for workers’ rights.”
The wind whipped across the wet cobblestones of Bleecker Street and eddied about Mabel’s legs, cutting right through her woolen hosiery, but Mabel’s anger kept her warm. Those Secret Six phonies acted as if she had never even been to a strike, when Mabel was practically born on a picket line! She almost didn’t hear Arthur shouting after her. He was jogging down the street in the rain without a coat. “Mabel! Mabel, stop!” he shouted, and she let him catch up to her. “Please don’t be angry.”
“I’m not angry,” Mabel said.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Add it to my list of faults.”
“No. I like that about you. You are exactly who you seem to be. That’s… rare.”
“Oh,” was all Mabel could manage. She still felt the fool and she was afraid anything else she said would only add to her embarrassment.
“Look, don’t pay any attention to Aron and Gloria. They want to change the world, to make it better, and sometimes they can be a little rough around the edges—and blunt.”
“You forgot rude and insufferable,” Mabel grumbled, forgetting her earlier promise to herself to keep quiet.
“That, too.” Arthur’s smile was sheepish. “So. Will I see you again, Mabel Rose?”
“I’m not sure I’m welcome here.”
“I said, will I see you again?” Arthur slipped two fingers beneath her chin, lifting her face back up to his. His eyes were a mix of brown and gold, two different reads depending on the light. “Give them a chance. Show ’em what you’re capable of. You’d be a good influence on them—you’ve been inside the labor movement forever. And those workers out in the tent city sure could use all the help they can get.”
She’d wanted to make a difference, hadn’t she?
“All right,” Mabel said, feeling a little breathless.
“All right?”
“I’ll do it.”
“That’s swell. Because I’m gonna need somebody to help me, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Mabel groused. “Besides, how old are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not. Wait! Yes. It does.”
“I’m twenty.” He spread his arms wide. “I’m allowed to make all my own decisions. I even cut my own steak. Well, when I can get steak.”
He gave his lopsided grin again, and Mabel found herself softening. He offered his hand for a shake. “Welcome to the messy underground, Mabel Rose.”
Mabel shook Arthur’s hand. Across the street, she noticed a man standing under a street lamp. He was reading a newspaper. Or pretending to. Mostly, he seemed to be watching the two of them.
“Arthur, don’t look now, but I think somebody’s keeping tabs on us.”
Arthur stopped smiling. “What? Where?”
“Over there. Under the lamp. Man in the brown hat. Don’t make it obvious,” Mabel said, training her eyes on the ground now.
Arthur pretended to tie his shoe, looking over his shoulder. He stood up, shrugged. “Nobody there now. Unless you mean old Sal from the pizzeria. I suspect he keeps an eye on me to make sure I come in for his pizza.”
Mabel looked up again. The space under the street lamp was empty. But the man had been there, and he hadn’t seemed like a casual bystander. She thought about Maria’s words: They are out there, watching us.
