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"When can I see you again?" he asks, those green eyes sparkling in the dim glow of my apartment porch lighting.
I take a deep breath. I need to just pull the ripcord, end this thing once and for all.
"I'm really busy right now..." I begin, before he cuts me off.
"I'll see you at the diner this week," he says firmly, not letting me finish.
He brushes his lips against a spot on my cheek that sits far too close to my lips for comfort, and then he strides off into the night back to his car. My fingers trace the spot where his lips touched. It's probably my imagination, but it feels like my face is throbbing with heat just in that spot.
Shaking my head in dismay at his apparent unwillingness to give up, I walk into my tiny, crappy apartment, and head to bed. I just need to stay strong for both Liam's and my sake.
Landon Torrio
New York City 1921
I walk into the jazz club with my date. The air inside the club is hazy with cigarette smoke and lust. I'm out of place with my long hair, since all the women in this era seem to favor bobs and what I've heard are called "flapper dresses." But I don't care. James always said he loved my long hair, and I can't bear to cut it.
It had taken me years to get to the point where I could interact normally in this time period. When I had found myself in a dirty alley in New York City I had immediately gone into shock. There were tall buildings that seemed to touch the sky, and mystifying loud machines that people could actually ride in to get from place to place like a horse. The people wore unusual clothing and talked with strange accents. The men wore fitted jackets that matched their pants, and everyone's hair was short with no powdered wigs in sight. People spoke into machines that somehow carried their voices to other people who were far away, and everyone I met seemed to know how to read.
I'm sure I was close to being locked away since I spent days in my old-fashioned dress, with my foreign accent, begging people to help me find James, the Crown Prince of England.
A Jewish deli owner finally took pity on me and took me in when she saw me begging in front of her store. I'm sure that Clara Bergmann thought that I was a troubled young woman with a fanciful imagination, but she never let on that she didn't believe me. After listening to me haltingly tell my story of how I had woken up in this new place a few days before I was to marry the Prince of England, she helped me find clothes that allowed me to fit in. She was endlessly patient in explaining what things were. She laughed the first time I got into an automobile, and she held my hand those many nights when I woke up in the middle of the night crying out for James. She was the mother figure I had always wanted after my own had left, and she was the only reason that I survived that first awful time I found myself ripped away from all I had known. Clara Bergmann was an angel.
I helped Clara out in the deli for a year, only venturing out if she was with me. Finally, when she felt like I had hidden from life long enough, she began to encourage me to spread my wings.
Spreading my wings at first consisted of going to stores by myself or visiting the park with daughters of Clara's friends. I would sit and stare at everything in awe as the girls tittered amongst themselves. It took time to start to feel like I fit in. There were so many colloquialisms and mannerisms that I had to learn. I had to figure out how to school my features when I didn't know what something was, and to save my questions for when I could get home and ask Clara. I'll never forget the first time I asked what pizza was, the girls looked at me like I was crazy.
Truth be told I felt crazy. My skin itched from that feeling that I didn't belong. People were kind, probably overly kind as they tried to make up for my awkwardness. I would get through the day with a smile glued on my face, trying to be pleasant and act happy so that Clara wouldn't worry about me.
Nighttime was a whole different story though. Nighttime was when my bed felt empty, when I would have given up all the modern conveniences that left me in awe everyday just to see James's face for one second. As time passed I began to feel like my life with him was the dream, and that I had always been in New York City. I lived my days uncomfortably numb. That is, until I met Landon.
Daniel is one of the first guys that I've agreed to go on a date with. He's average looking with a quick smile, but so very sweet. He certainly doesn't give me butterflies, but I've begun to accept the fact that no one is going to make me feel like that again. He's the son of another of Clara's friends, and the excited way that Clara pushed us out the door after he came to pick me up tells me she's hoping it's a match that will stick.
I hadn't been to any of the jazz clubs before that you could find on almost every corner of the City, and the sights and sounds inside make me feel more alive than I've felt in months. The music slides under my skin, making me eager to dance. There's a dance floor where couples are executing complicated moves so effortlessly that it looks almost unreal. The women look glamorous and perfectly done up with their short dresses that flutter around them as they move, and I pat my hair, feeling self-conscious for a moment.
"You look beautiful," Daniel yells over the music as he gazes at me with admiration.
Like I said, he's a sweet boy.
Daniel leads me to a table by the dancefloor and waves down a waiter in a white, double breasted jacket.
"What will you have?" Daniel asks me expectantly.
We're in the middle of Prohibition and Clara definitely isn't the bootlegger type, so I'm not quite sure what to order. Channeling my favorite actress, Greta Garbo, I order a whiskey and Daniel looks shocked.
Whoops, I guess that wasn't the right order.
"Why don't you try a whiskey sour," Daniel suggests, and I nod gratefully at the recommendation.
While we're waiting for our drinks, we're mostly quiet, both looking at the dancers and enjoying the music. As we sit there though, I begin to get the uncomfortable feeling that someone is watching me.
I look around furtively, trying to see if I can catch anyone's eyes on me, but no one seems unusually interested. The feeling persists, however.
Our drinks come, and I take my first tentative sip of my whiskey sour. Lemon is the first thing I taste, followed by an afterburn from what I assume is the whiskey. It's actually pretty good, and I quickly take another drink after the burn wears off.
"Do you like it?" asks Daniel, who has been watching me closely with an amused expression on his face.
"Yes," I tell him with a wink, and now I watch him in amusement as he blushes.
