Read The Girls at the Kingfisher Club for Free Online

her hands so it didn’t make a sound.
    One maid might be sympathetic. You couldn’t risk more.
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    The second place they went was some supper club so far downtown that even if Jo had known her way around the city, she’d probably have been lost in the maze.
    It was darker than the Salon, which suited Jo; it had a cramped band and whiskey that tasted like dust, which didn’t suit anyone; and it had a name that was doomed to obscurity the moment Doris stepped inside and said, “God, it’s like someone died in here.”
    They lasted two weeks at the Funeral Parlor Supper Club.
    Jo and Lou got another name from a bartender with sleek, dark hair and high cheekbones that made him look like the star on a movie marquee. He was young and impatient, and apparently just traitorous enough to go other places on his nights off.
    â€œIt’s nothing much,” he warned, “but if they ever get some decent drink I might consider it.”
    â€œSee you there, then,” said Jo, and the bartender smiled at Lou with dark eyes and said, “I should be so lucky.”
    The flirting didn’t do much to endear him to Jo (they weren’t there for men), but Lou didn’t seem to mind it; she took her time coming back with her drink, and she was glancing over at the bar again long before the champagne was gone.
    â€œJust scouting for partners,” she said when Jo caught her eye, and Jo said, “Good,” already knowing better.
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    The place was the Kingfisher, and almost from the first moment Jo could tell it was going to be home.
    By the end of the night, she was sure.
    (Partly, it was that the Kingfisher was small enough to be out of mind and dark enough to slip into; there were faces of all colors on the dance floor and sometimes two men cheek to cheek, and she wanted a place that could keep secrets.
    Partly, it was that Jo had a moment of weakness with someone she shouldn’t have.)
    There was a table near the back door that was big enough for all of them, with a few seats to spare. The spare seats filled with young men trying to trade drinks for dances, with varying degrees of success.
    Even Lou approved of the place, which was saying something, and the next night when they scrambled into a taxi, Jo didn’t hesitate.
    They’d been going there only six weeks before the bartender from the Funeral Parlor appeared before the rows of bottles.
    Jo pushed through the crowd to thank him.
    When he saw Jo, he grinned and waved, already looking ten years younger than the last time she’d seen him, and she felt disconcertingly welcome, as if for a moment the nightlife had opened its arms to her in earnest.
    She fought the feeling. Vanity wasn’t going to get them all back home safely, and the last thing she needed was to get carried away.
    â€œHey there, Princess,” he called over the crowd of men clamoring for drinks. “What are you having? I’ll start a tab until the gentlemen start buying them for you.”
    A few of them glanced over their shoulders, as if sizing up how long it would be. She ignored them. As soon as they saw Ella, it would be taken care of.
    â€œI’m surprised to see you here so soon,” she said, smiling, when she managed to belly up to the bar.
    â€œDitto,” he said, and slid the glasses across the bar with a sidelong glance at Lou.
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    By the end of the night, Jo knew three things.
    First, his name was Jake.
    (“Oh,” she said—she’d expected something different—and he smiled and said, “I have a name back on Mott Street, but Jake suits me in this neighborhood,” and she wasn’t going to question having a name you kept at home.)
    Second, he already knew her sisters well enough to pick them out from the crowd.
    (Lou smiled at him a little too long.)
    Third, “Princess” was going to stick.
    That suited Jo. It was