Page 34 of The Daring Times of Fern Adair
A pair of headlights brightened the front windows of the foyer, and a loud, rumbling engine came up the drive. If these were to be her final hours before she was humiliated in front of all of Chicago—and possibly the country—Fern would enjoy them.
A two-door Cadillac Coupe waited for her in the driveway. The passenger side door opened, and Patrice climbed out. She waved and sprang the seat forward so Fern could climb in the back. Her feet slowed. Two other women were already in the back seat.
“You look glam, Fern!” Patrice said, her voice bubbly. Fern squinted against the headlights and saw a man behind the wheel. He lowered his head, tucking his chin so he could watch her approach.
“Thanks for picking me up,” she said. The two women in the back slid over to make room. Both angled their heads to see her.
“Oh, this is Gloria and Sarah. Get in, and I’ll introduce you to Stephen,” Patrice said, her voice lowering as she leaned close to Fern’s ear. “He’s a fox, isn’t he?”
She smiled as she slid into the back seat. Patrice popped the seat back into place and jumped in the front. Perfume filled Fern’s nose as the two women beside her leaned forward.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Fern.”
“We know,” the one at the window said. She propped her elbow on her knee and leaned her chin to her hand asshe stared at her. “You know what? Patrice was right. Your scars are not all that bad.”
“Sarah!” Patrice shrieked, whipping around to glare at her friend.
A trail of fire breathed up Fern’s back, but it quickly tamped out as her mind absorbed what Sarah had said.Not all that bad?Patrice had said that?
The driver, Stephen, backed out into the road and started up toward Midway Gardens.
“Oh, stuff it, Patrice, you’re the one who said it,” Sarah replied, laughing.
“I’m Gloria,” the woman in the middle said to Fern, holding out her hand. She took it, regretting her clammy palm. “Don’t mind Sarah. She’s a bitch most of the time.”
“And yet we still invite her everywhere,” Patrice added, facing forward again.
“Only ‘cause we can’t shake her,” Stephen said, glancing back at them.
Sarah laughed harder and reached forward to slap the side of his head.
Fern’s shoulders softened as the three of them continued to bicker. They enjoyed ribbing one another, and instead of getting angry, they just laughed and screeched with pretend insult. Like a fly on the wall, Fern observed them. Patrice soon shifted in her seat and peered back at her.
“So, Fern, you agree with me that Buchanan is a total wolf, and Sarah should stay away from him, right?”
“Patrice!” Sarah groaned.
“Fern, tell her,” her cousin pressed.
Fern parted her lips, surprised. “You like my brother?”
Sarah giggled. “He’s a dreamboat.”
“He’s awful,” Fern replied, to which Patrice threw up her hands and said, “See! I told you. Guard yourself, Sarah. Be smart.”
“I don’t care if he’s taken half the girls in this city to bed, Buchanan Adair will never look at another woman after me.” Sarah winked and crossed her legs, and Fern’s dinner roiled at the base of her esophagus. She must have made a sour face because all three women burst into laughter. Even Stephen shook his head, grinning.
The rest of the ride passed in a blur of gossip and laughter. Fern wasn’t paying attention to where they were going the way she’d tried to do when Vinny had been driving to the Lion’s Den. When Stephen finally pulled to the curb and told them to get out, and that he’d meet them after he’d parked somewhere, Fern emerged onto a sidewalk, into a cloud of cigarette smoke. With a surge of relief, she didn’t see Mama Rosa’s triple-decker. They were on a different street. Of course, they were. It wasn’t as if the Lion’s Den was the only speakeasy in the city. There had to be hundreds of them. Perhaps even thousands.
Gloria, Sarah, and Patrice shook their dresses out and primped on the sidewalk, all three of them lighting cigarettes in long holders, so their fingers wouldn’t touch the cigarette itself.
Patrice eyed Fern’s hand. “You want a smoke?”
An image of Cal, flippingopen his silver cigarette case, then lighting the tip of her cigarette, flickered into the front of her mind, then extinguished.
She shook her head; it would only make her feel ill. The four of them started along the sidewalk, Sarah leading the way. She was tall and willowy, with a wide, silver satin ribbon tied around her short, black bob. She was incredibly stylish, and even though both Gloria and Patrice were prettier than Sarah, she was the one who caught the eyes of several men as they passed by. A few older gentlemen whistled appreciatively, to which Sarah laughed. “You wish, Father Time!”
They pantomimed being shot in the heart. “Who says that whistle was for you, dollface? I was lookin’ at your friends,” one called back.
