“Good to meet you,” he said, and shook Sam’s hand. His blue eyes were kind, and Sam found he liked him immediately. “Things get a bit busy around here, but you’ll learn. If you have any questions, just let me know.”
“I will.”
“Right, then.” Teresa gestured to the broom closet. “Ready to work?”
Sam spoke to Norman on the phone shortly before they left for work at The Pride. Norman was vague, but said he’d be by sometime in the next three nights, which was as much as Sam was going to get.
Work at a speakeasy was much faster-paced than the pharmacy, and Sam spent the first half of the night worried he wouldn’t be able to keep up. He lost count of how many times he went through the swinging doors: clearing tables and gathering abandoned glasses, before returning to the kitchen to scrub them as quickly as possible in near-scalding water. Dry plates were put back where they belonged, and wet plates set to dry.
It took him a while to remember where each type of plate belonged in the kitchen, and each type of glass behind the bar. His nerves were strung tight, and he waited for either Reinhold or the bartender, Philip, to snap at him for moving too slowly.
But neither did. Maybe they were too busy with their own work, but no one seemed angry or annoyed when it took him a bit to learn things.
As he finished washing the last batch of plates, Reinhold leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been going nonstop for four hours now.”
Dad had always been very clear about the sort of person who took breaks, and the last thing Sam wanted was to come off as lazy. “No need.”
Reinhold gave his shoulder a squeeze, but not a cruel one. “Wanda will have my hide if you don’t sit down for at least a few minutes. I think Holly is about to go on, so why don’t you give her a listen?”
“Who’s Holly?”
Reinhold grinned. “Holly Savine, best blues singer in Chicago, at least according to Wanda. Go on.”
Still afraid he was failing some kind of test, Sam nevertheless slipped out of the kitchen and found a place to stand where he was partially shielded by a large potted plant. The band had taken a break of their own, but now returned to the stage. Once they were in place, the same woman he’d heard sing when he’d been here with Eldon stepped onto the stage. Tonight she wore a sleeveless black dress that sparkled with silver beads, long gray gloves, and a turban hat that matched her gloves.
Applause broke out the moment she appeared. She smiled and leaned into the microphone.
“Y’all are too sweet,” she purred in an accent that said she was somewhere from the southern states. “All this fuss for little old me.” She paused for another round of applause and some whistles. “This one’s called Towertown Trouble. Oh, that woman of mine, she ain’t nothing but trouble…”
Sam stood transfixed by her voice. He’d heard her sing before, of course, but been distracted by Norman and Eldon from truly appreciating it.
He’d heard snatches of blues songs back in Gatesville, through open windows where the inhabitants listened to their phonographs in the evening. His family didn’t approve of blues, of course—it was apparently the devil’s music, along with jazz.
Certainly this song about a lost soul, hopelessly in love with a woman who treated her wrong, was no hymn. Miss Savine’s voice was like raw honey and whiskey. Her movements were infused with an easy sensuality that left Sam wishing he could be a quarter as comfortable in his own skin as she was in hers.
He wasn’t the only one transfixed. All the normal chatter had ceased, the diners and dancers alike focused on her voice as it sang of heartbreak and betrayal, ending at last on a note of wistful longing that maybe this time would be different.
When she was done, Sam applauded until his hands were sore. She took the audience’s adulation as her due, her dark brown eyes glinting and a knowing smile on her lips.
He returned to the kitchen to find Reinhold snacking on a can of tinned peaches. “What did you think?” the cook asked.
Sam considered for a long moment. “Magic,” he said at last. “It was like magic.”
By the time The Pride closed, Sam felt as though he could have slept standing up. He put the chairs on the tables and swept the floor, while the handsome bartender Philip wiped down the bar, Zola straightened up, and Teresa collected the night’s earnings. Doris, the large bouncer, took a seat on a barstool after Sam had swept the area. Once Reinhold finished in the kitchen, he came out and joined them, and Philip began to pour drinks for everyone.
Alistair and Wanda emerged from the back. “How did it go?” she asked, glancing in Sam’s direction.
Oh God. He’d definitely made mistakes. But he could improve—he would improve. He’d—
Reinhold grinned, though the left side of his face remained largely immobile. “Hardest worker we’ve ever had. I wish Frank had left earlier!”
“Seriously,” Philip said, “you don’t happen to have a twin brother, do you?”
Sam’s face heated. “I…thanks,” he said, unsure what to say, how to react.
“Put that broom down and have a drink,” Philip said. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Is there anything besides a Pussyfoot that doesn’t have alcohol in it?”
“Sure is. Mock champagne? White grape juice and club soda.”
“That sounds good, thanks,” Sam said.
Philip flashed him a wink. “Coming right up. Wanda?”
“Not right now.” She stretched her arms above her head. “Time to relax.”
In a blur, she was gone, and in her place was a lioness.
Even though he knew it was just Wanda, Sam’s mouth went dry. He’d never realized just how big lions were. She must have been nearly six feet long, and that didn’t include her tail. Her body was heavy, muscular; her head enormous. Her presence seemed to dominate the space.
Miss Savine came from somewhere in the back. She let out a laugh and turned into a robin, then flew and promptly landed on Wanda’s head. Wanda shook her head with a snort, which resulted in the robin swooping down and tugging at the tuft on her tail instead.
The other familiars started to take on their forms, all of them large cats except for Miss Savine. Philip bounded out from behind the bar and skidded up to Sam on enormous paws.
Sam clapped his hands over his mouth. “So…fluffy…”
Philip looked at him with the same gray-green eyes as in his human form, turned and glanced at Alistair—then butted his head against Sam’s hip.
“Oh!” Sam cautiously lowered his hand and touched Philip’s head. The snow leopard’s fur was incredibly dense and soft.
Alistair glowered at them. Then he took his human form back. “I’m going to count the take and secure it,” he announced. “Sam, give me a hand.”
Philip slipped back into human form as well. “Since when do you need help counting money?”
“Since right now.” Alistair stalked into the back, leaving Sam no choice but to scurry after.
9
Alistair was still fuming when they finally returned to Sam’s house. Philip’s antics had put his teeth on edge. He didn’t have to put a party on for every man who crossed his path, damn it.