A ripple of confidence bolstered me as she reached for the doorbell and buzzed it three times, paused, then buzzed it again. A tall man in a black mask covering half his face opened the door partway.
“Trick or treat!” Sally said.
“Which do you prefer?”
“Neither. I prefer broccoli.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” The man opened the door and ushered us in, locking the door behind us before disappearing back into the crowd.
“Was that a password? Is this a work party?” I asked.
“Quite the opposite.”
Instead of jack-o’-lanterns and apple bobbing, the house was decorated more like a gothic masquerade ball. Antique candelabra with flaming black candles were perched on every available surface. Black velvet drapes covered the built-in bookshelves. The dining room table featured an array of elaborate sequined masks for the taking. A large Siamese cat clad in a collar made from lavender ostrich feathers slunk through the legs of party guests. The first floor was packed with people dancing, smoking, picking at hors d’oeuvres, dipping bread cubes into pots of fondue.
“What’s that green stuff?” I asked.
“Guacamole.”
“What’s that?”
She laughed. “Leonard goes all out, doesn’t he?”
“The man who answered the door?”
“No.” She pointed to a woman wearing a lacy-necked Southern debutante ball gown with a red belt. “Scarlett O’Hara over there.” Scarlett, or Leonard, saw Sally and waved her over.
“Gorgeous as always,” Sally said, kissing Leonard’s hand. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”
“I try.” Leonard looked Sally over. “Foxy alien?”
“We’re Muttniks, thank you very much.”
“How trendy.”
“You know me.” She pulled me closer. “This is Irina.”
“Enchanted,” he said, and kissed my hand. “Welcome. Now, I need to see about this appalling music.” He went to the record player and lifted the needle. The crowd groaned. “Patience, my children!” He slipped a new record out of its sleeve and moments later “Sh-Boom” was playing. The crowd groaned again. Undeterred, Leonard led a man dressed as Frankenstein’s monster with two empty thread spools painted black and stuck to his neck to the middle of the floor. Several other couples joined in, and soon the dance floor was going again.
Sally wove her way through the crowd toward the kitchen, and a woman dressed as Annie Oakley caught her hand and spun her once around. Dog ears askew, Sally returned with two glasses of red punch topped with lime sherbet. “How ’bout we get some air?” she asked, handing me a glass.
Except for two women sitting on the porch swing—one dressed as Lucille Ball and the other as Ricky Ricardo—Sally and I were alone in the expansive backyard. We walked out into the grass, the ankles of our jumpsuits soaking through with dew. The yard was decorated with tiny white lights strung up in the towering oak trees and red paper lanterns hanging like ripened fruit from the lower branches. The sky was orange, the moon an almond sliver, and somewhere, someone was burning leaves.
“What do you think of all this?” she asked.
“I had no idea yards like this existed in D.C.”
“I mean, all of that,” she said, gesturing toward the house. “Not your average shindig.”
“I love it!” I said, but wanted to say so much more. I knew a world like that existed, but at the same time, I had no idea. And what I had heard was nothing at all like this. It was like stepping inside the wardrobe and emerging in Narnia for the first time. “I mean, I love Halloween.”
“Me too. Even if it is a week late.”
“You can be whoever you want.”
“Exactly. I’m happy Leonard got to have his party after all. It’s a bit of a tradition for him. And he’s not one to waste a good costume. Shame it was canceled on actual Halloween.”
“Why was it?”
“Someone tipped off the police.”
I had so many questions. The secret garden, the secret world—I wanted to know everything, but decided to wait. We were quiet, listening to the sounds of traffic on the other side of the garden wall, the honk of a car horn, the distant wail of a siren. Lucy and Ricky went back into the house, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Sally watched as my eyes followed them. “So…Teddy Helms?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, with a pang of sadness I hadn’t felt before.
“How long?”
“Nine months. No. Eight. No, nine-ish.”
“Are you in love?”
With the exception of Mama, people were never that direct with me. “I don’t know.”
“Honey, if you don’t know by now…”
“I do like him. I mean, I really like him. He’s funny. Smart. So smart. And kind.”
“Sounds like you’re reading from his obituary.”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m only kidding.” She poked me in the ribs.
“What about his friend? Henry Rennet? What’s he like?”
“I don’t know him that well.” I didn’t tell her he seemed like a jackass and that I had no idea why Teddy was even friends with him. “Are you interested in him?” I envisioned a double date—me and Teddy, Sally and Henry—and the thought made my stomach flip.
“Darling.” She reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “No.” She held on, and something inside me, from a location hard to pinpoint, bloomed.
CHAPTER 13
THE SWALLOW
She was no mole—I was sure of that. A few months prior, Frank had asked me to suss out Irina and ensure her naïveté was not a put-on. It wasn’t, I’d told him. “Good,” he said. “We want her on the book project. Train her up, Sally. You know the drill.”
Befriending Irina may have been a setup and training her part of the job, but it had turned into something else—something I could’ve put my finger on but wasn’t about to just yet.
The Tuesday after Leonard’s party—my own test of sorts—I stopped by her desk and asked if she wanted to see Silk Stockings that night. I’d planned on asking her to a Sunday matinee a few days earlier but lost my nerve mid-dial and hung up.