The Dollhouse

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

New York City, 2016

Ms. Doris Spinner of apartment 4G gave Rose a charming smile. “We would sneak boys up all the time. The girls who worked the back elevator would keep quiet if you gave them a lipstick, or you could climb up the back stairs. There was a woman in charge, Mrs. Eustis or Ewing, I can’t remember, who was intent on running a tight ship, but there were leaks here and there, no doubt about it. I lost my virginity in this building, to a boy who worked in a bank. He had a wicked way about him.”

Rose waited two beats and then signaled for Jason to stop recording. The sound bite, and Ms. Spinner’s interview, couldn’t have gone better.

“That the kind of thing you’re looking for?”

“Yes, exactly. Thank you so much for your time. And your level of detail. We really appreciate it.” They’d taped several interviews that morning, and Rose was relieved to find that her relationship with Jason wasn’t strained from their strange parting in the cab. If anything, they were more in sync than ever while interviewing the women of the fourth floor. Rose had spaced out the schedule so they could take their time with each one, shooting either in their apartments or in the second-floor lounge. She deliberately avoided coming up with a list of questions beforehand, preferring to allow the interview to ebb and flow like a real conversation, and the result was better than she’d expected. Tales of back-room abortions and rampant sexual harassment were tempered with stories of young love and the joys of living in an intoxicating city.

But that wasn’t the least of the good news. Rose had shown up uncharacteristically late to the first interview, after visiting the New York Public Library at Forty-Second Street earlier that morning. As soon as the library’s doors opened, she’d followed the grand marble hallway into a shabby room with dropped ceilings and fluorescent lights. It was a place she knew well, having done hours and hours of research there as a newly promoted assistant producer, and it felt like coming home. She always enjoyed digging up the past, whether it was for a tribute for some star who’d passed away or deep background for an investigative piece.

Even though the clunky microfilm machines probably dated back to the 1970s and scratches marred the glass viewfinder, she patiently scrolled through back issues of every newspaper in New York City from the week of October 31, 1952, including the ones that had gone out of business. She was constantly surprised at what she found: a listing in the real estate section for a two-bedroom, terraced apartment on the West Side for one hundred dollars a month; help-wanted sections divided up by gender, where women could find work as typists and receptionists while men were sought in engineering and sales positions. This was the world Darby had encountered when she’d come to New York.

A few hours in, she hit the jackpot.

After showing Ms. Spinner to the elevator, Rose returned to the lounge, bursting with excitement. Jason was packing up, wrapping a cord around his elbow and wrist with quick, sure movements.

“You did a really good job today,” he said.

“Thanks. I always find the best quotes come from the least likely questions, the ones tossed off at the end, as an afterthought.”

“Do we dare take a cab back? I have to say I enjoyed our ride the other night.”

Remembering the few seconds they’d kissed sent a ripple of pleasure through her. Weird how a man so completely different from Griff could have that effect on her.

Griff. Over the past week, as she’d dived into the story, she’d stopped thinking about him quite as often. Instead, she’d been consumed with the narrative structure of writing about Darby and her neighbors. And she wasn’t about to jump into another relationship so soon.

She needed to be clear with Jason. “Look, I just got out of something serious and it’s complicated.” She hated how much her words sounded like everyone else’s. She’d never get away with writing that kind of cliché. “I think we work well together, and I’d hate to fuck that up.”

“We do work well together, I’ll give you that.”

God, he was distracting. Before he could say anything else, she reached into her bag and pulled out several sheets of paper. “Here’s the reason I was late this morning.”

“What’s this?”

“I went to the library, going through every issue of every city newspaper printed around Halloween of 1952, when Stella said Esme fell.”

“The library? Serious old-school research.”

“I looked for anything in the local news that might be related to our story, and not only was the Flatted Fifth mentioned, but Benny Kalai’s name showed up as well.” She pointed to the top page. “This was in the October 31st issue of the New York Herald Tribune. ‘Harrowing Tales of Heroin.’”

She read aloud from the article, which included a transcript of a conversation between the police and an informant:

Q: How old would you say the buyers are?

A: Sixteen, maybe. I know one couple who give drugs to their young baby.

Q: How old is this baby?

A: Less than a year old. When the baby cries, they give him a shot of heroin to shut him up.

“My God.” Jason looked ill.

“I know. Awful. But here’s the juicy part.”

Informant conference with Esme C., Puerto Rican hatcheck girl at the Flatted Fifth, interviewed by Det. Quigley.

Q: What about where you work?

A: Should I mention names?

Q: Yes.

A: Charlie Parker and Stan Getz always buy heroin. Same when Gene Adams’s group comes. Sonny Stitt when they’re there, and when the Machito band is there, there’s a lot of cocaine.

Q: Where is it sold, right in the Flatted Fifth?

A: Yes. And at Hector’s Cafeteria on 50 Street and Broadway. The addicts come in, put their money down, pick up the drugs, and leave.

Q: Where does it come from?

A: A guy named Benny Kalai.

Jason whooped. “This is huge. Esme was involved in heroin.”

“Looks like it. No mention of Sam in there, just Esme. And Kalai.”

“I wonder if Darby knew what was going on.”

“We’ll have to ask her that when we see her.”

“I can’t wait. Speaking of which, any news as to when she’ll be back? Tyler wants a rough cut and the first draft by the end of next week.”

“It’ll be close,” said Rose. The discussion of deadlines ignited a fizz of nerves deep in her belly.

He leafed through the pages. “I wonder what happened to Kalai after this came out?”

“I had the same question. Turns out Kalai ended up in Sing Sing in 1954. Looks like it took some time to indict him. He died there ten years later.”

Jason beamed at her. “Tyler will love this.”

“Maids and heroin deals in the fifties? You bet.”

“Right up his alley, twisted fuck.”

“Makes the story more interesting, rather than the reminiscences of a bunch of old ladies.”

“That’s harsh. Their stories are fantastic. You know that as well as I do.”

She tried not to gloat at the reversal. Jason was championing the cause. “Yup.”

Her phone vibrated. The ID read ASTOR ASSISTED LIVING. She answered immediately.

“Is this Ms. Lewin?”

“Yes.”

“This is Brenda from Astor. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid your father’s had a fall.”

Rose closed her eyes and swayed ever so slightly, trying not to panic. “Is he okay?”

The woman’s answer was not reassuring. “You should meet us at Mount Sinai West.”

“I’m on my way.”