“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll take care of it.” Evie flounced over to the man at the door. “How do you do? I’m Evie O’Neill. The Sweetheart Seer? Gee, I’m awfully sorry we’re late—I was visiting a children’s hospital, you see, and—”
“I’m sorry. No one is admitted.” The man stood like an iceberg.
“But I’m the Sweetheart Seer!” Evie said brightly. When the man seemed unimpressed, she added, “I read objects with help from beyond? WGI? I’m a Diviner.”
“Then you should be able to read the time,” the man said, pointing to the advertisement for the lecture. “I’m afraid what you are is late, Miss. No admittance.”
Back outside, Theta marched down the steps, puffing madly on a cigarette. She whirled around to face Evie. “I told you seven thirty.”
“Yes, I believe we’ve established that,” Evie huffed. She stared back at the closed doors, dumbfounded. “That man has never heard of my show.”
“What’re we gonna do now?” Theta said, more to the sky than to anyone else.
“You really need to ask him some questions for your acting?” Mabel asked.
“Yeah,” Theta said after a pause. “I really do.”
“Then bundle up and follow me,” Mabel said, walking toward Central Park.
“Where are we going?” Theta asked, grinding her cigarette under her heel.
“The Kensington House. Apparently, Dr. Jung stays there when he’s in New York.”
“How do you know that?” Evie asked.
“An old friend of my mother’s once hosted a fancy luncheon for him in Geneva,” Mabel answered as they crossed the street and headed into the park.
Sometimes Evie forgot that Mabel’s mother had been a Newell, one of New York’s great society families, before she married Mabel’s father and was disowned. She wondered what it must be like for Mabel to know that an entire side of her family lived with maids and butlers and chauffeurs to take care of their every need while Mabel shared a two-bedroom flat with parents who actively campaigned against that sort of wealth and privilege.
“Do you ever see your mother’s family, Mabesie?”
“Once a year,” Mabel said. “On my grandmother’s birthday. Mama sends me out on the train and a driver picks me up in a Rolls-Royce.”
“Your mother gave all that up for love?” Theta asked.
“Yes,” Mabel said. “And because she wanted to be her own person, with a different sort of life.”
“That’s a lot to walk away from.” Evie whistled.
The grainy halos of the park lamps lit up the barren branches of the stately winter trees flanking the cobbled path inside Central Park. The glassy surface of the frozen pond reflected the waxing moon, making it seem attainable. The tops of Fifth Avenue’s tony apartment buildings shone in the distance as the girls’ shoes crunched through the remnants of old snow.
“How are things with Jericho?” Evie asked Mabel, keeping her voice light, as if she were asking about the weather. “Has he tried to kiss you again?”
“Evie!” Mabel sputtered at the same moment Theta said, “Jericho kissed you?”
“Gee, I might as well tell the Daily Mirror as tell you,” Mabel complained.
“I’m sorry, Pie Face, really, I am. But it’s just Theta, and she’s thrilled for you. Aren’t you, Theta?”
“Sure I am.” Theta flicked a glance Evie’s way. The glance said, What are you doing? Why are you torturing yourself? Evie fluttered her lashes in response: I do not know what you are insinuating. I am above your petty insult.
“No, he hasn’t,” Mabel said, unaware of Evie and Theta’s little exchange. “But we’ve been very busy putting the exhibit together.” Mabel cast a suspicious glance at Evie. “You are coming, aren’t you, Evie? You won’t let some radio nonsense keep you?”
“I said I’d be there and I will be there.” Evie sniffed. “Oh, look! It’s started snowing. Isn’t it beautiful?”
The girls stopped at the top of an archway and watched the glistening flakes flutter down over the pathway and rolling lawn. The night held its breath for a moment. In the hush, they could hear jazz and merriment coming from the nearby Central Park Casino, whose lights shone through the gaps in the trees, making Theta think of the lighthouse and Memphis. She’d tried calling his house that afternoon, but hung up with a “Sorry, wrong number” when his aunt answered the phone. Snow melted on the backs of her gloves, and she felt that strange stirring in her gut. In the dream, it was always snowing. Snow everywhere. Henry said dreams were clues, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what her dream wanted her to know.
