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PART I
SPEAKING IN TONGUES

23

A WEEK AND A half later, Trey watched Marina closely as he seated her in a beautiful red velvet seat at Midland Theater. She was nervous, which he ascribed to the fact that she was wearing a dress. It was a beautiful dress, but all wrong for her.

Once Trey had taken his own seat, with Dot on his left, he leaned toward Dot just a little and whispered, “Does Marina know the Reverend Missus deliberately dresses her like a red-headed stepchild?”

Dot blinked, shocked. “Uh … I’m not sure,” she whispered back. “You can tell?”

“Any halfway successful businessman would be able to tell,” he said tightly. “Mama turned out just right. Marina, not. Letting her run with you—and it isn’t because you’re a good chaperone.” Dot’s lip curled a little but she didn’t protest, which meant she knew that or at least suspected it. “Put it all together, it’s obvious. How does that work?”

“Hrmph. She gives Marina the fabric and a picture and tells her to make that for herself. Marina knows she doesn’t look as good as the model, but says she can’t figure out why. I don’t know if she could dress herself well if she did know. Either way, she’s not going to disobey.”

“Find out.”

Dot scowled. “Do it yourself.”

“Tsk tsk tsk. Marina can walk out with me. You can’t walk out with Gene without me.”

She snarled at him.

“Dunham,” Gio growled.

Trey snickered and sat back in his chair, adjusting his suitcoat, crossing his legs, and perching his fedora on his knee. He glanced at Marina. She wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to him, as she was gawking at the magnificence of Midland Theater without seeming to gawk at all. That was a trick it had taken Trey months to learn.

He was slightly surprised that Marina could be stunned by such elegance, as Scarritt’s office was just as rich in a much tinier space. Yet as much as Trey wanted to ask, he had a feeling it wasn’t strategically wise.

“Every time I come here,” he whispered to her, “I feel just a little bit richer.”

She started. “Richer?”

He nodded. “In experience. Knowledge.” He tapped his temple.

“Oh,” she breathed, beginning to smile.

“And more motivated,” he added confidentially. “I wouldn’t want to live in such opulence, but I aspire to be able to.”

She pulled her bare lips between her teeth and blinked. “I see.”

He had no idea what that meant. It probably wasn’t wise to ask. Trey had never been wise. “What are you thinking?”

“Is money important to you?”

“What if I said yes?”

She looked like she’d been hit with a shovel. “I … Jesus told someone to sell everything and give it to the poor.”

“And then what?”

“And then he went away because he didn’t want to.”

“No, I mean, what would happen to him if he had?”

“Well, if he followed Jesus then he would have been provided for, by faith alone.”

Trey pursed his lips. “That’s a soul-killing way for a man with a modicum of pride to live,” he said gently. “Your father follows Christ—” Heh. “—and he doesn’t preach for free. Churches are set up to pay their clergy for a reason and that is because folks can’t live on faith.”

“But he is living on faith,” she said matter-of-factly. “He has faith the congregation will support him.”

“Would he continue to preach if they stopped?” She hesitated. Not wanting to make her feel stupid, he said, “Tell me the parable of the talents.”

She blinked, gazed at the faraway flocked red wall, then blinked again.

He waited.

Waited.

Waited.

Surely she knew …

“The two parables almost contradict each other,” she murmured vaguely. “Jesus praised the servants who had doubled their money, but giving all one’s money to the poor means you’ve no talents left to double.”

“Goddamn,” Trey whispered.

She looked at him as if she hadn’t heard him. “It’s not totally … um … ” She raised her hands, palms apart a little and shifted them. “Aligned. I mean! Um, no.”

“Analogous.”

“Yes!” she said with a bright smile. “Not really. But if you give all your money away, that’s all. You can’t give any more than that, and then you’re poor and begging for money from someone who still has some. You’re saying Father works. He doesn’t beg or depend on charity just because he’s a fisher of men.”

Trey couldn’t help his grin. “There you go, hopping over all those lily pads again. You went across two whole ponds that time.”

“Well,” she returned, “I’ve never heard those two compared before.”

“Few people do. Fact is, the more you make, the more you can give.”

“Do you give?”

“Yes,” he said truthfully, although he wasn’t giving his own money away. Time, jobs, advice, information, second and third chances, yes. Money, no. “It’s not good form to brag, so that’s all I’m going to say.”

She gave him that sweet smile, the one that plumped up her face, dimpled her cheek, and made her skin glow rosy. He smiled back wryly at her and lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to it. She flushed and tried to hide her deepening smile, to pull her hand away from his, but he was too wrapped up in the faint scent of perfume.

“Have you been picking lilacs?” he asked softly and let her take her hand back.

“Yes,” she murmured shyly.

He wished he hadn’t let her hand go, but asking for it again would be awkward, so he said, “Are you sure you haven’t heard Gershwin before?”

“Of him.”

“Your church has quite progressive praise worship. I’m surprised your home isn’t full of music.” What a lie.

“Mother doesn’t like music.”

That didn’t surprise him. “At all?”

Marina shook her head. “Not even the praise band or choir.”

Trey didn’t blame her for that. The music wasn’t awful, but it didn’t have to be great to get the blood pumping. “Do you like the praise band?”

She hesitated. “I … think they’re … ” Either she couldn’t find her words or she was being polite. “I’m not sure,” she finally said with some frustration. “They’re all right, I suppose. Dot says at her church, they don’t even have that much. An organist and congregational singing. She’s never said anything about a choir.”

Just then the lights went down and she settled in next to him. It was odd that he found himself still wanting her hand back in his, dithering over whether to be that forward considering his end game and time constraints. The emcee spoke, but Trey didn’t hear a word. There was her hand right there and he was hesitating. Why?

The hall grew quiet and Marina was already still with anticipation, completely unaware of Trey’s nervousness. What was so wrong with wanting to hold a girl’s hand? He was Trey Goddamned Dunham and he could have any woman he wanted and he was sweating over this girl?

The dulcet clarinet trill startled him. He hadn’t been paying attention to the curtain, the conductor, the crowd—no idea the piece was about to begin.

Suddenly angry with himself, he sank into his chair, slumped a little, crossed his arms over his chest, and sulked.

•  •  •

Marina had never heard a more beautiful and exhilarating piece of music in her life, but of course, she hadn’t heard many pieces at all. She loved this immediately, even before the piano came in, before the cymbals crashed and she thought surely Mother would like this! Wouldn’t she?

Father had allowed Marina to come out tonight as long as Dot would be allowed to walk out with Gene. The foursome was dependable, he supposed, for a music concert that Bishop Albright would allow Dot to see. Even though Mother strenuously objected that it was sinful jazz, Father countered.

It’s in a respectable concert hall with violins and French horns. That is hardly one’s ordinary jazz fare.

But—

I’ve made up my mind that Marina may go, so long as Dorothy and Mr. Luke will be with them. That is all.

Thank you, Father.

You’re welcome, Marina. Do not abuse my trust.

Oh, of course not, Father!

Marina didn’t know how to abuse Father’s trust, so she didn’t have to worry about that at all. What she did know was that tomorrow, Mother would be furious, so Marina would have to go out of her way to soothe her. Perhaps if Mother could hear this wonderful music—

No. This music belonged to Marina and Trey, who was here experiencing it with her, these fun notes and thrilling runs. She didn’t know why Mother thought jazz was bad, but it did occur to her that it was doing something a little funny to her. It made her feel … well, she didn’t know how it made her feel, but it was strange.

Nice.

Cozy and a little tingly.

Why, watching the conductor, orchestra, and pianist was a treat by itself. What must it be like to be that talented? she wondered for the first time. The praise band was either not that much fun to watch or Marina was simply used to them. They were talented, but this was leagues above the capabilities of the praise band even if they wanted to do this.

She felt herself swaying during the soft, romantic sections, a smile on her face. Her smile widened during a romantic rush up to the next section. She scooted forward to sit on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped to her breast, breathless as the music went on and on, then wound down with a grand flourish.

Marina applauded wildly as soon as she knew it was all right to do so, and did so until the conductor rapped for his orchestra’s attention and went on to—

“What was that called again?” Marina whispered to Trey.

“Rhapsody in Blue.”

“And this one?”

“American in Paris.”

It made her immediately want to go to Paris, although she daren’t say that to her parents. Father refused to speak of his time in Europe and Mother disapproved of foreigners. There would be a lot of foreigners in France.

The music bounced on and it was all Marina could do to keep herself from bouncing with it.

At intermission, Marina turned to Trey, absolutely giddy, and said, “Oh, this is so lovely. Thank you so much!” It was a weak sentiment, but she had no better words. It only slightly bothered her that Trey was watching her with a strange expression.

“You’re welcome,” he said slowly, his brow wrinkling. “I didn’t … er, I didn’t think you would like it this much.”

“Oh, it must be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Marina’s glance flickered to her best pal, who was whispering something to Gene that made him grin. Marina turned back to Trey and only then noticed he wasn’t happy. Her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know exactly,” he said slowly, staring at the back of the chair in front of him. “It— I want— Um, well … Not sure.”

“Was it something I did?”

“No.” With that, he heaved himself to his feet and said, “I’m going to go get refreshments. Ladies? Gene?”

“Certainly,” Gene said. “Be right back, Polka Dorothy. Lemonade?”

“Sure!” Dot chirped.

“Marina?” Trey asked.

“Sweet tea, please.”

Trey choked and Gene tensed. They both stared at her, then Trey laughed nervously. “Sweet tea. Right. Iced tea. With sugar in it.”

Gene cleared his throat. “One lemonade and one sweetened iced tea, coming right up.”

“Yes,” Marina said, confused. “Sweet tea.” She exchanged glances with Dot once the men were gone. “Was that strange or was I imagining things?”

“No, that was strange,” Dot affirmed vaguely as she watched Gene and Trey trot up the aisle and disappear. “Everybody knows what sweet tea is. Well!” Dot said gaily as she swung toward Marina. “You are having a good time. I adore it when you’re so happy you forget to hide.”

Marina flushed. “I … Now I feel self-conscious.”

“Oh, don’t, Marina,” Dot pled softly, taking her hands. “It’s all right to show your happiness. Nothing bad is going to happen if you smile and laugh more—” She paused. “So long as your mother doesn’t see you do it too much.”

That deflated Marina.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” Dot wailed quietly. “I didn’t mean to— I mean—”

“She and Father argued about it,” Marina confessed. “Mother says because this is jazz, it’s bad, but Father said it’s not real jazz because there are violins and French horns.”

Dot rolled her eyes and waved a hand. “He’s right.”

“How do you know?”

“My parents listen to real jazz on their Gramophone.”

Marina blinked. “Oh. Do you like it?”

Dot shrugged. “It’s all right. I like this better. It makes more sense.”

Marina didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t matter. The men were coming back with their drinks.

“They had flips and phosphates,” Gene offered as he bestowed Dot’s lemonade upon her.

“Here go,” Trey murmured, handing Marina her glass and a program. “Sweet tea. Didn’t know if you wanted any more sugar in it.”

Marina took a sip. “No, it’s good, thank you.”

The rest of the concert was nice, and the music, Piano Concerto in F according to the program, wasn’t nearly as thrilling as Rhapsody in Blue, but more wonderful than American in Paris. The encore began with a selection of songs sung by a woman with a lovely alto. During the last, “Lady, Be Good,” Marina started when she found her hand in Trey’s, and his mouth pressed against her knuckles. He stared at her intensely in a way he hadn’t before and something in the bottom of her tummy gave her a little tickle.

She snatched her hand out of his, then realized she didn’t mean it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Trey simply shook his head, gave her a wry smile, and escorted her home in silence.

23

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Speakeasy staff.