Free Ingenue by Jillian Larkin

her never to mention Gloria by name, in case the telegram was intercepted. She needed some kind of code. That was how the Mob normally did it, right?
    She started writing on a new form.
THE BIRD IS IN THE CAGE. STOP.
    Lorraine tore that sheet up, too. Who knew whether Carlito remembered their last conversation at the Green Mill as well as she did? She sighed and started on yet another fresh form.
I GOT IT SORT OF. STOP.
    Good enough. She reached for a manila folder and slipped the form inside.
    Out in the barroom, Spark was polishing the black sconces on the walls. Lorraine walked up to him and bopped him on the head with the folder. “Make sure someone takes this over to Western Union right now.”
    Spark nodded, and then he was gone.
    Lorraine rubbed her temples as she tried to remember everything she needed to do before the club opened for the night. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Gloria. She’d seemed so sad, so pitiful. Whatever else she could say about Gloria Carmody, Lorraine couldn’t deny that the girl had always had charisma and a sense of fun—something that had been sorely lacking in the second semester of Lorraine’s senior year at Laurelton Girls’ Prep.
    Without Gloria around, Lorraine’s classmates had stopped speaking to her. The photos from Gloria’s engagement party in all the newspapers only confirmed what her classmates had always thought: Lorraine was a drunken quiff. And when Lorraine did receive notes at school, they said things along the lines of No one cares what you look like, Lorraine, so why do you still bother with ten pounds of war paint? Tramp .
    “ ’Scuse me, Raine, coming through,” called a busboy wearing the customary white shirt and black pants. He was carrying two trays full of highball glasses. She realized she was standing right in front of the door to the kitchen.
    She jumped out of his way and straight into Ruby, the new waitress. “My foot!” the brunette yelled, hopping up and down on one high-heeled shoe.
    “Sorry,” Lorraine mumbled. She noticed Rob across the room near the steps, lugging his bass case toward the stage.
    There—getting the band set up! She knew that was on her to-do list.
    She walked over and lifted one end of Rob’s bass. “Here you go,” she said.
    Before they’d taken two steps, though, she became lost in her thoughts: What were Gloria and Jerome living on? Gloria had looked so excited when she got the job. As if she were thinking, Hooray, I finally have enough money to buy a can of tuna! Even after months of practically living on the street, Gloria hadn’t lost that dippy charm she had. Always so hopeful. Always so naïve.
    That was when Lorraine forgot where she was going. She banged the end of the bass against a chair, then dropped it. The strings thrummed in deep alarm.
    Rob stopped in his tracks. “Dammit, Lorraine! What the hell are you doing?”
    “Don’t you dare swear at me!” Lorraine yelled back. People were staring. She needed to pull herself together. This was only the first time she’d clapped eyes on Gloria since she’d arrived in New York. She was going to have to see that perfect face of Gloria’s plenty more times before this mission was over.
    “I’m gonna go see how Vinny’s doing,” Lorraine announced. She cringed at the whispers filling the room as she climbed the steps.
    Outside in the alley, Vinny was alone, presiding over a line of women and a few young men. A small table with a cash box, where he would place each guest’s $2.50 cover charge, stood next to him.
    It was a sweltering night. A few of the bobbed, fringe-covered young women waved feathered fans in front of their perfectly made-up faces. Lorraine didn’t even look at the men —that was how distracted she was.
    “Hi, Rainy Day,” Vinny said as Lorraine lit her cigarette. “What brings you out here?”
    “Just making sure everything is copacetic. What’s the password tonight? Spifflicated?”
    Lorraine gasped as she noticed the