Myrtle had become a victim of her own terrible circumstances. We women still had fewer rights, less control than men. And what would the rest of my life be if I stayed in Rockvale? If I did not keep on trying to fight for women like Myrtle. For women like me, I told Father.
“But Harold Bloom could give you such a safe and steady life,” Father protested.
“I don’t want a safe life,” I told him, much to his chagrin. “I want a good life. I want a meaningful life.”
I kissed him good-bye, promised him I’d be careful and that I would come back soon and often to visit. Then, in the beginning of November, Duke and I got on the train headed for Chicago.
* * *
CHICAGO WAS ALMOST as expensive as New York, and after all my years living in that god-awful shoebox with Helen, I wanted more space to call my own.
Our first day in this new city, Duke and I left our temporary rooming house and took a pink taxicab to the South Side, the grayest, dirtiest street I’d seen since I’d been to visit Myrtle in Queens. As I got out of the cab, I held Duke tightly under my arm for some sort of illusion of protection. But the truth was, he’d never hurt a fly—Duke was just like Myrtle, all bark and no bite.
I stood out on the sidewalk for a moment, staring up at the tattered gray awning above the storefront. I’d picked this place out of the directory on its name alone: Wilson’s Pawnshop: Goods Bought and Sold. That had seemed a compelling enough reason to justify the taxi fare here, though now that I was actually on the gray, run-down street I did wonder if it might’ve been smarter to find a broker in a better neighborhood. But I was here nonetheless. I took a deep breath and walked inside.
A bell clanged against the glass, and the man behind the counter looked up. He was older, skinny, with graying hair and a wrinkled face. He eyed Duke, then me, then cast me a smile, revealing one severely unattractive front gold tooth. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting when I’d caught on the name Wilson’s in the book. That maybe going here would be some sort of final penance? But now I was relieved to see he reminded me nothing at all of George.
“Don’t see too many pretty ladies like you around here,” this Wilson said, his eyes roaming uncomfortably down my face, to my chest.
I wanted to get in and out of here as fast as possible. I pulled the diamond hairpin out of my coat pocket and placed it on the counter. “How much can you give me for this? Diamonds are real,” I said resolutely. “Don’t lowball me or I’ll walk out that door.” There’d been plenty of other pawnshops in the book, and if Wilson didn’t want to give me what I deserved, I truly would walk out.
He picked the hairpin up in his wrinkled, graying fingers, pulled out a magnifying glass from underneath the counter, and stared at the diamonds.
Ever since Detective Charles had come to see me with Myrtle’s matching hairpin last fall, I knew I needed to get rid of this pin. I shivered now, thinking about what Detective Charles might do, what pieces of George’s and Jay’s deaths he might question if he ever found out about Myrtle’s affair with Tom and my connection to Jay, or even that I still had and lied about this hairpin. After that, I knew I had to get this out of my possession as soon as I could.
Still, I’d sobbed a little this morning staring at the pin in my room, questioning my decision to come here. I’d cried, thinking, for a moment, that this hairpin was the last piece I had left of my sister. But then I’d wiped my tears and realized, the hairpin wasn’t a piece of Myrtle at all. It was a gift to her from Tom, and I remembered that drunken afternoon at their apartment when he’d broken her nose. This hairpin was a symbol of everything that had ruined her. I despised it.
“Two thousand dollars,” Wilson said now, putting his magnifying glass down.
“Don’t insult me,” I said, trying not to reveal the excitement I actually felt in my voice. Though the pin was likely worth more, two thousand dollars was a lot of money. It would pay the rent on a decent apartment and my living expenses for at least the year, probably two.
“Twenty-five hundred,” he said. “That’s my final offer.”
“Three thousand,” I demanded, resolute.
He examined the diamonds one more time with the magnifying glass, and then with a little nod of his head, we had a deal.
* * *
NOW, A NEW year dawned. Nineteen twenty-three shimmered before me and filled me with an unexpected sort of hope.
I had a new life in Chicago, a new apartment with a nice view of the frozen lake in the distance. A new job working for the Women’s Trade Union League. It barely paid any money, but I had enough put away now to cover my expenses for a while. And we were working to open up a shelter for women who were unsafe in their homes. It would help women like Myrtle. And be the first of its kind in Chicago!