Cocktails Before Midnight, page 1
Copyright © 2024 by Tanya E Williams
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue, are a product of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
FIRST EDITION
Cover Photograph by David C Williams
Cover Design by Ana Grigoriu-Voicu
eBook ISBN 978-1-989144-30-5
Paperback ISBN 978-1-989144-31-2
Hardback ISBN 978-1-989144-32-9
Audiobook ISBN 978 -1-989144-33-6
For Aunt Irene
You showed us how to live well, love much, and laugh often and you did so all the way to 101.
We will miss you dearly.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Author Notes
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Tanya E Williams
CHAPTER 1
MONDAY, DECEMBER 5, 1927
Louisa
My tired eyes scan the newspaper. Several days old, the paper is becoming tattered from my persistent perusal of the theatre headlines. Seeing my name in bold, black print alongside a grainy photograph of myself on stage sends a delightful river of chills down my spine.
Clara bustles into the kitchen, her nervous energy arriving ahead of her physical presence. Her disapproving glance toward where I’m seated at the table speaks volumes. “Louisa, you aren’t dressed.”
“Don’t go getting your knickers in a knot. We have plenty of time.” Less than eager to start the day of making beds and scrubbing bathtubs, I return my attention to the editor’s comments and bask in the praise of my recent role as Mrs. Craig. With my name in the paper, perhaps I will be discovered soon enough, and then I can ditch the role of dutiful maid for good.
The theatrical production of Craig’s Wife came to a close yesterday afternoon with a final matinee, and I am already missing the cast, the stage, the limelight, and Thomas. At the thought of him, a warm blush creeps up my neck from beneath the collar of my silky rose-coloured robe. His persistent belief in me is what pushed me toward centre stage. With the final curtain call now behind us, I feel the pressure to figure out what is next for both my theatre career and my relationship with Thomas.
My sister moves about the small kitchen, making breakfast while packing lunches for our shift at the hotel. Clara’s usual hurriedness is amplified this morning by the arrival of her first official day as an eighth-floor maid at The Hotel Hamilton. Proud doesn’t even come close to explaining how pleased I am to see her step up in the world, pushing aside her natural tendency to shrink into the shadows and daring to seek more from her life.
A clatter, followed by Clara’s gasp, draws my attention. “What is it?”
“Mama’s watch.” Clara’s voice is coated with worry. “It fell off my wrist.”
Before I can stand and offer my assistance, Clara waves me off. “It’s fine. I must not have clasped it properly.”
“Perhaps you should take a moment to slow down and breathe.” I avoid looking at my sister in an effort to restrain an eye roll. “You have nothing to worry about. You are trained and you are ready for this.”
Clara steps forward, straddling the space between the kitchen and the dining table. “I suppose you are right. I just—I get so worked up about the responsibility of it all. I am accountable for an entire guest’s experience. I mean, on the fifth floor we tend to more than one guest on any given day, but I never realized how sharing the load with other maids lessened the burden.”
The corner of my lips quirks upward as I issue a knowing wink. “It’s why you’ll be paid the extra twenty-five cents a day. For all that obligation.”
Clara concedes the point with a tilt of her head and returns to the kitchen to butter the toast she’s made for breakfast.
I nibble at tea and toast, taking the time to reread the theatre reviews. Thomas hasn’t mentioned another play. But then again, I chide myself, it has been hours, not days, since his last production ended. The man surely deserves time to gather himself. On the other hand, I can’t expect him to cast me as the leading lady in every play he directs, sweetheart or not.
No, I think as I take another bite of toast, I will need to find the next director who can see what Thomas sees in me. That is the only way I will be discovered in this city. When I become truly famous as an actress, then I’ll be able to call my own shots and won’t need to rely on anyone else. Thankfully, I have a list of newspaper reviews to give my name the boost it needs. The sooner I secure my next role, the better. Today’s headline ends up in tomorrow’s waste bin, after all.
Though I plan to approach other directors, I will hedge my bets and speak with Thomas about his plans.
“Louisa.” Clara glances at her watch. “We really need to be going.”
I take my dishes to the kitchen, placing them in the sink to clean later. “I’ll be ready in five minutes. That will give us enough time to take the long way to work.”
Clara inhales sharply, I assume attempting to smother a huff as I test her desire to arrive at the hotel far earlier than necessary. “Fine. Can you hurry up, though?”
Five minutes later, Clara pushes me out the apartment door and locks it behind us. The winter wind whips my jacket open the moment the door of our apartment building, The Newbury, opens to the day. As I tug my jacket closed while buttoning every single button, my lips twist at the thought of another dreary day spent within the confines of the fifth floor of the hotel.
“Blasted wind.” I tuck my chin into my coat’s collar while steering Clara away from our regular route with an arm hooked through hers.
“Are you sure we have time?” Clara leads with a forlorn expression. “I would hate—”
I cut her off with a wave of my hand. “We have plenty of time, and this will only take a few minutes.” I tug her closer, letting her know she can trust me. “I promise. I just need a moment with Thomas and we’ll be on our way.”
We wait for the traffic to clear before stepping out to cross the street. I decide distraction may be the best approach, given Clara’s anxious state this morning. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Now that the play is finished, I thought we could spend a little of my earnings and enjoy an evening at The New Orpheum.”
“You don’t have to spend your money on me.” Clara, still the frugal one, is quick to turn down my offer. She’s unable to let go of her need to scrimp and save, despite our much-improved financial standing in recent months.
“I know I don’t have to. But I want to.” I steal a glance in her direction. “I am dreadfully sore that I missed the theatre’s grand opening last month. I would have given half the dresses in my closet for a chance to see Phyllis Haver in person.”
Clara smothers a chuckle behind her mitten.
“It’ll be fun. Just you and me.” I eye her knowingly. “You can’t say no to me, Clara. I know you want to go just as much as I do. Besides, we could use a night out. I am sure Papa won’t mind one bit. If it makes you feel better, we can have dinner with him before heading to the photoplay.”
Stepping onto the opposite sidewalk, I can feel my sister considering an evening spent at Vancouver’s newest theatre, so I nudge her a little further. “If I have to return to my regular life as a hotel maid until someone whisks me away to fame and stardom, then I am determined to have some fun in the meantime.”
Clara rolls her eyes at me before issuing a subtle nod of agreement. “Fine. I’ll go with you to the theatre.”
“Excellent. Then it’s all set. I will see about tickets during the lunch break. We might be able to go as early as tomorrow. How exciting!”
We continue walking straight on Thurlow. Thomas’ apartment building is located a stone’s throw from our own. Though I’ve yet to visit him at his home, our time spent together at the theatre and the occasional dinner between rehearsals has provided confirmation that we are smitten with one another.
The buildings set back from the sidewalk do a good job of blocking the wind, giving us a moment’s reprieve. I run my fingers through my wind-tossed hair while considering how brazen I’ll need to be to ensure I run into Thomas this morning. My desire to secure my next acting role pushes me forward, shoulders back and head held high.
I am contemplating whether I have what it takes to actually knock on his door when Thomas’ familiar frame steps onto the sidewalk fifty feet in front of us. A smile emerges on his face as he turns and sees us walking toward him.
A few long strides later, he is beside me. “Well, this is a coincidence. I was heading to the hotel to see if I could catch you before you started work.”
My stomach does a somersault at his admission. “You were?”
“Hi Clara, it is nice to see you.” Thomas, ever polite, gives Clara his full attention as he greets her before returning his attention to me. “I was. I have news on an upcoming audition for you. The director and I know each other from a project a few years back. I’ve seen the part, and I think you’d be perfect for it.”
I bite my bottom lip, eagerness and excitement ready to burst forth.
“I tried calling, but I must have missed you by minutes.” Thomas runs a hand through his dark hair, distracting me. “I can walk with you, fill you in if you are interested.”
I teasingly poke Clara in the side with an elbow. “I am quite sure Clara would appreciate any progress that gets us to the hotel in the least amount of time possible.”
Thomas’ eyebrows converge. I gesture for us to walk and explain, “Today is Clara’s first day as an eighth-floor maid. She is eager to get started.”
“Ah, I see.” Thomas leans past me to direct his comments to Clara. “Congratulations must be in order, then. Well done for securing such a position. Lou mentioned that you were in the running for the promotion.”
Clara smiles demurely but says nothing as the conversation returns to the audition.
Thomas tells me about the role, and my excitement grows with every word. “The lead actress has quite the task, as she is to portray two main characters. The costume changes alone will need to be carefully scripted.” Thomas runs a hand through his hair again, and I assume he is lost in the directorial challenges that such a play will present. Shaking his head, he returns his attention to me. “The audition is this Saturday at two o’clock. Do you think you can make it?”
I can barely contain my enthusiasm, my fretting over breakfast replaced by sheer glee at the new opportunity. “I’ll be there with bells on.” I meet his gaze with a dazzling smile and loop my arm through his, giving his arm a squeeze of appreciation.
CHAPTER 2
MONDAY, DECEMBER 5, 1927
Clara
The Hamilton stands proud against the overcast skies. Though the building is not as tall or elaborate as its next-door neighbour, The Hotel Vancouver, it is stately in its own way. Approaching the building from opposite the usual direction provides a fresh perspective on the hotel and the immense promise within its walls.
A shiver of excitement mixed with a hefty dose of overwrought nerves rattles through me as I leave Louisa and Thomas to say their goodbyes and step into the alley that leads to the back entrance of the hotel. Thankful for a few moments alone to collect myself, I climb the steps, take a deep breath, and tug open the heavy door.
Warm air greets me like a hug, delightfully scented with cinnamon and sugar. Cookie’s head pops out from the pastry kitchen. Spotting me, my friend’s smile lights up like the Christmas tree, decorated with electric lights, in the Spencer’s department store window.
“Clara, I’ve been watching for you.” Cookie steps into the hall, a mixing bowl resting against her plump torso as she stirs its contents with a wooden spoon. “Wanted to wish you luck for your big day.”
I remove my toque and mittens while peeking into Cookie’s bowl. “Thank you.” Glancing about the hall, I lower my voice to a whisper. “I don’t mind admitting to you that I am a tad nervous. I’m not sure I’ve ever had this much responsibility. My only hope is to do Ms. Thompson and Mr. Olson proud.”
“Nervous? It’s all grand. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Cookie’s hand pauses its circular motion as her eyes meet mine. “You’ve not only been trained by the most accomplished of maids, but you also have a heart that strives to succeed. I’ve no concern at all about your abilities.” Cookie leans in closer. “And neither does Ms. Thompson or Mr. Olson. You can trust me on that.”
Letting Cookie’s words settle within me, I acquiesce. “You are right. I’ve worked hard for this opportunity. All I can do is my best.”
“Now you are thinking straight, Clara.”
The back door opens and closes hard, slammed by a gust of wind. Louisa steps into the hall, stamping her feet on the entry mat. “Good morning, Cookie.”
“And a good morning to you, Louisa, or should I say ‘Miss Louisa’ now that your name is splashed all over the newspapers.”
“Hardly all over.” Louisa beams at the recognition, despite her attempt to play it down.
Cookie holds up a finger, indicating for us not to go anywhere, before retreating to the pastry kitchen. She returns with an envelope and hands it to Louisa. “I had the staff who buy the papers clip the articles about your performance. I thought you might like extra copies for your scrapbook.”
Louisa gushes her appreciation as moisture gathers in her eyes. “Thank you. This is so kind.” Tugging the newspaper clippings free, Louisa flips through them before returning them to the envelope for safekeeping.
“You two better be off, and I’ve got a gingerbread recipe to perfect before the holiday season is upon us.”
In the locker room, I dress in my crisp, new eighth-floor uniform. After checking my appearance in the small mirror mounted on the wall, I make my way to Ms. Thompson’s basement office. The rustle of my freshly starched dark blue skirt makes me smile, knowing I am now one of the few maids who get to wear the much more flattering uniform.
Rounding the corner of the basement’s staircase, cool air greets me. I pat the back of my head, ensuring my hair remains secure within its tight bun. Without the fifth-floor uniform’s cap to hide my rogue tendrils, I have spent hours practicing my hotel-approved hairstyle in anticipation of this day.
The dank-smelling basement is far from my favourite floor of the hotel, but Ms. Thompson requested my presence in her office prior to my shift this morning. Her words ring through my head. A well-run hotel is the result of everyone following the same rules. I agree with the sentiment whole-heartedly.
Navigating the corridors, I remember a previous encounter within the cavernous brick walls of the basement. I smile at the memory of learning about William’s identity as Ms. Thompson’s younger brother. Oh, how terribly I behaved in his presence. I still feel embarrassment at the thought of it.
Thankfully, William is not only the forgiving sort, but also a kind-hearted individual. Since his return to Toronto barely six weeks ago, we have exchanged a few letters. Pleasant, cordial, and friendly is what I’ve convinced myself they are, choosing to draw no further assumptions when it comes to William Thompson.
Yesterday’s telephone call, however, caught me by surprise. I was making biscuits when the phone rang. Hands covered in dough, I reached for the phone’s handle, squeezing it between my forearms only to have it clatter to the floor. After releasing a slew of flustered words and using a dishtowel to clean my hands, I retrieved the earpiece to hear William chuckling through the telephone lines.
I hadn’t expected to hear his laugh or his voice, and though I was embarrassed that he’d witnessed my clumsiness, my heart softened at the words he had called to say.
“I am sorry if I’ve caught you at an inconvenient time. My sister mentioned your promotion and indicated you will be starting your new position tomorrow. I wanted to wish you well.”
