Chicago-June 1920

"Excited?" Her father asked as the car zoomed them towards the hotel from the train station.

"I am, rather. I'm hoping to get some ideas for stories."

"We have a deal, so don't get too many ideas. You bring me the gossip from the women's quarters and act as hostess, and you can push back the wedding, although I don't see why you want to. Darcy has said he'll allow you to write since it apparently means so much to you."

Clara smiled pleasantly while seething internally. She accepted her fate was to marry, and really, it will be nice to have a house. She'd like a dog and an actual home. But the thought of waking up every morning to Darcy Blaine made her feel vaguely ill.

He was the most boring human being she'd ever met, and she'd been her father's de facto hostess since she was barely more than a child. She'd spent many a day attempting to entertain an octogenarian priest or ward boss who was more impressed with himself than she was with him. It wasn't, though, as if there were better options. She was going to have a certain life, which required marrying a certain type of man, and they were all duller than dishwater. The mush her dormitory used to serve on Saturday mornings had more flavor than Darcy. The dog would have to be Rin Tin Tin to make up for the lack of personality in the house.

And she hadn't been aware that writing was something she permission to continue with.

She and her father's butler/valet/general assistant Eddie caught each other's eye while her father shamed the hotel into giving him the suite he wanted, and finally, when the nicest and not the second nicest suite was ready, she waited until her father was distracted and changed out of the richly expensive summer day dress she was wearing into a far simpler blue suit and white cloche hat.

She had things to do.

Her first bit of business was a smashing success, so her mood was high as she left the loop and prepared to travel back to the South Side-even though this time she was going to make a detour.

She knew the real trick would be carrying out her plan when she arrived at 2222 Wabash Avenue.

Luckily, the older Italian man guarding the back door bought her story that she's Jimmy's wife at face value, and hands over a key and directions to his room (the $10 bill she slides him doesn't hurt, either).

Intellectually, from piecing together the information she had picked up, she knew that the Four Deuces homed a variety of money-making vices for the Torrio crime family. It wasn't, however, until a woman her age walked passed her with her left breast hanging out of a negligee that Clara started seriously pondering if illicit sex was one of the money-making operations homed here. When she finally landed on the richly yet tackily decorated hallway containing Jimmy's room, two different men leered at her and she rushed to open the door, opened it, and slammed it behind her.

Sitting at the desk a man stared down at a book. He was around her age, with thick dark hair and cheekbones you could cut yourself on. His sleeves were rolled up, and if she was going to put him in a story she would say he had strong arms and lovely hands. Her breath caught in her throat. At that moment, he turned toward her and slammed the book closed.

The first thing she saw was he was missing an eye, and then she realized the full extent of the damage. She could see some of his teeth where part of his check was missing. His face looked raw and painful like it had never quite healed from whatever happened. The look on his face was also painful. He looked completely horrified and was scrambling to put some sort of mask on.

"You're not Jimmy," she finally manages to say. He doesn't seem able to speak, and she considers walking back out into the hallway, except this man is far less frightening than the two who looked at her like they were thinking about how she looked with her dress off.

"I'm so, so sorry. I'm Jimmy's...oh god, I don't know what I am, pseudo-sister I suppose, and I got a key downstairs. I didn't mean to barge into your room and frighten you."

"This is. Jimmy's. Room. He's. Hrm. Out. He'll be. Back." His voice was a gravelly growl that didn't fit his original handsome face. He made a clicking sound twice, and his mouth pulled down sharply on the right side of his face. The man refused to look up from the desk, and the healthy cheek was flushed. Clara's mind was racing down two tracks. One, she still thought he was ridiculously handsome, even with the expressionless mask. Two, her heart ached for him and she was shamed she had embarrassed him.

She stuck her hand out in front of her. "I'm Clara Thompson. I'm guessing you are a friend of Jimmy's?"

"Yes. I'm. Richard Harrow." He shook her hand back. She didn't move her hand. "Mr. Harrow, may I ask a huge favor?" She looked around, flushed. "So I spend a lot of time pretending to be plucky and independent and not scared of anything." She took a deep breath. "But I've never been in a, well, whorehouse before and the men in the hallway scared me."

"This is. My first. As well." Her hand was soft and warm, and she laughed at his answer. He looked away, blushing, realizing what he had just said.

"Did they. Mm. Are you all right?"

She nodded. "Just not as brave or adventurous as I thought I was. Do you mind if I wait with you for Jimmy? I really need to talk to him, but I don't want to have to leave and come back."

"Yes. Don't go. Downstairs." Richard stands up to offer her the desk chair.

"It's okay, I'll sit on the bed."

Richard was incredibly uncomfortable. It had been a long time since he was alone in a room with a girl, well, a girl like this at least. She looked so wholesome, like a drawing in a magazine ad, except she was sitting on a bed in a whorehouse and talking to him like a normal person. She had a diamond ring on her left hand. Someone wealthy with a whole face put it there, he was sure.

"You brought. Jimmy. A magazine?" Richard gestured towards the package in her hands.

"Sort of," Clara answered. She had broken every major rule of propriety she knew-she had busted into a strange man's room, was passing time in a house of ill repute, and had plopped down on a bed with a man in the room she had known for maybe four minutes. Might as well go all in. "Mr. Harrow, now that I've interrupted you when clearly you weren't expecting company and I'm imposing on you when you'd probably prefer to be left alone, I'm going to declare we are friends because I have good news and I need a friend. It's one reason I came looking for Jimmy." She kicked her shoes off and tucked her feet under her, smiling at him like she already knew the answer to a question she hadn't yet posed. "Is that okay?"

It had been so long since he had a friend, but Jimmy seemed to bring more and more friends to his life. He kept waiting on her act repulsed, or stop looking directly at him. He almost wished she would. She would have liked him before, he thought, when he was whole.

"All right. Friends."

She looked up under her eyelashes, trying to put the man in the mask together with the unmasked man at the desk. The scar coming out from under the mask was thick and whispered at the awfulness of whatever horror transpired. His throat was badly scarred. She'd bet it was painful to talk. Veteran, no doubt. She doubted he was more than a couple of years older than she and Jimmy.

"I'm a writer. Well, I'm trying. Until now, I've only had pieces published in little places. This morning, I got a great assignment. And when I was at the newsstand, I was able to buy a real magazine with one of my pieces in it!" She handed him the magazine. A little girl in a pink dress played at the edge of the ocean.

"Are they. Fiction?"

"No, I'm not inventive enough for fiction."

"Real. Is. Better."

"Rich, let's..." a voice from the door began but stopped when he saw Clara sitting on the bed, looking at a magazine with Harrow. What the actual fuck?

"How nice to see you! Enjoying Chicago? Are you eating well?" Clara asked in a cold voice. Richard looked back, confused as to how fast her demeanor changed.

"Clara, what the hell?" Jimmy went to hug her.

"Not so fast, mister. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Richard tried to draw back closer to the desk, as Clara jumped off the bed in stocking feet and Jimmy advanced on her. "Hey, can we start with what the hell are you doing here?"

"I tracked you down, because your wife and child haven't heard from you and are broke. Dad is not feeling particularly generous, and I don't make enough money to keep them going. When I went to check on them before I left, Angela didn't even have any eggs for Tommy's breakfast. But, you know, nice suit."

Jimmy closed his eyes. "I write every week. I send them money, I swear."

"Well, then you need to take it up with Postal Delivery! Or, and here's an idea, call them! Perhaps you've heard of the telephone?"

They stare at each other. Clara gives up first and lightly punches his arm. "Ugh, I miss you, you idiot. Angela misses you. Tommy misses you. Gillian is full of helpful advice, which isn't exactly making Angela's life any easier, but I know she's missing you, too. We just got you back, and you are gone again."

"It's so great here, Clara. I'm doing really well. Nobody..."

"You've escaped being Prince of the Boardwalk? Must be nice to have free agency like that," she said in a voice that sounded both happy for him and full of barbed wire.

Jimmy turns to look back at Richard, who is staring at the floor like he's considering trying to climb underneath it. "Jesus. Richard, was she like this with you?"

Clara turned to look at him. His mouth twitched hard. "No, she was. Hrm. Mmm. Friendly."

"Thank you. Mr. Harrow is a very kind man who took me in to wait for you."

"It's a new experience for Clara to be described as friendly, she's not used to it. Look, I've got to get back downstairs because I just heard Nucky is on his way here. I'm guessing he doesn't know about your little field trip?"

Clara looked aghast. "Um, no."

Jimmy hugged her goodbye and handed her the contents of his wallet. "Give that to Ang. I'll figure a way to get you out of that mausoleum Nuck has you staying in and the three of us will go do something fun tomorrow night. Rich, get her out of here." With that, he was gone. Clara wished he had asked her for news of Angela and Tommy.

"I will. Walk You." Richard volunteered, from where he was still half trying to hide behind the desk.

Clara let her sigh out. "I wish I didn't need to ask you to do that, but if you'd just get me away from here I would be forever in your debt. I didn't want to tell Jimmy that I was frightened, because..."

"Because. You're plucky. And adventuresome."

She leaned close and laughed. "YES. I don't want my secret out! Also, I'm kind of fascinated and left to my own devices I'd probably end up trying to interview the people who work here. I feel like that would be a poor decision on may levels."

He tried not to think about her being fascinated, what it would be like if she and Odette met each other or the various catastrophes that could result from Nucky Thompson's daughter questioning the visitors to the house.

Once out of the house via the back alley, they continued walking toward's the Chicago Coliseum. "You are. Engaged?" he finally asked.

Clara looked down at the ring she secretly hated. It was beautiful, tasteful, and a reminder she was being forced into a life she didn't actually want. "I try not to think about it."

He blinked, uncertain of how to respond.

She shrugged and looked down. "His family could be helped by my father and vice versa. It's a good match. Both families are very excited."

"You don't. Love. him?"

Her face clouded over. "Do you know you are the first person to ask me that?" She gave him a half-smile. "It's not particularly important, I suppose. I don't, though. I don't even think I like him."

He walked silently next to her. Far too soon they were at the Chicago Coliseum, where she thanked him and told him she was looking forward to tomorrow night.

Back in Jimmy's room, he picked up the magazine Clara left lying on the bed. He flipped through until he finds her name, and looks at the article. The best books for young women. He looks at the pictures throughout the magazine and sees what he expects to find there. Shiny haired girls in pretty dresses with warm smiles are supposed to marry handsome men who love them.