The Nightingale of Atlantic City (Steampunk Short Story)

3

The kid smiled, his eyes aglow with curiosity. Remembering Cathy made my eyes sting. I told Lance of how I spent my earnings on a photograph of Cathy and myself in front of the ocean a few months after we became friends. It became one of my most prized possessions, and I carried it always in my cigarette case.

"You were so thin," he gasped, seeing the photo as he took one of my last two cigarettes. "Say, Will. What does your wife think of all this?"

"She..." I polished off what I believed was my third drink. "She never needed to know."

"What if she sees the picture?"

"The day my wife takes up smoking will be the day I tell her about the girl in the photograph."

"Ha," the kid chuckled. "I have a feeling it will be the other way around."

The first set ended and the automaton tilted its head toward the window and stared off into the stars. I gestured for Lance to follow me. We approached the Nightingale and Leonardo let us twist the brass key between her shoulder blades. I listened for the sound in her chest, a sound like pennies dropping. With a gentle whir, she craned her neck to face me.

"Hello, Cathy," I said.

"Hello, boy." She blinked her coppery eyes.

"She remembers!" Lance exclaimed,warm with inebriation. "Hello, Cathy," Lance shouted with careful enunciation.

"Hello, garçon," the automaton greeted. "Lovely evening."

"Oh, how classy! Looks like she calls me boy, too, huh?"

"There is only one boy. He is boy. Aren't you?" Perhaps I was transferring my emotions on the toy, but I could swear there was sadness in her eyes.

"Yes, Cathy."

"But Garcon is French for boy," Lance persisted.

"Lance. Enough," I said. "Thank you, Mr. Vicaris."

The old man nodded without looking up from his sheet music. He turned the parchment with frail hands. Lance and I found our seats and we ordered another round of drinks.

"Were the two of you in love?" Lance asked.

His assumption almost made me laugh as I remembered what an awkward fellow I had been. I was taller than a lot of men, but being so skinny all over, I couldn't find properly tailored clothing. Nowadays I'd earned my girth running the saltwater taffy shop, but back then I might have slipped through the floorboards.