Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

Woman's Work Part Three-July, 1921

Author's Note: I mean, there's more angst. It's just that part of the story.

Each day Clara spent a couple of hours at the Ritz. She needed to pack her room, but she also needed a break away from the house and Teddy, whom she and Katy took turns watching. Teddy exhausted her, even though she felt horribly for him. Margaret felt more like a ghost than a fellow inhabitant of the house. She came and went from the hospital, ate the food Katy put in front of her and focused her energy on making sure her baby survived this scourge.

The strike raged on, and the Ritz was seemingly coming apart at the seams. The hotel began to look shoddy and smudged. Eddie, returned from vacation, was frantic trying to pack the suite without any help. The Boardwalk seemed dirty and tawdry for the first time in Clara's life. Closeted in her room, Clara was forced to relive her life as she sorted her belongings into boxes destined for storage, things to send to her little cousins, and what would first go with her to Margaret's and then to wherever she landed.

From the depths of her closet, an old velvet rabbit fell out. Clara picked it up and stroked an ear, where the nub of the velvet was completely worn away. She couldn't remember a time when she didn't have her rabbit. The memory of Jimmy bringing her the rabbit the night her mother died came back to her. She put the rabbit in the box destined to go with her to Margaret's.

Clara left the Ritz early that day and walked to Leander Whitlock's house, carefully skirting around the striking workers marching on the Boardwalk.

The maid showed her into Mr. Whitlock's office, just like she had done before. Unlike before, someone else sat on the sofa.

"Clara," Jimmy said and started to stand.

Clara waved him off. "Mr. Whitlock, you are both my lawyer and Jimmy's, right?"

Leander regarded Clara thoughtfully, wondering what in the world the child was up to. "That is correct."

"So what we say while we are in the room together?"

"Ah," Leander answered, understanding Clara's implied question. "Yes, most things said between the three of us fall under attorney-client privilege, unless you two mean to plan a crime." Leander reflected that he positively should have charged Clara a higher retainer. After all, he wouldn't be surprised if Clara and Jimmy started planning a half-baked criminal enterprise in his office.

"Did my father have you kill Margaret's husband?" Clara asked Jimmy directly.

Jimmy blinked rapidly. "No," he answered, not expecting that question.

"Don't lie to me, James," Clara responded.

"Clara, I swear. On Tommy, I swear."

Clara closed her eyes and thought back to early 1920. "Because that's when you accidentally started a war with Rothstein by killing his men in the woods?" That led to the d'Alessio brothers getting involved, Clara thought. That led to those men trying to kidnap me, trying to kill me on a city street. That led to Richard killing a teenager. All because you wanted to appear like a big man to Al Capone, darling brother.

Leander stood up, poured three whiskeys, added a little water to one, and then handed out the drinks.

Before taking a sip, Clara swirled the glass in her hand, looking at the amber liquor thoughtfully. "Do you think the Volstead Act has stopped one person from drinking? Do you think any drunkard is now a sober family man because of Prohibition?"

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions," Leander said.

"Clara, why? Why are you asking?" Jimmy questioned her, ignoring her reverie about Prohibition.