The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress Read Online Free PDF Page A

the room. In the last few hours, Maria had found Joseph Crater in bed with a woman half his ageand herself measuring the inseam of one of New York City’s most reviled gangsters. She was overcome with a sudden need to wash her hands. After a quick trip to the restroom, she returned to her work area and dropped into her seat. She set her face in her hands. What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Three
    CLUB ABBEY, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 6, 1930
    RITZI and Crater sat at a small table in a corner of Club Abbey and listened to the jazz quartet. She slipped one shoe off under the table and rubbed a blister on the side of her big toe. Rehearsal ran long that afternoon and her feet ached, but she hid it with a smile. Crater couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t stop touching her.
    “Where is she?” Ritzi asked, looking at his wedding ring. “This wife of yours?”
    “In Maine, at our lake house. She spends summers there.”
    She brought her bare foot up the front of Crater’s leg. “That must be nice. A vacation home. You should take me there sometime.”
    He caught her gaze, still on the ring, and spun it around his finger. “I can take it off if it bothers you.”
    “Doesn’t make a difference, I suppose.”
    He slid the ring off and put it in his pocket.
    The room smelled of pipe smoke and wood polish and anise. Area rugs and lamps with red shades were scattered around the bar. Warm. Seductive. Flickering candles cast halos of soft light across the center of each table. Young couples lounged close together, arms draped over shoulders and hands resting on thighs. The nuzzle of a neck. A brazen kiss. On the other side of the room, Owney Madden sat in his corner booth. He nodded at Ritzi and continued to study Crater. She shifted a little closer to the judge.
    The bartender arrived at their table, a fresh-faced young man with red hair and a wrinkled apron. He still looked to be in his teens. “What’ll you have?”
    “Bring her an absinthe,” Crater said. “And one for me as well.”
    Although Joseph Crater always imbibed in the evening—straight whiskey on the rocks being his drink of choice—this was the first time he ordered absinthe. Perhaps he was feeling a bit cosmopolitan, or maybe just giving in to the trend. It arrived several minutes later on an elaborate silver tray with two reservoir glasses, slotted silver spoons, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a carafe of ice water. The bartender set the paraphernalia on the table and was about to slip away when Crater asked, “What’s your name, kid?”
    “Stan.”
    Crater tucked a dollar bill into his hand and said, “Keep them coming.”
    “Sure thing, mister.” He stuffed the money in his pocket and went back to the bar.
    “I don’t want to drink tonight,” Ritzi said.
    Crater dismissed her with a glance. “I don’t care.”
    Fine, then . Ritzi lifted her glass and would have taken a swig had Crater not grabbed her wrist.
    “Easy. You’ll be on the floor in two minutes if you take it like that.” He took the glass from her and held it up to the candle. “Let me educate you.”
    “By educate , you mean corrupt.”
    “Semantics.”
    Crater lifted a sugar cube from the bowl and set it on the slotted spoon. He rested the spoon on the glass of absinthe and poured a small amount of ice water over the top. “Look,” he said. The liquor was the color of green apples, and the sugar created a small white cloud as it dripped into the glass. He stirred the absinthe with the spoon and then handed it to her to taste.
    Ritzi wrapped her lips around the spoon. It tasted of licorice. Her tongue curled away from the bitter alcohol. “How can you drink that?” She coughed.
    “I just wanted you to try it.” Joe laughed, seemingly delighted by her naïveté. He poured more ice water into the glass, filling it two-thirds full. “You don’t drink it straight.” He handed it to her again.
    She sipped. “Better.” Ritzi took another, and then another. The sugar