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She’d heard him, but she knew better than to so ht or ht

The Roaring Twenties offered ed the hardline manner of men They were as much trouble as they’d ever been

This one, in his pricy coat and polished wingtips, had no place wandering her working class neighborhood at 3:00 a, didn’t s whiskey; he didn’t sway from too much drink He had not cootten lost Even froering wash of woht dalliance with a ht stroll in foul weather

Cocky by half, he was lurking with a purpose and by the growing beat of his heart, he’d found it: prey

Poor woets

Two more blocks and she’d have a locked door between herself and everyone else in Manhattan Twoto worry about

The would-be Casanova pushed fro across the slushy street in a beeline for her “Isn’t it a little late for a stroll?”

Pearl took a sharp left, hoping he’d be wiser than to follow

He was not

She’d stolen a sidelong glance at his face, but did not recognize the ue each patron she’d served After all, they caht Hell, she rarely spoke arette?” A quick nod and an exchange of funds and Pearl would slip to the next table “Cigarette?”

Her job wasn’t to be e That’s what they paid her for

Pearl could afford her little roo She didn’t have to make small talk or flirt Beyond the occasional pat on the ruab with a cigarette girl She was part of the scenery—an ornaht swanky It was the female patrons who earned all the attention Pearl’s hair wasn’t sparkling bottle blonde like theirs, it wasn’t finger waved and bedecked with feathers Hers was sleek and dark, heavy bangs across her brow, bob tight and simple

Men didn’t follow her home

But then again, it see for her