1920s — New York City

The whole city bustles and buzzes with life just outside my window. The bright lights like stars against the hazy night sky. It brings a smile to my face at the thought of what awaits me just a few streets away. My senses itch for the cool feeling of the microphone beneath my fingers, the smell of smoke and alcohol lingering in the air, the tapping of shoes and piano keys as people dance to the jazz music inside the dim little club.

I let out a sigh of content at the mere memory of it. Well, the club and a certain jazz player. The one with the sly smile, gentle touch, and those brown eyes that hold more than the galaxies ever could. My thoughts linger on him and possibilities for tonight's events as I slip my feather band over my head and fiddle with the fringe of my dress.

Pops doesn't approve of my lifestyle, but it's the only thing I've got to myself these days. Between his rising fame and every one clamoring to invite his daughter to their social events merely for bragging rights, I was feeling more lost than ever before I found my love for jazz, which led to me to find love in so much more.

My knuckles tap out this weeks pattern on the thick mahogany door of what seems like to be an ordinary house downtown. But those that can get inside know it's anything but. Inside and down the stairs lies one of my favorite places, The Starlight, New York City's most hopping—and illegal—jazz club and gin joint. Or as I think of it—my second home.

I tug my jacket closer to my body as another chilly breeze passes by. My heel taps against the doorstep as I impatiently wait for someone to let me in. "Sorry about the wait, Birdy. It's busy tonight." Oliver greets as he opens the door with a wide smile.

"No need to worry, Ollie, dear. I'm just gonna go warm up before my set." I tell him with a grin and hand him my jacket before slipping into a side room. Ollie always keeps the place nice so that if anyone is suspicious, it still looks like someone lives here. All it would take is a peek in the window to see a roaring fire and a couple people having casual conversation.

"We go on in five." A warm, familiar voice whispers as arms wrap around my waist, and lips press a feather light kiss to my temple. "You ready, Birdy?"

I turn around and rest my palms against his chest. "Aren't I always, Tommy boy?" His brown eyes crinkle at the corners. Those bright eyes that seem to hold galaxies and more meet mine and send my heart fluttering. My fingers instinctively reach up to brush back the fallen strand of his blond hair.

There's a feeling of uncontainable happiness that flows through me, and I swear even without a drop of gin, I'm already halfway to drunk by the giddy feeling that comes with freedom. It's a stark contrast to the usual restriction of my daytime life.

The rules of society and social life and being a lady. Everyone clamoring for me to attend their parties, whether it be because of my father's name or my natural wit and attitude. It's the life of constant nagging from my father or one of his driver's hovering over my shoulder to report to him later on all my actions.

But here—in the underground night life of our decade, with the jazz music and cigarette smoke drifting through the air, and my love, Tommy, next to me, I'm free.

Tommy's fingers link with mine as we follow the small trail of people down to the basement. I breathe in a sigh of relief as we weave through the crowds of flapper girls and their beaus as they dance and drink the illegal booze this place pumps.

"Come on, Birdy. Time to share your song." He whispers as we linger in the wings. Theta's, my best friend, is just finishing up her number with the usual flourish she always brings. When she finishes, I step up on the platform and offer her a tight hug, before taking the microphone.

I relish the feeling of the cold metal against my fingertips. My hips gently sway to the time of Tommy's piano playing. Our eyes meet for a second, and we get lost in our own little world as we fall into the comfort of the club and jazz.

Everyone stops for a second at the immediate sound of my voice, which still brings a smile to my face every night. Girls smack their beaus to keep them from standing there slack-jawed and drooling and force them to keep dancing. It's only a moment before the immediate awe wears off, and the entire place is the hopping.

I'm lost in the beauty of it all. It's what our folks don't seem to get—why we do this. There's a sliver of rebellion, that much they have partly correct, but they can't seem to understand how this is it for us. Down here, we can be ourselves, forget our troubles, rules and regulations, and just be free.

For me, the nights in the Starlight help me breathe. They remind me there's more to life than perfect etiquette and social rules. I can be Elinor—the girl with the beautiful voice. People don't look at me with pity or disdain. They don't see the reflection of my mother or watch with rapt attention to see if I'll snap too—if I'll leave just like her.

No, down here, I'm Elinor—singer, flapper, beauty, and lover. I'm entirely me.

I catch a glance of Tommy as he continues to play the piano and shoot him a wink. It makes his lips curl up into that devilish grin I love so much, and I can't wipe the smile from my crimson lips through the rest of the set. Because this—this is my happiness.

The night went by in a blur of smile, laughs, and stolen glances between our show. I swear, he never looks more handsome than when he's playing the piano or watching me sing.

Although, I think he looks handsome all the time. Even like right now as he takes me back to my building, cigarette hanging from his lips, and hair gently falling in his face.

"Are you sure we can't just stay out forever?" I lean against his shoulder and close my eyes to enjoy the moment while it lasts. "Just stay out forever and forget about how our parents want nothing more than to marry us off to perfect little Gibson girl's and Arrow Collar Men. We could just stay like this—together."

"That sure sound nice, Birdy, but we both know that it wouldn't work out." His fingers trace circles over the fringe on my hip, and his lips press a feather light kiss to my temple. "Not just yet. I promise you one day."

"I like the sound of that promise." I tell him and press my hands on his chest. Maybe it's the alcohol still buzzing in my system, or maybe I'm just too giddy at Tommy's promise of forever. Because I ignore every ounce of reason as my fingers wrap around his lapels and tug him down to my level.

Our noses brush together, my dark and his light brown eyes stare into each other, and lips just centimeters apart, "I love you, Thomas Parker."

"I love you too, Elinor Carter, my precious little songbird." His words make my heart flutter like a hummingbird's wings. I lean in to close the distance between us. It's not our first kiss, but nothing has felt like this before.

My head spins at the kiss. I wonder if it's the effects of the alcohol doing it or if I'm merely drunk on him. There's the lingering taste of gin and cigarettes on his lips alongside the peppermint gum he always busy for a nickel. His calloused fingertips brush against my arms, and my hands rest on the back of his neck.

We part with heavy breaths and goofy smiles. "I should probably head inside before my Pops blows a gasket."

His thumb traces across my cheekbone as he presses a delicate kiss to my forehead. "Goodnight, Birdy. I'll call you tomorrow."

I manage enough will to untangle let him go and take one last glance behind me as my heels click against the pavement. There's a smile that has permanently plastered itself across my face as I enter the lobby and make it back up to the penthouse, just in time for my curfew.

Unfortunately, Poppa is waiting in his chair with a sour look on his face. "Elinor, I'm glad to see you still know how to make curfew on time."

"I told you I'd be back in time." I tell him as I gently walk through the living room. "Everything alright?"

"No, sweetheart, it's not." He lets out a sigh. "I need you to be honest with me about something. Please, sit down." I do as he asks and slip down into the plush cushions of our couch. His hazel eyes bore into me as he twirls his glasses. "Where have you been going out at night?"

One thing I've learned over the many years with my father, and more recently in the months since Ma left, is how to read Pops and know when I'm cornered. It's the only reason he would be acting like this—because he knows.

"I've been going out with friends—to parties." I bite my lip and wait for the backlash of it all. "I sing, Pops, and people like hearing my voice."

"They have every right to; you have a beautiful voice, Elinor. Just like your mother." He pauses and pursues his lips. "Anyone in particular you've been spending time with?"

My heart drops in my chest. He knows—he knows about Tommy and I. "Look, I didn't want you find out like this, but I—"

"I don't want you seeing him anymore. Is that understood?"

"Pops, please, don't do this. You don't understand what he means to me."

My father's whole demeanor changes. Body goes rigid, eyes turn cold, and his knuckles become white. "Elinor Ada Carter, I have told you time and time again you are forbidden from seeing Thomas Parker and going to those jazz clubs or so help me you will never leave this house again."

Something in me just snaps. After so many nights of sitting in this exact same position and hearing him voice the exact same fears, something just breaks inside me. Because this is in no way about me. It's about Ma. It's always about her.

"No." I whisper through grit teeth. "No, I'm still gonna go out, and you can't stop me unless you really want me to live up to your expectations. I love you, Poppa, but there's no stopping me. We both know I'm twice as stubborn as you, which means I'll get my way."

I soften and unclench my hands with a sigh. "Please, Poppa, I need you to understand. I'm almost seventeen, and you can't treat me like a child forever. You have to let me grow up eventually." Tears are building in his eyes too. "I love you, Poppa."

"I love you too, Elinor." He pauses and sets his glasses down with a sigh. "Perhaps this is a discussion we should finish in the morning. It's been a long day, and we both need rest."

I nod, despite the sinking feeling in my gut. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but my stomach churns with nerves like never before. Each click of my heels against the floor echoes like a gunshot in my ears. All piling together into this vast feeling of terror and wrong.

Even my silky pajamas or the picture I keep hidden away of Tommy and I brings me no comfort. I lay awake all night listening to my father's mutters from the other room. Each word slips away in an indecipherable mumble that only makes me feel increasingly nervous.

Poppa used to be the man that never mutters. He's always been the kind of man who spoke his mind, a trait I picked up from him since I never seemed to know when to hold my tongue. So hearing him like this is almost disturbing, even if it's not the first time.

It happens almost every night we have an argument or one of his grand plans to keep me contained doesn't go right. He mumbles all night. I lay awake in distress until it all somehow fades to background noise or the sun rises.

This just feels different somehow. He's been more anxious, jumpy, and angry. I swear I can't even mention my birthday without him jumping the gun on me.

Although, I suppose that might just be because it's so close to the anniversary of when Ma said she was going to visit my Aunt and never came back. The memory of her brings tears to my eyes, because as much as I despise what she did, I miss her just as much as Poppa.

We never talk about it though, which left me all alone in my grief. Until I met Tommy in the Starlight one lucky night, and he made everything bright again, which is only half the reason I love him.

And despite Poppa's disapproval, I know I would do anything to be with him, even if it meant repeating my Ma's actions.