Chapter ThirtyPARK CENTRAL HOTEL, LATER THAT DAY,
January 26, 1930
Clara wore a red silk robe over white silk pajamas with red piping, and red slippers. She lounged on the sofa in our suite and had called an impromptu press conference I didn’t think either of us were ready for.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” I asked.
“Yeah.” She lit a cigarette and blew out the match. “Go ahead and let ’em in.”
The gaggle of vultures in worsted suits and fedoras filed in, press passes aloft, cameras snapping right and left.
“I guess you’re all wonderin’ why I called ya here,” Clara said, taking a puff to give herself a minute. She cleared her throat, set the smoke on the edge of the ashtray, and leaned back into the couch cushions.
“There’s been lotsa stories ’n’ rumors ’n’ stuff floatin’ around
