Meet the Journalists of the Di Stasio Giornaliste Agency

CHICAGO, Ill., Saturday, March 7, 1931—They say curiosity killed the cat, which is why Gabriella Salatino preferred to let the cat keep her tongue. Silence was golden, as the saying went. However, she’d never managed to rein in her curiosity, which meant tonight might kill her.

Gabriella set her drawing pad and pencil on a chair near the closed garden doors in the farthest corner of the ballroom. The setting sun cast a golden sparkle over the snow-covered estate in Lincoln Park. One could almost believe that nothing existed beyond the hedgerows. Not Lake Michigan, not the dirty factories, not the growing homeless population.

She yearned to escape the stifling room and lifted the strands of curly black hair that had escaped from where she’d pinned them at the back of her head. The unnatural electric light, the cloying variety of perfume, and the heat from the many bodies made the fabric of her straight, floor-length dress wrap itself around her ankles and dampness slip down her bare back. Perhaps she could crack open the door to the garden.

As an illustrative journalist for the Di Stasio Giornaliste Agency, she was on loan to Illinois Life Magazine to cover a series of spring charity events throughout the Chicago area. According to the managing editor, Katherine Arkley, Gabriella’s sketches showed the elaborate lifestyle of the wealthy, allowing readers a voyeuristic look at their lives. Gabriella, however, preferred to look at her work as invisibly rooting out those using the less fortunate for personal gain while shedding light on the growing need throughout the city, all behind the safety of her pencil. It’s why she joined Ali Di Stasio’s agency, though being a fellow Italian-American was how she discovered the woman in the first place.

Gabriella searched the room for another tableau to capture on her blank page. Susan Brink, hostess and founder of the Brink Scholarship Fund, held court on the far side of the room. Her silver hair twisted up, revealing a long neck on which hung a necklace of diamonds—the Brink Diamond Necklace. Susan only donned it when she asked her guests to open their wallets.

“See anything notable?” Billy Holland, the lead society columnist at Illinois Life leaned close to Gabriella’s ear, his breath causing an unwelcome shiver. He ran a finger down her bare arm. “Go to dinner with me again.”

She froze. This was why she kept words locked away. Men took one look at her exotic skin and thought her a loose woman. Worse? They got angry when she said no. She forced herself to relax. This was Billy Holland. He was one of the few people who knew Ali as both the head of a journalism agency and the wife of one of the Astor Street elite. He was safe, and a friend, which was why she’d agreed to his suggestion last week.

“It was a moment of weakness, Mr. Holland.” Saturday had been the seventh anniversary of her mother’s death. Vulnerable, she hadn’t had the courage to decline Billy’s simple dinner invitation. She hadn’t meant to encourage something more than one nice supper. She never did. But people flustered her, especially when her insides were in turmoil. Next time, she’d be stronger. Or just say nothing at all.

“I know. You and your colleagues are women above measure.” He slumped into the chair beside her, his black suit crumpling.

Gabriella frowned. “You deserve a woman above measure, Billy.”