Excerpt from A Dangerous Business by Jane Smiley, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

There was a knock at the door of her room, and then the door opened. Why Eliza found this startling, she didn't know. Mrs. Harwood stepped into the room. She was wearing a navy-­blue gown. Her hair was austerely pulled back, and she was leaning on a cane. She said, "Girl, there are some rolls on the kitchen table, if you care for one, and Raul will run you back to that place." She hobbled out of the room, dragging her right foot. After a moment, Eliza followed her. The house was not only empty—­even though it was nicely furnished, it seemed as if it had been abandoned. It was empty of smell, of sound. Even the light, the beautiful Monterey light, had been blocked out, by heavy curtains. Eliza went straight to the front entrance, taking no rolls, not looking for Raul. She didn't feel at ease until she was halfway down the next block.

But she did get paid that day, and two days later, Mrs. Parks said that Mr. Harwood had asked after her—­he hadn't asked for her, only wondered whether she was well, whether she had "been able to put up with him." Eliza replied that he was a pleasant fellow, evidently well meaning, but she said nothing about Mrs. Harwood or the house. Mrs. Parks turned and looked her in the eye. She said, almost sharply, "You need not go there again if you do not wish to do so, but let the other girls choose for themselves. He's a kindly man, with plenty of funds, and I would not like to lose his business." Eliza nodded. Mrs. Parks had never commanded her before. That, too, was strange, but, of course, understandable, given that Mrs. Parks's establishment was one of several.

Things went along as usual for the next few weeks, which is to say that some of her customers were young, some of them were old, some were sailors, some were rancheros, some fished in the bay, some worked in the cattle business—­skinning, drying, butchering, tanning. As part of their fee, those fellows might bring Mrs. Parks a roast or a haunch. But they had to bathe before they came. If she wrinkled her nose, they were unwelcome. One man—­prosperous-­looking, but a stranger, at least to Eliza—­brought his son in. He was a shy, small boy. Mrs. Parks stood the girls up in front of him, and he gestured slightly toward Eliza, perhaps because she was the youngest and the smallest, so she took him to her room. As she passed Mrs. Parks, Mrs. Parks lifted her right eyebrow, which meant, "Go slow." But of course she would: no sense in frightening the boy. When they were in her room, and had closed the door, she sat on her bed and smiled. After a few moments, she said, "As you please."

The boy shook his head.

Eliza sat quietly. Yes, there was some way in which the boy reminded her of Liam Callaghan, though he didn't look like him and was much more elegantly clothed. She stared at him, but only from under her brow. He glanced around and tapped his boots on the floor. It was in the color of his eyes, she realized—­large, open, as blue as the sky. She said, "Are you Irish, then?"

He started, then smiled, said, "My ma is Irish. Her name is Maggie O'Rourke. She had to run off with her folks because of the hunger."

"I had a friend that happened to."

Another silence. The boy's breathing settled. He moved slightly toward her, reached out, and put his hand on her knee. Well, it took forever, went on step by step, until he did finally bring himself to enter her. Afterward, she stroked his back while he lay facedown on the bed, recovering. They talked a bit. It turned out that he was nearly seventeen, still waiting to grow, that he was being sent back east to go to a school and would be gone for three years, and that his father was a strong believer in giving his sons (all three of them) sexual experiences. The boy, whose name was James, said, "My brothers said they liked it." This made Eliza laugh. James blushed, laughed, too, then said, "I liked it. I did like it."

Excerpted from A Dangerous Business by Jane Smiley. Copyright © 2022 by Jane Smiley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.