The Bad and the Beautiful, page 1
The Bad and the Beautiful
By Jamie Craig
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2020 Jamie Craig
ISBN 9781646562787
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
The Bad and the Beautiful
By Jamie Craig
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 1
His legs were stiff, his ass was sore, and he was going to run screaming in the opposite direction with his fingers in his ears the next time someone tried convincing him it would be a great adventure to travel halfway across the country with a bus full of sweaty strangers and a driver who made his Aunt Arleen look like a hot-rodder.
But right then, right there, standing inside the foyer of the Thunderbird Casino, David Lonergan forgot all of that.
The massive neon eagle perched atop the hotel’s roof had been a showstopper, but the front lobby countered that lavish display with a coziness that didn’t try hiding how much money must have been spent on the joint. The southwestern theme of the exterior carried throughout the warm, open space, earthy oranges, browns, and reds, practically making the room glow. Instead of more traditional landscapes or bowls of fruit adorning the walls, Navajo portraits gazed back at him. Three different fireplaces blazed, countering the chill of the March evening, and standing next to the concierge was a willowy blonde David would’ve sworn he’d seen in the last Gene Kelly movie.
Slim fingers pinched his arm. “Don’t stare.”
Rubbing at the sore spot, David scowled at the woman at his side. “I’m not staring.”
Kate Ennis cocked a perfectly arched, slim brow. Though she’d traveled with him all the way from Chicago’s south side, just as cramped as he’d been on the bus, she could have stepped straight off the stage, minus her costume. Not a single auburn hair was out of place. She didn’t even have a crease on her cheek from falling asleep against the window like he had. If he didn’t adore his cousin so much, he’d hate her for looking so perfect.
When she didn’t utter a word, David rolled his eyes and turned back to the lobby. “Fine. But look at it. It’s not exactly the Left Hook, now is it?”
“Yeah, but it’s going to be better than Chez Paree. Just you wait.” Color pinked her cheeks, and her eyes glittered with excitement. David didn’t think she’d come back down to earth once since she’d accepted the job offer. “Did you know Rosemary Clooney sang here? Jimmy said that’s how she got into the pictures. There was an agent out in the audience, and just like that!” She snapped her fingers. “She’s in Hollywood.”
He bit back his grin at her enthusiasm. “And the fact that ‘Come On-a My House’ sold a million records didn’t count for nothing, I bet.” Bending over, he picked up the suitcases he’d dropped when they’d walked in. His wasn’t that heavy, but Kate had managed to cram everything she owned into the battered case Nannie Nora had given her. He needed his hands to work well enough to play tomorrow. Finding a bellboy soon to carry it all the way to Kate’s room moved to the top of his list. “Come on. Let’s check in.”
David moved toward the front desk, but had to pause several times to wait for Kate to catch up with him. She would have time to explore later, but he didn’t want to risk the two of them getting separated until they were both settled in their rooms.
“Good evening, sir. How can I help you?” The young man on the other side of the reception desk looked out of place, somehow. Like he, too, was a recent transplant from Chicago and hadn’t yet grown accustomed to his new home.
“Yes. My name is David Lonergan. This is Kate Ennis.”
The young man’s smile shifted. Now it looked almost genuine rather than merely polite. “Oh, yes, we’ve been expecting you. Wait right here.”
Before David could ask what he was waiting for, the man disappeared.
“Did you hear that?” Kate demanded, clutching at his arm. “Jimmy’s been waiting for me. Oh, I can’t wait to see him. But I need to freshen up. Do you think I have time to freshen up?”
“No, I think…”
“Mr. Lonergan. Ms. Ennis.”
The deep voice stopped David short. Unsure of what to expect, he turned to observe the source. A mountain of a man stood in front of him. David was tall, but this man had at least six inches on him. His hair was long—like he hadn’t bothered to get it cut in the past several months—and flopped over his brow above narrow, dark eyes. It was difficult to place his age. He could have been twenty-five or forty-five. There was a look, a hardness around his mouth and eyes, that David had long ago learned to recognize. He was born and bred in the Chicago’s underworld. Nobody would cross him and live to tell about it.
“Shorty!” Kate greeted. “Where’s Jimmy?”
“He’s waiting for you.”
David swallowed against the sudden dryness of his throat and self-consciously stood straighter. Something about this man made him wish he wasn’t nearly so rumpled from the trip. “You go ahead, Kate. I’ll make sure your bag gets to your room.”
“Frankie will see to the bags. The boss wants to see you, too.”
His eyes went wide. “Really? Why?”
Kate slapped his arm. “Because he wants to meet you, you ninny. He’s only heard you play.” Linking her arm through his, she shot him a dazzling smile. “I’m sure he wants to see if you live up to everything I’ve told him about you.”
David sighed. “Gee, that makes me feel better.”
“He’s very eager to speak with you,” Shorty said, gesturing for the two of them to follow. Kate had to walk quickly to match the man’s long strides, but her smile never faded. David didn’t blame her. Jimmy Moretti had personally invited her to his kingdom in the desert. “All the suites are on the third floor. That’s where the two of you will be staying as well.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to argue he didn’t need a suite, but David knew before they hit the hallway it would be pointless. It was more than knowing Jimmy would likely take it as an insult, if word ever got back to him. The set of Shorty’s shoulders was all David needed to know anything he said was carved in stone.
Though he knew he shouldn’t, his gaze flickered down the man’s back. The perfectly tailored suit accentuated his lean hips and long legs, and his ass…
David snapped his focus up again. Off-limits, that’s what looking at Jimmy Moretti’s right-hand man was. Because getting caught would mean getting his balls cut off. And that would be if he was lucky.
His cheeks remained hot as Shorty guided them into the elevator. Kate kept chattering away, but the ride to the third floor was too short to really respond to her. It did mean, however, that she didn’t know how he flushed he was, but even if she said anything about it, David was fully prepared to use the long trip as an excuse. He was tired, which was the truth anyway. And Las Vegas was hotter than Chicago, even if it was nighttime and the middle of March.
When the elevator stopped, Shorty stepped out and turned sideways, using his arm to block the door from closing before they could get out. David caught a whiff of his cologne as he passed, something musky he didn’t recognize. It made him a little hard, and a whole lot dizzy, and the only way he could banish the rush it elicited was focusing on who he was about to meet.
Jimmy Moretti was a name most people recognized in Chicago. He had been the man the Outfit had called on in City Hall. He was one of Curly Humphreys’ men, and had been sent from Chicago to Las Vegas to continue his promising career as a front man. He had a good head for business, but an even better head for blackmail. David knew all of this second and third hand, but there was always plenty of talk in the clubs after the alcohol had been flowing.
Shorty knocked once on the door at the end of the hallway before pushing it open, revealing a room that might have come out of A Thousand and One Nights. It was decorated in the same earthy tones as the lobby, but every single item, every single inch, betrayed Jimmy’s wealth. David followed Kate into the room and couldn’t shake the feeling that he was stepping into a completely alien world. This must have been what it was like to step into the witch’s gingerbread house.
&n
David was left hovering by the doorway when Kate stepped hurriedly forward to slide into Jimmy’s embrace. Though he wasn’t a particularly tall man, he still topped her by several inches, his body hard and trim as he pulled her against it. He bent and brushed his wide mouth across her cheek, lingering at her ear to murmur something meant only for her to hear.
Kate laughed. Her eyes were brighter than ever when she twisted to wave David closer. “Jimmy, this is my cousin David, the best piano player in Chicago.”
As he approached, David put on the smile he used whenever he was onstage, the one meant to appease an audience who might glance in his direction when their attention could be torn away from the siren at the microphone. He loved to perform, but even after a decade of doing it professionally, he still felt uncomfortable whenever the spotlight shone directly on him.
He thrust out his hand. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Mr. Moretti. Thank you so much for this opportunity.”
The other man grasped his hand firmly. “I should be thanking you. I heard you playing with Kate before. I was really impressed. You’ve got a hell of a career ahead of you.”
His smile was as much proud as it was pleased. “Let’s hope Las Vegas feels the same way.”
“I’m sure it will.” He released David’s hand and turned back to Kate. As soon as he did, David realized that Jimmy was more or less done with him. “Now, I’ve got a special dinner prepared, and I hope you’ll both join me.”
As much as he didn’t want to feel like a third wheel for what was obviously going to be a romantic reunion, he was stuck smiling and agreeing. He owed Jimmy too much to possibly beg off.
Kate, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have the same qualms.
“Maybe David could take his back to his room?” She gazed up at him with pleading eyes. David sincerely doubted there was a man alive who could resist them. “The trip was so long, and he never did get comfortable. He was folded up like a pretzel most of the way, trying to get his legs to fit right.”
Jimmy looked from her to David and back again. “Of course, he can if that’s what he would prefer.”
Escape sounded like heaven. He’d find some way to make it up to Kate later. “Thanks, Mr. Moretti. I really could use a decent night sleep so I don’t let Kate down tomorrow for her first big show.”
“Very well. Shorty, show Mr. Lonergan to his suite. After that, you can take the rest of the night off.”
“Yes, sir.”
With one last grateful smile at Kate, he followed Shorty back to the hallway. They turned toward the elevators, and he quickened his step to fall in beside the man rather than trail behind like a kid.
“So how long have you been in Vegas?”
“A year.” Shorty stopped outside of 302 and pulled a key from his jacket pocket. The door opened to a suite that wasn’t quite as decadent as the one he just left, but still far richer than anything David was used to. “This is your new home. Through there, you got your piano. If you need anything at all, you speak to me or Jules. He’s the guy down at the front desk.”
David nodded, because finding words was impossible. It wasn’t just that the warm décor surpassed his wildest dreams, or that the bed in the attached bedroom was big enough for three people let alone a skinny guy like him, or that the drawn curtains revealed a balcony overlooking the desert as far as the eye could see. Those were all fantastic in their own right, but what took his breath away was the baby grand sitting casually at the edge of the sitting area, a beautiful ebony piece of art that drew him forward to run his fingers delicately along its edge.
“This is a Grotrian-Steinweg,” he said, his voice hushed in awe. “Jimmy’s really going to let me play this?”
“It’s your piano. It’d be a waste if you didn’t play it.”
David stared at Shorty. “It’s a Grotian-Steinweg,” he repeated. “Are you sure it’s not supposed to be downstairs for me to play for Kate’s shows?”
Shorty shrugged. “There’s one downstairs in the club, too. They both got here yesterday. The boss said only the best should be backing Miss Ennis.”
He’d believe that, but the money it would’ve taken to get not one, but two Grotrian-Steinwegs shipped from Germany was more than he’d see in fifty years of tickling the ivories. He rounded the front of the piano, sliding reverently onto the soft leather bench. The keys gleamed, freshly polished, whispering to him to caress and coax them into filling the room with music. He could even see a distorted reflection of himself in the black wood, his torso tense as he lifted his hands.
Middle C sang out, rich and clear. The key seemed extra cool, or maybe his hands were extra hot, but David knew he wouldn’t be able to stop with just one note. He picked out the top line of some Brahms he always played for Nannie on Sundays after church, but it only took a few bars of that to entice him into adding the rest of it.
The sound was unlike anything he had ever produced before. He didn’t exactly have many chances to play Brahms in the clubs, and even if he did have the opportunity, it seemed disrespectful to pound out such music on an old upright. He closed his eyes, calling up each note from deep within his memory. The room fell away. He forgot he wasn’t alone. He forgot about the horrible ride from Chicago to Vegas, and forgot about stepping out of the smelly, cramped bus and into the wave of hot air at the bus depot.
When he opened his eyes again, his attention fell on Shorty. For the first time, a bit of the mask slipped. His dark eyes had been cold and distant before, but now they seemed to be the same rich, warm color of the piano itself.
He slipped into some Gershwin, unable to look away from Shorty. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank Jimmy for this. This is the best piano I’ve ever played.”
“You don’t need to do anything to thank him. Just keep playing like that, and he’ll be happy.” Shorty took a half-step toward the piano. “Who taught you?”
“A few people. Honestly, I don’t remember not playing. The way my mother tells it, when I was two, I managed to crawl away from her during Mass one Sunday. She found me sitting next to the organ, just watching Mrs. Turner play. Next Sunday, same thing. After a month of not being able to keep me away, she gave up and just passed me over as soon as they got to church.” David grinned. Soft, sugar-scented Mrs. Turner had been a welcome haven, the encouragement he’d needed when the other boys on the block had mocked his music.
“I guess that means you’re a natural talent.” He nodded toward the phone. “You can call down and order your dinner and whatever you’re drinking. Kitchen is open all night.” His lips twitched into what must have been a smile and David felt a small thrill at the sight. “Nobody ever sleeps in Vegas.”
Shorty had taken one step when David found the nerve to ask, “Have you eaten yet?”
“No. Just on my way downstairs.”
“If you don’t have plans or anything, I’d like it if you stayed.” His gaze shifted down to his fingers. It was easier to ask if he could focus on the piano. “Maybe you can fill me in on what I can expect around here. Or what’s expected of me.”
Shorty inclined his head and crossed the room to the phone. “What’s expected of you is easy. Just keep the people happy and drinking. What do you want to eat?”
“Whatever’s good. Maybe something with chicken? And beer. Wait, no, not beer.” As tired as he was, and considering he’d already made the mistake of ogling Shorty from behind, he did not need to make matters worse by getting drunk in front of the man, too. “A soda or something. Whatever they’ve got.”
“Whatever they’ve got is whatever a person could want.” Shorty picked up the phone, punched in two numbers, and then spoke in rapid Italian. The hint of a smile David had seen before returned, and that was even accompanied with a chuckle. David felt more than a little jealous of whoever Shorty was talking to—whoever had the power to make him drop his guard long enough to laugh. “Right. They’ll have dinner up here in twenty minutes.”
“Am I going to have to order in Italian any time I want to eat?” He swung into some jazz, unwilling to stop playing just yet. “Looks like I’ll be living on pasta, then, because that’s about as much as I can say.”
