The Fate of a Flapper--A Mystery, page 2
She moved to greet a handful of regulars descending the stairs, but Jade had already beaten her to it. “This way, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson,” Jade said to the couple, giving Gina a cool look as she led them to a corner table. Mine, Gina could almost hear the Caribbean-born singer say, in the slightly taunting way she had. “Brought your friends in, I see?”
“We told them about your singing,” Mrs. Henderson gushed, causing Jade to smirk at Gina. “Told them they simply had to hear you,” her husband added.
There had been a bit of a thaw between the women over these last few months, but Jade was clearly the Signora’s hot-to-trot green-eyed favorite and always lorded it over the others. Not that Gina blamed her—Jade’s beautiful voice deserved something better than the second-rate audiences who came to the Third Door. On occasion Jade performed over at Louis Armstrong’s joint in Bronzeville, the Sunset Café, but that had yet to turn into a regular gig. As Jade had resentfully told her once, her skin color meant she couldn’t headline at some of the fancier clubs and theaters outside of Chicago’s South Side. However, at the Third Door her popularity was unmatched, and she had many regulars wrapped around her finger. Right now, both couples had laid some extra dollars on Jade’s tray.
“I’ll give you some real razzle-dazzle later,” she said, slipping the cash from view. She strutted past Gina, queen of the walk.
* * *
A loud guffaw from the other end of the bar caught Gina’s attention. A group of men was huddled there, and in the middle was Stan Galinsky, the newsboy’s papa, still yukking it up with his pals. She curled her lip. All of them drinking away their weekly paychecks. How many others had mouths at home waiting to be fed? She’d never given it much thought.
Instead of pointing Stan out to Gooch as she intended, Gina marched over to the man, planting herself squarely in front of him. “You’re Stan, right? Stan Galinsky?”
The other men stopped talking at her approach, looking her up and down with a mixture of interest, admiration and annoyance.
Stan looked up at her, his eyes bleary and bloodshot, a stupid grin revealing the wrinkles across his face. “Aw, sweetheart, I’m taken,” he said, causing the men around him to laugh. “Though my wife might not be too happy to see me right now.”
Gina frowned. In his cups even before dinnertime. “Your wife is outside the drugstore. Waiting for you to come out.”
“Petra can keep waiting,” he replied, still slurring his words. “Just gonna harp and carry on like she always does. Right, fellows?” He looked around at his pals, who all slapped his back and guffawed.
“You got that right, Stan!” they called. “Show her what’s what!”
“Your kids are up there, too,” Gina said. “They’re waiting for their papa to come home.”
A flicker of shame danced in his eyes before he turned away. “Lemme alone,” he slurred. “Or I’ll tell the Signora you’re trying to drive away her customers. She wouldn’t like that, would she?”
That’s true, Gina silently agreed, taking a step back. What would the Signora do if she warned off a paying customer? Usually it was up to Gooch and Little Johnny to run the bums out of the speakeasy, but they’d only do so if someone was picking fights, pawing at the women, or had blown through their dough.
“I’ll take some Marlboros,” one of the other men called to her. “Just so long as you don’t tell my wife.”
Gina handed the man his cigarettes, plastering a smile back on her face, trying not to think about the tearful woman waiting for her wayward husband to find his way home.
* * *
By seven o’clock, the Third Door was hopping. Stood to reason. On a Friday night people had bucks to burn. Or, just as likely, they’d come out hoping to find someone willing to blow some scratch on them.
Most of the tables around the dance floor were occupied, and a few couples were already dancing as Neddy Fingers tickled the keys of the piano in the corner. As usual, a few women were casually positioned around Ned, hoping to catch the slender playboy’s attention.
A few more people were seated at the bar, chatting or idly watching Billy make concoctions of all sorts, adding honey to some, bitters to others, and garnishing a few with mint, cherries, or orange slices. At this time of the evening, Gina had noticed, most of the drinks were a little frothier and more imaginative, Billy Bottles’ way of disguising the terrible taste of the gin. Later in the evening the drinks would start getting darker and more bitter, as if everyone were getting too fried to care what their drinks looked or tasted like.
As she moved around the room, she noticed that a man seated alone by the wall seemed to be watching her. His hand was wrapped loosely around his whiskey tonic, and as she approached, she could see that his fingernails were carefully trimmed and buffed.
“Cigarettes, cigars, candy, mints? If you don’t see something you like, I can go see if Billy’s got it in stock.”
“Oh, I see something I like,” he said, grinning at her slightly, giving her the once-over. He was probably in his early thirties, slender, very well dressed. He had Irish features—dark blue eyes, black hair. Very handsome.
She shifted impatiently. “On the tray?”
“Sure, Gina.” He pointed to a cigar. “I’ll have one of those.”
“You know my name?” she asked, as she cut the foil on the cigar. She’d never seen him before.
“I pay attention,” he replied, taking the cigar and holding it out for her. Before she could light it, he set it back down, his jaw tightening as he caught sight of something over her shoulder. “Ah. I’d love to chat more, but I need to take care of something first. If you’ll excuse me.”
Putting the cigar in his vest pocket, he downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass and stood up.
Gooch was standing there. “The Signora is ready for you now, Mr. Morrish. Follow me.”
Gina narrowed her eyes, watching as the men disappeared from the speakeasy floor. Wonder what that’s about? she thought. She knew the Signora had her hands in a lot of pots and was always finagling with others to expand her means and reach. Though it was hard not to speculate about all the backroom meetings, Gina knew enough not to ask questions and she most definitely knew to keep her mouth shut.
* * *
Two men had seated themselves at a high table by the bar when she wasn’t looking and appeared now to be waiting for service. Seeing Lulu about to head over, Gina tapped meaningfully at her delicate silver art deco wristwatch. Catching the gesture, Lulu returned her empty cocktail tray to Billy before disappearing to the ladies’ salon. Time to get ready for her first set.
“Good evening, gents,” Gina said to the two men. She ran her fingertips lightly across the contents of the tray. “Care for a smoke?”
“From you, doll, I’d buy anything,” one of the men said, giving her a dimpled smile that most women would probably find charming. With his wavy blond hair and even features, he had the look of a man who usually got what he wanted. “Modernos for me. How about you, Dan?”
“It’s Daniel, George,” his companion replied. He looked up at Gina. “I’ll take Modernos as well, thank you. Plus two sidecars.”
They placed the money on Gina’s tray, but only Daniel added a tip. A whole extra dollar. Not with the lecherous air of expectation but rather with the ease of someone used to tipping expansively.
After lighting the men’s cigarettes, Gina put their drink order in with Billy, keeping an eye on the whole floor. Everyone seemed settled in with their smokes and drinks, as they tapped their feet to Ned’s quick-fingered version of “If You Knew Susie (Like I Know Susie).”
A petite woman dressed in gray and silver emerged from the direction of the ladies’ room and approached Gina, sliding a beautiful evening bag off her wrist.
“What a lovely bag,” Gina said, admiring the loops of shimmering deep red beads and intricate silver handle.
The woman gave her a pleased smile. “Thank you. My father gave it to me a few years ago. It’s my favorite.” She opened the clasp and handed Gina a dollar. “I imagine my friends have already ordered. I’ll take a bourbon rickey. You can bring me my change with my drink.”
“Sure thing,” Gina said. “I’ll be over in a sec.”
As she waited on Billy to finish the drinks, Gina turned her attention back to Daniel and George, studying them with a practiced eye. Ever since she’d started learning the craft of photography earlier in the year, she’d taken to looking at the details of people’s faces and clothes more closely, thinking about what it would be like to photograph them. While both men wore expensively tailored suits, Daniel had a slightly more finicky air, still buttoned up and starched, while George looked a little rougher but more relaxed. If she had to guess, given the way Daniel had bestowed the tip, he’d been born to wealth and privilege, while George had not.
The drinks ready, Gina carried them over, placing small cocktail napkins on the table before laying down the glasses. Not every customer scored a napkin, but since Daniel had tipped her so well she thought he might appreciate the gesture.
“Thank you, darling,” George said to her. He clinked his glass against his friend’s. “Bottoms up, Dan! Here’s to the booming stock market and making our clients—and us!—oodles of cash! That means a new Duesenberg for me!”
A Duesenberg! It was hard not to feel impressed. Gina had never ridden in such a fancy car. After laying down the bourbon rickey in front of the woman, who’d rejoined her friends nearby, she continued to listen in on their conversation even though she knew little about the stock market. There was something compelling about George’s unabashedly joyful sense of greed that both intrigued and offended her.
Daniel took a deep gulp, grimacing. “Too many people entering the market who don’t know what they’re doing. Too much borrowing. Too much speculating! They’re going to ruin everything.”
George snickered. “Your trust fund is showing, Dan. The more in the market, the merrier, I say.”
Daniel drained his glass. “Haven’t you seen the reports? Some experts say that the market could crash if we don’t slow down. We have to keep the riffraff out.”
“Better not let the boss hear you say that!” George replied, setting his glass down hard on the oak table. “Look, Dan, I just approved three more loans today. Stocks will keep going up and up, mark my words. So long as the banks don’t close, we’ll just keep raking in money!”
“Tut-tut. So vulgar, George.”
“Looks like you need another drink! Hey, darling,” George called to Gina. “Keep ’em coming, would you, honey? It’s been a good day, and I think it’s gonna be even a better night.”
Gina gave them the disdainful smirk she’d perfected in the last few months and moved away. She’d given these stinkers enough of her time already. On to the next.
* * *
Over the next hour, more customers descended the stairs, allowed down in couples and small groups. First a pair, then another pair, then another three, all dressed to the nines. Feathers, silks, satins, beads, boas, headpieces—everyone sparkly, shiny, and ready for a boozy grand time. Their entry was determined by Little Johnny, who was upstairs monitoring the green door off the alley. The passwords varied, but those in the know were aware that tonight’s password was Elephant’s Elbows. Though the passwords seemed a bit silly at times, they served a vital purpose, creating a sense of camaraderie in a forbidden world, and ensuring an urgency to keep the secret from those who would expose and betray them.
As Gina refilled her tray with more rolling papers, tobacco, and mints, she could overhear two women seated by the bar talking and giggling loudly, clearly trying to capture the interest of some men around them. One of them was a dainty brunette, pale with delicate rosy cheeks. In her fluffy brown hair, she had pinned an elaborate silver butterfly headpiece that matched her silvery dress. From her neck hung an elegant black opal on a silver chain that set it all off divinely. The other was a slender blonde with bobbed hair, dressed in a sleek teal and black number. Both women looked like they came from money.
The blonde nudged her friend. “Jeepers, Fruma! Vidal’s here! You didn’t invite him, did you?”
“Oh, no!” Fruma exclaimed, sounding genuinely concerned. “Addie, what’s he doing here?”
“He’s looking around. Maybe he hasn’t seen you. Quick! Go to the ladies’ room.”
“Bah!” Fruma replied. “Too late. He saw me. He’s heading over.”
Her attention caught by the conversation, Gina watched as a man with slicked-back hair strode across the room, ignoring all the prancing and trotting couples scattered across the dance floor. He stood in front of the women, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. “Hey Fruma. What’s shaking?”
“What are you doing here, Vidal?” Fruma asked, toying nervously with the opal around her neck. “You know we’re not engaged anymore.”
He pulled up a chair, to the obvious annoyance of both women. Reaching across the table, he seized Fruma’s hand. “Darling! I’ve missed you so much. You haven’t returned any of my calls! I’ve been so worried. I took a chance that I’d find you here tonight.” He looked accusingly at Fruma’s companion. “Adelaide! Have you been passing on my messages?”
“Get lost, Vidal,” Adelaide said, sniffing. “Can’t you see Fruma doesn’t want to see you?”
Vidal’s face grew dark with anger. “Hoity-toity, think you’re better than me,” he said, looming over them in a menacing way, causing both women to cringe.
Gina raised her hand in the air, her spangled bracelets catching the light of the grand chandeliers above, trying to get Gooch’s attention.
Except it wasn’t Gooch who noticed the women’s predicament—it was George, the stockbroker. He strode across the floor and positioned himself between Fruma and Vidal. “Ladies, is this man bothering you?”
They both nodded, their eyes large and star-struck by their hero. Daniel, Gina noticed, continued to drink at their table, unconcerned with the fracas. George stood up straight, trying to loom over Vidal, having only one or two inches on the man. “Sir, I believe these women said they didn’t wish to be bothered. I suggest you leave them alone.”
“What’s going on here, Gina?” Gooch asked, materializing at her side.
Gina cocked her head toward Vidal and spoke in a low tone. “That guy there—his name is Vidal—is bothering those two women. That other guy is just sticking his nose in.”
Gina stepped back as Gooch handily maneuvered the interloper to a table on the other end of the dance floor. Before he walked away, the bouncer wagged his finger in the man’s face. Speak to these women again and you’ll be sorry.
* * *
“Guess the fun never stops here. Are they regulars, Gina?” Mr. Morrish had returned to the table he’d occupied earlier, his meeting with the Signora evidently concluded. He’d been watching the confrontation with interest.
“Not regulars,” she replied. “We get all kinds here—some looking for different kinds of fun.” She studied him. He still seemed watchful, intent, contemplating the two women giggling at Vidal, who was now situated on the other side of the dance floor. “You got what you needed?”
He gave a short laugh. “Not quite,” he said, and pointed at his empty glass. “Right now I’ll take a sidecar.”
When she returned a few minutes later with his drink, he took a sip and grimaced. “Sorry, this won’t do. I’ll take a whiskey tonic instead.” Gina put the barely touched drink back on her tray.
“Hang on a sec, Gina. How about you and I continue where we left off earlier?”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
He pulled the already-cut cigar from his vest pocket and held it out for her to light. After he took a puff, he looked straight into her face. Their sudden proximity made her cheeks flush. She didn’t date a lot of men—although there was Roark, whom she hadn’t seen in weeks. She didn’t want to think about him now.
Mr. Morrish seemed amused by her reaction. He touched her arm before she could step away. “You happy here? The Signora good to you?”
“Quite happy,” she said, wary of his sudden intimacy.
“Bad things go down here, Gina. You’ve got to know that. A girl like you—” He paused.
“What? What about a girl like me?”
“Well, let’s just say it would be a real shame if something happened to a girl like you.”
Gina froze. Was that a threat or a warning?
He dropped his hand then, breaking their odd contact. Then he smiled. “I’ll be around. Don’t you worry.”
CHAPTER 3
“Hey there, bearcat,” a man’s rough voice murmured in her ear, as she was putting in Mr. Morrish’s drink order with Billy. “You’re busy tonight.”
Her heart beat a little faster as she turned to face Roark, looking up into his warm hazel eyes. She’d met the ex-serviceman and former police officer back in January, when he was unofficially looking into Marty’s murder. They’d had coffee a few times, and some nights he had driven her home after she was done with her shift. Never out for dinner, never for drinks. He had taken her to a movie once, though, back in July. It was On with the Show, the first all-talking and all-color film. They hadn’t gone out on a date again since. There was a distance underlying their mutual attraction that she wasn’t sure what to do about.
Roark hadn’t been around so much in the last few months, either, ever since he’d been hired to take crime scene photographs for the nation’s first forensic lab. The mayor had called for the lab after the horrendous St. Valentine’s Day Massacre occurred back in February, and Roark was one of the men charged with getting the lab in order. He’d never talked much about his time either on the force or when he was a lieutenant in the Great War, but both experiences had left him scarred and wounded in different ways. When she’d met him, he’d been using a cane to walk, but as he had healed, his vibrancy had returned. Seeing him now, it was hard to imagine he’d ever seemed weak.
