Speak Low (7 page)

“Jezebel!” she cried. “Look at you in that dress, Tiny!”

Settling in, I tried to arrange the ivory satin skirt so that it covered more of my legs. “It’s Molly’s. I borrowed it.”

“Molly’s? Your father lets her wear that? It almost looks like a nightgown!” Evelyn couldn’t keep the shock from her voice.

“I doubt he’s seen her in it. He’s not around much.” Her comments in front of the men annoyed me a bit, but I could see why she was stunned. The dress did look a bit like lingerie, with thin straps over my shoulders and a low square neck. It probably didn’t show as much of Molly’s chest as it did mine since she was taller and bigger than I was, but Evelyn’s eyes were glued to the lace-trimmed bodice of the dress.

“And where did you get that?” she squeaked, pointing at the choker I wore around my neck. She looked at my hair, which I’d curled and styled, the black and silver headband Molly had lent me—also purchased on the sly—and my red lips. “Gee whiz, Tiny, you look like another person! I’d hardly recognize you as the girl I once knew.” She laughed, but I couldn’t help thinking she was right.

“It’s 1923, Evvy.” I took a cigarette from my little mesh evening bag. “And I’ve discovered I like living dangerously.”

The young man next to me quickly offered to light my smoke.

On the way downtown Evelyn introduced me to Ted’s friend Walter Lewis, my companion in the back seat. He was friendly and attractive in an Ivy League sort of way, with his natty bow tie and severely parted hair. But I hoped there was no expectation that I would be his date for the evening.

I had other plans.

My stomach flipped uncontrollably as we went down the cement steps into the hidden vestibule that served as the entrance for Club 23. Enzo and I had once shared a kiss in the dark, tight space between the outer and inner doors of the underground speakeasy. My toes curled inside my satin t-straps as I recalled the way I’d been backed up against the brick wall, one hand pinned over my head, one knee hitched up to his hip.

We were granted permission to enter, and walked down the long cement-walled hallway toward the music, our heels click-clacking on the tiles. A Dixieland beat thumped louder and louder as we approached the velvet drapes that opened onto the dark, ritzy club. As usual, the dance floor down in front, as well as all the cocktail tables and large crescent-shaped booths lining the two-tiered room, were packed with revelers. The bar along the back was mobbed as well. The room was hazy with cigarette smoke, and the entire place smelled of perfume, tobacco, and whisky, but underneath it all, I detected the faintest whiff of sex and sweat.

The men checked their hats at the door, and as I looked at the attractive, smiling girl who took them, I wondered again about Enzo’s offer to work at the club. Would I be happy here, night after night, working while I watched my friends come to have fun? Watching Enzo as he played host, buying drinks and kissing hands and making deals under the table? I looked around but didn’t see him anywhere.

“Hey, there’s Rosie. Come on.” Evelyn grabbed my hand and the group moved across the room, skirting tables dressed with white tablecloths and low candles. Along the way, Ted stopped a waitress to let her know we’d like cocktails at the end booth on the far wall, and I scanned the club over my shoulder again for Enzo. I was still looking back when we reached the velvet-curtained booth, but I heard Rosie’s mocking voice above the music.

“Well, would you look what the cat dragged in. Heya, kiddo, nice dress. You knock over your sister’s closet or what?”

Annoyed, I turned toward her. Despite the fact that she was only a few months older than me, she was always calling me kiddo because of my size, and she didn’t mean it affectionately. We got along all right, and she was always up for a good time, but I much preferred Evelyn’s sweet to Rosie’s tart. Nothing Rosie liked more than stirring up trouble, which was why her eyes glittered with pure mischief as she poked at me from where she sat, right on some poor sot’s lap.

I was about to bite back when I bit my tongue instead.

Because the sot was Joey.

Chapter Six

“What are you doing here?” I blurted. I couldn’t help it. He hadn’t contacted me in days and I’d been so worried, assuming the worst, and here he was at Enzo’s club with Rosie’s round little ass on his lap. What the hell was going on?

“I was invited.” He raised his dark eyebrows. “It’s nice to see you too.”

“Invited by whom? Rosie?” I looked at her, and she smiled at me like a cat looming over the fishbowl, then blew smoke in my direction.

“No, not that it’s any of your business,” he answered.

My ears were burning hot, and furious energy vibrated throughout my body. But before I could think of what to say, a waitress came over to take drink orders. I requested Canadian Club, straight, and wondered if I’d survive the five minutes it would take to arrive.

“Have a seat, gang,” said Rosie, sweet as pie now that she saw my jealous reaction. “Joey and I were just about to dance. You can save our table.”

Blustering on the inside, I watched them slide out from the booth and felt like tripping her as she glided by me with a smug look on her face. “Don’t look so put out, kiddo,” she said over her shoulder. “Your man’s around here somewhere, and he looks mighty fine tonight.”

I glanced at Joey to gauge his reaction to that, but he kept his eyes on the dance floor and his expression blank. If it bothered him to hear her call Enzo my man, he didn’t show it.

Evelyn and Ted decided to dance too, which left Walter and I alone in the dark booth to wait for our cocktails. He tried to make conversation with me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off Rosie and Joey. The band had eased from a hot-tempoed jazz number into a lazy, suggestive blues, and Rosie was draped on Joey like a jungle monkey. My whisky arrived, and I took two huge swallows.

By the time they were done dancing, my whisky was gone, my head buzzed, and my tongue itched to let loose on Joey Lupo. Exactly why I was so angry I couldn’t articulate, but somehow it seemed my right to be mad. Rosie led him back to the table by the hand, and they slid in across from Walter and me.

“Joey, can I speak to you in private for a moment?” I attempted to look calm and sweet.

“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, Tiny,” Rosie piped up. “We just sat down. Let the boy have his fun, why don’t you?” She rubbed his arm and smiled at me with the devil in her eyes.

I wanted to kick her under the table, but I kept my eyes on him. “It’s important. Please?”

“All right.” When Rosie’s face fell, he patted her hand. “I’ll be right back.”

She pouted. “You better. I won’t wait around too long, you know.”

Detaching himself from her grasp, he stood. “Need another drink?” He gestured toward my empty glass.

“Good idea.” I slid out and made for the bar, and Joey followed. When I reached the crowd, lined three deep waiting for the bartenders’ attention, I turned on him.

“What the hell, Joey? I hear nothing from you or Enzo all week and then you show up at his club? And with that….that”—I waved a hand in Rosie’s direction—“tarantula on your arm?”

“She’s more like a peacock, actually.”

“Whatever. The point is, what are you doing here and why are you with her?”

Joey looked amused. “You know, your jealousy might actually be kind of endearing if it didn’t make your face turn all red like that.”

My mouth dropped open but I snapped it shut immediately. “
I
am not jealous of that two-bit man-eater.”

“Oh. My mistake, I guess. Now what do you want to drink?”

“Whisky.” I probably shouldn’t have ordered a second glass so quickly, but rational thought had been supplanted by confusion and irritation and—yes, fist-clenching jealousy. I could admit it to myself, although I’d be damned before I’d let Joey see it. While he paid for the drinks, I took a few deep breaths, rubbed my lips together to make sure my lipstick was still on, and adjusted my posture to read cool instead of hot.

“Here you go, Little Tomato.” Joey handed me a glass of amber liquid and clinked it with his own. “Salute.”

I took a small sip. “So if it wasn’t Rosie who invited you here tonight, who was it? And why didn’t you call me?”

“What is this, the Inquisition? For your information, I was invited here by the cake eater himself, and he told me to come alone.”

“What? Why?” I nearly choked on my whisky. In my mind there was only one reason why Enzo would invite Joey here alone. How could Joey be so dumb as to actually show up by himself? Wouldn’t he see the trap?

“He said he had some information for me.”

“About what?”

“He didn’t say exactly, only that it was something I’ve been looking for.” He drank again. “I assume he’s ready to finish up the opium deal.”

“And Rosie? How’d you end up with her?” I couldn’t resist asking.

“I walked in here looking for Enzo, and Rosie accosted me.”

I squinted at him. “Accosted you?”

He gave me a crooked smile. “I can’t help it if I’m irresistible. It’s the hair, you know?” He ran a hand along the side of his brown curls, which had been tamed into submission with hairdressing. “Or maybe the body in my sharp new suit.” He puffed out his chest.

It’s the mouth
, I wanted to say, looking at his full lips,
and maybe the hands
. But I rolled my eyes and took a drink instead. “Well, it’s certainly not your modesty, we know that. So Enzo invited you tonight. Well, he didn’t say anything to me about it.”

Joey shrugged before lifting his glass again. “What he says to you ain’t my business.”

In an instant his demeanor had shifted from playful to tense. “But—”

“Good evening,” said a smooth, deep voice behind me.

I spun around and came face to face with Enzo, whose sleek appearance in a black suit and tie were enough to momentarily steal my breath.
Rosie was right. He does look mighty fine.
“Hi,” I said. And then hiccupped, loudly.

Enzo’s lips tipped up. “Welcome, darling. I’d buy you a drink but I see you’ve already gotten started.” His eyes moved beyond me to Joey. “Mr. Lupo. You made it. You’re alone?”

“As requested.”

“Excellent. If you’ll just give me a moment with Miss O’Mara here, I’ll be with you shortly.”

“I’m at a booth down front,” Joey said, already backing away from us.

“I know where you are. Enjoy yourself.”

It was all perfectly friendly, but something was off about the exchange between them. It wasn’t just that they were being eerily nice to one another in a phony way, because even after Joey had gone, I still felt a sense of alarm. “So…you invited Joey here tonight?”
Hiccup.

“I did. I have something to discuss with him, and I promised him it would be worth his while. In fact, I invited him a couple nights ago, but this was the first night he said he could get away.”

“Oh.” Briefly I wondered what had kept Joey so busy. His family? Was his mother OK?
Hiccup.

“Shall I get you some water?”

“Yes, please.”

Enzo snapped his fingers for the bartender’s attention while I racked my brain trying to think up a way to get Enzo to let me come to the meeting he was planning with Joey. A moment later, he took my whisky and handed me the water, watching as I took a few sips. “Better?”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

He leaned closer to speak low in my ear. “You look ravishing in that white dress, darling. I can barely keep my hands off you. Is it new?”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “I borrowed it.”

“Ah. Well, soon you’ll have a whole closet full of new dresses, each one just waiting for you to put it on so I can tear it off you. With my teeth.”

“What?”
Hiccup.

Enzo laughed as I brought the water to my lips again. “You heard me.” Lifting his wolf eyes from my breasts, he glanced over my shoulder and straightened up.

“So what happened with the whisky shipment?” I asked. “Did you get it?”

“You’re drinking it tonight, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but…how did you manage it if you haven’t gotten the money for the opium yet?”

“Just leave the business to me.” He leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the cheek but seemed suddenly distracted by something. “Now, why don’t you join your friends, and I’ll try to send for you later.”

“But what about Joey?”

His eyes darkened a little. “Leave it, darling. I’ll see you later tonight.”

He tucked the whisky back into my hand and strode toward the entrance. With dread in my stomach, I turned to see whom he’d rushed off to greet. The dread turned to fury when I saw Gina Meloni making her way toward him, wearing a gorgeous gold and scarlet dress and a feather in her dark hair. She threw her arms around his neck and he kissed her cheek, taking her arm to lead her to their usual table. Spikes of wrath needled my arms and legs, and I finished both the water and the whisky, slamming the glasses on the bar.

If I’d thought I could handle the back and forth between her and me, I was wrong.
Either he wants me or not.
No closet full of clothes was worth feeling so angry and inferior every time he left my side and went to her. So her father owned a distillery and supplied his club, so what? He shouldn’t have to marry the guy’s daughter if he didn’t want to. And he didn’t…did he?

As I watched him seat his fiancée and light her cigarette, it struck me what was so unnerving about his behavior tonight. He was acting just like his father—the amused detachment while calling me darling, the cool kisses on the cheek, the shrewd agenda I knew lurked beneath the polite treatment of his enemies. The comparison turned my stomach.

I walked back to the booth, where Evelyn and Ted sat holding hands. On the dance floor, Walter was doing his best shimmy with a black-haired flapper dressed in red, and Rosie had her arms around Joey again. He held her close, spun her out, and they laughed together. When he pulled her in even tighter to his chest and whispered something in her ear, I felt it like a punch in the stomach. No one wanted to dance with me that way.

My hiccups were gone. I ordered another drink.

#

At some point, Joey and Rosie returned to the table, and I did my best to appear unaffected by their flirting as well as by the whisky I’d consumed. It wasn’t easy. My head was cloudy, the room wasn’t holding still like I wished it would, and my skin itched with irritation. There was plenty of room in the goddamn booth—why the hell did she need to sit on his lap? And why the hell did I care, anyway? I held my tongue, not easy for me, and tried not to stare at them. I even attempted to flirt with Walter, and though my heart wasn’t in it, Joey sat up straighter when I put my hand on Walter’s arm and laughed at a silly joke he told. It made me feel a little better.

Around midnight, one of the DiFiore goons came to our table and asked for Joey to follow him. Joey excused himself, and I practically elbowed Walter in the face to scramble out of the booth after him. “Joey, wait!”

He turned and grimaced at me. “Go back and sit down.”

“No. I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t. And you’re drunk. Now quit acting screwy and go back to the table. I’m sure Arthur misses you already.”

“Walter.”

“Exactly.” He took me by the shoulders, turned me around, and gave me a little shove toward the table.

But I wouldn’t go. “I’m coming with you,” I insisted, trailing his heels.

Joey shrugged and spoke over his shoulder. “Fine, I’ll let the cake eater deal with you.”

I hurried behind him, taking two steps for every one of his, stumbling a little in my high heels. When the goon reached the curtained doorway that accessed a staircase to the building’s upper floors, I tried to slip through after Joey.

“He didn’t ask for you.” The goon grabbed my elbow and held me back.

“I promise I won’t be any trouble.” I smiled sweetly at him, a younger guy with thick eyebrows and a five o’clock shadow. “I stayed here Friday night, and I think I left something in one of the rooms. I’ll just retrieve it while I’m here.”

“Oh, you work here, eh?” One of his bushy brows arced suggestively.

“What? No! I was sort of—a guest.” And sort of a prisoner too, but I left that part out.

“That’s a shame,” said the goon. Joey bunched his fists at his sides.

“Listen, if Enzo sends me back down, I’ll come without any trouble at all.” I tried a flirty wink. “What harm could a little thing like me cause?”

Joey coughed, and I glared at him.

“No chance, doll. He didn’t ask for you.”

So much for my feminine charm. Helplessly I watched them disappear behind the curtain, then spun around and stomped back toward the booth. How dare Enzo shut me out! I was the one who told him Joey had the opium in the first place. Was he keeping me away for a reason? I was torn between being angry and being scared. If he was on the level about his promise not to hurt Joey, why wouldn’t he tell me what he was doing? And how dare Joey fail to stick up for me and insist I be allowed to accompany him! I’d put this whole thing in motion.

Bastards, all of them.

I was almost to the table when I recalled another way to access stairs to the upper floors—the tunnels.

Subterranean passageways led from the club to hidden stairwells as well as to buildings across the street. They were used for escaping during raids or for booze deliveries, but if I could find my way into them, they’d sure be useful to me tonight.

Biting my lip, I scanned the club. There was a door to the tunnels in a room behind the bar, but I’d have to convince the bartender to let me back there, which seemed unlikely. One leg twitched impatiently. It would’ve been much easier to think through this plan if I wasn’t so goddamn tipsy—the room was positively spinning.

With a loud blaring solo by the trumpet player, the band swung into a hot jazz number, and the crowd rushed the dance floor. I went along, the murky edges of an idea taking shape in the back of my head. I pushed through the dancers as they jumped and flailed to the two-beat rhythm, feeling the thump of the bass drum in my chest. Awkwardly I tried to dance along with them a little, lifting a knee here and an elbow there, hoping it looked like the Charleston, a smile plastered on my face. Thankfully everyone was either too drunk or too exhilarated by the music to notice me. When I’d made my way to the front, I skirted the stage over to the side. An unguarded door led to the backstage area, and I hurried through it without stopping.