Swan Song (16 page)

“Tommy!” Ralph snaps. “Take your own advice.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?!” he demands, showing a rare moment of dissention. “You’re gonna let him sit there and talk shit about the Boss?”

“He’s not wrong. We’re tightening security everywhere on Al’s orders. We’re keeping the enemy out so it’s not exactly a great time for you idiots to start fighting on the inside.”

“He’s not an insider.”

Birdy spreads his hands lazily. “I can leave.”

“Perfect!”

“He stays on Al’s orders,” Ralph tells Tommy, his voice dripping with warning. “You got a problem with that, you and I can talk in private and I’ll set you straight. You got me?”

Tommy sits back in his seat, his jaw clenching and unclenching with anger. “Yeah,” he growls.

Ralph turns his attention to me and I flush red, realizing I’m still standing in the doorway. “Adrian, you got somethin’ you need from me?”

“No, sorry,” I say, hastily stepping back to the hallway.

“It’s okay, doll. Close the door when you go, alright? We’ll see you tonight for your show.”

“Yeah, of course.”

I close the door and hurry down the hall to my dressing room. The entire time I’m trying to shake the look on Birdy’s face. It was nothing. Pure, absolute vacant nothing. It was foreign but oddly familiar, a sense of déjà vu that gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

It’s later that night when I’m on stage and I spot Tommy in the crowd watching me that I realize where I’ve seen that look before. It’s the same look Tommy is giving me now.

It’s the gangster.

It’s the devil.

Chapter Nineteen

Two months later, Big Bill Thompson is re-elected as Mayor of Chicago. Tommy was right. The Capones wanted him there, so there he is. In all his gluttonous glory. I see him from the stage when I finish my set. He’s at a large booth with the boys, all of them drinking, laughing, smoking, doping, and enjoying the ladies from the lower levels. Even Drew.

When it’s time for me to make the rounds through the club, I know I’ll have to visit that table. It’s the VIP section of the night. It’s the epicenter of the club and it’d be rude for me not to show, but I loathe the idea with every fiber of my being so I take it slow. I linger longer than normal at other tables, laughing and chatting until I can’t take it anymore, then moving on.

“Adrian!” Tommy eventually calls. “Get over here. Say hello!”

I smile brightly, but inside I’m groaning. The girl’s are in their laps or snuggled up next to them in the tight confines of the booth. Hands are mysteriously absent from the tabletop, busy in the dark recess underneath where no one can see but everyone knows.

Drew is there with Carmella on his arm. She’s leaning into him and giggling maniacally with her breasts squeezed so hard in her dress they’re nearly bursting out into his whiskey glass. I want to pick it up and throw it in both of their faces.

“Good evening, gentleman,” I say pleasantly, carefully keeping my chin up and my eyes empty.

Mayor Thompson smiles, saluting me with his glass. “Beautiful performance, my dear.”

“Thank you, sir. Congratulations on your re-election.”

“Thank you, thank you! It’s a win for the whole city!”

“It seems that way. If you’ll excuse me, boys, I have to go backstage. It was wonderful to see you all.”

“You won’t stay?” Tommy challenges, watching me closely.

I smile at him sweetly. “No, thank you. Your table is full as it is. I can’t imagine what you’d need with me.”

I don’t look at Drew. I’m very careful not to acknowledge him in any way, but I can feel his eyes on me. I feel them follow me as I leave the table and weave my way out of the dining area. As I pass the bar. As I hurry to the door leading backstage. Once I’m hidden in the darkness of the hallway, I lean against the wall and let my head fall back hard against it. The fistful of hairpins propping my hair up stabs into my skin painfully but I don’t move. I stand there berating myself, berating Tommy, berating Drew, and mentally beating the shit out of Carmella with her fake laugh and busy hands.

I’ve never been jealous before. It’s not a color I wear well.

The door from the dining area opens and I expect to see Tommy standing there, ready to yell at me for taking off like I did, but I’m shocked to see it’s Elisha.

“What are you doing back here?” I ask her tiredly. “You’re supposed to be wandering the floor and mingling.”

Her large eyes are round with concern and suddenly I hear the chaos exploding from the front of the club. Shouts, chairs scraping hurriedly across the floor, tables toppling, women screaming, feet trampling across the ground.

“What’s happening?” I ask her.

“It’s a raid.”

I grab her arm and yank her farther down the hall, deeper into the club. I slam my hand on the on the hidden panel that swings a thick door out, exposing a staircase leading to the basement. “Go,” I tell her, shoving her forward. “Get down there to the casino. Tell them what’s happening then keep quiet. I’ll close the door behind you.”

“What about you?” she asks franticly. “What about my dad?”

“Your dad and I know the drill, we’ll be fine. Now get down there and warn them!”

She disappears down into the darkened casino and I slam the door shut behind her. It immediately blends into the paneling on the hallway wall, out of sight.

“Addy,” Drew calls from the other end of the hall.

“Drew, it’s a raid!”

“I know. Come on!”

I pick up my skirt and run to him, my heels clicking rapidly on the floor. I hear them in the kitchen throwing pots and pans around, breaking dishes. They’re searching for the booze but if the boys at the bar were fast, they won’t find a drop. Behind the bar are hidden chutes that lead down to the basement where the casinos are run and the extra booze is stored. When a raid hits, they hurry and toss the bottles down the chutes that will drop them into crates filled with hay and cotton to cushion their fall and keep them from breaking. The most the cops will find is hooch in glasses on the tables, all of which should be spilled to the floor when the tables are tossed by the boys in the chaos.

“Where are you supposed to go in a raid?” he asks me.

“Tommy’s office.”

“That’s not happening,” he mutters, taking hold of my arm. He pulls me into the nearest open door and slams it shut behind us, throwing the lock. “Whose office is this?”

“Ralph’s.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Drew chuckles, looking around the office. “He’ll be grateful we’re in here guarding his paperwork. And his bourbon.”

I’m shocked when Drew helps himself to a lowball glass of the dark liquid from the decanter on Ralph’s desk. “You’re drinking during a raid? Are you for real?”

“Genuine article,” he grunts, falling comfortably into a leather armchair in the dark corner.

He looks the way he did when I first met him – hidden in the shadows and glowing with light, danger, and a little bit of laughter. He’s such an odd combination, but it’s a mix I can’t get enough of.

I wonder if Carmella has.

“Haven’t had your fill yet, huh?” I ask bitingly.

He smirks knowingly and I want to slap the look off his face. “I don’t know what you wanted me to do out there, Addy.”

“Maybe not let her put her hand in your pants, to start.”

“I didn’t.
She
didn’t.”

“She didn’t offer?”

“Oh, she offered. In fact, she insisted. I declined.”

“You’re a prince,” I mutter.

“What should I have done? Shove her aside to sneak away with you? Pull your dress up and prove to you I’d rather have you than a whore?”

“Well, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He sighs. “Because I’m good, but I’m not that good. No one is. Do you know how many eyes are in this club? Eyes watching you, watching me, watching every dark corner?”

“You could walk in here at any moment and kill a man in one of those dark corners and no one would see a thing.”

He grins. “Accurate as that may be, what you wanted me to do to do you would take longer than killing a man. And create more noise.”

“I can be quiet.”

“Since when?” he chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re expecting too much. I’m not Houdini.”

“Houdini is dead.”

“Really?”

“Last Halloween after an act.”

“You see? Even Houdini isn’t Houdini.”

“Certainly not anymore,” I mutter.

He smirks into his glass. “You’re a dark one.”

“Said the pot to the kettle.”

He reaches out and runs his fingertips along the fabric of my dress, caressing the back of my leg beneath it.

“We’re alone now,” he says quietly.

I glare down at him. “You have to be kidding me.”

He chuckles, pulling me down so I fall into his lap and his arms weave around me, holding me tightly. I sigh with a strange relief. I want all of that coiled, dangerous strength that exists in him to be wrapped around me, making me feel like nothing on this entire Earth could ever hurt me because he absolutely would not have it. I’ve never been good with being soft, but it doesn’t feel exactly like weakness with him. It feels like safety. It feels like when my dad would hug my momma on the porch and she’d smile and lean into him, singing in the back of her throat as he swayed her side to side. Like dancing.

“I’m leaving day after tomorrow,” he tells me quietly.

I’m not surprised. He’s been here nearly three months as it is, longer than I expected him to stay, but it doesn’t mean I’m excited that he’s going. Far from it.

“Business?” I ask vaguely.

“Yes.”

“Is the Outfit still paying you to be here?”

“Not enough.”

“Since when?”

“Since the start.”

“Then why did you do stay?”

“For you,” he answers plainly. “But you already knew that.”

I smile faintly, feeling the unfamiliar burn of a blush on my cheeks. “There’s knowing a thing and there’s
knowing
a thing.”

“And now that you
know
why I stayed?”

“I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, draining his glass of bourbon. “Me too.”

I curl into him, nuzzling my head into the crook of his neck until I can smell his scent and feel his pulse against my temple, sure and strong. He lazily drags his fingers up and down my arm, his other hand resting on my knee, and there’s nothing I’d rather do in the world than stay there in that chair with Drew forever. It’s a strange kind of feeling to have, one I’m not used to and never thought I’d understand. It’s not even something I’m sure I believe in, but since the moment I met him, I’ve felt drawn to him. Gravity has its hold on me and I hope it’s pulling me forward, guiding me north, but I’m on unfamiliar territory. I’m all turned around and there’s a feeling in my gut that’s telling me I’m headed straight south.

“Come to New York with me,” he says suddenly, his voice vibrating in my ear.

I sit up in surprise, looking down at him. “Are you serious?”

“Don’t I look serious?”

“Deadly.”

“Come with me,” he repeats.

“I can’t afford it.”

“I’ll buy your train ticket.”

I blink, my heart racing with fear and excitement. “I can’t get away from the club.”

“Yes you can,” he insists sternly. “When was your last vacation?”

“Never.”

“You’re due. You have that friend, Lucy, the one seeing some guy in the city. How often does she visit him?”

“Every week she meets up with him at the airport in Chicago as he flies through, but once a month she takes the train up to see him and his family.”

“Tag along this month. Tell her you need a break from the club.” He runs his hand up over my shoulder and into my hair at the base of my neck. “I’ll take you to the Cotton Club.”

My breath turns to ice in my lungs. “In Harlem?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “The one in Harlem.”

I should be excited about that. I should be soaring. Flying high on the idea of seeing my dream come true. Setting foot inside the CC doesn’t mean I’m singing there, it doesn’t mean much of anything at all other than finally touching the star I’ve been chasing for the last six years. Putting my hand to flame and feeling the heat on my skin, on my face, in my heart, and knowing it’s real. It’s such a simple thing to mean everything, but still… still I don’t feel it. Not entirely. What I feel more than anything is a thrill at the idea of sitting at a table next to Drew out in the open with a drink in my hand and Ella on stage. I want to taste the life. The difference it can bring being in New York and away from Cicero and the Capones and Tommy. I want a shot at being Addison.

“Three weeks from now,” I tell him, my words coming in a jumbled rush. “Luce will go to see him three weeks from now. Saturday, the seventh.”

“I’ll mail you a ticket.”

I lean in and kiss him softly, slowly. I kiss him the way he makes love to me – like he’s all in, and as his arms tighten against me, squeezing me hard, and his tongue takes my mouth, I let go of every breath and every worry in my body. I let him in, let him fill those vacant spaces, and I’m full to bursting with so much emotion that I can’t focus on any of it enough to see it clearly, but I can feel it. I can hear it. It’s a bright blur of motion, music, and light that’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, but I know what it is.

“I love you,” I breathe.

He takes hold of my face, stopping me. I hover with my mouth over his and his breath rebounding off of mine, and I’m steady. I’m solid and unafraid, because I already know.

I already
know
.

He runs his thumbs along my cheeks softly, pressing his forehead to mine. “Addy,” he rumbles, deep and so low, “I—“

The doorknob turns sharply. I jump with a start when there’s the bang of a body against it then the spinning of the knob again.

“What the fuck?” comes a muffled exclamation from the outside.

It’s Hal. Not as bad as Tommy, but not good either.

I pull back to look down at Drew. I’m sure panic is written all over my face, but he looks utterly calm and composed. He shakes his head at me sharply and I stand up straight, pulling myself together. He stands as well, putting me behind him and taking his half-drunk glass up in his hand. When he strides to the door to open it, easy as anything, I wonder why he’s not an actor.