Swan Song (4 page)

“Try again.”

“I hate corn.”

“Not even close.”

“That town was too small for me.”

“Now we’re getting warmer.” he says, pulling out a cigarette. He offers me one which I gladly take, anything to wipe the taste of the whiskey off my tongue. I let him light it for me. His hands are close to my face in the flickering orange glow of the match and I see scars across his knuckles. Fine white lines like cracks in thin porcelain.

I take a small puff, blowing it out slowly. “Why don’t you tell me why I left and I’ll tell you if you’re right?”

He ponders his answer briefly. “There was nothing for you there.”

“All sixes!” I cry in approval. “You should be a fortune teller. Shouldn’t you have read my palm or something to get that answer?”

“There’s nothing for you here either.” he says, ignoring my flippant attitude.

I shake my head in disappointment. “Ah, there’s where you’re wrong. I have everything here.”

“Really? This is where you want to be forever?”

“No one is where they want to be forever. We’re all shooting for something else. Something bigger.”

He nods in understanding, blowing a cloud of white smoke over my head. “What are you shooting for?”

“The Cotton Club in New York.” I say without hesitation.

“Then what?”

“What?”

“After that, where do you go from there?”

I shake my head with a frown, looking away from him into the ashtray between us as I flick the end of my cig. “Nowhere. That’s the dream. That’s it.”

“So that’s where your life will play out? You’ll live and die on a stage in Harlem?”

“Better that than settling down and popping out a bunch of brats if that’s what you’re getting at.” I say sharply, glaring at him.

“I didn’t say that.” he replies calmly.

“What about you, since you know so much? Where are you going?”

He takes a sip of his drink slowly. “Can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause to tell you where I’m going I’d have to tell you where I’ve been and that’s not a story I’m looking to share.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Did you tell me the story of why you left Nebraska?”

“No. And I’m not going to.”

“Then it’s exactly fair.”

The club bursts into deafening applause. The band kicks in playing a rollicking song and we both turn to watch as young Milton Berle takes his bows and exits the stage to a standing ovation. As the crowd dies down and the band shifts gears, diving into a slow number to give people a chance to mingle and grab drinks, I feel a light tap on my bare knee. I look at Drew, surprised to find him leaning toward me. Watching me.

“Maybe you should be a comedian.” he says softly.

I laugh, shaking my head. “You already are one.”

“You’re prettier than he is.”

“What is this? What are you doing?”

He shrugs. “Trying to make you feel better.”

“Well you’re awful at it.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t usually do it.”

“I can see why. Anyway, who says I feel bad?”

He sits back and snubs out his cigarette. “You sighed.”

“I sighed?” I ask incredulously. “And you heard it over this crowd?”

He nods.

“You’re very astute, aren’t you?”

“So they say.”

A light goes on in my brain. “Is that why they call you Birdie?”

“Uh oh. Be careful, kid.” he cautions as he rubs a hand over his mouth. The gesture almost looks nervous. “I warned you about that. Cute name equals—“

“Ugly story, I remember. So you’re not gonna tell me?”

“No.”

“I can take it.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“Then why not?”

Drew meets my eyes with his strange ones and it might be a trick of the light or the hooch I’ve been drinking since lunchtime, but they look almost sad.

“Because I don’t want you to know it.”

I nod thoughtfully then ask quietly, “You know what I want?”

“What’s that?”

Tossing my hat on the bar, I stand up in front of him, offering my hand.

“I wanna dance.”

I expect him to tell me to sit down. I expect him to laugh and shake his head, telling me he doesn’t dance. What I don’t expect is what I get.

Drew takes my hand gently in his, wraps it around his forearm and leads me to the center of the club like a Southern gentleman at a debutant ball. He silently turns me toward him, his eyes tight on mine as his hands touch my sides. His palms run lightly up and down just once across the fabric as though settling in, then they sit low and heavy on my hips. When I put my hands on his shoulders I notice that he’s really not that much taller than I am. Maybe 5’9” compared to my 5’7”. But he’s broad, stocky. Strong. The heat and weight of his hands feels secure where they touch me. They feel capable and gentle. Everything about him gives a girl the impression he could take care of her when the chips are down. That wherever you are you’re safe with him. Everything except his eyes. His eyes say to run. His eyes shout predator. They’re screaming at me now, telling me to high tail it out of here away from him as fast as I can.

Being the smart, cautious girl that I am, what do I do?

I step in closer to him, wrapping my hands loosely around his neck.

His hands take firmer hold of my hips, gently keeping me from coming any closer. The rejection stings but I smile through it.

“You’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you?”

He smirks. “I’m a preservationist.”

“What are you preserving now? My reputation? My chastity?”

“My face. I’m not looking to get in a fight tonight. Certainly not over one dance with a dame.”

I pout, batting my eyes theatrically. “Are you saying I’m not worth it?”

He looks me over from my long cascading hair to the pointed tips of my black shoes. “Not for just a dance.”

“What then?”

“What then what?” he asks, his eyes falling back on mine.

“A dance with me isn’t worth a fight. What is?”

Drew considers my question, his lips tightening in thought. “Well that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s an escalating scale. A dance with you isn’t worth a fight, not even a fair one, but a kiss might be. But then a kiss probably won’t earn a man a fair fight. So for an unfair fight I suppose it’d be worth a little necking. But now necking will get a fella jumped and beat for sure, no pretense of fairness. So where do you go from there? Spending a night with you would be worth a beating for sure but knowing Two Thumbs, a man would get far worse than just a beating for that.”

“You’re worried about Tommy.” I say, pulling back and feeling annoyed.

Drew pulls me in close again, closer than I was before. So close that I can feel his heat and smell his scent. It’s strange, almost like tobacco but not quite. It’s not a cologne or a soap. Maybe it’s in his hair? Whatever it is I like it. I breathe in deeply trying to get more of it.

“I’m worried about you.” he tells me deeply, earnestly.

I shake my head. “You’re worried about your face.”

“That too. I don’t want it rearranged just for looking at another guy’s girl.”

“I’m no one’s girl.” I tell him firmly.

He frowns briefly. “You might not think so.”

“You’ve been asking the wrong people the wrong questions.” I say hotly. “You wanna know something about me, ask me.”

“Alright. How is Two Thumbs going to react to you dancing with me?”

Damn him for being clever. And right. I can’t answer that honestly without sounding like a girl with a jealous boyfriend. It never mattered to me before and I’m thoroughly annoyed that it matters to me so very much now.

“As I said.” Drew tells me in response to my silence. “One dance we can get away with but—“

“All I asked for was a dance.” I cut him off.

He pauses, watching me with that deadly blank stare of his. Then he says softly, “Well then we’re in the clear.”

We dance in silence after that. I try to avoid his eyes but there’s no hiding from them. Eventually I look at him again and I’m not surprised to find him watching me. His face is still carefully blank, his eyes their usual unnerving intensity but there’s something else. It’s not soft, not exactly. More like…calm.

He doesn’t say a word as he pulls me in closer. His face doesn’t change in the slightest when my body is pressed against his and he wraps his arms around my waist. His eyes give nothing away when I wind my arms around his neck, pulling my chest up against his. But that’s how we stay for the remainder of the song. And it’s nice. It’s not the groping I get from some of the boys. It’s not the electric shivers I get from Tommy’s advances. It’s more like a warm glow in my blood that runs through me, warming me like hooch going down your throat and heating your belly and I’m getting drunk off it. I’m staring into his eyes, barely blinking, and it should be terrifying but it’s not. I can see him for what he is because he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. He puts it on display, showing it to me so I’ll know the score.

He’s a monster. He’s a killer. A demon worse than Tommy. But when you’re already in The Devil’s arms, what evil is there left to fear? There comes a point when the danger becomes comforting. When you feel safe with it. When you’re so deep inside the fire you can’t even feel the flames anymore.

Chapter Five

“Did we get the cases of bourbon in yet?” Ralph asks the room.

Tommy and two other guys, Mickey and Hal, nod their heads.

“It came in last night.” Mickey tells him.

“It was late.” Ralph says bitingly. “Tell them we ain’t paying full price for product that shows up late. We needed it for Halloween and it’s come and gone now.”

“Seems like we did alright without it.” Hal says, leaning back and puffing lazily on a cig.

“Tell that to Al. Senator asked twice for bourbon. Imagine how fuckin’ happy he wasn’t when we couldn’t produce.”

“Besides,” Tommy tells him darkly. “Doin’ alright ain’t the same as doin’ great and we coulda done great that night. Holidays are a time to make a killing and we won’t have another shot at one until New Year’s.”

“Which reminds me,” Ralph says, looking up and pointing at Mickey. “Make sure we got champagne on hand for New Years and lots of it. Start ordering more and hiding what we got.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Tommy, who you got lined up for New Year’s entertainment?”

I feel my pulse quicken at the question but I don’t move. I stay stock still in my place tucked in an arm chair in the corner of the big office. The fact that I’m invited in to hear when they’re talking business is a big deal. It shows a lot of trust on their part and while it’s flattering, even a little exciting, it’s scary too. I won’t ever repeat a word I hear in here but if anyone else ever does, my name is coming up as a possible leak just like the rest of them. It’s a terrifying thought and shows a lot of trust on my part as well. By being here I’m banking on none of these boys ratting each other out.

“We got the Duke.” Tommy says seriously.

Ralph puts down his pen and stares at him. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

“No laughs. We got him on loan from the Harlem Cotton Club.”

“No shit.” Hal mutters.

“What witchcraft did you have to pull to manage that?” Mickey asks.

Tommy smiles darkly. “I have people skills.”

The room fills with laughter. Tommy glances back at me and I smile, ear to ear. I knew I wouldn’t be singing on New Year’s Eve. If I got the boot on Halloween, no way I was headlining a night like New Years. But every time there’s a guest in the club there’s always a chance I’ll get to do a number with them. I just have to be there and you better believe that if Duke Ellington and his boys are coming to
my
club, I will be there that night. A chance to sing with him is the closest I’ve ever come to my dream of hitting it big in New York and taking the stage of the Harlem CC.

But for some reason, Tommy doesn’t smile back.

“Adrian!” Ralph says loudly and I don’t think it’s the first time he called my name.

I snap to attention. “Yes, Mr. Capone?”

“You and the girls ready for tonight’s show? Is everything set?”

“Everything is perfect.”

He grins at me. “I can always count on you, sweetheart. You never miss a beat.”

“Thank you.”

“Why don’t you head out onto the floor, grab a drink or a bite or somethin’? We got some other stuff to discuss.”

Meaning non-club related business. This I don’t mind being left out of.

I stand with a gracious smile. “Of course.”

“Get me the envelopes, would ya, Mickey?”

I watch Tommy as I leave but he carefully ignores me. I’ve got a bad feeling in my stomach all of a sudden.

“Did you deliver to Birdie yet?”

“Not yet.” Tommy replies with disinterest.

“Why the hell not? It needs to be dealt with.”

“He’ll get it when he gets it.”

I slow my walk, my hand almost on the doorknob.

“He’ll get it now because I told you to take care of it! What? You got a beef with him? Services have been rendered, Tommy, to a T. Deliver the fuckin’ envelope.”

“I’ll take care of it tonight.”

“You’ll take care of it now.” Ralph tells him hotly. “This is not a guy you want to piss off, do you understand? We may need him in the future. Don’t burn this bridge for us.”

I can’t stall any longer. I leave the room entirely, pulling the door closed silently behind me. I hear more shouting, the screech of a chair sliding roughly across the floor and then the pounding of angry footsteps. I know it’s Tommy coming out to deal with business and he’s in a real mood because of it. This is nothing I want to deal with right now so I dart quickly into the lady’s room just as Ralph’s office door opens and bangs shut. I wait with my ear pressed to the bathroom door, listening to his shoes snap sharply across the hard wood floor in a quick clip. I know he’s angry and I know who he’s going to see, but I can’t decide who I feel more sorry for. Drew for having to face Tommy when he’s feeling evil? Or Tommy for taking his bad mood out on who is clearly the very wrong man.

An hour later and Tommy still hasn’t come back. I’m getting worried but I still can’t decide who or what exactly I’m worried about. I’m just antsy is all. That bad feeling in my stomach that started when Tommy wouldn’t look at me is intensifying and I’m starting to wonder what’s really bothering me. I wish he’d call or come bursting through the door, throwing off his coat to the check girl and yelling at all of us to shake a leg. But another half hour passes and he still doesn’t show.