by Kari Bovee
One of the girls onstage squealed, and Joe snapped his head around to see why. She coquettishly placed her hand over her mouth, as if she was embarrassed at her outburst, and winked at Joe. His angry face softened to a hairline smile. He waved his boys off and sat down again. “Okay, so tell me: what’s this classy show you got in mind?”
Flo’s eyes lit up, and he squared his hands out in front of him, as if making a frame.
“It’s about a girl, a beautiful, innocent girl who’s a dishwasher but dreams of starring in the Ziegfeld Follies. So she makes a plan to pretend to be a socialite. She gets herself a few nice dresses and starts going to all the soirees and parties, risking complete humiliation if she is found out. By the time it’s finally discovered that she’s a sham, the public is endeared to her even more. Her dream comes true. Her deception becomes her truth. Beautifully ironic, isn’t it?”
Chet snorted, he’d never heard of anything so silly. Both men turned their heads to him, looks of irritation etched on their faces.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m sure the public will eat it up. Everybody loves a story about someone who makes it big. Right, Joe?”
Marciano narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He stood and motioned for his monkeys to follow. “I’ll think about it.”
Just as Flo stood and offered his hand, Grace Michelle came bustling into the theater, looking flustered, which only added to her appeal.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry.” She glanced briefly at Chet and then back at Flo. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but Lucile has an urgent question about the costumes for the ‘Shining Star’ number. She’s all up in arms.” Grace put her hand to her collarbone, unintentionally drawing their attention to her glowing skin and face.
Chet noticed Marciano’s eyes alight on her.
Flo noticed, too, and put his hand on Grace’s shoulder, spinning her back in the direction she had come.
“We’re discussing something important now, darling. Please tell Lucile she’ll have to wait.”
Grace nodded and made a hasty exit.
“Who’s she?” Marciano asked, watching her walk away, his eyes focused on her slim hips and long legs.
Chet watched Flo’s thought process play across his face. Within milliseconds, his eyes brightened. “That lovely little lady is Grace Michelle, the star of the new show.” He leaned closer to Joe. “Our show.”
A flutter of something like fear bloomed in Chet’s stomach.
“You say she’s the star?” Marciano straightened his tie and smoothed the front of his suit.
Chet wanted to blurt out some kind of protest, but he kept his trap shut, for now.
“Yes. Yes, she is.” The glimmer of opportunity flickered in Flo’s eyes. “She’s Sophia Michelle’s little sister. Who better to replace our fallen star than a younger version?”
“Are you sure she’s the right one? The right girl?” Chet asked, unable to keep quiet. Grace looked nothing like her sister had. It was none of Chet’s business, she was none of his business, of course, but the thought of that innocent beauty in Marciano’s clutches made his blood boil.
Flo glared at Chet in a silent demand that he shut up. Indebted to both these hyenas, he had no dog in this fight, which left his stomach churning.
“Good idea,” Marciano said. “I like it. But I’d like to meet with her first. You know, see if she’s the one. Maybe you can introduce us . . . as soon as possible?”
“Absolutely, Joe. Producers always get to meet the cast, and naturally, once you’re officially the producer, you’d be seeing her and the other girls—a whole bevy of girls—often.” Flo clapped a hand on the big man’s shoulder. “But Grace is heading west for a while. Poor kid is still a bit shattered about losing her sister, so I’m sending her on a transcontinental rail tour to give her time to clear her head. And we’re already booking stops to promote her and the show. No one knows anything about her, so I have to build her up, get the newspapers talking, make her the public sensation we know she’s going to be. You understand, don’t you, Joe? She’ll be back in a month, and it will all pay off. I promise you won’t regret it. Any of it.”
Overselling again. Hell, seems Flo would sell anyone down the road for a buck, Chet thought, fuming. Something in the back of the theater caught his eye. A woman, wearing a white fur and oversized hat, sat in one of the seats in the back row.
Lillian Lorraine. How much had she heard?
“I want to be informed, Ziegfeld,” Marciano said, pointing a finger at Flo. “We do this, you keep me informed. I’ll give you the bucks, but I’ll be watching you. You get me?”
Flo nodded and held out his hand. Marciano pulled a silver toothpick out of his breast pocket and picked between his crooked teeth.
“I’ll have my man contact your man,” he said, raking his gaze over both Chet and Flo in a silent threat before strutting out of the theater, his gorillas trailing behind him.
“You have company.” Chet tapped Flo on the shoulder to distract him from his flirtation with the showgirl onstage.
Lillian sauntered down the aisle, her body moving like a cat searching for a warm place to sleep, but the expression on her face was like that same cat when intent on a kill.
“Lillian,” Flo said, a chill in his voice.
She walked up to Flo and came so close that the head of her fox fur rubbed against Flo’s pocket square.
“I’ll just be going.” Chet didn’t want to be anywhere near this conversation.
“Stay.” Flo raised a hand. “Miss Lorraine has nothing to say to me that she can’t say to the public.”
“You owe me this part, Flo.” Lillian crossed her arms, her eyes intent on Flo, smoldering so intense they could start a fire.
“That’s rubbish, and you know it.”
Lillian opened her white clutch and took out a diamond studded, silver cigarette case. She removed a cigarette, placed it between her fingers, and looked at Chet with raised eyebrows. He fished in his coat pocket, produced a matchbox and lit her cigarette.
Flo exhaled, his irritation at Lillian’s air of entitlement, her assumed importance to the theater and assumed importance to the world in general, quite apparent.
“This show was written for me and then you gave it to that tramp, your whore of the week. Now that she’s dead, you need me.”
“Now, hold on, Miss Lorraine.” Chet stepped forward. “No need to be disrespectful.”
“This is a private conversation.” Lillian narrowed her eyes at Chet.
“Flo asked me to stay.”
Lillian blew smoke in his face, and he tried not to wince at the burning in his eyes. It took every ounce of his self-control not to physically escort her from the theater. He imagined his hand squeezing her bicep and dragging her up the aisle and out the door.
“Settle down, Lillian,” Flo said, physically moving her backward with his hands on her shoulders. “You have no claim on this show, this theater, or me. I thought I made that clear when you broke your contract to go work for the Shuberts. Go back to them. I’m done with you.”
“Get your hands off me.”
Flo raised his arms in the air in surrender. He may have gone too far, Chet thought. Lillian stepped forward again, her eyes blazing and her mouth twitching. Chet could see the cigarette shaking in her raised hand.
“And now, you’re giving the part to that simp of a girl, that lackey to Lady Duff Gordon? She has no experience.”
Flo grabbed her by the elbow and turned her away from him seconds before Chet did the same.
“This really is none of your business, Lillian. You work for the Shuberts now.”
She shrugged him off. “You will go under without me.”
Flo clasped his hands in front of him and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, the expression on his face nothing less than amused and confident.
“Let’s look at reality: you’re a pretty face but not much more. You’ve been incredibly lucky in your career to have come so far with so litt
le talent,” Flo told her.
Lillian dropped her cigarette and let it smolder on the carpet. Her mouth twisted up in an enraged sneer and her eyes narrowed to slits. The muscles in her jaw flexed in a way that made Chet think of a vise closing on something hard and metallic.
Flo stepped forward and tamped the cigarette out with his black-toed Oxford shoe, remaining silent.
“I know you’re in trouble, Flo,” Lillian said. “Word travels. We’ve made lots of money together, you and me. You know we could do it again.”
“I can’t trust you, Lillian.” Flo put his hands in his trouser pockets. “You ruined my first marriage, and I’m not taking any chances with this one. Besides, I have a new business partner now, and he wants Grace.”
“So you’re selling her off like that tramp sister of hers.”
Chet clenched his fists, trying his best not to blurt out anything in defense of Grace.
“Get out of my theater,” Flo said.
“This show will ruin you, Flo. You are making a huge mistake.”
“I said, Get out.”
Lillian jammed her pocketbook under one arm, and with the other gloved hand, she reached for Flo’s face and laid it gently on his cheek. Her face melted into a serenely seductive vision of pure confidence. “We’ll meet again, my love . . . and you’ll beg to have me back.”
Chapter Ten
That evening Grace entered Flo’s office and closed the door behind her, surprised to see Chet Riker sitting in a chair across from Flo’s large walnut desk. He quickly stood and offered a mesmerizing, dimpled smile. He reminded her of the handsome soldier showing off his pearly whites in the S.S. White Tooth Paste ad.
“You wanted to see me, Flo?”
“Yes, dear. Please sit down. Have you met Mr. Riker?”
“Briefly. Hello.” Heat rose to her cheeks. She hoped she didn’t appear flustered, but she knew she did. Chet motioned for her to take the chair next to him.
“I’ve hired Chet to work on Sophia’s case.”
“Her case?”
“Well, it’s not an official case. The police seem to think she—Ah, hell, Grace, I don’t like the circumstances, and I can’t have you moping around here forever not knowing what happened to your sister. That’s the kind of thing that can eat away at someone. Chet is a private investigator who’s done work for me in the past, so I thought I’d put him on it.”
“So you believe she was murdered?” Grace asked.
“I don’t know if it’s murder, darling, but I promised you we’d get to the bottom of this, and I don’t go back on my word. Besides, I think you should get away for a while. Have a change of scenery. You need some time.”
“Go away? But why? I don’t want to go away.” She’d never gone anywhere without either Sophia or Flo.
“Please hear me out.”
Grace diverted her eyes and snuck a glance at Chet, newly aware of his leather-and-spice aftershave. He gave her a tight-lipped smile.
Flo rubbed at the worry lines on his forehead. “I want you to go to California. Billie is filming a movie out there so you can stay with her.”
“But I want to work here, with Lucile.” Panic fluttered in Grace’s chest. “She’s been giving me drawing assignments for costumes. You won’t regret it, Flo, I promise. I’ll work hard for her, for you.” She looked over at Chet, and he shifted uneasily in his chair.
“You will be working, darling. You see, I have bigger plans for you. I’d like for you to replace Sophia. This new actress, Helga, isn’t panning out. I’m working on a new production, featuring you as the headliner.”
Grace’s heart stuttered in her chest. She clutched her hands together, squeezing her fingernails into her palms. “No, no, that’s not a good idea, Flo. I don’t—”
“You’ve impressed Mr. Marciano, and he’s backing the show. I’m sorry, Grace, but I think I know what is best for the show, the theater, and for you. You’ll be the perfect darling of New York—just like Sophia.”
Grace’s heart plummeted. She loved her sister, missed her sister, and wanted to find out what happened to her sister, but she was nothing like her sister.
“But, Flo, I’m not an actress.”
“I’ve provided you with dance and vocal lessons for years.”
“But—”
“You’ve got everything you need. You’ll be just as good as Sophia, I am sure of it.”
Desperate for an ally, Grace turned to Chet, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He seemed focused on the collection of framed photos of showgirls on Flo’s wall.
“That’s why you’re going to take a nice, long train trip.” Flo said. “We’ll provide additional training, and will groom you for the job. We’ll teach you everything you need to know about working with publicity, being in the public eye. Our audiences miss Sophia, darling, and you’re the next best thing. They’ll love you.”
“But I don’t want—”
Flo leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands across his stomach. “I must be honest with you dear, the publicity surrounding Sophia’s death is . . . not advantageous. With her drunken tongue-lashing on the yacht, her erratic behavior before and after the wedding, her reputation has been, well, tarnished. You can help rectify that, help the audiences love once again and make people remember why they loved her.”
Grace could feel drops of perspiration forming on her upper lip.
“Would you like a glass of water, Miss Michelle?” Chet’s fingers alighted on her sleeve. She nodded. Chet stood, opened the door, and summoned Goldie to fetch a glass of water.
Flo didn’t move. He just sat there with that expression that Grace knew so well, the one that announced that this was not open for negotiation. She’d do what he wished, and that was that.
Goldie appeared with the water. “Are you all right, dear?” she asked, stroking Grace’s hair.
Grace stiffened. No! I am not all right.
Chet pulled his chair closer to hers, so near she could feel the heat of his body. He took the water from Goldie and handed it to Grace.
“Thank you, Goldie,” Flo said, waving her away. “You will take the Transcontinental Railroad to California, in Billie’s private car, and there you will promote yourself and the new show. Chet will accompany you to investigate Sophia’s murder. You want that, don’t you, dear? To know what happened to your sister, find out who’s to blame?”
“Well, yes, more than anything.”
“Lucile will go along, too. She will organize your wardrobe for your appearances.”
“But she’s just signed the contract with Sears and Roebuck, and she can’t leave her store!”
“I’ve worked out a deal with Lucile.” Flo looked squarely into Grace’s eyes. “It won’t be a problem. You are not to worry about anything. Chet will be right there with you to protect you.”
“Protect me? From what?”
The two men exchanged a glance. Flo tapped the desk with his fingers. “You’re a beautiful young woman. There are a lot of scoundrels in Los Angeles, men who would take advantage of someone as innocent as you. You’ll need protection. Though, it’s only cautionary. Really, you have nothing to fear.”
The next day, Flo insisted he take Grace to Bergdorf’s for shoes.
“Are you pleased that Lucile will accompany you to California?” Flo asked as he turned the wheel of his Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost onto Fifth Avenue, headed north.
“I am, but it seems she’s leaving a lot of unfinished business behind. Won’t you need her for the Follies?”
Flo shook his head, puffed on a cigar, and then held it away from his body, the gesture uncharacteristically feminine for him. “We’re throwing in some comedies for the time being. Nothing big until you come back,” he said, winking. “Charles can handle anything that comes up. I’ve told him to hire an assistant if he needs one.”
A wave of disappointment flooded her. She would have loved that assistant position.
“Lucile wants to showcase some of her designs
on the West Coast. She’s conquered Paris, London, and now New York. This will give her an opportunity to launch her line in Los Angeles. See? Everyone wins.” He shoved the cigar back in his mouth and chewed on the end of it.
“Oh.” Grace fiddled with her handbag, looking out the window. They drove in silence for a few more blocks, and then Flo turned the car onto Fifty-Second Street, headed toward the river, away from the shopping district.
“Aren’t we going to Bergdorf’s?” she asked.
“We’re meeting Mr. Riker for breakfast first. He lives in Hell’s Kitchen.”
Grace pressed her lips together. Being around Chet reduced her to feeling twitchy and nervous, but she couldn’t deny the pleasant flutter that also bloomed in her chest at the mention of his name.
As they neared Ninth Avenue, they saw a large group of women with children in tow, all heading eastward in a determined stream. Some of them held signs that read, Food For Our Children!
“What is this?” Grace asked.
“Bread riot.” Flo swung the car up against a curb after they passed through Tenth Avenue. “They are headed to the mayor’s office.”
Several mounted policemen riding large Belgian draft horses trailed behind them.
“They have quite a distance to walk, don’t they?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
Grace watched as the women wearing tattered shawls and dresses with muddy hemlines marched down the street carrying infants and dragging older children behind them, their signs bobbing up and down above the sea of bodies. At that moment she felt ever more grateful. Even if Flo was asking her to pursue his dream rather than her own, if it weren’t for Flo’s ongoing support, she could be one of those women in the streets. Again.
Flo parked the car, got out, and then assisted her.
The crisp, cold air hit her face, and she reveled in the brisk refreshment after being cloistered in the smoke-filled car. Brown slush covered the streets—residue from the previous day’s freezing rain. Grace aimed her buttoned boot for a clear spot amid the muck and stepped out. Once she was safely launched, Flo pulled his big, full-length fur tighter around him, pushed his hat down lower on his head, and led Grace across the street.
