“You ought to have gone over and asked him to have a drink with you!”
“In these glad rags? I couldn’t!” Fannie giggled, her face pink. “Besides, I’ve found a keen sheik right here on the dance floor.” She glanced at the uniformed GI that had spun her enthusiastically into the fray. “Another glass of giggle-water and I’ll be hitched!”
Betty laughed heartily. “You slay me, Fannie darling!”
The girl spun off and Betty turned back to George. The band struck up a new tune.
“Have you seen Gladys, Mildred?” Betty asked one of her church social committee ladies.
“Do you mean the tall lady with camellias in her hair?”
“That’s right.”
“Yes, I did actually. She was buzzing around the bartenders, looking rather edgy. I think she fears someone is trying to spike the punch.”
“I’ll go head her off,” Betty laughed. She excused herself from the dance floor and made her way to the bar with George. Sure enough, Gladys Eubanks was there, eyeing off the waiters with an air of deep distrust.
“Gladys, dear, there’s someone here you really must meet,” Betty gushed as she collected the older woman by the arm and drew her towards a group of guests with George trailing behind. Time for some reconnaissance.
“Mr. Mayor!” Betty interrupted. “How splendid to see you again.” Mayor Sutherland broke apart from his small group, with a well-practiced smile, his young wife at his side. “What do you think of our little fundraiser?” The superficial smile never wavered from his face. Interesting.
“Mr. and Mrs. Jones,” he said, with affectation, shaking George’s hand and looking around. “Brilliant party, a real-humdinger. Great press! You’ve pulled out all the stops tonight, Mrs. Jones. I’ve had photographers taking photos for the papers all night. Great opportunity to show what this council is all about, don’t you think? The plight of the orphans. Everybody loves a hard luck story.”
“Don’t they just,” enthused Betty, assessing his reaction to seeing her. Besides his false enthusiasm to put on a good show for the press, there seemed to be no reaction at all. Very interesting.
Mayor Sutherland turned to his wife, a vacuous little creature dressed in lemon chiffon who seemed as pale and bubbly as the champagne she held. “This is Mrs. Betty Jones, Audrey,” the Mayor was saying. “She organized all the bells and whistles here tonight. A real go-getter! It’d do you good to take a leaf out of her book -”
Betty tried to wave off the compliment as Audrey’s face reddened. Her maternal instincts flared but Betty smiled through the disdain she felt for the Mayor.
“She’s an eager beaver, alright!” George enthused. “Always got pots on the boil.”
“Really?” Audrey Sutherland said, her eyes wide. “Well, it’s a lulu of a party! Everybody’s been saying so. You must be so pleased.”
“Oh, I am, dear” Betty said. “I really feel tonight is going to change those poor orphan’s lives. Perhaps it’s providence so many wonderful guests are here to witness it.”
Betty dug into the Mayor’s mind a little, to be sure… ‘It’s that pill of an insurance salesman again. Need to excuse myself. Maybe a cigar in the Governor’s room -’
Betty was surprised. He has no idea who I really am. I wonder why Donny didn’t tell him? Clearly their collusion was biased one way. Typical Donny, Betty thought. Always holding all the cards. The Mayor clearly already knew about Donny’s shady business dealings, including the cargo heists. Taking his gunsels to the street to kill a housewife though, that might be hard for the Mayor to turn a blind eye to. Panic-stricken households. Voter confidence would plummet. Donny wants to deal with me himself - he’s keeping this one quiet.
“The poor little orphans -” Audrey was saying. “Perhaps I might go up there one day, read to them or something -”
“Now there’s an idea!” Mayor Sutherland interjected. “We can take some photographers, put on a good show for the press. The only bad press is no press, that’s what I always say!”
“What a thoughtful gesture, Mrs. Sullivan,” Betty said, wedging her way between the Mayor and his wife, to take the latter’s hand. “And so bold of you, considering -”
“What do you mean, bold?” Audrey asked, hesitantly.
“Well, those press photographs are terribly unforgiving you know. I can only imagine how much effort it takes, headlining the city newspapers so glamorously, when every shadow and blemish could show up clear as day for all to see! Puffy eyes will add years to a lady’s face. Tonight’s the perfect example - all these camera flashes and bright lights. You must be positively washed out from the stress of dealing with it.”
“Well, I never really thought -” Audrey began, looking suddenly anxious.
“Surely you have an expert beautician to help you prepare?” Betty insisted. “As high profile as you’ve become. I imagine your husband employed an assistant for you?”
“No, I don’t -” Audrey stammered, “He never did -”.
“How taxing for you,” Betty exclaimed. “You’re the face of our grand city, after all. The Mayor’s wife – a pillar of beauty and grace!”
Audrey looked at her husband accusingly.
“Well, we can’t have you facing such a burden alone! We must put our thinking caps on -” Betty paused dramatically, then plucked Gladys from the milling crowd behind her. “Oh, what tremendous luck! I’ve just found you the perfect solution. A very dear friend of mine, Mrs. Gladys Eubanks. Why, she’s the most experienced beautician I’ve ever met! An absolute god-send amongst the Avon Ladies in New York City I can tell you, with a wealth of knowledge on colors and seasonal trends!” Gladys, who’d been hanging back awkwardly, dashed forward in a kind of odd curtsy.
“Such an honor to meet you, Mrs. Mayor!”
“Oh, Mrs. Eubanks, you really must help me,” Audrey pleaded. “I do want to help the children, but I can’t face all those cameras unprepared! I don’t want to look puffy or blemished!”
Gladys’ chest puffed out a little and she gave the woman a maternal pat on the hand. “Now, don’t you fret. I’ll have you looking like a starlet in no time,” she declared. “I have brand new summer colors that will put a glow on your cheeks – only available to the most senior representatives, of course, and that’s me.”
“Really?”
“Of course! Let’s find my table, I brought my Avon case with me, for emergencies you know. I’ll do you up now, those nasty photographers are hiding around every pillar here tonight.” The two ladies fell into a hushed discussion as Gladys ushered Audrey toward the powder room. Betty excused herself, leaving the confused Mayor standing alone as she dragged George away by the hand.
“Mmm,” George said, smirking. “Why do I get the feeling that woman was entirely set up?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Betty admonished, pulling him through the crowd. “Honestly George, it never hurts to add a little blush. And the girl could do with a kind ear.”
“You could sell ice to an Eskimo, jitterbug.”
“Do you think they need it?” Betty replied, a gleam in her eye.
“Incorrigible.”
“Say, George darling, would you get me a drink?” Betty asked, stopping for a moment beside a statue of Thomas Jefferson. “I’m almost done in.”
“Anything for you, jitterbug,” he winked. “But you owe me another dance before the night is through.”
“Absolutely,” Betty promised, and George disappeared into the crowd. She stood for a moment, enjoying the music and watching the dance floor swell. The Police Commissioner was dancing the Lindy Hop with his wife, the Governor General chatting by the bar and an impressive array of highly-ranked military officials were in discussion in small groups around the room. Betty smiled to herself, pleased her invitations had been so well received.
“It seems I underestimated you, Mrs. Jones,” came a man’s voice from behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know who it belonged to. That voice was burned into her memor
y.
“You’ve always underestimated me, Donny,” Betty replied, meeting his eyes with a bemused look.
“Yes, I have, haven’t I? I won’t make that mistake again.” He looked around at the room swimming with suits and gowns. “You’re a fool for doing something like this.” Dotted between the guests, Donny’s men stood hunched and wary, like gorillas in suits. Up to this point, Betty had been happy to ignore them. She knew that one look from their boss was all it would take. But in the present circumstance, he’d be the fool to try it. “I know everything,” Donny declared, with a glint of triumph. “I know you.”
“You finally figured it out then. Very clever of you,” Betty said, her eyes hardening. “I’m afraid you’re rather late to the party on that one, though.”
“Not too late, though,” he smirked. He swirled his whiskey glass. “Go on, then, little Susie. Dig in to my mind, find out how much I hate you. Get a glimpse of how badly I plan to make you suffer.”
Unable to resist such a direct invitation, Betty slipped into his thoughts. That same cold, calculating darkness she had known so well as a child came rushing back into her. It was shocking. There was fury inside him. A deep, ravenous desire to make her pay. For revenge. But she was no longer a child. And Donny was no longer the untouchable force he had once been to her.
Betty peeled away at his thoughts, searching for one thing in particular. And there it was. Greed. That same vice that made Donald Pinzolo crave secrets from every desperate soul in the city. The one that made sure victims were lured his way for patronage and then bound tight, trapped in his web like a spider’s meal, ready to be consumed as it suited him.
“I’ll never work for you, Donny. You can never own me again.”
His eyes lit up in dark intent. “Did I think that?” He seemed amused. “You would be useful. If only I could kill you first though – I think I could do with the satisfaction.”
“You won’t kill me,” Betty said. “I have too much potential for you.”
“Don’t be so sure.” He looked up, surveying the crowd. “I could have you clipped right here. Right now.”
“Of course, you couldn’t,” Betty sighed. “Imagine how that would look to all these lovely dignitaries - a ballroom full of politicians, media, the who’s-who of New York City. A scandal like that at a ball in your honor. It wouldn’t look good. Mayor Sutherland might have to rethink your little business arrangement. You have your reputation to consider, not to mention Great Aunt Carmella flitting around the room like a primped-up goose with all her hangers-on. Would you have me shot here, in front of her and all these important people? She knows your men. I really don’t think you should mix your business with pleasure, Donny. Although at this point, I’m not sure which one is which.”
Donny scowled, watching his wife in the crowd. “I could make it look like an accident.”
“And I could slit your throat with the fileting knife under my skirt,” Betty smiled sweetly. “By accident. But let’s not ruin the party. Not tonight.”
He grunted. “Little Susie Polletti. A dark horse if ever I knew one.”
Betty flashed him a dangerous look. “You’ve no idea.”
“You’re not as clever as you think you are, you trumped up little whore,” Donny growled. He stepped closer, standing over her, forcing her to look up to meet his eyes. His skin was red beneath the collar of his dress shirt, like a boiled ham. “You clearly weren’t paying attention, all those years ago. I’m not a man to mess with. No one breaks my family and lives to tell the story.”
“I’m hurt, Donny,” Betty drew even closer and paused, taking the full brunt of his threat with a nasty grin, “after all, I am your family.” She stepped back casually and laughed for the benefit of anyone who happened to be watching, as if she’d made an amusing anecdote.
“You sick bitch. You killed my boy.”
“Goodness, I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about,” Betty said, blushing with false modesty. “I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Ask anyone.”
“You killed them all, didn’t you?” Donny said, undeterred. “Marco, Frankie, Vince, Charlie, Lefty, Joe, Travis and the rest of them. Even Roy, I bet. You vindictive little bitch.” He lifted the whiskey glass to his lips and took a sip. “How many men have you murdered trying to get to me?”
“I lost count,” Betty smiled. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”
“Eighty-three men,” he answered his own question. “That means you owe me eighty-three lives. Who are you gonna pay me with? Mr. Insurance-Salesman over there? Your pretty daughter?” At the look on her face, he gave a cruel laugh. “Oh yeah, I know all about your kids. It’s a shame you kept them from me, Susie. I’m a family man, after all.” He grinned, maliciously. “So, which one do I start with? How about your apple-pie and star-spangled little mommy’s boy? An eye for an eye, and all that.”
Betty caught her breath. Her heart roared beneath her ribcage. My babies! After all she had suffered to build her perfect life, at that moment, it had never felt in more danger. How dare he. Her fingers twitched, and Betty flexed them behind her back. At that moment, there was nothing she wanted more than to slip the blade from her garter and stab his heart through his tuxedo. And it would have been so easy. Like slicing warm butter. Betty squeezed her fist, forcing herself back from the edge. Not yet. Soon. Betty shot a glance to the bar, where George was chatting to a stout man as he waited for their drinks. She looked back to Donny, her face, again, impassive.
“Don’t be a bore, Donny,” Betty said. She brought her hand forward and studied her painted nails with disinterest. “They’re worth far more to you alive, you know that.”
“Do I?”
“Of course,” she bluffed. “You’ve no way to control me with them gone. Imagine what I’d do to you then. You know - hell hath no fury… and all that.”
Donny grunted, considering her words. “Aren’t you a piece of work.”
“I like to think so.”
“Whatever you think you’re going to do to me,” Donny growled, looking over her head and across the glittering room, “whatever sick little plan you’ve cooked up in your twisted little mind – it’s not going to work.” He leaned forward, his breath warm on her face. “I own this town. I own everyone in it. And I’m going to destroy you, Mrs. Betty Jones. Just the way you’ve tried to destroy me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Donny,” Betty replied. She met his eyes with a sugar-sweet smile. “I’m just getting started.”
Betty made her way back through the crowd toward the makeshift bar that had been set up under the balcony seating. George was waiting with a flute of champagne.
“Saw you talking to Pinzolo there, jitterbug – congratulating you on a job well done, was he?” George asked as he sipped his gin sour, bopping in time to the music.
“Something like that.”
“He never got back to me about that life policy, you know. I might chase him up on it -”
“Not tonight, darling. You’re having a night off work, remember?” she curled her finger around his bow tie, straightening it. “You look an absolute dreamboat tonight, George dear,” she said, changing the topic. “I think I’d better watch you on the dance floor or someone will whisk you out of my arms.”
“What a line!” George laughed, pulling her in close. “But I’ll take it. Besides, I only have eyes for you, jitterbug. I am having a gay time though, I wouldn’t say no to another spin to that band. Shall we?”
Betty took his glass and placed it with her own on an empty table.
“Let’s.” She lead the way back to the dance floor.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Another voice said, as she was bumped in the crowd.
“It’s quite al -” Betty began, “right,” she finished weakly. Jacob was standing behind her, looking straight-faced and embarrassed. Beside him, a pretty young woman with dark hair and coffee-colored eyes held a glass of champagne. She was frowning and looked irritated by the intrusion, as if they’d jus
t been interrupted from a deep conversation. “Sergeant Lawrence, how nice to bump into you,” Betty said.
“My fault entirely,” Jacob said. “I wasn’t watching my feet.” He extended a hand to George. “Mr. Jones.”
“Evening Sergeant. Well, this is a surprise! Not here on official business, I hope?”
“No, not at all,” Jacob replied, politely, shooting a glance to Betty. “The Police Commissioner received an invite, along with some of my superiors. We got a handful of spares down at the station and I was lucky enough to draw the long straw.”
“Good for you, then! And I must say again, I appreciate you coming to my wife’s aid the other week with that bag of hers, very good of you.”
“No trouble at all,” Jacob said, looking to Betty uncomfortably. Beside him, the other young lady looked quizzically between the three of them.
“And who is your lovely companion, tonight, Sergeant?” Betty asked, desperate to take control of the situation. “What a stunning dress, dear, I just love the way it sits on you.”
“Adina Sonberg,” the woman said, offering her hand. “And thank you, Mrs. Jones.”
“Call me Betty, please.” Betty studied the woman in front of her. She had dark rings under her eyes and looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. Betty itched to know what they’d been discussing but wouldn’t have dreamt of delving into Adina’s thoughts. It was far too impolite.
“Sergeant Lawrence helped me out of a pickle, you see, Adina,” Betty explained, sensing the other woman’s vulnerability, nonetheless. “I lost my cosmetic case and he brought it home for me. Very thoughtful.”
“I see,” Adina smiled back. “Well, he does take his job very seriously.” Jacob gave a stiff smile.
“So,” George said, rocking back and forth on his toes. “Have you had a chance to get your hoofers buzzing? We’re just heading that way ourselves.”
“No, actually,” Adina smiled. “We’ve only just arrived – Jacob finished work late. Again. I’d almost given up hope of coming.” She shot Jacob a look of annoyance. “Besides, he’s not the dancing kind, apparently.”
Avon Calling! Season One Page 26
