“That’s not true, I said I would -” Jacob interjected. “Just warming up, you see,” he gestured to his shiny black oxfords with a half glass of rum and cola. “I’m afraid I’ve got two left feet.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” George said, with a wide smile. “A hep-kitten like this one, standing like a wall flower. I’m no Gene Kelly, but - what do you say, Sergeant, should I take her for a spin on the floor?”
“Certainly, if Adina would like to -”
But Adina had already put down her champagne. “I’d love to, Mr. Jones.” With a little too much enthusiasm and a touch of resentment, she followed George to the dance floor.
Betty and Jacob watched them go, lost in their own thoughts as they were jostled by the revelry all around them.
“She’s not happy with you, Jake.” Betty said finally, under her breath.
“Did you -?”
“Of course not. Call it women’s intuition.”
“I know she’s not,” Jacob conceded. “But I’m not too happy with her either, for what it’s worth. She’s been a little unfair lately and she knows it. There’s something going on, but she won’t talk about it. She’s as stubborn as a mule, just like someone else I know.” He raised an eyebrow to Betty. “Besides, I have bigger troubles at the moment.”
“Thanks to me.”
“And my choice in career.” Jacob downed the remainder of his glass in a single gulp.
“Come on,” he muttered, pulling Betty onto the dance floor.
He pushed his way into the crowd of couples that were pressing apart and twirling back together in glee. Heels flicked up and arms swung wildly as dancers shimmied in the synchronized steps of the jive. Beside them a woman slid between her partner’s knees and back to her feet as another couple danced cheek to cheek, their feet in triple step underneath. Betty felt the warm pressure of Jacob’s hand at her waist and her heart shifted a little. It had been – a long time. He led her in simple steps across the floor away from Adina and George, who seemed to be in happy conversation as they spun.
“Is everything prepared?” Jacob asked.
“Perfectly,” she replied. “Thank you for running the paperwork by Michael.”
“He was happy to help. Although he’s rather confounded by it all.”
“Understandably.”
“When -?”
“Soon.”
The band slowed and a new song began. A clarinet began its melody over the steady heartbeat of a double bass and the vocalist stepped forward again, enchanting the crowd with his smooth voice.
“All of me, your heart took all of me,
Honey, don’t you know, I’m so lost without you.
Take my smile, it’s lost its shine,
Take my heart, it’s not worth a dime.”
Betty slowed to meet the rhythm and felt Jacob do the same.
“It’s not too late to end all this, you know.”
Betty smiled over his shoulder. “It’s far too late. I would lose everything.”
“Maybe you don’t have to,” he muttered. She felt Jacob’s breath hitch with emotion.
“Please, Jake -”
“I could protect you -”
“No, you couldn’t. Not from him.”
They were silent for a few moments.
“You don’t have to do it alone you know.”
She stopped dancing and looked up at him, her eyes shining. “I do. I need this. I need to finish him myself, alone. Besides, I couldn’t bear it if he hurt you, or George or the children.”
“You don’t need me.”
“Of course, I do.”
“Why? Why did you let me find you if you don’t want my help?”
Betty met his eyes, dangerously close to telling him. It was a moment, where the truth hung in the air around her, just waiting to be professed.
“It’s complicated,” she finally sighed, instead.
Jacob’s eyes dimmed. “Darn it, Susie. I feel as powerless now as I did when I thought you were dead.”
“I’m sorry. That’s just the way it has to be. At least, for now.”
“And later?”
“That will be up to you to decide.”
The song ended, and Jacob gently spun her to finish. As they turned around to wade back through the dancers, they found George and Adina, already waiting nearby. If Adina looked upset before, now she was furious. She lifted her chin in the air, turned, and pushed her way through the crowd toward the door.
“Adina!” Jacob called. He ran after her.
“What was all that about?” George said, his face indignant. “He was making a pass at you, there’s no point denying it!”
“George, it’s not quite what you think. Please, let me explain -” But as she spoke, the room fell to a hush. Every head turned to the dais at the front of the room, where the microphone had been commandeered by Mayor Sutherland. He stood directly under the ceremonial canopy that fluttered with the gold and white banner declaring ‘St. Augustine’s Home for Unwanted Boys – Charity Gala Ball, Sponsored by the generous contributions of Mr. Donald Pinzolo.’
Betty looked regretfully at George. Explanations would have to wait.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, honored guests and dignitaries,” Mayor Sutherland began, wearing his most charming expression. “It’s my delight, as the Mayor of New York City, to welcome you all to tonight’s Charity Gala Ball.”
The room erupted in applause. Every guest tuned in with rapt attention, from the bustling dance floor to the glittering dining tables and above them, where guests crowded behind the wrought iron railing of the spectator’s balcony.
“First up,” the Mayor said, “I must say it’s swell to have the talents of the great big-band composer Glenn Miller and his Rhythmaires here tonight, to perform one last time before they head over to Europe on their tour to entertain the troops with the Army Air Force Band. He’ll be leaving his home in New Jersey to do his duty for our country, but you can still tune into his weekly radio broadcast for that toe-tapping music we all love so dearly. How about a round of applause for Captain Glenn Miller and the Rhythmaires?” The audience thundered with applause and cameras flashed. The man, himself, stepped forward with a humble bow.
The Mayor turned back to the microphone. “Tonight, through your generous donations and prize-auctions, we have raised a substantial sum to provide quality clothing and meals to the hundreds of orphans at St. Augustine’s. But, it would be remiss of me to let another moment pass without offering our thanks to the ladies of the Marigold Church Social Committee, who have organized this lollapalooza for us tonight! Mrs. Betty Jones, will you please step up and accept our thanks on behalf of your ladies?” Mayor Sutherland gave a simpering smile as he was handed a large bouquet for Betty. With the most endearing display of modesty she could muster, Betty gave George’s hand a squeeze and made her way across the dance floor to the raised dais.
“How beautiful!” she said, upon reaching the microphone. Betty stepped sideways, gently nudging the Mayor aside with a clear intention to hold the floor. “Thank you so much, Mayor Sutherland, I must say, it’s been an absolute delight and I believe,” she lay her hand over her heart, “a mission of mercy, to put our minds and hands to work to create a better future for those poor, destitute orphans. The ladies of our little social committee have been so generous with their time for these children and we are all so grateful to them, but truly,” she paused, her eyes glistening with false tears, “nobody has worked more tirelessly, or given so much, as our wonderful benefactor, Mr. Donald Pinzolo. He’s been a pillar of strength in our beautiful city for so many years, and generous to a fault.”
She looked through the crowd and was delighted to see Donny stiff-backed and tight-lipped, standing by a set of golden drapes near the stage. At the applause of the crowd, he nodded faintly in acknowledgment, eyeing Betty with thinly-veiled suspicion. Beside him, Betty’s great aunt Carmella, was fanning herself and loudly accepting the complimen
ts of the sycophants she adorned herself with. Betty beamed. This was going to be fun.
“These poor orphans,” Betty continued, emphatically, “young victims of misfortune and circumstance, have had no father to put food on their table or clothes on their back or to look up to for the wisdom of experience. Until now.” She beamed down at Donny. “We, as a city, must thank you, Mr. Pinzolo, for giving these boys the benefit of you becoming their benefactor at a time while our great nation is at war and their futures looked most bleak.” Everybody clapped. She held up her hand to quieten the crowd.
“So, on behalf of the Marigold Church Social Committee, I take the greatest joy in presenting to you, this check of money raised tonight, made out under trust to the Sisterhood of Nuns that work so tirelessly to care for these children on Mr. Pinzolo’s behalf.” Fannie-Mae, adorned with a glittery-headdress stepped up to the dais, a large novelty check in her arms.
“Step up here, Mr. Pinzolo, please!” The crowd roared, and Betty’s smile couldn’t have been wider. Donny, though, didn’t move a muscle.
“Go on, Donny!” His wife exclaimed, prodding his arm. With a look that could kill, Donald Pinzolo shrugged off her hands and made his way slowly to the front of the crowd. Cameras flashed, and voices cheered. All eyes were on him. This audience of media moguls, businessmen, politicians and celebrities were far too influential to disregard. A veritable who’s who of lawmakers and military officials dotted throughout the crowd, and no matter how he played it, Donny’s reaction would be center-stage to all in attendance. Betty had made sure of that. He had no choice but to play along.
As Donald Pinzolo reached the mahogany platform under the banner bearing his own name, Fannie kissed him on the cheek. She gave the audience a cheeky wink, setting them off laughing, then handed Donny the giant cardboard check. Donny shot an accusing glance to Mayor Sutherland, who just shrugged his shoulders minutely. Apparently, the Mayor was delighted with the fanfare his proceedings had taken. The press was lapping it up.
Betty took once again to the microphone.
“But of course, Mr. Pinzolo’s philanthropy can only be topped by his modesty. I’m sure he won’t mind me telling you, that he has prepared his very own surprise for you tonight. These orphans have become such an important part of his life, perhaps to fill that terrible hole in his heart from the passing of his own dear son, Marco,” Betty offered Donny a sympathetic smile, “that he has decided to do everything he can to ensure the orphanage continues its vital role in educating and caring for those dear children discarded by society.” Betty reached under the podium, retrieving a neat bundle of papers, which she held up for all to see. “As such, Mr. Pinzolo has had documents drawn up by his own personal, trusted accountant, Mr. Stanley Lubach, to ensure that every asset, every property and every incy-wincy little dime to his name will be donated, tonight, into the Sisterhood’s Orphanage trust to provide for their future.”
Betty was almost giddy with vengeance. She turned to look at Donny. He was ashen, his eyes bulging, and his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.
A knife to Stanley Lubach’s throat and the promise of exposing years of his own embezzlement of Donny’s accounts had been the highlight of her week. His options were limited. Facing Donny’s wrath, Betty’s knife or arrest for fraud terrified him equally, and the accountant had crumbled easily, sweating over the figures until every dollar was accounted for. Betty had given the documents to Jacob, who had passed them onto his brother, Michael, to draw up the legalities. The contract was watertight. Mr. Lubach had been given his promised reprieve, far from the grisly retribution he was owed by Donny’s hands. By now, he would be halfway to Barbados.
“Mr. Pinzolo has brought this trust deed here tonight,” Betty waved the papers above her head as the crowd gasped, “to sign with you all as witness, in the fervent hope that it inspires the people of our city to step up and do what needs to be done, to look after our most vulnerable citizens, each other and our great country in this time of terrible uncertainty. Isn’t he just the most honorable and inspiring man! Please, everybody, give him a hand!”
As the crowd roared with approval, Betty turned to Donny. He was frozen, the spectacle of every eye, bursting with impotent rage. He couldn’t react. He couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t step down. In that moment, his entire fortune was being held ransom to his reputation. And Betty knew, with malevolent glee, that there was only one choice he could make. He had to sign the paper.
“Sister Mary-Agnes, will you please step up to witness Mr. Pinzolo’s signature and receive the trust deed?” The harried-looking nun Betty had first seen at St. Augustine’s stepped forward from the crowd. Betty had finally found a way to pamper them up a bit, after all. With a nod of encouragement from Betty, the Sister joined her at the podium. With a flourish and crowd-pleasing shimmy, Fannie-Mae took back the novelty check from Donny. Betty handed him a pen.
“You -” Donny snarled. “You filthy, little –”
“Mind your manners, Mr. Pinzolo!” Betty said, gaily. She leaned forward, placing the paperwork on the desk in front of him. The crowd clapped and cheered wildly at his feet, gushing over the man’s generosity as his wife stood alone by the golden drapes, watching in daft bewilderment. Suddenly, the band struck up a drumroll, spurring the audience to a frenzy. A chanting cheer began on the balcony and rolled down through the room toward Donald Pinzolo.
“Sign, sign, sign!”
Betty met his eyes. Sweat was glistening on his brow, and his hand trembled with repressed violence. The man was pure, unadulterated rage. In stiff jerks, as if each stroke was drawing blood from his own veins, the pen in Donny’s hand whipped his signature across the line. It was done.
The council chambers erupted in thunderous applause which reverberated all the way through City Hall. Betty gathered the papers and thrust them to the nun, who quickly retreated into the crowd.
Betty reached her hand under the hood of the podium. Her fingers found a button that they had itched to press all night.
Click.
Above the dais, hidden behind the ceremonial banner of the canopy, the lids of three wooden military crates that hung upside down from the ceiling, swung open. Each bore a stamp, “Property of the United States Army.”
Hundreds of thousands of dollars in paper bills, rained from the boxes onto the stage. They fluttered into the audience who grabbed at them like confetti in a snow storm. Money swirled above their heads, fluttering against the ceiling mural of a beautiful naked woman, the symbol of civic virtues of a great nation. Below, the crowd went wild.
On cue, the band swung into beat, launching the siren of trumpets and trombones of ‘Serenade to a Savage’ as the bandmaster took main stage once again.
It was blood money, every dollar. Betty had finally found the perfect use for all the money she had stolen from Donny’s men. With every murder, came a cash prize. And now, that prize was to be given to the most deserving beneficiary of all, St. Augustine’s Home for Unwanted Boys.
Up on the dais, Betty leaned forward through the confetti of money as it rained down over Donald Pinzolo. She took him by the shoulders in what seemed for all to see, was a kiss on the cheek. As her lips drew close to his ear she whispered.
“And now, you have nothing.”
Episode Nine
Serenade to a Savage
“Adina, wait!” Jacob broke away from Betty and pushed his way through the crowded ball room as his date ran from the dance floor. He sidestepped a group of women and the jostling revelry of tuxedos by the bar and burst through to the grand atrium beyond. Adina was at the top of the marble staircase, ready to dash down. “Please! Just let me explain,” he called.
“I don’t want your explanations!”
Her face was set but there were tears glistening in her eyes.
Jacob dashed around the circular landing toward her and stood, breathing hard at the top of the stairs, with one hand on her arm. She shook it off.
“Please. Adina?” he
said, gently.
Adina glanced around, her lips tight and shoulders stiff. Several small groups that had spilled from the noisy party inside the Council Chambers were dotted through the atrium and leaning against bannisters, standing in what had been quiet conversation. The couple had caught the attention of every pair of eyes and Adina blushed pink with embarrassment. Lifting her chin with a small sniff, she glared at Jacob.
“In here, then.” She spun back around, rattling the knob of the closest door she could see. It was locked. “Argh!” With an angry grunt she rattled it harder, turning pink with embarrassment as she struggled. Jacob stepped forward, conscious of her failing composure. He gestured her out of the way, then gave the door a hard shove with his shoulder. It broke open and he stepped away.
Adina pushed through, letting the door fall back on Jacob as he followed. Jacob looked around cautiously as he shut the door and was relieved to find they were alone. They were in a long, brightly lit room. Two golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each decked with masses of tall, ivory gas-light candles. They illuminated Verdigri français-painted walls hung with dozens of full-length gilded portraits of historical leaders. Ancient mahogany armchairs and cabinets lined the walls of the room, and in the center was a long dining table covered in papers. Jacob glanced at them as he passed, following Adina to the low-burning fireplace near a small desk at the far end of the room. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. Official-looking documents. Military insignia. Maps. Clearly, they’d stumbled into somewhere they shouldn’t have.
“This is the Governor’s Room, Adina. We’re not meant to be in here.”
“I don’t care!” she said, rounding on him. Her coffee-hued eyes were ablaze. “Who is she?” Adina demanded.
“No one,” Jacob sighed.
“No one?” Adina cried, exasperated. “She’s someone, Jacob. I think, perhaps, she’s the someone.”
Avon Calling! Season One Page 27
