Hanna followed Meg inside the fancy store.
“Twenty dollars for a hat no bigger than a flat pancake. I can’t believe it,” said Hanna shocked by the price tag on the hat she was holding. Glancing at the pinch-faced saleswoman, Meg smiled but didn’t reply until they were headed away.
“Alec doesn’t care where I shop and I’m not comfortable spending that kind of dough on something so ridiculous as that ghastly hat either, but lesson number two, never act shocked or like price is a consideration. It’s considered bad taste and tells everyone within earshot you’ve got no money. Even if you don’t have it, if you act rich, you attract rich.”
“Okay,” said Hanna wondering how she’d ever remember everything she needed to. “Maybe I can’t do this?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can do anything you set your mind to. Hell, look at me. I did,” boasted Meg, smiling as she shooed her out the door.
Meg sat sipping coca-cola. The restaurant was almost empty. They were waiting for Rosie. Meg said she was always late. Hanna bit into her sandwich.
“I hope she doesn’t take one look at me and think I’m hopeless.”
“More like an exciting challenge,” Meg said as she lit a cigarette. She looked splendid in a fashionable bright red dress, matching hat, purse and shoes. Meg’s confidence in her was flattering, but Hanna nibbled her lip. “I can’t be spendin’ on new clothes when I don’t know when I’ll get a job. I don’t want to be a burden on you.”
Meg waved her doubts away impatiently. “Don’t you worry and stop dropping your g’s. I’m taking care of things until you find a job. You don’t have to owe me a dime. I am sure that between Rosie, me and Alec, we’ll have you raring to go in no time flat.”
Hanna thanked her, spotting a distinctive redhead entering the establishment. Her short teased hair matched the red and purple tones of her lips, eyes and polished nails. She was holding a cigarette, fingers poking out of cut lace gloves. She approached them with a teasing grin on her face. The faint aroma of rose leaves and sweet tobacco smoke surrounded her.
“Bragging about that man of yours again, Meggie,” she said.
“Rosie!” Meg stood.
Hanna tried not to gape as they embraced. The scrap of fabric Rosie wore barely qualified as a dress. It had a shockingly short tasseled hem and a very low beaded neckline.
“Meggie darling, I hardly see you around anymore,” drawled Rosie dramatically, her long pearls, matched earrings and bangles jingling as she hugged Meg and glanced at Hanna with curious dark eyes. “Not to be a party pooper, Meg Sweetie, but I can’t really see you tied up tight with the old flat tire forever. I mean, you may as well go middle aisle being with the same insipid man night after night.” Rosie shuddered as if the idea were unthinkable, puffing on her cigarette furiously.
Meg laughed.
“I know Alec has bucks but really, Meggie. He can’t be all that good in the sack to be giving up the free life?”
“Rosie, you’re incorrigible,” said Meg cheerfully as Rosie sat down. “I bet someday someone sweeps you right off those fickle feet of yours.”
“Ugh, never! Just the thought of sticking to one fella gives me the heebie-jeebies.” Rosie made an exaggerated shiver of disgust and they all laughed.
Meg made the introductions.
Rosie greeted Hanna with a smile. “Hotsy-totsy. A rare commodity. A natural blonde?”
“Yes and look at her eyes, that face, that skin,” said Meg.
Hanna felt like a specimen under glass as they both stared at her.
“How old are you,” asked Rosie, taking off her gloves.
“Guess,” dared Meg.
Biting her tongue in feigned concentration, Rosie guessed. “Well, you said you two went to school together. Eighteen? Nineteen?”
“Fifteen—almost.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Rosie looked from Hanna to Meg.
Meg shook her head. “No, Hanna’s younger than us, but you got to admit, she’s got potential.”
“Oh yeah, I’m not an idiot. I can see that.”
Meg’s brown eyes were gleaming. “She’s a great singer and she needs a job and a lot of polish. We’ve got to help her take this town by storm and quick.”
“No problem, miracle central right here” said Rosie demurring so fast Hanna thought she’d imagined her easy capitulation. “But, it will take some doing. What’s the budget?”
“I have—”
“Limited funds,” said Meg. “But if you can donate time and labor, I can contribute some moola.”
Rosie nodded. “Okay, day after tomorrow bring her to the salon in the morning. I’ll see if I can’t clear my schedule the rest of the day, then we’ll take her shopping.”
“Deal,” said Meg shaking Rosie’s outstretched hand. They both turned to smile at her.
“Things move awfully fast around here, but I can’t—”
“Yes you can,” they said in unison. Hanna shook her head, a smile blossoming on her face.
Rosie lit up another cigarette. “So, old Alec doesn’t mind a new chickie in the love nest?”
Meg rolled her eyes. “No, he’s in Europe until the middle of next month.”
“I plan on movin’, I mean, moving out before he comes back,” offered Hanna.
“Oh darn,” teased Rosie smirking. “And, here I thought another juicy scandal was brewing. Alec, his old battle-ax of a wife and two sweet young things all sharing the same meat.”
“Rosie!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll behave.” Rosie’s hazel eyes were dancing. Chuckling, she popped a piece of clove chewing gun into her mouth and quietly studied the menu. “For now.”
Meg sighed as if pained. Hanna hid her laughter behind her napkin.
The shopping spree and makeover by Meg and Rosie had been extravagant and ruthless. She’d been scrubbed, permed, plucked, bleached, polished, coached and lectured non-stop. Meg had been insistent about paying for her new clothes, claiming it was an investment. She reminded her constantly how to talk. Rosie had given her all kinds of beauty tips and cosmetics free of charge. Thirty days to the day she’d arrived Hanna moved in with Rosie sharing her small walk-up apartment north of the theater district. She paid three months rent in advance, thirty-six dollars and put the rest aside for later.
Celebrating on the town, her physical transformation a fait accompli, Hanna, Rosie and Meg sat listening to a hunchback piano player named Squirrel playing ragtime at Joe Donagan’s Basement Room. The owner himself came over to greet them, eyeing each of them appreciatively. “Hey, Meggie, nice to see you. Alec here?”
“No, he’s out of town. I’m here with my friends tonight.”
Running his hand through his gray thinning hair Joe Donagan nodded as she introduced them. His face looked strained in the dim light of the rapidly filling room.
“What’s eating you? You look worried tonight, Joe,” observed Meg following his gaze.
“Aw, one of the girls in the show is out sick with the measles and Katy is throwin’ a hissy ’cause we haven’t found a stand in. All the damned kid has to do is stand around lookin’ pretty in the background while Katy sings, but she’s all revved up about her show bein’ off. Dames,” he spat like a curse.
Meg smiled, her dark eyes gleaming manically as she winked at Hanna then turned her charm full blast on Mr. Donagan. “Really? Well, Joe I have a live wire for you.”
“Ms. Glidden, can you please just stand on the mark and stop turning your head like a windmill during a thunderstorm.”
“Sorry, Mr. Donagan.” In high headdress Hanna flushed, again caught tugging at the two sizes too large costume.
“Blanche, do something now,” he bellowed impatient. The diminutive seamstress came rushing forward. Whether it was Meg’s persuasiveness or Joe’s desperation for a fill-in, Hanna found herself working as a stand-in for one week on the show High Life Girls starring the reigning cabaret queen, Katherine Durkin. She could hardly believe it. Here she was on sta
ge, getting paid two dollars for the week, doing something she’d only dreamed of.
Not daring to move, Hanna’s heart went out to Blanche when the basket she was holding tipped, sending straight pins scattering across the wood stage. They bounced like mini springs. Looking apoplectic, Blanche dropped to her knees to gather them.
“I’m surrounded by idiots,” cursed Joe smacking his head. “Do ya think it’s too much to ask to get the clothes to fit right.”
The door opened and Hanna instantly recognized Katherine Durkin from her outside billboards. In feathered cuff, coat and cloche hat she looked every inch the star. High heels clicking she walked towards the stage.
“Katy, you’re early.” Joe was instantly all charm and smiles. “We’re just running Peg’s stand-in through her paces. This here is...uh…”
“Hanna. So nice ta—to meet you, Miss Durkin,” she stammered, excited to meet a genuine star. The actress looked away without any acknowledgement.
“She the best you could get?”
“Don’t start, Katy,” said Joe, yelling for Blanche to hurry.
Despite being warned that pretty girls were a dime a dozen and competition was stiff, Hanna flinched, stung by the actresses cruelty, unused to such blatant rudeness, she fought hurt tears.
“C’mon bearcat.” Rosie’s voice bounced off the paper-thin walls as she ran for the shower. “Get dressed. We’re going to the Highland tonight.”
Hanna groaned. She was exhausted from partying into the wee hours with Rosie and her wild circle of friends. Living with Rosie was like being on a perpetual carousel. She’d looked for a singing job all afternoon. Before that, she’d been lying half dressed and sprawled out in her room unable to sleep. She had so much to accomplish if she was to succeed. She was practicing, always practicing, singing to the radio or humming along with Rosie’s wind-up phonograph until Rosie swore she’d wear the recordings out. She’d learned a bunch of new songs and had some favorite bands and performers now. She instinctively understood that the blues were a state of mind, that to sing the blues was to sing her heart. But while the words told the stories of life and living, of pain, death, love, sex, or money, the flattened notes and syncopated rhythms and the twelve bar, four/four time beats of the music gave it its depth and complexity. She was working hard on modulating her voice, broadening her vocal range and prayed she’d get the chance to show off her new style.
Still, she was having more fun than she’d ever had before. She heard the shower stop, the pipes screaming protest as the water flow was cut. She heard Rosie yell again.
Rosie was sitting at her vanity table, surrounded by a myriad assortment of beauty potions. Her body and hair were individually wrapped in white towels.
“I can’t go out tonight,” said Hanna glumly. “I don’t want ta—to be a four-flusher and I can’t afford to keep spending money faster than I’m makin’ it.” Sad fact was she still hadn’t found a job doing what she most wanted to do, sing. And, she wasn’t earning enough money just working two days a week waitressing to be extravagant.
“Don’t be a party pooper.” Rosie frowned, patting powder on her face so hard, it caused a cloud of talcum to rise in the air. “I have an idea.”
Hanna tapped her foot. She sensed what was coming.
Rosie grinned. “How about going out with Walter Flanagan? He thinks you’re the cat’s pajama’s.”
Hanna shook her head. “No. I need a job more than a date.
“Bee’s Knee’s, Hanna, you can have plenty of fellas clambering to pay your way,” said Rosie not wanting to hear any objections. “At the very least, you’d get a decent meal out of it. But no, you’d rather beat your gums and live on cracker crumbs and milk, right?”
“I don’t want to encourage anyone.”
“Oh, tell it to Sweeney,” lectured Rosie, who never passed up a chance for a free meal though her petite figure was hourglass perfect. “At least if you’d let me call Walter tonight, you’d eat something substantial for a change and he’d pay. Fellas love to treat a gal well, if you encourage them just a teensy-weensy bit. A little innocent innuendo, a peck or two, maybe a flash of gam.”
“Innuendo?” She had a hard time understanding what half the things Rosie said meant.
Rosie grinned, pulling off her towel and shaking out her red hair. “Allusion, hint, suggestion… something as simple as saying, “Oh, dahling, you’re so big, strong and…firm. Or, hon. I feel soooo hot all of a sudden. Then you blink your eyes and act all innocent when what you just said has his mind percolating with all kinds of nasty thoughts. Hubba, hubba.”
“Oh, Rosie, you’re such a vamp.” Hanna giggled. She was amused by Rosie’s exploits with men, a topic Rosie discussed freely without a drop of shame. She winked at Hanna. “Hey, think about it, will ya?
The faded flowers on the bedroom wallpaper swirled. Hanna’s traitorous stomach rumbled. Rosie meant well and rarely took no for an answer.
“Just think, the Highland District, music, food, fun.”
“Movin’ in for the kill,” growled Hanna, edgy. Rosie knew how much she loved the Highland district, place after place playing jazz and blues. Good music, the kind she wanted to make, the kind that reminded her of Abilene and happier times with Ray. She had to admit; a good meal sounded tempting too. She sat on the edge of Rosie’s bed. “Whew!”
“You okay,” asked Rosie, looking at her curiously.
“Just a bit lightheaded. Maybe it’s the whiskey I drank last night? I was blotto.”
“Oh applesauce,” exclaimed Rosie, clucking like a chicken as she went behind her dressing screen, her head peeking over. “When was the last time you ate anything decent?”
Hanna looked down, feeling sheepish. “Truth to tell, I don’t remember. I didn’t feel like eating before we left for that dance hall, after last night I didn’t have much of an appetite.”
Rosie groaned. “That’s plain crazy. Pete and I, you and Walter can double date. We’ll have dinner at that fancy Western Steakhouse everyone’s talking about. What do you say? Yes to a fat, juicy steak, potatoes, maybe a salad and fresh bread.”
“Okay, okay,” she agreed and ran to take a shower and get dressed. After all, she had vowed to enjoy life and couldn’t resist the triple lure of a fine meal, Rosie’s persistence or the prospect of listening to some great blues music.
Everything was hunky-dorry until Rosie suggested a late night drive after dinner along the lake in her boyfriend Pete’s four seat Model T. They all squeezed in, her and Walter in back, Rosie and Pete in front.
“I’ll be lucky if I don’t break my arm one of these days,” said Pete as he drove, parking where they could see the city lights. They laughed and talked, passing around a bottle of whiskey, drinking until they were all quite giddy and the bottle was drained dry.
Rosie began necking with Pete. Feeling awkward, Hanna fidgeted with her purse and smiled at her date seated beside her in a formal three-piece suit. Walter was stocky, plain, with a trim mustache and wire-rimmed glasses. “Rosie says you’re in sewage.”
“Uh, well not in it…but…yes, it is the family business,” stuttered Walter. He flushed as he told her in a serious monotone more then she’d ever wanted to know about sewage and plumbing. With the little sleep she’d had, the heavy meal and the alcohol she fought to keep her eyes opened. She yawned. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He fell silent as they both tried to ignore the sounds of Rosie and Pete’s enthusiastic lip smacking.
“Oh, Pete,” sighed Rosie.
“Oh, Rosie,” moaned Pete.
She shrugged. Soon they were both laughing. Whether from drink, nerves or just a shared amusement of their predicament she didn’t know, but Walter’s laughter made her less cautious. “Gnat’s eyebrows, I’m fried.”
“Me too.” His eyes magnified behind his round spectacles were gigantic.
She laughed again.
“Rosie said you sing.” He fixed his owlish eyes on hers.
“Y
es, I do.”
He reached out touching her hair. “Sho soft, hope you don’t mind me shaying, but if you sing like you look, you’ll do fine.”
His voice was slurred. She flushed, thanking him. Seconds later, he slumped back against the seat. Alarmed, she slapped his knee. “You okay?”
“That sctuff had more of a kick to it than I expected.” He apologized, sagged and his eyes closed again. She shook him. When he didn’t respond, she ran a long pink fingernail down his trouser leg. He jumped, cracking his knee on the back of the seat. “Ouch!”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He groaned and fell, leaning on her. The press of his body on the hard leather seat mingling with the smells of whiskey, garlic, smoke and perfumed perspiration made her nauseous. He weighed a ton and she didn’t have the heart to push him off like she longed to. “Great,” she cursed. The jalopy was rocking. Rosie was having a good old time, while her date was out cold, breathing into her hair like it was a darn flower. For all his boorishness, she reminded herself he had been a gentleman and had paid for her supper. “Get up, Walter. Please.”
He straightened, an inch from her face. “You shmell good. I know it’s…forward, but…would you…hiccup…can I…hiccup…do you think…I could kissh you…just one little smackeroonie?”
“No,” she said unprepared when he tried. The move was so fast she didn’t have time to respond, but when he forced his slobbering tongue between her teeth she did and instantly. Repelled by his sudden show of force, she pushed away violently, hands flailing.
Walter, didn’t register her immediate change from polite and proper to frightened and fighting. They tussled for a few seconds. She rewarded him with a swift punch in the eye, a kick and a mean jab into his crotch. With an indignant push, she shoved him away and got out of the car. Befuddled, breathing heavily and holding his damaged vitals Walter sat up straight. He promptly cracked his head against the doorjamb. Slumped against the back door of the car, he was breathing but unconscious. Their little tussle hadn’t fazed Rosie or Pete busy going at it under a blanket like two bunnies in a basket. Lighting a cigarette and pacing in the dark, Hanna blew smoke rings, fuming and shaky. Drat! She shouldn’t have come. She tried not to judge Rosie, but when there was a man around, Rosie forgot everything and everyone else. Not that she was a prude, but something was definitely wrong with her since Ray had raped her. She used to like men, desire them, even flirt a little, but now they scared her. They made her feel awkward, vulnerable and helpless. She didn’t like that.
The Songbird with Sapphire Eyes Page 3
