The Songbird with Sapphire Eyes

by Anna Brentwood

  Both girls were laughing as Rosie quickly cleared a spot for Alec to put the flowers down. Alec had dark hair with just a hint of gray at the sides. His sharp features prevented him from being labeled as handsome, but he was dressed impeccably and looked every inch the prosperous powerhouse he was.

  “Nervous?” asked Meg patting her.

  Rosie answered, “Nervous is putting it mildly. She hasn’t slept more than two winks in a month. Her fingernails are bit to the quick despite all my nagging.” Both of them knew what she’d done to get here. Neither had judged, just understood.

  Meg clasped Hannah’s hand. “Tonight’s the night. Your dream is finally coming true.”

  Caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, Hannah hugged them both and Alec too, thanking them all again and again.

  Grinning, Meg handed Hannah her flask. “Take a nip to calm your nerves and remember we’ll be rooting for you.”

  “We’d better take our seats or we’ll miss Hannah’s grand entrance,” said Alec putting his arm around Meg, offering the other to Rosie.

  Hannah’s emotions were seesawing as the door closed. It was the longest ten minutes of her life. The hushed theater was dark with expectation, but the moment the music started and the curtains opened the music transported her as it always had taking her to another place, another world where failure didn’t exist. The glare of the spotlights offered protection. As always the blues picked chords through her soul, the lyrics pulling her into a vortex of emotions. She didn’t know as much as some about heartache or broken dreams, but even with her limited experience, she knew enough to know that singing the blues cut deep where age and color never mattered and just being human did.

  By the time they finished their last set, Hannah glanced at both Jerome and Sam with a shy smile. The applause and shouts of approval were deafening. The Nighttime City Band, starring Hannah Glidden was a success. Jerome saluted her. Sam smiled.

  The rest of the night was a blur. Hannah was immediately surrounded by people vying for her attention. While Meg, Alec and Rosie waited, Tom Pendergast appeared backstage to congratulate her. His entourage included the mayor and his wife, Booth and Velma. They all crowded into her dressing room. Booth insisted on opening up a vintage bottle of champagne to celebrate. Booth and Mr. Pendergast patted one another on the back. Mr. Pendergast kissed her hand and said, “Well, girlie. I think The Jefferson has itself another star.”

  The night of constant toasts to her success left little time for sleep. She was exhausted the next morning when the telephone rang. She winced as Meg’s excited voice came through the tube. “Get up right now and go get a paper, for heaven’s sake they wrote you up.”

  Hannah and Rosie dressed hurriedly and raced to the closest newsstand. They bought up all the remaining issues of the Kansas City Star’s morning edition. Papers were flying everywhere as giggling they searched for the article. Rosie found it first and read:

  “Miss Glidden, a newcomer to town, in stark white and very blonde, looked like an angel at first glance, her dark accompanists both dressed in black, but during the evening, populated by Kansas City’s notorious, famous and most obscure she revealed herself ever the vamp, giving lie to her contriving false, youthful and most virginal appearance. When she sang the blues her soft voice had a seductive, brooding worldliness that could have only been obtained by rough and ready life experience. If one were to close their eyes, one could well believe she isn’t what she seems. No angel she! Watch out Katie, this young newcomer might give you a run for your money!”

  “That’s me, that’s me,” shouted Hannah literally dancing in the street with Rosie as the newsstand clerk smiled and passersby stared.

  Hannah wasn’t prepared for the expectations that came with instant celebrity. Suddenly she was someone everyone wanted to know. Men sent flowers or waited by the stage door in hopes of meeting her. People she didn’t even know waved or stared. She found herself tongue-tied on more than one occasion. Flattered but intimidated by the rapid interest and glut of admirers she refused the invitations. She was much too busy and afraid she’d say or do something that would expose her as something less then they all believed her to be. She didn’t want to ruin the illusion.

  Rehearsals ended early at least once a week. Smoking a cigarette and nursing a gin tonic, Hannah was sitting in a Highland bar frequented by jazz and blues musicians, a white spec among a sea of black faces. Her eyes were fixed on stage where blues singer Marion Harris was holding court. This was the third time she’d accompanied her band mates to hear a friend of theirs perform. She loved listening to and meeting other musicians and being considered one too.

  Tom’s city came alive after dark and few slept. From the new White Way between Twelfth and Union Streets to the Highland District’s old neighborhoods encompassing the Paseo, Swope and Forty-Ninth Street down to Woodland Avenue. Barker’s, cappers and their shills trolled the ramshackle to fancy restaurants, saloons and dime-a-dance halls. Whores hung out open windows and people stood in doorways congregating in clusters. And it was noisy with the sounds of voices, gramophones blaring, clopping horse’s hooves or honking automobiles.

  “Wow, that was the berries,” she said to Jerome as the singer exited the stage for a break. Jerome with his quiet dignity and endless mentoring had already taught her a lot about performing, but she still had so much to learn. She smiled, placing an affectionate kiss on his cheek. “I just hope I can be that good someday.”

  “She is one of the greats,” he whispered above the din. “But, last night’s show was damned good, lightenin’ bug. Youse just gettin’ better and better all the time. Ain’t she, Sam? Day’ll come when this girl ain’t gonna need us two old codgers anymore.”

  “That day will never come,” argued Hannah, as serious as a Sunday prayer.

  Smiling at the doorman and several of the clerks at the check-in desk, Hanna hurried into the hotel the next afternoon. Velma glanced up as she came in. “Talk to Booth, the sooner the better. Oh and here. These are your copies.” Velma handed her two typed ledger sheets. “Bills for your costumes.”

  Hannah’s mouth opened in shock. The dollar amounts totaled over two hundred and fifty dollars. “I thought there was an expense account for these.”

  “Yeah, we cover half. You pay the rest.” Her contract paid ten dollars a week. Costume expenses had been mentioned but not specified.

  She had already relied on the generosity of her friends long enough. She was barely making ends meet and her rent of twelve dollars a month was due soon. She felt faint.

  Velma’s voice softened. “Look, talk to Booth. He’s not unreasonable.”

  Hannah knew she would have to. She knocked on Booth’s door.

  Inside, Booth was pacing, waving a newspaper. “Look at this. Tom is going to go off like lightening when he sees it, if he hasn’t already. As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about with those damned rabbits on his back.”

  “Rabbits?”

  He practically threw the paper at her. “Those damned dry Republicans bent on causing trouble for the Democrats just trying to keep folks happy. Always hollering about liquor reform. A bunch of malcontents!”

  “Oh.” said Hannah, reading the circled article.

  “What very saucy, supposedly angelic white lady singer at a very prominent hotel was seen cavorting in predominantly Negro nightspots in the District? Could it be musical styles aren’t the only thing being mixed together? Where do we draw the line?”

  Hannah’s face colored instantly. She threw the paper down and snorted. “This is outrageous, Mr. Baughman. We caught some acts together. We’re musicians. It’s how we learn.”

  Booth shook his head. “Call me Booth and no more. We can’t have this kind of thing.”

  Hannah was stunned. “Bee’s Knee’s, we’re friends, co-workers and this reporter is trying to start trouble. Surely, you know this was innocent and there was no hanky panky going on?”

  He sighed, sitting down as he raised his hand up as
if to ward off her words. “It doesn’t matter, Miss Glidden. The Jefferson and Tom get enough bad publicity. We don’t need more. We all have an image to uphold. A pleased guest is a returning one. The obligation to make that happen applies to all of us. I expect you to comply. Understood?”

  She nodded, fuming with the injustice of it all.

  “Good. That’s settled. Now, Velma tells me you’re not being very sociable.”

  “Mr. Baughman…Booth, I work six nights a week and rehearse at least five.”

  “No one’s saying you don’t work hard, but if you have time to go off to some niggeh joint to listen to music—”

  Hannah was appalled. “With all due respect, sir, I didn’t know I had to do anything but become the best singer and performer I could be.”

  “And you are doing that,” he agreed.

  “For you to call Jerome and Sam who I work with and respect and have come to love like brothers that word…well, I am offended.” Her tone was icy.

  “Stop splitting hairs here, Miss Glidden—Hannah.” He looked tired as he sat back in his chair. “I don’t have anything against Jerome or Sam. They’re both great people, great musicians, but I don’t make the rules. Personally, I don’t care if they were my own brothers, but while you’re working for us, you’ll be above speculation and unpleasant gossip. From now on, Velma or I will advise you on all public matters. Is that clear?”

  As a bell, thought Hannah gritting her teeth as Booth laid down the law. Coloreds might be hailed as performers, own businesses, or attend to menial tasks, but they were not allowed to mingle socially with or patronize the very establishments and people they entertained and served. She hated seeing people she cared about refused service or asked to go to the back of the very rooms they worked in. It was unfair and humiliating. She hadn’t pegged Booth with his reputation as a playboy and gambler as someone who drew such lines. But she couldn’t afford to lose her job either, especially when her career was just beginning. Adding insult to injury, Velma had insisted she use their tailor and now she owed them a fortune.

  “We have to fix this and fix it fast.” Booth looked frustrated when the phone on his desk began ringing just as Velma slipped in.

  When he hung up the telephone, his eyes were sharp. “No more social forays without clearing it with Velma or me first - okay? You wanna learn, do it here away from prying eyes. As it is, we’ve got some damage control to attend to.”

  He cringed visibly when his telephone started ringing again, but he ignored it. “Vel, how do we fix this, any thoughts?”

  Velma jumped right in. “Yes. Hannah has been inundated with admirers. She gets so many flowers we’ve been able to downsize our weekly order and now that they’ve got the act down solid, I think she has to socialize more, enjoy the fruits of her labors.”

  Hannah had to grit her teeth even harder. “I am. My work here means everything to me.”

  Holding out copies of the ledger sheets she’d given Hannah, Velma told Booth Hannah could not afford to pay for the clothes they expected her to wear on her current salary. “And we need our star performer to look her best and be available to our most influential guests.” Clearing her throat she added. “Discreetly and selectively, of course.”

  “Of course.” Booth parroted, glancing at Hannah. “We all appreciate how hard you’re working. Tom’s pleased, Velma and I think you’re great, but Velma’s right. Being the toast of the town involves more than just singing.”

  “Just what does that mean?” Hannah felt her temper flare anew.

  “The streets are full of girls who would be thrilled to be in your position.”

  “I know that, but I am a singer, not a whore, Booth.”

  Booth’s handsome face remained jovial. “We’re all whores one way or the other. All we’re asking is that you attend certain events and mingle from time to time. Any favors you want to grant beyond that are strictly your business, but may I add, some arrangements have been quite beneficial to the parties involved. Look at Kitty, look at Esther.”

  Kitty the hatcheck girl had married a millionaire and Esther, one of the maids, was engaged to the son of a prominent Missouri businessman. A few girls she’d met working here didn’t think twice about prostituting themselves to earn a little extra money. Others looked forward to the day they could meet someone, marry, stay home and raise babies. Not her. Singing meant everything. She couldn’t imagine ever wanting to have sex willingly for any reason, stay home or have babies. Nor did she want a man complicating her life more than it already was.

  “It doesn’t hurt to make new contacts,” said Booth. “A very good associate of both Tom’s and mine, Seymour Innorata is very taken with you. He’d love to buy you dinner.”

  Velma reminded her that he’d come backstage with Booth the second night she’d performed. “If you’re seen with the right people, it can only boost your career.”

  Their business too, thought Hannah sourly. She felt deflated. Again hard work and principles weren’t enough.

  Booth said, “Hey, I’ll make you a deal. Have supper with Seymour next time he’s in town and be available when we request your presence at some private functions and we’ll cover your entire clothing budget and what you owe. Consider it a sign of good faith.”

  Hannah nodded, not sure what being social might involve, but if a simple dinner would erase her debt she would have to do it.

  Booth’s telephone rang again. With a pensive glance as Velma, he picked it up. The voice on the other end was booming, loud enough for them to figure out who it was, even before Booth said, “Yes, Tom. Sorry, Tom. She’s right here. Yes, Velma is too. Yes, we talked. Velma and I have it all figured out. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  5 CHAPTER FIVE

  The next few months, Hannah did her best to listen, learn and socialize. To shed the naïve farm girl she’d been to become The Jefferson’s top draw; a witty, confident, good-time girl. It had been sinfully easy to defy convention with glib, practiced promises and sultry come-hither lies, yet when she looked into the mirror or had too much time to think, she felt like two entirely different people, a child playing dress-up.

  Lord knew she’d been a ready convert to everything Sin City offered, but as carefree as she’d imagined life might be by now, it wasn’t. In fact, sometimes it was still downright confusing. She sighed, lighting a cigarette. Somehow, it always came down to money. Her earnings never matched her expenses, desires, or her needs. She’d known she’d have to adapt if she wanted to stay and had, in a short time come a long way.

  The incident written up in the newspaper died a natural death without fuel to feed it. Velma with the diplomacy and skill of a bordello madam was pleased with her pliability when after months of socializing, Hannah finally relented and took a lover. One of Jefferson’s select.

  For Hannah, the decision was practical. And, she’d actually grown to like the man. He adored her, supported her desire to succeed and had become someone she’d become comfortable with.

  Seymour Innorata had made a concerted effort to seek her out every time he was in town. He always acted the perfect gentleman, never demanding more from her than she was willing to give. And he seemed to enjoy giving her things; trinkets, flowers or money.

  Reclining on his bed, Hannah savored the feel of real Chinese silk on her almost naked skin, a pensive smile on her face. Taking a last drag on her cigarette, she reached for the ashtray. Her muscles tensed briefly when beefy arms sprinkled liberally with salt and pepper hair pulled at her. She fought the slight feeling of resistance that usually only a well-made batch of whiskey cocktails could dull, courtesy of her rape by Ray. She pressed her face towards the warm barrel chest that smelled tangy, a combination of expensive cologne, sweat and cigar smoke. “Hi there, tiger. Have a good nap,” she purred.

  “More like a pussycat where you’re concerned, but that’s our little secret, ain’t it?”

  Hannah nodded. Power emanated from Seymour like steam from a locomotive. Despite h
is balding head and beefy build, he was attractive in a grandfather kind of way though what occurred between them was certainly not paternal.

  Seymour was a Jefferson V.I.P., a personal friend of Tom Pendergast’s. His trucking company distributed and supplied alcohol and tobacco to hotels across the state. When he came to town about every six weeks, he got the best suite, compliments of the house.

  “A sweet young thing like you is a gift to myself for all the struggles, hard work and sacrifices I’ve made. And, it don’t hurt for folks to think I still got it,” he admitted frankly. “Just being seen with you is a feather in my cap.”

  Adjusting her body to Seymour’s, Hannah wriggled closer so he could hold her in his bear-like embrace. It was their little secret that he was unable to fully consummate an intimate relationship, though his lack troubled him more than it troubled her. Mostly, he liked to be seen with her in public and in private, he liked to look at her or touch her when and where he wanted to. She was actually relieved to avoid the “ultimate act”. Sex to her was more a means to an end than enjoyment and she didn’t consider what she did with Seymour sex.

  Turning, he captured her lips with a deep growl. A deep rumble shook him as he held her, his mouth marauding and intense. She rubbed against him like a playful kitten, letting him make silent love to her because it made him happy. She didn’t mind the foreplay, because she really never lost control. Not like when Ray raped her. She guessed having a rich, old man everyone respected crazy about her was pleasure enough. And, he was good to her and for her, always supportive and so very generous.

  “Jesus, Hannah. I love touchin’ you. Oy, I wish I was young again ‘cause to tell the truth, I ain’t ever seen a snatch as light as yours in my whole fucking life. It drives me crazy.”

  She giggled, completely at ease with showing off her body and letting him look his fill. “You flatterer you. Didn’t you say your wife had blonde hair too?”