Giving her a crooked smile, he relaxed and sat down. “It’s strange that you know my last name, but I don’t know yours.”
“I already explained that to you. You can thank my son. He tells me something about you almost every day.” She returned his smile and sipped her water. “My surname is Blomgren. Nichole Blomgren.”
“And you said your son’s name is Frankie?”
“Good memory.” She sat back and studied him. His expression was open and friendly, relaxed even. He was younger than her, hard to say by how much, maybe five years. “But I asked about you, remember?”
He chuckled, taking a swig from his soft drink. “Not much to tell. I grew up on a farm in Iowa. My parents are still there. I discovered my gift for fighting, and the rest is history.”
“That’s it?” His short, succinct tale surprised her. “No brothers or sisters?”
“Only child.” He settled into the cushions and placed his arm along the back of the couch, not quite within touching distance of her. His hand looked strong, the knuckles scraped.
“Why do they call you ‘Two Guns’?” The name sounded like a gangster’s to her. Tommy guns were a favorite among the Capone brothers in the Chicago area. The pop-pop-pop had everyone within hearing distance diving for cover.
“Because of this.” He pulled his arms back and flexed both of them.
Through his dress shirt, she could see his biceps bulging.
“I’m ambidextrous.” He quickly put his arms down and shrugged as though he were uncomfortable. “I guess it gives me an advantage.”
“You are one of the best.”
He shrugged again, picking at the crease in his dress pants.
She wouldn’t have figured the tough fighter to be modest, but he obviously was.
The awkward moment was saved when a favorite song came on the radio. Nichole tapped her feet and noticed Tommy’s fingers were playing the same rhythm on his legs.
He caught her looking and asked, “Would you like to dance?”
It was so unexpected, she said yes before thinking of the implications of dancing with a man in his apartment. Before she could worry about it, he had her up and whirling around the living room, navigating carefully to avoid the few pieces of furniture. She laughed and went with it. He was very graceful on his feet, probably the best dance partner she’d ever encountered.
When the song ended, he flushed and released her hands. “Sometimes the music just catches me up. I apologize for my forward behavior.”
“It’s all right.” She smiled. “I feel the same way about music. You’re a very good dancer.”
Then, he did blush, but he seemed happy, too. “My mother taught me everything I know. When the farm work was done, evenings were spent learning. My mother loved to dance, my father had two left feet, so I became the substitute partner.”
“Your mother was a good teacher.”
“What about you? Where did you learn?”
She didn’t like to talk about herself. Over the years, she’d learned to keep a low profile. The less people knew about her, the better. Yet, when Tommy was studying her, with his chestnut brown eyes and open expression, she felt the need to give him something. “Like you, I grew up on a farm, only my family lived in southern Wisconsin. As a little girl, I always wanted to be a dancer.” She shrugged. “It’s pretty much all I ever did. I danced everywhere and every moment of the day, much to my parents’ chagrin.”
“We have a lot in common. Farming, music, and dancing.” His voice trailed off. They were standing so close; she could feel the heat coming off his body. He smelled nice, too, like sandalwood and leather.
As the song came to an end, the announcer said, “Eleven o’clock, folks. Still two more hours of jazz favorites.”
“Eleven?” Nichole’s heart fluttered. Mabel was expecting Nichole any moment, and she had at least a twenty-minute walk ahead of her. “I’m sorry, but I really must leave.”
Tommy nodded. “I’ll get your coat.” He came back with her coat in his hand and wearing his own.
“You don’t need to come with me,” she said. “I’m used to walking by myself all over this city.”
“But I’d like to escort you home. It’s my duty. After an experience like you had, I’m afraid I can’t let you go alone.” He held out her coat and waited while she slid her arms inside. Only once she was fastening her own did he close his and then don his hat and gloves. Opening the door, he placed a hand lightly on her back and guided her out.
They walked to the corner where he hailed a cab. She felt bad he was spending so much money on her, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Where to?” The cabby asked, and both men turned to look at her.
“Thirty-first and Laramie,” she said, not wanting to give the exact address of her house. That intersection would get them close enough. If the driver found her vague directions unusual, he didn’t say anything. Neither did Tommy, but when they arrived, he spoke in a low voice to the cabby, who nodded. Tommy got out with her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, rather alarmed. If he walked her home and lost his cab, he’d have a long night ahead of him.
Tommy was unconcerned. “I asked him to wait and said I’d make it worth his while. I plan to see you to your door.” He offered his arm again. “You’re safe with me. I promise.”
Sliding her hand through his arm, she prayed that Frankie was sound asleep. He’d love to see his hero, but Nichole worried it would be too much of a disappointment if Frankie never saw Tommy again. Besides, she didn’t like anyone seeing her son. The less people who knew of his existence, the better.
“Here we are,” she said, stopping outside of a modest bungalow. The soft glow from a lamp lit the downstairs window, and without seeing the woman, Nichole knew that Mabel was watching. “Thank you again, Mr. Mazza.”
The smile he gave her was wry. “Let’s not be formal, please. Call me Tommy. I’d like to see you again, if I may.” He rushed on before she could respond. “I know the circumstances of our meeting were quite unusual, but I can’t help how I’m feeling. Perhaps, next time, we can meet under better circumstances.”
Nichole shook her head sadly. “You shouldn’t get involved with me, Tommy. I’ve got a dark cloud hovering over me.”
“Do you?” He glanced over her head, his lips curling up playfully. “I don’t see it. Perhaps you’re the rainbow distracting me.”
“You’re a sweet talker!” Her smile was wide and genuine. “All right. You may call on me, but not here.”
“Then where?” he asked.
“Stop by the club tomorrow. I’m working an early shift. I’ll be done by nine.”
Reaching over, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. Although they both wore gloves, the touch was intimate, and the gesture unnerved her. “Sweet dreams, Nichole.”
“Goodnight, Tommy.”
Rushing up the steps and slipping inside, she didn’t turn to see if he was waiting or not, but something told her he was. Something told her Tommy Mazza might just be that guardian she’d been praying for.
January 4, 1930 ~ 8:45 p.m.
The Green Door, Chicago, Illinois
The club was packed with warm bodies and lively music. Saturday nights were always busy at the Green Door. It was when Nichole made her best money. As she moved around the dance floor on the arm of an elderly gentleman, she nodded politely and smiled as he told her about his great accomplishments. He was visiting from St. Louis, a banker, and would be leaving the next morning to return home. Up to that point, his behavior was nothing but polite, and he’d paid for several dances. Her shift was about to end, though, and she told him as much.
“Come back with me,” he propositioned in a loud whisper.
“No, thank you,” she said in a light, friendly way. He wasn’t the first to try, and he wouldn’t be the last, either.
“I’ll make it worth your time,” he said.
She’d also heard that, or other variations, over the ye
ars. Unflustered, she opened her mouth to speak when an angry male voice beat her to it. “The lady said she’s not interested.”
Nichole turned in surprise to find Tommy, with his hands fisted, staring angrily at the old man. The club was no place for a fight, and no place to draw unwanted attention. She couldn’t afford to lose her job. “It’s all right, Tommy. This gentleman was just leaving. Weren’t you, Mr. Worthington?”
The older man nodded and scurried away, allowing Tommy’s anger to deflate.
Nichole’s irritation grew. She’d been expecting a nice tip. There was no chance of that after his manly stunt. She threw her hands on her hips and said, “This is my job, Tommy. You saved me yesterday, and I appreciate it, but I’m safe here. I know what I’m doing. Mr. Worthington was harmless. I had the situation under control.”
Looking chastened, he mumbled an apology.
“It’s fine,” she said, immediately forgiving him. She knew he was only looking out for her best interest. “I’ll get my coat and we can leave.”
They took another taxi cab, and Nichole’s jaw dropped as they exited the car. The Palace theatre stood before them, looking majestic. She loved performances, but with little money, and even less free time, she never had the opportunity to go.
“I hope you like Vaudeville,” Tommy said, placing his hand gently on her back. “It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”
“I’ve never been.”
They followed a small crowd into the extravagant theatre. The interiors reds and golds were breathtaking and opulent. This must be what a real palace looks like, Nichole thought, feeling like a princess herself. Not for the first time, she was conscious of her threadbare coat. No one paid her attention, though, as they sought their seats and waited for the show to begin.
She assumed they would sit in the back, but Tommy led her to the front row and then to the middle. They truly had front and center seats. With wide eyes, she asked, “How did you get these tickets?”
Smiling, he said, “I have season passes. Usually, I bring Mic, although sometimes I come alone.”
“Mic?” Nichole wondered if that stood for Michelle, and if that was Tommy’s girlfriend.
“Mickey Malone,” he clarified. “He’s my manager.”
“Of course.” Nichole was saved from Tommy seeing her embarrassment when the house lights dimmed and the stage lit up. She was entranced from the start of the show to the end. So many acts, and so much variety. The comedians made them laugh, while the dancers had her leaning forward in awe and envy. How great would it be to dance on a stage such as this, she thought. When the show was done and the performers took their bow, Nichole and Tommy were among the first to stand. Clapping, she turned to Tommy with a wide smile. “That was wonderful!”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Reaching over, he tucked a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear.
When his fingers grazed her sensitive skin, she shivered.
“You have a lovely smile.”
“Thank you.” She placed her hand on his offered arm. Men like Tommy were hard to find. He didn’t seem worried that she was a mother. Quite the opposite, because as they left, he mentioned it was getting late and he would take her home.
Walking toward the waiting taxis, the sky began to mist. She was relieved it was icy sleet and not snow, but Tommy tilted his head up and closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Nichole asked.
He looked at her and blinked, a sheepish smile playing across his lips. “I’ve always loved the rain. It’s very calming, don’t you think?”
“I guess I never thought about it.” She pulled her collar a little tighter against her neck. “Although I might find a spring or summer storm more comfortable.”
With a warm laugh, Tommy ushered her into the cab. “You’re right, of course. It would be. Then again, there’s nothing like the shock of cold to make you feel alive.”
That time, he gave the taxi driver the intersection address to drop her off. Once again, the cabbie was offered extra money to wait while Tommy walked her home.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said.
“I know.” Tommy took her hand and held it. “I want to. I like you, Nichole.”
She inhaled deeply, feeling flustered. It had been so long since a man had been interested in her romantically. Plenty of men paid attention to her. That was her job, her charm, but those men didn’t see past the physical beauty. They had no interest in knowing who she really was; they were just looking for a beautiful companion or a quick dance. Tommy seemed to genuinely care. He listened, and he wanted to know who she really was. Because that scared her, she didn’t answer him. Instead, she quickened her step.
“Did I say something wrong?” His voice held confusion and concern.
“No, I…” She looked down at their joined hands and then pulled hers away, wrapping her arms around herself.
A flash of hurt crossed his face before he gave her a curt nod. “Oh, I see. There’s another man. Forgive me for making a fool of myself.”
He turned to go, and Nichole’s heart hurt. She liked him. Two days wasn’t long to get to know someone, but by his words and actions, she could tell he was a good man. A man of duty and honor. Can I trust him? Not just with my heart, but with my son?
“Tommy, wait.” She hurried to catch up with him.
He didn’t slow, and his steps were angry.
Even as she hurried, he got farther ahead. Frustrated, she cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled, “There’s no one else.”
He stopped instantly, his back rigid. Slowly, he turned to stare at her.
“There’s no one else besides Frankie,” she admitted. “I’m protective. I don’t want to see him hurt.”
Tommy’s expression softened. He closed the distance between them, stopping an arm’s length away and searching her eyes. “I’d never hurt him, Nichole, or you.”
Shaking her head, she said sadly, “I don’t know that. I don’t know you.”
He took a step closer. Then another. “But you’d like to, right?”
Biting her lip, she met his eyes, nodded, and was rewarded by the smile that lit his face. “Give me a chance,” he said. “I’ll be good to you both, I promise.”
Taking a leap of faith, she said, “Then come over tomorrow after Sunday service. We’ll have lunch, and you can meet Frankie.”
“Really?”
She nodded again, hoping she was making the right choice and praying Frankie would be safe.
“That’s swell!” He kissed her cheek, causing them both to blush. Then without another word, he hurried down the sidewalk, his steps seeming lighter to Nichole, whose own hand stole up to the spot where his lips had touched.
February 2, 1930 ~ 2:30 p.m.
Chicago, Illinois near McKinley Park
“Show me again!” Frankie jumped excitedly around his hero. With a chuckle and an abundance of patience, Tommy showed the five-year-old another boxing move. They’d been at it for half an hour.
For her part, Nichole sat at the table with a mug of hot coffee and watched them, clapping exuberantly whenever her son managed to get a hit on the large man.
Frankie grinned widely, showing his missing front tooth, while Tommy feigned offense at her applause. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”
“Both of yours,” she quipped, resting her chin on her hands and batting her eyelashes. “My boys.”
She said it to be funny, and was rewarded with laughs from both of them, but she realized it was true. It was easy to think of Tommy as one of her boys. In a short time, he’d begun working his way into her heart. The attention he gave her son touched her. Most men would pat the boy on the head and move on. Not Tommy. He seemed to be having as much fun as Frankie, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him so happy.
An hour later, Tommy excused himself. “I’d love to stay, but I promised Joe I’d practice today. He’ll be waiting at the gym.”
“Let me walk you out.�
��
Frankie hurried over. “Me too?”
“You stay up here, Frankie Beans.” She kissed his forehead. “I’ll be right back. Say goodbye to Mr. Mazza.”
Tommy offered his hand to the boy, but chuckled in surprise when his skinny arms wrapped around the boxer’s waist. “Thank you for showing me how to box. Come back soon, okay?”
Bending down to Frankie’s eye level, Tommy said, “I’ll do that. In the meantime, you practice those punches. We’ll see how you do next time.”
He ruffled her son’s hair, straightened, and then took the coat and fedora from her with a smile. “Thank you for having me.”
“It was our pleasure.” She opened the door and waited for Tommy to go first.
He hesitated, and she knew he wasn’t used to walking in front of a lady.
“Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”
Tipping his hat, he stepped into the narrow stairwell and started down. Near the bottom, he stopped and turned abruptly. Unable to stop her momentum, she ran into him. His arms shot out to steady her, sending a shiver down her spine. Oh, yes, Tommy Mazza definitely affected her. By the way he was staring at her mouth, she had a pretty good idea that she affected him, too.
“I didn’t mean to throw you off balance.” Eyes still focused on her lips, his mouth slowly curved up and his hands slid down to grasp her hands. “I had a wonderful time.”
Her wispy voice gave away her nerves. “Me too.”
He raised his eyes to hers, and her breath caught. “I’d like to kiss you, if I may.”
Please do, she thought recklessly and leaned closer. “You may.”
The stairs made them almost the same height. His lips brushed hers, hesitant at first, but then with more sureness. She rested her hands on his shoulders, enjoying the contrast of the softness of his lips to the slight scratchiness of his chin. He tasted sweet from the maple syrup they’d enjoyed earlier that afternoon and smelled of that delicious sandalwood and leather combination. She wanted to curl up against him, but a soft snicker from the top of the stairs had them pulling apart.
“Mommy’s got a boyfriend!” Frankie’s sweet voice sang as he laughed and ran back into their apartment.
7: The Seven Deadly Sins Page 12
