by Koko Brown
Shane cursed the wrong head he’d been thinking with.
He should have paid his respects and walked away. Not pretend he was hanging around out of some sense of duty or absolve his conscience.
Only one thing could do that and he was too selfish or too cowardly to even consider it.
During his introspection, they’d ceased their bickering and flagged down a taxi. Obviously the forgive and forget sort, they talked animatedly as they climbed into the back of the hired cab. About what, Shane didn’t have a clue. He didn’t really care. Their intimate camaraderie and Celeste’s about face lightened his mood. And like a hound dog sniffing out a bitch in heat, he climbed in behind them.
He’d barely settled against the leather seats when the cabbie whipped around. His dark gaze travelled over them one by one then stopped on Shane.
“I carry whites and negroes, but not both at the same time. And I’m not moving til either you ladies or the gent here gets out of my cab.”
Hot under the collar, Shane leaned forward, causing the material of his jacket to strain against his arms and chest. “I don’t believe we have a problem.”
“Yeah, we do,” the driver retorted. “They’re colored and you’re not.”
“Well, that’s my cue.” Celeste reached for the door handle.
“Sit back. I got this.” She glared at him for a split second then with a loud huff fell back into the seat. Shane glanced at Trudy. While her cousin wanted to make tracks, she sat back with a mischievous grin.
“Who says I’m not colored?” Shane asked, turning his attention back to the driver.
The cabbie’s eyes narrowed as if he could discern Shane’s family tree by simply looking at him. “You look pretty legit to me.”
Shane opened and closed his fists. “My father was Irish and my mother’s half Muskogee.”
The cabbie’s lips curled and Shane wondered which of his parents the other man found the least desirable.
“Close enough,” the cabbie finally acquiesced. He then turned around and shifted the car into gear.
***
“One Sheridan Square.” The driver flipped the meter. “That’ll be a dollar and two bits.”
After alighting, both Celeste and Trudy fished into their purses for the fare, but Shane beat them to it by handing the guy a five.
While the cabbie made change, Trudy placed her elbows on the driver side door and leaned down so their faces were mere inches from each other.
“I’m performing tonight—Trudy Leroux, a pretty popular act if I say so myself.” Trudy purred, enunciating each syllable. “Wanna come with us?”
Palming his money, the driver inched backward.
“Not on your life, sister,” he said then hit the gas. Not hurt in the least by the man’s rudeness, Trudy’s laughter could be barely heard over the screeching tires.
“Come on.” Celeste grabbed Trudy’s arm, and pulled her across the street with Shane close on their heels. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself for frightening him like that.”
“That buster will be fine and just as bigoted tomorrow,” Trudy sniffed as they climbed the curb.
Only half past nine the line into Cafe Society already snaked halfway down the block. The first of its kind, the nightclub was modeled after the cafes in Paris where any and everyone rubbed elbows over quality libations, two dollar steaks and intellectual conversation.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, Miss Celeste?” Marvin Rudolph, a former doorman from the Plantation Inn greeted her.
Celeste allowed him to enfold her into a big bear hug. Although he wasn’t a performer, Marvin was just as much a part of the family from The Plantation as anyone else. “Has Trudy talked you into joining on like the rest of the gang? I sure loved the way you danced.”
“She hasn’t made up her mind where her feet are going to land,” Trudy replied. “So don’t go starting rumors. She needs to find herself a manager first.”
Marvin smiled as Trudy straightened his black bow tie. “You plan on knocking them dead?”
“Don’t I always. Why bother performing if you’re not going to give the crowd one hundred and ten percent. If you get a break you should see my set. I cooked up a new number.”
“Wish I could, but look at this line and it’s not even ten o’clock,” he lamented, opening one of the club’s double doors. “I have a long night on my feet. You all have a good night.”
Shane followed them, but Marvin held up a gloved hand. “Whoa, wait a minute there, bub. Where do you think you’re going? The line starts back there.”
Before Trudy could intercede, Shane wrapped his arm around Celeste’s waist and pulled her close. The point of contact made her catch her breath. “I’m with them,” he said clarifying, their acquaintance.
Marvin didn’t bat a lash. Considering he helmed the door for New York’s first integrated nightclub, he’d probably seen and heard everything. And whether or not he had an opinion regarding the company they kept, Marvin kept it to himself and allowed all of them to pass.
Once inside, Celeste brushed his hand away.
“Ah, silky...silky…sounds like the band is just getting started.” Trudy shouted over the plaintive wail of a cornet. Oblivious to Celeste’s mounting anxiety, her cousin shimmied out of her overcoat.
“A-are you going to hang around a little before you head backstage?”
Trudy flipped her wrist. “Sure, thing, sugar,” she said glancing at the watch on her wrist. “I have enough time for at least two drinks.” She held out her hand. “Give me your coats, and I’ll check them in with Margie.”
Left alone with Shane, Celeste suddenly felt on edge. Even in a crowded nightclub, all she could focus on was the man standing to her left. And in spite of what he probably thought about her, she still found herself irrevocably drawn to him.
Needing space, Celeste wandered down the hallway. As she drew closer to the nightclub’s dining area.
The soft clang of colliding glasses and silverware mixed with the heady buzz of voices, laughter and music. People poured in and out. Some looked wilted from too much dancing, others too drunk on booze.
The uniformed chaos soothed Celeste’s rattled nerves. This was where reality ended and fantasy began. In here, she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. The Depression was simply a figment of everyone’s imagination, trials and tribulations could be left at the door and the only requirement was having a good time.
Trudy stepped out of the press of people and handed Celeste their coat check tickets. “Come on let’s find a table.”
They ascended the stairs to the second tier. Tables topped with snow-white tablecloths hugged brass railings or were wedged into half-moon shaped booths. All of them had an excellent view of the dance floor and the elevated stage.
Celeste tried walking ahead of him, but Shane’s long-legged stride kept pace with hers. And he walked so close, his arm brushing hers anyone could easily mistake them for a couple. Celeste peeked up at him. What would it be like belonging to? Probably be a dizzying ride, Celeste mused, just looking at him made her head spin.
It would be like pennies from heaven, Celeste mused.
Well, until her demons came between them. And they always did at the first inkling of emotion. So, she stopped caring altogether.
Celeste tried remembering the last time she’d dredged up real affection for anyone. All she came up with were a dozen nameless faces which blended into a disposable blob.
What about Ralph?
Surely she’d been in love with him. They’d been engaged. After one of her performance, he’d gotten down on one knee and proposed. Celeste frowned. Ralph was the only man she’d ever come close to feeling love for. He’d also been the one who’d robbed her of the useless emotion.
Celeste’s steps slowed.
“Telegram for a Miss Celeste Newsome?”
A young boy of no more than sixteen stood outside her and Trudy’s flat.
“That’s her,” Trudy drawle
d with a sultry timbre that could only belong to a seasoned singer. “I’m just her humble servant.”
Celeste walked over as best as she could. Dressed in full bridal regalia, the going was rather difficult. The fitted sheath covered her in an expanse of unforgiving creamy satin from the high-laced collar to the edges of the poplin sleeves.
If she gained an ounce before the wedding, she’d find herself in big trouble and out of a dress. Good thing she was headlining at the Plantation House five nights a week.
“You two look like a wedding cake topper,” he murmured.
Celeste glanced over at Trudy and chuckled. Decked out in a pair of black trousers, a pair of jaunty suspenders and a white, freshly ironed dress shirt rolled up at the elbows, all her cousin needed was a top hat instead of the colorful headscarf wrapped around her head.
“I apologize for being unprofessional.” Embarrassed, the boy dropped his head. His lips moved as if he were chastising himself.
With her innate ability to put people at ease, she chucked him under the chin. “You have my attention, so what’s your business, handsome?”
The boy tipped his head at an angle and smiled. “I have a telegram for you.”
“I heard,” Celeste held out her hand. When he didn’t immediately respond, she wiggled her fingers. “Come on, I won’t bite,” she coaxed.
“She won’t,” Trudy corroborated as she leaned against the door jamb, “you’re too young for her taste.”
Flustered, the boy shoved his hand inside his messenger bag, pulled out a yellow telegram, and then handed it to her.
“Could you tip him for me, Tru? My purse is upstairs.” Celeste turned the missive over in her hands. Her name was neatly typed on the outside.
“Don’t people know there’s a Depression going on?” Her cousin grumbled. Still, she greased the boy’s palm with a couple of nickels.
“Are you expecting some news?” Trudy mumbled, her lips now firmly clamped around several dressing pins. Before the interruption, she’d been on her knees hemming Celeste’s wedding dress.
Clueless, Celeste frowned. “It’s probably just someone reserving for next Saturday.”
“Well, you can read it while I finish up. Now come on.” Trudy shooed her back over to the foot stool.
Back on her elevated pedestal, Celeste surveyed the parlor’s discordant condition. It looked like Macy’s department store had exploded, littering the sitting area with tissue paper, discarded boxes, her wedding pattern, pots and pans, curtains, cutlery, and other essentials for the new flat she and Ralph would share after the nuptials.
Celeste smiled. Mrs. Ralph Long, she liked the ring of it! Unmindful of how her life was about to change, she tore into the envelope.
Celeste,
I know what you did STOP The wedding is off STOP Do not bother looking for me or trying to explain STOP Upon the personal invitation of Beatrice Gerard
I’m leaving town and joining up with her troupe for an extended tour of Europe STOP The wedding is off STOP.
Ralph Long
Celeste reread the telegram several times before crumpling the yellow parchment between numb fingers.
A sudden wave of nausea swept over her and she swayed slightly. She sucked in a calming breath as her eyes searched for a visual spot.
She focused on Trudy, hunched over, working at her feet, her hands busily threading the skirt’s hem.
“St-st-stop!” Celeste stammered, then louder, “STOP!”
Trudy peered up at her. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I said stop.” When her cousin didn’t move fast enough, Celeste wrenched the hem from Trudy’s startled hands. “No good,” she rattled, while clawing at the dress’s high neckline. “Never any good”
Trudy staggered back. “Celeste what’s wrong?”
Celeste didn’t stop until she stood in the middle of the parlor in nothing but her slip and stockings, the telegram still clutched in one hand.
Hesitant and for good reason, Trudy stepped forward and pulled the telegram from her clenched fist. Her cousin scanned the missive.
“Oh my,” she whispered and Celeste almost lost it. “Sugar foot, are you okay?” she asked as she shoved the telegram in her back pants pocket.
Met with silence, her cousin tried wrapping a comforting arm around Celeste’s shoulders.
Celeste retreated to the bay window overlooking Amsterdam Avenue.
“What’s the big deal?” A laugh sliced down Celeste’s throat. “Ralph realized he wasn’t man enough for me,” she replied a little too brightly. “Better now than later, right?"
“Maybe you two can work things out,” Trudy offered. “You have enough money saved up you can meet him in Europe.”
And take the chance he might want her back? She didn’t have the balls to tell Trudy she’d cracked like an egg under pressure. That she’d intentionally drove her fiancé away because she couldn’t understand how someone could love her when her own daddy never did.
Celeste turned her back on her cousin and started re-packing the vestiges of a life she didn’t deserve.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Here we are.” Trudy plucked the reserved sign from a table sitting stage left. As all of them took their seats, Trudy frowned. “The view’s the pits.” Set at an odd angle, parallel to the stage, viewing would be less than optimal. “I can see if Pope can find us another table.
“Good luck,” Shane countered. “The place is packed.” He looked at her and goose bumps ran down Celeste’s arms. “I’m fine with the table if you are.”
Even though she secretly liked that he’d asked her opinion, Celeste shrugged, feigning an air of nonchalance. In an hour she would be so sauced, their table could be in the gutter and she wouldn’t care a whit.
As long as the liquor kept flowing, she hoped it would get her mind off the bruiser sitting next to her and how every time their eyes met she became jumpy and hyper aware of his every movement.
“About time you showed up,” a dark-skinned waiter carrying a table service, drawled. Smiling brightly, he set a bowl of ice, three high ball glasses and a complimentary bottle of water on the table. “Mr. Josephson sent word to the Buffalo Soldiers.”
“Hiram, you old buzzard.” Trudy sneered. There had never been any love between the two. “You remember my cousin Celeste?”
“How could I forget such a vision of loveliness,” Hiram purred, flashing Celeste a toothy, yet crooked grin. His gaze darted to Shane, but his smile never faltered.
“What libations can I get you folks tonight?” He handed each of them the club’s leather-bound drink menu. A bourbon-on-the-rocks kind of girl, Celeste set the drink list aside and placed her order. Trudy followed with a Manhattan, shaken not stirred.
When the waiter turned to Shane for his order, Celeste found herself waiting as well.
Over the years, she’d developed a popular parlor trick where she could accurately guess a person’s personality by the libation they favored. Spot on in its accuracy, she’d also chosen and rejected quite a few lovers using her expert discernment of hooch.
Celeste chalked it up to simple curiosity. She didn’t want Shane Brennan as a lover. Absolutely and positively not! Their backgrounds couldn’t be more different. Plus, he didn’t have any real interest in her. Her daddy probably made sure of it.
Bothered by her acute interest in the man’s taste in liquor, Celeste turned her attention to the dance floor. Unfortunately, the straining bodies, in the throes of a beguine, didn’t help matters and she remained abhorrently attuned to the man to her left.
“I’ll have two cents plain with a lime.”
He was ordering soda water? Everyone including Celeste looked at him. Well, that nailed his coffin. She’d never been with a dry man or a holy roller. Her father ruined any hope of that ever happening. Relieved Shane no longer fell into her realm of interest, Celeste filled her glass with ice. She liked garnishing her brandy with a splash of ice-cold water.
“You kno
w Prohibition is over.” Celeste pointed out.
“Exactly six years ago.”
“Then why the drought, Daddy-O?” Although not a heavy drinker, Trudy sounded baffled.
With a half-smile, Shane rolled his beefy shoulders. “Training for the Garden.”
“The Garden?” Hiram cocked his head. “You a boxer?”
Shane nodded, but didn’t provide any additional information.
“I know who you are!” Hiram’s eyes widened with sudden clarity. “You’re ‘Sugar’ Shane Brennan. The million dollar man.”
Shane’s smile faded. “I’m not worth a million dollars,” he ground out. For some reason Hiram’s letting the cat out of the bag set him on edge. Interest piqued, Celeste leaned forward.
“But all the write ups said you earned that and then some from all your boxing exhibitions. See if I can remember the number?” Hiram glanced up at the ceiling as if the answer was written there. “I think the article said you’ve fought in one hundred and fifty give or take a few.”
“Two hundred and four.”
“Eww wee,” Hiram gushed. “You have to be sitting on a cool million, Mr. Rockefeller.”
Shane’s expression turned motley. Thankfully, Trudy saved the day. “One million or five dollars, you’re not talking yourself into a bigger tip by yapping all night.”
Put in his place, Hiram’s grin faded. “Bourbon for the lovely lady. Soda water garnished with a twist of lime for the gent. And a Manhattan for the chick with a dick, stirred and not shaken.”
“I said shaken not stirred you old son of a” Trudy’s curse trailed off into an improper snort and thin air as Hiram hurried off. A creature of habit, she never wasted an insult. “I guess I won’t be having a refreshment after all. I’ve never liked the taste of turpentine.”
Knowing her cousin had done something to ruffle the man’s feathers, Celeste asked, “Why all the salt between you two?”
