Jezebel

by Koko Brown

“And what circuit is that?” Shane asked incredulously. Most entertainment, even in New York City, was still segregated.

  “Come on doll, it’s time for us to go.”

  Gould grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the car. He didn’t get very far because Myrna had a mind of her own as she dug in her high heels.

  “I used to dance with Brown Sugar,” she said, proving it with a showy waist-high kick followed by a fit of giggles. “But I left the circuit a few months back. The road is the pits.”

  Shane looked at Myrna hard. Real hard. She was lighter than him with a spattering of freckles across her nose and big brown eyes. “Well I’ll be a monkey’s fucking uncle,” he whispered. Her features were more Latin than Negro, but if she performed on the road with Celeste she would be the latter. Shane’s hands fisted.

  The self-righteous hypocrite!

  “Celeste enjoyed it. She thrived in it actually. Most natural–born stars do.” Myrna looked thoughtful. “Beautiful broad and a fabulous dancer. A taste for the sauce if you know what I mean.” Myrna turned to Gould and patted his cheek. “Baby I’m hungry. Can we go to Maxie’s? I want some salmon cakes smothered in−”

  “In maple syrup,” Gould finished for her.

  Myrna laughed, a wide parting of her ruby lips. “You know me so well, daddy.”

  The mobster grabbed her chin and kissed her. “And I’m going to know you even better before the week’s out ain’t I?”

  Myrna patted Gould’s cheek. “His gifts keep getting bigger and bigger, and he still doesn’t get any,” she said to Shane as if the other man had disappeared.

  Gould’s cheeks bloomed with heat as he hustled Myrna over to the car, and then helped her in. At the last moment, she stuck her hand out.

  “Nice to meet you.” She gave him a flirtatious finger wave. “Maybe our circles will cross again one d—”

  Gould stole the rest of her words with a quick kiss, which caused her to wail indignantly and punch the mobster in the shoulder.

  With his precious cargo safely ensconced, Gould kept his gaze averted as he walked to the other side of the car.

  Thankfully for Gould, he flung himself in his car and sped off. If he had been slow on the jump, Shane would’ve faced manslaughter charges in the morning. Even worse, Gould had given him no choice but to straighten things out with Celeste at least superficially.

  Shane sucked in a deep, cleansing breath. He needed to hit something hard…real hard.

  But Shane wasn’t going to let him get off that easy. He didn’t do it for him. “You better watch what company you keep, Gould?”

  Gould stopped. Key in hand, he rested his arm on the car’s soft top. Despite his earlier charm with Myrna, his mood darkened, becoming all business.

  “Unlike you, Shaney, I got the upper hand. And I aim to keep it that way.”

  Thankfully for Gould, he flung himself in his car and sped off. If he had been slow on the jump, Shane would’ve faced manslaughter charges in the morning. Shane sucked in a deep, cleansing breath. He needed to hit something hard…real hard.

  ***

  Ding, dong

  “Hold your horses, I’m coming!” Trudy bellowed. What an inopportune time for company. It was only a quarter past eight o’clock, the sun was just setting, and she’d been in the kitchen preparing her evening meal before she headed to work.

  Without looking through the peephole, Trudy snatched open the front door. “I said hold your goddam horswhat in blue blazes,” she whispered, taking in the Negro cab driver and her cousin standing on her doorstep. Well, Celeste wasn’t exactly standing. She was propped against the poor cabbie.

  “This belong to you?” The cabbie nodded his head at Celeste, who seemed oddly preoccupied with the wooden buttons on the man’s pea coat.

  “She’s my cousin.”

  Sighing, Trudy leaned into the door frame. She was well acquainted with her cousin’s epic benders. She’d secretly hoped that since the source of her ailment was now six feet under, she would’ve kicked the habit.

  Obviously, old habits die hard.

  “Where do you want her?” the cab driver asked as he barreled into the foyer. Trudy stepped back barely avoiding his work boots.

  Trudy pointed toward the parlor. “Put her on the couch.”

  Following orders, the cabbie hoisted Celeste on his hip and carried her into the next room. Without any by your leave, he dropped her cousin face down on the sofa. Celeste bounced once and then settled into the midnight blue velvet with a muffled sigh.

  Was that drool? Trudy grabbed a doily from one of the end tables and shoved it under her cousin’s cheek. She’d paid too much for that couch for it to be ruined with cheap gin.

  “That’ll be $1.20, ma’am.”

  Trudy’s eyes widened. “Where did you pick her up New Jersey?”

  “The Bohemian.”

  Trudy rolled her eyes. What the heck was Celeste doing two neighborhoods east of here? Any farther and she might as well have been in Manhattan!

  Trudy leaned down and pried a beaded clutch from her cousin’s gloved fingers. Despite her condition, her cousin still held onto her purse.

  “Here’s two dollars for your trouble,” Trudy said, handing over the fare.

  “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” The cab driver turned to leave with Trudy in his wake. As he stepped onto the stoop, he stopped. “I know it isn’t my place, but your cousin’s too pretty a gal to be acting like she belongs in some gutter.”

  She should have taken the man to task for his forwardness, but it was difficult arguing with someone when you agreed with them. Instead, she closed the door and locked it.

  Determined to fix her meal before heading uptown, Trudy headed to the kitchen. She made it about as far as the entrance of the parlor.

  “What in the world are you doing on your hands and knees?” Trudy asked from the doorway. She just about had enough of her cousin’s high jinks.

  “Tryin’ to get up,” she said, with ‘up’ sounding more like ‘hiccup’, “but I slipt and fell. Come over here an’ help me.” Celeste flapped her hand, but Trudy refused to budge.

  “Pretty pleazzz,” her cousin implored.

  A self-proclaimed softy, Trudy walked into the room and helped her cousin from the floor. The way was slow going, but they eventually made it to the stairs, which led to the tiny, row house’s two upstairs bedrooms.

  “Where you goin’? I need to go datta way,” Celeste said, turning them both toward the front door.

  “And where do you think you’re going?”

  Celeste lifted her hand and slid her thumb nail between her teeth, reminding Trudy of a precocious little girl. “I’s got a date wit Sugah Shane.”

  Trudy turned toward the stairs. “You did.”

  Celeste added just enough momentum to keep them turning so they ended up facing the front door again. “I do,” she affirmed.

  “Lord help me, I think I’m going to kill her,” Trudy muttered to the ceiling.

  Celeste wrapped her arms around Trudy’s waist. To sweeten the pot, she rested her head on Trudy’s shoulder. “You won’ have to kill me if you walk me to the door,” she implored.

  Since she wasn’t getting anywhere, Celeste could be stubborn as a mule, Trudy decided on a more rational route. “What time’s your date?”

  “Fourish.”

  “And what time is it now?” Trudy pivoted until they faced the grandfather clock at the bottom of the stairs.

  Celeste leaned forward with a squint. “Says eight something or other.” She pursed her lips and leaned forward further still. “Is that on the level?” she asked.

  “On the dot.”

  It didn’t take long for it to sink in. Nodding her head, as if accepting her current situation, Celeste pulled away, disentangling herself. To be on the safe side, Trudy moved between her and the front door. Thankfully, Celeste shuffled toward the stairs instead. She didn’t get very far. She only climbed two steps when she started crying. Shoulders slumped,
she plopped down on the stairs.

  Trudy almost felt sorry for her. Not because she’d missed her date. There would be plenty more. Celeste attracted men like flies to shit. Not to say Celeste was a waste. She was a peach…but she had demons born from the bad hand she’d been dealt the day she was born.

  Unlike other people who turned to religion for strength or solace or kept their misery bottled up, Celeste turned to the bottle. But no matter how high the proof, she simply couldn’t turn any of her cards into a winning hand.

  Sure she’d been close a half a dozen times, but never a streak. In turn, Celeste had become reliant on a temporary fix that prevented her from ever having any kind of real happiness.

  Still, in spite of her apparent foibles and due in large part to an emotionally distant father, Celeste had never been a sloppy drunk nor overly demonstrative. Concerned by the sudden outburst, Trudy reached out to steady her as Celeste slowly sank to the stairs.

  “Come on now don’t have a melt down on me now,” Trudy shushed her, while fishing in her cousin’s hand for a handkerchief.

  “Sorry,” Celeste mumbled. She accepted the hanky, Trudy held out for her, but didn’t use it. Instead, Celeste crumpled the fine linen in her hands and allowed the tears to flow unchecked.

  “Bad day,” Trudy ventured.

  Celeste nodded. Trudy waited for her to expound. She had all the time in the world now, since eating before tonight’s gig flew out the window the minute the cabbie carted Celeste through the front door.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the Reverend…how he…how he,” Celeste clamped her mouth shut and a faraway look entered her eyes

  Before she fell over the edge again, Trudy reeled her back in, “What about the Reverend?” she prodded.

  To her relief, Celeste seemed to snap out of it. Sniffling, she reached inside her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. She unfolded it, and then handed it over. Celeste’s finger shook as she pointed to a line labeled ‘manner of incident’. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Where did you get this?”

  Celeste pushed herself from her seat on the stairs. Fists clenched, she paced or rather weaved back and forth. “Stop trying to sidestep the question, Trudy! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Trudy’s mouth felt like someone suddenly stuffed it with cotton balls.

  “I–I didn’t want to cause you any more grief. Despite how you both parted ways, it was a shock even to me. Suicide just isn’t natural.”

  Done rambling, Trudy anxiously licked her lips. Hopefully, her cousin would be able to piece it all together then, come to realize she’d withheld the facts surrounding her father’s death only to protect her.

  Celeste grabbed hold of the stair post and rested her cheek against the pineapple-shaped newel. “You know he didn’t do it, right?”

  Knocked off kilter by the question and stymied by her own opinion, Trudy struggled with a response.

  “He didn’t do it, Trudy,” Celeste asserted in the face of Trudy’s silence. “My daddy might have been a lot of things, but he wasn’t like us.”

  The hairs on the back of Trudy’s neck snapped to attention. “Like us?”

  “Sinners.”

  Trudy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Celeste had actually bought into her old man’s shit hook, line and sinker. Not in the mood for her cousin’s sudden brand of crazy, Trudy stood up, pulling her cousin with her.

  “Where are we going?” Celeste asked, yet allowing Trudy to guide them up the stairs.

  “I’m putting you to bed. You’re better than this. I’m better than this.”

  Before they could reach the top of the stairs, Celeste started to hum.

  Recognizing the chorus to Bye Bye Blackbird, Trudy joined in. They used to sing the jazz standard whenever things went southward, which was more often than not.

  “Pack up all my care and woe…here I go, singing low…” Celeste wrapped her arms around Trudy’s waist with a drawn out sigh, “…I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

  “Almost, but I stopped you.” At the top of the landing, Trudy turned down a short hallway. “Nothing but blue skies from here on out, blackbird.”

  “Here on out!” Celeste crowed, while Trudy hustled her over to the bed.

  “No more spoiling what’s rightfully yours?”

  “Rightfully mine,” Celeste affirmed, falling back into the mattress.

  Trudy yanked off her cousin’s shoes and placed them on the floor. Her cloche, fur-lined over coat and her dress followed, leaving her cousin in nothing but silk stockings and a slip.

  “Know why?” Trudy tugged the chenille spread from under Celeste’s hips and then draped it over her. Enveloped in the all-white covering, her cousin looked more like a little girl than a grown woman of twenty-six years.

  “Cause’ I’m naked, drunk and stupid.” Giggling, Celeste kicked her leg, disturbing Trudy’s handiwork.

  Trudy tried to smooth the covers, but Celeste kept moving around. “You’ve got someone who loves you and has your back despite what you may think.”

  Her words must have hit a chord because Celeste stopped wiggling and her expression turned somber. “Do you think I’ll find someone who’ll put up with me, understand and love me like you do?”

  “Maybe you’ve already found him. Sugar Shane couldn’t keep his eyes off you the other night.”

  Celeste closed her eyes and then opened them again, as if fighting sleep, “Sugar’s sweet, so is he,” she whispered, barely containing a yawn. “I’m going to turn over a new leaf.”

  “Sure you are, sugar,” Trudy entertained. She’d heard this speech before.

  Yawning, Celeste curled her arms around the bed pillow and her eyelids slipped to half-mast. “I’m on the level, Tru. First thing in the morning, I’m paying a visit to my old manager Freddy. Then, I’m going to see about moving back into the brownstone on Willoughby. Finally, I’m going to tuck my tail tween’ my legs and apologize to Shane.”

  Flabbergasted by the news, Trudy’s mouth fell open. “You’re pulling my leg!”

  “Nope,” Celeste half yawned, “I was wrong for hanging him out to dry.”

  If she didn’t love her cousin, Trudy would’ve strangled her. “I’m not talking about him, clown! I’m talking about your moving back into the brownstone.”

  A dreamy smile lit Celeste’s face. “The Reverend willed it to me, along with the store and a walkup.”

  “The whole kit and caboodle, well I’ll be damned.”

  Celeste finally gave up the fight and closed her eyes. “Knocked me for a loop too,” she rasped sleepily, “but its home, I’m home…”

  Trudy made sure her cousin was out for the count before she reached over and switched off the table lamp. “Good night, black bird.”

  CHAPTER Ten

  By midweek, Celeste squared things with her old manager Freddy Colon. She even started the transition back home by rehiring her father’s housekeeper and ordering all new furniture for her old bedroom. Since she’d left home at the age of fifteen, her old twin bed, writing desk and armoire had been acceptable for an adolescent, but not a grown woman expecting to entertain company.

  Now the only thing she had left to do was apologize to Shane.

  Like so many times in the past, Celeste would’ve scrapped the unsavory business on her ‘live and learn’ pile and simply walked away.

  But in this situation, she was finding it hard putting the prize fighter behind her. Ever since meeting him, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. And that flummoxed her, considering she generally went through men like seamless stockings.

  Of course, she could’ve followed proper etiquette and forwarded a written apology. But a delivered message seemed too cold and insincere. And in all honesty, Celeste simply wanted to see him again.

  She needed verification if her attraction still had merit. If her desire for Shane was still as embarrassingly wanton in the bright of day, while clean and sober as it had been while she was ripe on g
in and in a dimly lit funeral home or smoky nightclub. Lord knows, while in the throes of a sauce binge she’d found herself infatuated with practically anything with two legs.

  But now as she stood eyeing the Navy Yards Boxing Club, Celeste wished she’d ignored her unreliable libido. Every time she made up her mind to cross the busy intersection, she suddenly came down with a case of cold feet.

  Confidence waning, Celeste made an about face to check her appearance in a store front window. She didn’t see anything wrong with her reflection, and yet she was beginning to second guess her outfit.

  Smart, but understated, her outfit didn’t come off as if she’d spent all morning agonizing over it, which she did. Still, it was quite modern even for New York City. Seeing a magazine layout of starlit Katherine Hepburn, she’d run out and bought a pair of navy wide-leg trousers. She wore them now with a matching beret, a red and navy candy-stripped sweater and a pair of kid gloves.

  Celeste bit her bottom lip. Why did she choose today of all days to look like the sailor off a box of Cracker Jacks? Even worse, would he be turned off by her forwardness? What if he were no longer interested? Maybe in the bright of day, he’d find her lacking. And why on earth was she chasing a man?

  Bombarded with doubt, her gaze drifted to the package store on the corner. Imagining the rows of shiny bottles, she licked her lips.

  She didn’t need a fifth, maybe just a half pint to see her through. She even took a step or two in the liquor store’s direction, but reminded of her promise to Trudy, she stopped.

  “Turn over a new leaf,” Celeste murmured, edging over to the curb. “Jim Beam sounds sweet, but Shane’s the real thing.”

  Somewhat bolstered by her pep talk, Celeste navigated across four lanes of light traffic then climbed the curb. She didn’t stop until she stood in the gym’s lobby. Pretty much a blank canvas, except for a crammed announcement board, the lobby led to a short hallway and beyond that an open gymnasium.

  Celeste walked down the short hallway. With each step, the smell of sweat and mold became more overwhelming. If she wasn’t made of stiffer stuff, she would’ve succumbed to a fit of vapors. Gymnasiums were definitely not for the faint hearted or the feminine sex, for that matter.