Jezebel

by Koko Brown

  “I haven’t been here all night,” Celeste said finally finding her tongue. “I’ve spent most of it looking for the two of you.”

  Trudy eyeballed Celeste. “Don’t believe you. Your cheeks look flushed and his lips look good and kissed.”

  “Good and kissed.” Lenny made a loud smacking sound.

  “Are you two ready to go?” Celeste asked, fed up with their antics.

  “I am,” Lenny sighed as he pulled Trudy into him. “They ran out of reefer.

  “And they’ve started to serve the cheap liquor.” Trudy placed her hand over her mouth and proceeded to yawn and hiccup at the same time. “The party’s officially over.”

  Without waiting to see if she followed, both Lenny and Trudy turned about and headed for the top of the stairs. Celeste found her departure forestalled by a band of steel wrapped around her waist.

  Shane pulled her close and as she half expected, his lips grazed her ear. Celeste squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of desire swept through her and puddled between her legs.

  “Saturday at six.” It wasn’t a question, but Celeste nodded anyway.

  Satisfied with her response, he finally released her. “C’mon, I’ll walk you out.”

  In silence they descended the stairs. Shane obtained her coat and even helped her slip into it. Even though he was just being gentlemanly, Celeste felt protected.

  Safe.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Celeste stared at the bedroom ceiling. She should’ve gotten up a half hour ago. She had an eleven o’clock cattle call for The Czar of Dixie, an all-black musical set to open next spring. Her manager tried wrestling an audition out of the show’s producer, but Freddy would’ve had more luck wrangling cats. Her unsavory past continue to haunt her, even on Broadway.

  Of course, she’d smarted over the slight. Open casting calls were for rookies, amateurs and the barely talented. Not for a dancer of her caliber. Not too long ago, she had been courted by the heads of MGM, who wanted to mold her into the female equivalent of Bill “Bojangles” Robinson.

  Then and like now, her self-confidence was threatening to derail her future.

  Unfortunately, her usual remedy wasn’t readily available. Upon moving into her father’s home two days ago, she’d made sure the place remained dry.

  Big Mistake.

  She needed a drink so badly, she could barely see straight and her breathing was becoming labored.

  “These are the times that try men’s souls,” she whispered, hoping Thomas Paine’s words used to rouse the American Revolutionists could work on her as well. “The harder the conflict, the greater the triumph.”

  Celeste rolled over and allowed the words to sink in. Her gaze slid over the now cold coffee sitting on her nightstand, to the white curtains fluttering in the breeze. In the distance, the buzz of morning traffic rose and ebbed in intervals. Somehow the sheer banality of the moment calmed the quelling tide within her.

  With a heavy sigh, Celeste pushed the covers back but she didn’t leave the bed. Instead, she sat on the side of the mattress and stared down at her arms and legs. Her body provided her life’s blood and right now she was completely disconnected from it. Her limbs felt heavy and bulky, weighted down.

  Even worse, her brain had joined her downward decline because she could barely recall the routine she’d chosen. A popular number with audiences, the four minute routine filled with splits, spins and jumps showed off her dancing skills, but also her athleticism.

  Suddenly anxious, Celeste felt her heart begin to pound.

  “You’re finally awake!” Maggie chimed. Celeste watched her father’s housekeeper, now hers, waltz across the room a cup of steaming coffee in her hand.

  Petite and round, Maggie was a pleasant diversion from the dark place Celeste had suddenly plummeted in to. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. I thought you might need a fresh cup of coffee.”

  “N-no,” Celeste stuttered. Like her limbs, her tongue had become a useless mass.

  Oblivious to her predicament, Maggie shoved the cup of coffee under Celeste’s nose. One whiff of the strong brew chipped through the wall of anxiety she was quickly building around herself. Hoping an influx of caffeine would demolish the wall completely, Celeste took a hearty gulp. Even though the elixir burned her throat, she tipped the cup again.

  “While you freshen up and get dressed, I’m going to finish your breakfast. I’m hoping you like my biscuits. The recipe was passed down from my Aunt Jeannie. Your daddy loved them.”

  “I’m sure I will as well,” Celeste murmured between sips.

  “See you in a bit.” Maggie didn’t shut the door behind her, but Celeste was okay with that. She was done with hiding.

  ***

  “Name and talent?”

  Celeste stared into the darkness. She could just make out the silhouettes of two people sitting in the fourth row. Not entirely over her earlier anxiety, she wiped her sweaty palms on her shorts. “Celeste Newsome, sir. I’m a hoof…I’m a dancer.”

  “How’s your voice?”

  “I can carry a tune.” She didn’t have the pipes Ethel Waters and Lena Horne possessed, but she wasn’t a complete wash.

  “Where’s your sheet music?”

  Celeste glanced at the pianist stage right. “I don’t need it. I create my own rhythm.”

  A pregnant pause and a shift in the silhouettes, greeted her reply and then, “When you’re ready.”

  Celeste walked to center stage and placed her hands on her hips. As she plastered on a smile, she mentally counted to eight from five. During the second count of eight, Celeste lifted her instep and tapped her right foot back and forth. Like most hoofers, she liked to start with a steady simmer, build into a rolling boil and then finish with a feverish crescendo that would leave her audience gasping for air.

  She established her rhythm then repeated it with her left foot. Now that both feet were on the same page, she moseyed into a steady shuffle that increased into a rapid-fire drill. The wood floors sang beneath her feet and stoked the fire of adrenaline now pumping through her veins.

  Fueled by the natural high she experienced whenever she danced, Celeste launched into her routine. She blended intricate footwork with dazzling barrel turns and dizzying chainés, which took her from one side of the stage to the other.

  To the untrained eye, she made everything look easy, effortless. But by the time she finished with a gut-wrenching floor split, sweat dotted her forehead and she was laboring for air.

  Still, her smile remained in place as she slowly rose to her feet.

  Celeste walked to stage front while the silhouettes conferred in darkness. Inwardly shaking, she maintained a cool façade. Waiting was the worst part of the audition.

  “Thank you for coming, Miss Newsome.”

  “Thank you for allowing me to audition.”Celeste bit her lip. She sounded like a rookie. Over eager and a straight butt kisser, not a ten year vet.

  “We’ve come to a decision…can you clear your schedule for the next six months?”

  Ecstatic, Celeste grinned. She’d made the show.

  ***

  “Your young man’s here.”

  Celeste glanced at the antique clock on her vanity. It was only five-thirty. He was early!

  “Could you seat him in the parlor and tell him I’ll be right down?”

  “One step ahead of you,” Maggie replied. “I’ve enticed him with a glass of my homemade lemonade, so take your time getting ready. For a man that good looking, you want to make sure you put your best foot forward.”

  After Maggie closed the door behind her, Celeste sighed in relief. In spite of their employer-employee relationship, she’d fretted over what the older woman thought of her entertaining a white man.

  Celeste picked up a paddle brush and ran it over her hair, smoothing the ebony waves. What if she hadn’t approved? Then it was her problem, Celeste mused. Trying to live up to someone else’s ideal was a wasted pursuit and she was beyond ready to live her
life by her own terms.

  Galvanized, Celeste pushed back from the dressing table and stood up. Dressed in only her stockings, chemise and tap pants, she ambled over to the closet and pulled down the floor-length, dove gray crepe dress she’d chosen for this evening.

  Conservative in color, the dress had been cut on the bias causing it to cling to her curves like a glove.

  So as not to detract from its overall purpose, accentuating the woman’s figure, the only other embellishments were the tiny rhinestone buttons on the dress’s dolman sleeves.

  Celeste turned to and fro, searching for flaws. Had she made the right choice? Was this one too formal, too drab? Of course, she could choose something else, since she had plenty of time.

  Tempted, her gaze drifted to her wardrobe. But she quickly nixed the idea of swapping out her outfit because she feared she’d wind up changing clothes all night long. And she didn’t want that with a man like Shane Brennan waiting for her downstairs.

  Setting aside her doubts, Celeste pinned a fascinator embellish adorned with French gray lace and rhinestone rubies to her hair. Positioned slightly off center, the hairpiece added just the right amount of flair and boosted her waning self-confidence.

  Saved from a downward decline, and with no desire to backslide, Celeste snatched up her cape and gloves and made a quick escape.

  As she descended the stairs, Celeste paused in midflight. Shane stood in her foyer, gazing into a hall mirror while fumbling with his tie. Her hand on the stair rail tightened. Even under the glare of the hall light, he was breathtakingly beautiful.

  His strong jawline looked clean from a recent shave and his dark hair was swept back and most likely molded with pomade. Elegantly attired in a black suit and a white dress shirt that contrasted vividly with his olive skin, he looked dashing. It took everything in her power not to lean on the balustrade with a besotted sigh.

  “Do you need any help?” Maggie asked, snagging Shane’s attention and snapping Celeste out of her reverie. While she recovered, Shane pivoted around with a sheepish grin.

  “What do you think?” he solicited, tweaking his tie.

  “You look fine, Mr. Brennan. What do you think, Miss Celeste?”

  Caught red handed, Celeste cheeks bloomed with heat. Oblivious to her plight, Shane turned around. Their gazes met, and a feverish rush swept through her. Celeste doubted she’d ever wanted a man as much as she wanted Shane Brennan.

  “Do I pass the muster?” he asked, stepping forward.

  Still tongue tied, Celeste nodded. Even though she hadn’t uttered a word, he seemed satisfied with the answer because he smiled as he lifted his hand, presenting her with a bouquet of gardenias.

  “They’re beautiful!” she exclaimed, marveling at the flower’s snowy white petals.

  “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman.”

  Suffering from a sudden case of shyness, Celeste ducked her head and inhaled. “And they smell so sweet,” she said, taking them from him. Her fingers brushed his and she noted how his felt strong and warm. How would they feel running over her skin? Probably like heaven, Celeste mused, biting her bottom lip at the erotic image.

  A wanting so deep and intense engulfed her, beckoned her to be bad. Reminded her she hadn’t had a lover in a really long time and that her bedroom was only steps away.

  To make matters worse, if she had any doubts regarding his attraction to her, his expression vanquished all of them in one fell swoop. His eyes devoured her as if he wanted to make her his last meal. And considering the heat rolling in her nether regions, she’d let him.

  “How about I put these in water for you?” Maggie stepped forward and plucked the bouquet from Celeste’s hand. Her intrusion effectively broke through the haze shrouding everything including her lack of common sense. Twice in less than twenty-four hours her new housekeeper had saved her from herself.

  As she walked toward the kitchen, she continued, “You two better get a moving. You’re wasting a beautiful evening lollygagging around here with me.”

  Heeding her housekeeper’s advice, Celeste handed Shane her cape. Before she could turn around, he stepped forward. So close, she could feel his body heat and his cologne tickled her senses. Unsettled by his closeness, her breath skittered between her teeth.

  Unaware of the affect he had on her, Shane wrapped her cape around her. “The show doesn’t start until eight thirty,” he said as he fastened the top and only button. “So I made reservations for dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Celeste asked, recognizing the popular restaurant on Brooklyn’s waterfront.

  Shane frowned. “You haven’t eaten yet have you?”

  “N-no, I just wasn’t expecting…”

  “To be wined and dined,” he finished for her. He gifted her with the most beautiful smile, her knees filled with champagne. “Stick with me,” he said, holding out his arm. Grateful for the support, Celeste accepted it. “And I’ll turn your world inside out.”

  “Before you do, bring her back in one piece,” Maggie warned with a smile. She swept past them with a porcelain vase filled with gardenias and opened the front door. “Or I’ll call the police.”

  “I’m slightly punchy, but I not stupid.” Shane looked down at her and winked.

  “We’ll see,” Maggie replied with saccharine sweetness, before shutting the door behind them.

  CHAPTER fifteeN

  An unsettling silence fell between them. Shane traced a finger through the condensation on the window, while she secretly memorized his profile. Of course, she wanted to say something, but she felt like a school girl on her first date. Heck, even her palms were sweating. Hating the silence, she breach it before it drove her crazy.

  “So, how was your day?” Come on you couldn’t come up with anything wittier than that?

  “A complete wash,” he said, turning away from his sketch.

  Celeste gulped. His full regard was disconcerting as if looking beyond the surface. An exterior she’d worked so hard to perfect she feared he’d find something he didn’t like.

  “How’s that?” she managed through a lump of insecurity.

  “Thinking about tonight and being with you.”

  “Stop teasing!” Celeste gushed unable to temper the pleasure his words caused. “I don’t believe you. A good-looking mug like you thinking about little ole’ me,”

  His gaze held hers and Celeste’s heart pounded against her breastbone. “Ollie called me a scatterbrain. Accused me of carousing all night. Bum had me working the bag all day.”

  Even though she’d ruined his day, a swell of pure pleasure washed over her. Smiling, she settled into the taxi cab’s leather seats.

  “Why didn’t you come clean?”

  Shane snorted, but it sounded more like an irritable growl. “And let him think I was mooning over a dame? I’d never live it down.” Without warning, he reached out and palmed the edge of her skirt. He was only touching her garment, but the affect was just as tangible if he were caressing her skin. “Enough about me,” he said, while rubbing his fingers together and causing her pulse to jump. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” she asked, suddenly scattered.

  “How was your day?” he prompted.

  “I landed a gig.”

  His expression brightened and he smiled, melting her heart by the second. “So you plan on sticking around?”

  Celeste shrugged off the feelings bubbling just beneath the surface. “For the time being,” she barely managed to choke out. “And as long as I have work.”

  “You love being on stage?”

  “I live to perform. There’s no better high than the audience’s applause.” And she meant it. No amount of gin could amount to an adoring public. “It’s probably a lot like when you’re in the ring.”

  “If they love, you it’s great. If they don’t, it’s murder.” Shane glanced at his sketch and rubbed his hand through it.

  Sensing something was off, Celeste asked, “Why do you fight?”

&nb
sp; “It pays the bills.” She heard a ragged laugh as he shook his head. Street lights bounced off his averted profile, illuminating his perfect features. Unable to help herself, she openly stared at him. “And it’s better than standing in some soup line.”

  Celeste silently agreed. Any kind of work would be better than no work at all. “Have you always wanted to be a prizefighter?”

  “No,” he said, without supplying anything else.

  “Well…” Celeste prompted.

  Shane shook his head.

  Celeste reached out and punched his arm.

  “Ouch.” He winced in mock pain.

  Celeste punched him again for good measure.

  “Okay…okay…I used to have dreams of sailing to Italy and becoming an artist.”

  Stunned by his confession, Celeste sat forward. “An artist?”

  “Like Da Vinci.” He looked down at his hands as if embarrassed. “I love to paint. My baby sister used to get so mad at me when I would run through the chalk that came with her chalkboard.”

  “So why didn’t you pursue it?”

  “I almost did.” His smile faded. “I told my father I was going to study art full time, but he called me a foolish backwoods hillbilly that would never amount to nothing least of all an artist.”

  Angered by his father’s words, Celeste balled her fists. “The next day I set out on my own. And ever since, I’ve tried proving him wrong.”

  Shane’s gaze met hers and she sensed a kindred spirit. Filled with empathy, she reached for him.

  “Hotel Theresa!” the cab driver called out.

  Celeste froze. She still didn’t move when the hotel’s doorman, a colored man wearing a wine colored suit with gold epaulets, opened her door.

  “How are you tonight, Miss?” If he was surprised to see her, he hid it behind a toothy grin.

  “Fine, thank you,” Celeste murmured as she allowed him–albeit reluctantly–to help her out of the hired cab.

  “It’s a beautiful night for a night on the town,” he ambled on. “I hope you...”

  Celeste watched the doorman’s expression turn cold. His eyes fixed on Shane and then her and then back again.