Golden Throat

by James P. Alsphert

  She smiled a beautiful Adora Moreno smile, somewhere between a sex goddess and Mona Lisa. “I am not born like you, Cable. I am born to love soló un hombre, one man, one kiss—you, el hombre y su beso! Es bastante por la vida. I wish no thing more, querido.”

  “That’s great, Adora, but life doesn’t always get measured out in happy, simple little doses. Sometimes they’re big, massive chunks of stuff you gotta get down and digest—make it work because of a thousand things you don’t even see coming.”

  “I cannot be confused for you, Cable. I only love you—and love you only—and always. What you decide for you…I cannot answer…I can only pray to La Macarena de Esperanza that she give me you in this life. Entonces, es completo. Nada mas.”

  In that minute I realized what a mess I had made of things. I didn’t even have the guts to say good-bye to a nice, simple Mexican dame who happened to love me. But I had to save face, so I thought. “I’m not saying any of us can control our destinies all the time—or even some of the time—but I’m going to have to try, Adora. I owe it to Honey, I owe it me—and I even owe it to you—what if some young, handsome Mexican guy comes along and sweeps you off your feet. In a few months you'll forget me, huh?"

  "Recuerda, señor, I’ve already had ‘Mexican’, y no me gusto—I did not like it.”

  We walked home in the cool of a Los Angeles evening. When we got to Adora’s front door, we stopped. She put her arms around me and brought my face onto her lips. She kissed and caressed me until I thought I’d go crazy from wanting her. “God, I love your passion, Adora. But I can’t—I’ve gotta go. Please…try to understand…I beg you, por favor—make us both strong!”

  “Do you love me, Cable?” she asked, looking up into my eyes.

  I didn’t hesitate as the words spilled out of me. “I love you, yes, love you, Adora, and I adore you, yes, I adore you, Adora—I will never stop wanting you—will you know that—will you think of that when I can’t be with you? No one will ever desire you more.” I took her into my arms and clutched her to me. Then I turned and walked away.

  Chapter 12

  RADIO DAYS

  The streetcar ride out to the Bella Notte was refreshing as I stuck my head out of the car window into the night breezes coming in from the sea. I couldn’t get over how wonderful I felt after being with Adora. Even though everything I’d planned went afoul, still I was smiling on the inside and outside that someone could love me that much in this world.

  Honey’s bandleader, Johnny Pillar, had picked up a new trumpet player and when I entered, I could feel the energy heat up between Honey and this guy named Chet James. They had launched into a neat version of Berlin’s Blue Skies, and by the time it got jumpin’, Honey and James were at the top of their forms. The audience loved them and showed as much with tremendous applause and yells and shouts before people went back to smoking, drinking and talking at each other. In those days you could see the constant flash of silver flasks in the subdued light, out of which poured the pure alcoholic spirits that the house dare not legally serve. Since the Bella Notte was owned and operated by Dragna’s gang, it seemed rather silly that one could go back to a little room by the kitchen, get your flask filled with rot gut alcohol, return to the main clubroom and distribute it into your glass—or the glass of the pretty señorita you were trying to get drunk in the hopes you’d get a benefit performance when you got her home.

  I sat up front in our usual saved table. Honey came over to me with Chet James in tow. “Chet, this is another boyfriend of mine—Cable, this is someone I think I’m falling in love with—Chet James, trumpet player extraordinaire.”

  I got up and shook the nice young man’s hand. “I was afraid of this. You see, Honey doesn’t fall in love with her sidemen very often—but if you’re it—then I guess I’ll have to move over. But it’s swell meeting you and you play a great horn—Cable Denning’s the name.”

  “Good to meet you, Cable. I hear you’re a cop. Buzz is you’re also quite a music lover…not to mention an admirer of good lookin’ babes and, I guess, particularly if they sing.”

  “Well, you hit that one straight on, Chet. I’ll look forward to hearing more of you—and seeing how your relationship with Honey Combes, Lana Loren here, develops.”

  He saluted me and left. “Cable…don’t embarrass me…after all, I’m supposed to be an engaged woman only pretending to flirt with handsome young trumpet players.”

  “Ya coulda fooled me, lady.” I took a swig from my drink and lit up. “So what’s new?”

  “Well, Charlie Chaplin informed me, as if we didn’t know, that Virginia Cherrill is going to play the flower girl for City Lights. Hmmm…let me see…but he’s having trouble getting the money he wants and the final ideas are undeveloped yet. It might take him another year to get it ready to roll.”

  “Lucky you didn’t get it, then, huh? Just think, that’ll give him all the more time to screw his leading lady so they’ll know each other a bit better when it’s show time.”

  “Say what you want, Cable. I still think that anything Chaplin does from here on out is going to be famous and classic. He’s just that great of a genius.” She took a drink and looked me over. “So what about your day?”

  “Hmmmm….well, nothing too exciting…went to work, got to our locker, Mario Angelo got arrested, is now rotting in the police corruption jailhouse. Oh, and I had to say good-bye to a beautiful Mexican girl who was in love with me—”

  “—Cable! Mario? Wha—what? What did he do?”

  “Awww, nothing much, just sent a letter with inflammatory evidence to the State District Attorney’s Office in Sacramento. Seems he incriminated old Joe O’Malley, our beloved and crooked captain. Now he’s on their shit list, and frankly, as I told Elena, I don’t know how he’s gonna get out if it without just plain quitting the force. But do you know what was even stranger? When I went upstairs to find Mario, here I walk in on Joe Lorena having a comfortable chat with big, fat, slovenly Captain O’Malley.”

  “You mean my Dad Joe Lorena?”

  “None other.”

  “Gees, Cable. You’re right. They’re all connected. How can you work for all those slime-balls?”

  “I can’t—forever…”

  “And what’s this about saying good-bye to some Mexican babe you’ve had on the line for however long until I wanted to make an honest man out of you? And that’s after I had to shoo away your Chinese Tantric sex-virgin.”

  “She’s the nicest young woman you’d ever meet, Honey. I can’t quite explain it, but it wasn’t just a sex thing. I know this sounds corny, but I loved her spirit—a certain gentleness, or a grace, if you will.”

  Honey’s eyebrows lifted. “Sounds to me you were falling in love with her. I guess I saved you just in time.” She laughed. Honey had a way of never quite taking seriously the stories I’d tell her about other women. I don’t think she believed most of them were true. “Speaking of which—all this talk of being a hybrid alien—it makes me worry that I won’t be able to have children. I never thought I’d say it, but that’d just kill me, my lover man. Maybe they can come up with some other way?”

  “Ehhh….we’ll adopt an alien who looks just like you!” I quipped.

  She laughed. “What’ll I do if someday you’re not around, Cable?”

  Just then the bandleader summoned everyone back. Honey hugged me and left. The song she sang was most appropriate, considering her last statement. What’ll I Do? Singer Grace Moore had introduced the song with John Steel in 1923, in the New Music Box Revue, when I first joined the force and I was dating Amanda Baxter. I was really hooked on that babe until I found out she and her Dad had a late-night thing going on now and then. I knew incest was much more prolific than one would like to think—certainly in Los Angeles—but when it’s someone you care about…it, well, kinda hits home personally.

  Honey sang the song with a poignancy I hadn’t heard in her voice before. I wasn’t sure whether that e
motion was aimed directly at me, or the emotion pouring from the open wound she had just experienced when thinking that possibly she would never have her own children. Women are funny that way. And as if my soul didn’t have enough punishment, after the applause, my lady launched into a dynamite delivery of Someone to Watch Over Me. Honey had sung it while we danced the first night I met her. It was the kind of song where the girl’s vulnerability was something you were designed to mend, to make her feel loved and taken care of in this dangerous and nutso world of ours. And my girl sang it with class and feeling. “Won’t you tell him to put on some speed, follow my lead, oh, how I need…someone to watch over me…” That part bothered me. Why was I dragging my feet? Why was I thinking about Adora half of the time and feeling inside that Honey would just one day suddenly fit into a routine life of boring everydayism with me? And that scared me. Suddenly I felt trapped and desperately fought in my mind to come up for air!

  When we got home to Honey’s place, Zelda was in the kitchen having a hot cocoa and invited us. The three of us sat at the little nook. I could see Zelda was trying to improve her female image. She had lost a little weight, was wearing some make-up and did her hair with a nice flapper flair.

  “So…if it’s still okay with Honey, will you take me out to that dinner and dancing you promised a long time ago?”

  “It wasn’t that long ago, Zelda—I’ve been a busy and troubled man—plus I’m getting married in less than twelve months.”

  Zelda looked at Honey and smiled. “Do you still want him—I mean, like forever after and all?”

  Honey looked at me. “Yep, I’m afraid so, Zelda. You see, I have this weakness. It has to do with men who are honest, hot in bed and when they tell you the truth, they say it in such a way that you don’t believe all of it. But you go along, because you know in the end, he’ll be true to you.”

  “Boy, that’s the kind of man I want.” Zelda looked back over at me. “So? Are we on?”

  “Sure, kid, why not? I’ve never been a romance coach before. Honey can come along for tips on the sidelines.” I looked at Zelda. “When would you like to go?”

  “When’s your next night off?” Zelda said with great enthusiasm.

  “In a couple of days. Both Honey and I have the same days off.”

  “I don’t want to ruin your time together, you two—”

  “—Oh, go ahead, Zelda. This rascal here may never volunteer again. Oh…besides I haven’t told you yet,” Honey said, looking at me. “I’m having that dinner with my Dad Tuesday night.”

  I winced a bit. After what I’d seen down at the station earlier in the day, I had lost a lot of respect for Joe Lorena. How could he be talking out of both sides of his mouth like most of the rats that lived in the sewers he hung out in? I looked at Zelda. “Well, young lady, it looks like you and I are on our own. So…how about Tuesday night?”

  “Great! Swell! Thanks, Cable. You’ll never regret it. I’m a good student. Can we go somewhere like The Cocoanut Grove at the Ambassador on Wilshire Boulevard? I hear the music there is outstanding. And they already broadcast a radio show directly from the nightclub, just like they’re going to do at the Bella Notte.”

  “Ok, kid…I think they have some kinda special nights on Tuesdays, so we can go have a look-see.” I looked at Honey. “So when’s your great radio moment coming?”

  “Next week is the maiden voyage, lover man. Hang on to your hats, it might be a bumpy night.”

  Cutting Up the Rug at the Grove

  Zelda Blodgett was one of those rare dames who could transform from bookworm into butterfly in three easy lessons. When I came to pick her up that Tuesday night I couldn’t believe my eyes. There at the door stood this lovely dark-haired beauty in light-peach, red heels and a hair-do that started at her crown and swept slowly around in a swirl down to the nape of her neck. Just as exciting were two very large grapefruits slightly bulging out of that fairly low-cut peach gown. “Wow!” was about all I could say as Zelda greeted me.

  “You like? Now, if this doesn’t attract a man, what will?”

  “I don’t know. I think you’ve got all the flypaper in the world working for you tonight, kid,” I said, hugging her as we walked toward the streetcar stop. She got a lot of looks on the whole trip over to the Cocoanut Grove. We got there early so we could get a good table. Walking through the lobby, it was like being transported to a tropical island…but then walking into the main room, there were leaning palms everywhere, placed between a massive collection of round and square tables covered in white table cloths…seating two to six people. There were dignified looking gentlemen standing around waiting to be of service, and one of them showed us to a nice table on a second level. All the tables around the very highly polished dance floor were already reserved. The band, led by a Ray West, launched into a nice Latin number, and so I escorted Zelda to the dance floor. And when I started teaching her some of my very basic Latin moves that I’d learned over the years, Zelda caught on like a trooper and before long we danced like it was old hat to her. We ate and laughed and I could tell she was having a great time.

  “I’ve never had such a wonderful time in my life, Cable. Not even close. Thank you.” Zelda looked at me in the candlelight provided at the center of our table and I knew she was beginning to feel things for me she shouldn’t be feeling. “Of course, you realize at this point, it’s proper for the damsel to fall in love with her charming escort, who also happens to be a policeman—who also happens to be the fiancée of my roommate.”

  “Yeah, let’s not forget that last part.” I took a drink of soda water and it tasted so bad I had to have a little booze in it. I reached into my pocket for my flask of gin. I started to pour it into my glass. “Want some?”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s about 70% rot-gut gin. But it sure beats this bubbly shit.”

  “Sure, why not?” I poured a decent amount into Zelda’s glass and she drank it all down in one gulp. “Wowee!” she exclaimed as her eyes crossed. Now some people can hold their alcohol real well, while others, well, they seem to have little tolerance and they become inebriated at the snap of the old flask cap. I learned after three drinks too late Zelda was one of the latter.

  Suddenly she was very friendly. “Now, Cable, not only can I thank you from across the table, but I can be a little titsy-witsy fly sitting next to you, licking you with all my tongues.”

  “Well, thanks all the same, Zelda. But thanks from across the table’s just fine.”

  “It is, eh? Well, maybe for you, but not for the fair lady who’s dressed to the nines for you tonight. Did you notice a lot of guys were—were—hic! eyeing me all night?”

  “Yep, sure did. And rightfully so, you’re a dish out of those glasses and your old clothes—”

  “—would you like to see if I’m still pretty with no clothes on? I’ll bet you would. Men love naked women, don’t they?”

  I felt a bit uncomfortable. “Let’s have one more dance and catch the streetcar home. I think I taught you all the good nightclub manners you’re gonna need for a lifetime, kid.”

  “Now tell me, though, you’d love to see me naked, wouldn’t you? And then you’d like to seduce me. But I couldn’t let you. Because there’d be blood all over the bed.” She burped and swayed a little in her booth seat. “I never told anyone, Cable—but I’m a virgin. You are the closest a man has—has—hic!—ever come to loving me. I would give myself to you if you promised you’d never tell anyone—I mean, not even Honey. She’d get pissed, I think…”

  I got up as a slow song started playing. “C’mon, kid. One more slow dance to get you to breathe and it’s home with you.”

  She gave me her hand and we made it okay to the dance floor. Then she snuggled her lovely and pungent hair into the nape of my neck, turning every few seconds to kiss my neck, which didn’t make me feel any more the comfortable. “This…this is…dreamy, Cable…you holding me…in your arms…I could stay like th
is for—for—hic!—ever. Don’t you just love the sexy Latin music? I swear, I’m…I’m going to buy a whole bunch of—of—Latin American records…will you dance with me at home in—in my room?”

  “I’d like to, Zelda. I just don’t think it’d be appropriate with Honey there and all.”

  “Honey doesn’t have to be there.”

  “Oh, yeah she does. I don’t want to cheat on her, Zelda. You wouldn’t want that, either, now would you?”

  The music ended. “No…I suppose not…” I took her hand and we went to the coatroom and got our belongings. We walked out of the club into the fresh night air. By the time we got home it was about 1:00a.m. Wednesday and I had to get up early for work. I didn’t want to wake Honey, so I stopped at the door to the cottage to say good-night to Zelda. “Cable…Cable…Cable…I had the best time ever! Are you sure you won’t come in and dance some more with me? I promise I won’t take my…my clothes off.”

  “Some other time, Zelda,” I said, a bit perturbed. “You have a good rest—and you were great out there on the dance floor.”

  She waved a forlorn little hand at me. “Good night, good Cable…”

  I turned to go when I saw Honey and Joe Lorena turning in toward the stairs. I went to greet them. “Well!” Honey exclaimed, a little drunk herself. “Are you coming from my roommate’s evening out—or from her bed?”

  “Well,” I laughed. “Take your choice. It could’ve gone either way. Zelda’s a hot number when she’s got a couple of jiggers of gin in her.”

  “I could’ve told you that, Mr. Denning. You didn’t screw her, did you?”

  I started to walk away. I’d had enough of drunks for one night. “Good-night, Honey, Joe—”