As the Liquor Flows

by Angela Christina Archer

  An elegant staircase circled around from behind the curtain down onto the stage floor with garlands of white roses, lilies, carnations, and baby’s breath wrapped around the banisters. Their petals glowed in several shades from the spotlights.

  A balcony suspended above the stage on one side. The red velvet privacy curtains were drawn and looked almost black in the dim light of the room.

  Whether used for only private parties or special occasions, I didn’t know, and a part of me hoped I would never find out.

  Tiny round tables with black table cloths and chairs with lush cushions sprinkled the floor of the room around the stage, while the flames of the candlelit centerpieces flickered and sparkled off any hint of gold or silver the light could find.

  On another stage, a scantily clad woman lay upon a box built to look like an over-sized top hat. Her feathered boa barely covered her breasts as she sang her canary tune, rolled around, and occasionally lifted one leg high into the air.

  Her flexibility noticed by the few men who inhabited a few tables as they sipped on glasses of different colored liquid. Puffs of cigarette smoke billowed around them.

  As I glanced around the room, the deep richness drew in a lustful seduction that toyed, lingered, and stirred with the desperation flowing in my veins. Whispers of elegance, and yet, with hints of a sinful indulgence that licked at my insecurities and mocked me.

  Lit with even more candled centerpieces, a luxurious red pine wooden bar hugged the back of the room. The delicate lights reflected in the mirrors hung on the wall behind it and glimmered against the hue of the stained lumber.

  A woman dressed in a sequined, low-cut gown lounged on one of the barstools. Her short raven curls shined in the low candlelight, and she leaned against the back of the chair as she surveyed the room and puffed on her cigarette holder.

  A nervous energy breathed through every inch of my skin as I cleared my throat and approached her. Now or never, my conviction and my doubt collided. My confidence vanished and my fear consumed.

  “Excuse me. Are you Margaret?”

  The woman glanced at me without moving her head and blew out a long breath of smoke. With a slight smirk on her face, she raised one eyebrow and fetched her glass from the bar top.

  “Perhaps.” Her velvet voice lingered on the letter ‘s’. She took a sip from her glass, set it down, and then licked her lips.

  “I’m interested in . . . the receptionist told me that you might have an available opening for another dancer.”

  Margaret squished her cigarette into the ashtray. Her eyes traced my body from my feet up to my head and then back down to my feet. She clicked her tongue as though pondering my existence.

  “Have you ever worked in a burlesque theater before?”

  “No.”

  “Are you a dancer?”

  “No, but I can learn.”

  She snorted a short breath and my confidence waned.

  Please, this is my last hope, please.

  She rested one of her legs upon the vacant stool next to her. The slit in her dress skirt exposed her leg all the way up to her outer hip and the candlelight reflected off her pale skin.

  My cheeks burned. My eyes darted to the hardwood floor.

  “Oh honey, if you can’t look upon the curvaceous flesh of another woman you won’t last long in my theater.” Once again, she lifted her glass, took a sip, and set it down on the bar top with a thud.

  The faint whisper of whiskey tickled my nose.

  “I don’t have a problem with looking at another woman’s flesh.”

  She swung her leg off the chair in an enticing, graceful movement and rose to her feet. Her hips rocked from side to side as she glided along on her stilettos, just as the receptionist, only more graceful and alluring as though seduction was a toy she played with often. She sashayed close to me, her breasts brushed against my clothes as she circled me.

  “Do you drink?”

  “Drink?”

  “Liquor, hooch, booze.”

  “No.”

  “Do you use cocaine? Heroine?”

  “Certainly, not.”

  She lowered her chin as though I’d judged her for a criminal, sealing my own demise.

  You are blowing your chance. Stop being a naive twit.

  “I mean, no, I don’t. However, I don’t mind if other people do. To each their own and their lives are none of my business.”

  “I suppose you are a looker enough and you’ve got the gams. I’m just not sure you have enough moxie to work in my theater. You seem a bit uptight.”

  The glimpse of doubt in her eyes tightened in my stomach. My one chance to change my situation, and my weak self couldn’t bite her tongue long enough.

  “Do you really believe you can be a playgirl?” she asked.

  With every ounce of courage, I met her unfailing gaze. “Yes.”

  “You’ve certainly got a little spunk in you that flares when you want it to.” She cocked her head to the side and clicked her tongue again. “However, I don’t think you would fit in my club.”

  I opened my mouth to rebuff her argument, but a deep, booming voice from behind silenced me.

  “Ah, Maggie, there you are. I must say you are as lovely as ever.”

  Maggie glanced over my shoulder. Adoration lit her eyes and as she playfully arched her back to draw attention to her bosom, her curls bounced around her face.

  “Mr. Giovanni, darling. I didn’t expect to see you until tonight.”

  As I glanced over my shoulder, an older man, perhaps in his forties, approached us followed by two younger men. His sleek shoulders relaxed in his gray pin-striped suit and as he tipped his fedora, his confidence radiated through his tall, thin frame.

  “Apparently, I made a wise choice to see to some business here this afternoon.” He shrugged off Margaret’s greeting and took my hand in his. His Sicilian accent rolled across his words. “Vincent Giovanni, Miss?”

  “Miss Evelyn Ford.”

  A cunning nature bled through the wisdom of his brown eyes, calculating and clever, like that of a predator who you should not underestimate.

  He brushed his lips against the back of my hand, lingering a little too long for my comfort. I retreated from him and yanked my hand from his grasp.

  Margaret exhaled a heavy sigh.

  Don’t blow this.

  “My apologies, Mr. Giovanni.” I giggled in hope to mask my rudeness. “Such kindness is quite foreign to me.”

  “Ah, no need for apology. It is such a shame to hear that no one has given you just attention.” His eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Are you one of Maggie’s new dolls?”

  “No, she is not.” Margaret folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t believe she is the right fit for my theater.”

  “Nonsense.” Vincent stirred closer toward me. He played with a few of my curls, letting the strands slide through his fingers. “I think she is just the looker you need in this place.”

  Heat burned through my cheeks as they flushed fire hot, and surely, burned a bright shade of red.

  Thank goodness for the dark room.

  Margaret glanced from me to Vincent. Her hands fidgeted with one another and she bit her lip as though his lack of attention troubled her. She stepped forward in between us, holding out her arm for him to take.

  “So what business did you wish to discuss with me, Darling?”

  Vincent’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at her arm then met her gaze.

  “Catalano.” With his beckon, one of the young men stepped out from behind him.

  Braun and rugged, and yet, with a whisper of soft and gentle, the handsome man stared at me. His intense coffee colored eyes burned in mine. He stood at an angle with his shoulders, broad and strong under his light gray suit and with one quick movement, he scooped his own fedora off his head to reveal dark chocolate brown hair.

  “Yes, Vinny,” he answered his boss.

  “Would you and Dom see to our matters with Maggie, while Miss Ford a
nd I share a drink?” Without taking his eyes off me, Vincent held out his arm and smiled. “Shall we?”

  I glanced at Margaret, holding my breath as I studied the fire and fierce disdain glinting in her eyes.

  She motioned for me to take his arm. “I’ll send Betty to the balcony with your drinks in a few minutes.”

  Vincent led me across the room toward another pair of velvety curtains. As we neared them, he stepped behind me and gently pressed on the small of my back with his hand to guide me through the heavy material and up a dimly-lit staircase.

  He followed so close behind me that the heat from his body warmed my own, and my heart thumped as my feet scaled each step. His confidence and the fear of his unknown intentions crawled over my skin.

  Thick drapes blocked the top of the stairs, and before I could hesitate to pass through them, Vincent reached around me and parted the curtains with one arm.

  “After you.” His courteous gesture mirrored his deep voice.

  An elegant table with chairs, two luxurious couches, and a couple of end tables adorned the room, a far cry from the cheaper tables and chairs downstairs.

  Candles in the wall sconces flickered against the burgundy and gold wallpaper. The only source of light other than the spotlights that whispered through a slit through the drawn curtains that looked down upon the stage.

  “Sit wherever you like, Miss Ford.”

  My nerves clawed at me.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  My backside slid into one of the chairs. The luscious velvet cushion gently tugged the soft material of my dress taut against my hips and around my waist.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  “So, have you been here before?” He took a seat across from me, and laid his fedora on the table.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  He withdrew a pack of cigarettes, clenching one in between his teeth as he yanked a book of matches from one of the pockets of his trousers.

  He twisted one lose and with a flick of his wrist, the match struck the sandpaper strip, sparking a tiny orange flame. Puffs of smoke wafted in the air as he inhaled, then leaned back in the chair, propping his ankle over his knee.

  “Well, then, Miss Ford, what brings you here this afternoon?”

  “I came to see if . . . if they needed another girl to dance.”

  “Oh, are you a dancer?”

  I shook my head again. “No.”

  He tapped his cigarette on the side of an ashtray. “So why would a beautiful young lady, who seems utterly uncomfortable being in this building, wish to follow this line of work?”

  My obvious awkwardness had condemned me, showing my weakness on the outside for all to see and mock. How could I have been so foolish? How could I have allowed my own self to snitch on me like a child?

  “I’m not uncomfortable,” I lied.

  He laughed. “Yes, I can see that you aren’t by your trembling hands.”

  “Mr. Giovanni?” a woman’s voice called out from the other side of the curtain. “Pardon the interruption, but I have your drinks.”

  “Come in, come in.”

  The woman entered the balcony, gliding along as she carried a silver tray in her hand. She batted her eyes at him with a seductive smile and winked.

  “And how are you today, Mr. Giovanni?”

  “Excellent as always.” His voice alluded to his amusement in her attention as she placed the drinks in front of us.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  Vincent’s eyes gazed upon me. “Miss Ford?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t need anything.”

  As the woman glanced in my direction, her smile vanished, replaced with a scowl.

  “Well, just let me know if you need anything else.”

  A sparkle twinkled in Vincent’s eyes as she spun on her heel and disappeared through the curtain. He chuckled under his breath. “I don’t believe you are going to be popular around here.”

  “Why?” My defensive tone escalated. “I haven’t done anything wrong, have I? And I’m not trying to steal anyone’s job.”

  He stifled a laugh. My defense was like that of naive, young girl not yet privy to the warrants of a woman.

  “Because any one of them would give you a year’s worth of their wages to be sitting here with me right now.”

  “Oh.”

  “Although I suppose you wouldn’t really know that, since you do not know me.”

  No, I don’t know you.

  He grabbed both of the glasses on the table and handed one of them to me as he winked. “A toast to the new dancing doll sitting at my table. May you draw the men in and keep them returning.”

  Hesitantly, I seized the glass from him. Before I took a sip, however, the hard, robust aroma of scotch, or perhaps whiskey, burned my nose and made me cough.

  I set the tumbler down and shoved it away for me, nearly knocking over the glass.

  “Do you not drink?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Interesting.” He winked.

  “Interesting that I abide by the law?”

  A smirk spread across his lips. “And, yet, you are here.”

  My eyes dropped to the table.

  “You’ll find in this world, Miss Ford, that there are those of us who chose to abide by the laws of this country and those who chose to overlook them. I overlook them.”

  “Well, I abide by them.”

  He inhaled a long drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly.

  “Are you from New York?” he finally asked.

  “Yes. My parents moved here from Ohio before I was born.”

  “And what would they say about their lovely daughter seeking employment in such a clip-joint?”

  “They’re dead.”

  His shoulders straightened uncomfortably. He clenched his jaw, and for the first time, his gaze severed from mine—a touchy subject that resonated through his shoulders. “That’s a shame. Do you have any other family here?”

  “I have an older brother.”

  “And would he accept your choice to work here?”

  The chair creaked as I shifted my weight and my eyes danced around the room. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “So what does your brother do for a living?”

  “He’s in between work right now.”

  “Ah, yes, well I’d say that most of this country is in that exact situation.”

  Vincent leaned forward and extinguished his cigarette in an ashtray. He chugged the shot of amber liquor in his glass, and set the tumbler down with a rather hard thump on the tablecloth. His eyes, once again, fixed upon me with intention that made my skin prickle.

  “Which is why you are seeking employment here.”

  His statement twisted in my stomach.

  Admitting to oneself of your own situation is one thing, but admitting such to another, especially a stranger, is another. Even if my situation mirrored everyone else’s with starvation and a hovel in Shanty Town, the thought of telling this man about my bare cabinets left a bad taste in my mouth.

  I needed to get out of here. Now.

  “It doesn’t matter now. Just before you arrived, Margaret told me I wasn’t fit for her theater.” I rose to my feet. “I should go. Thank you for, well, thank you for your time. Goodbye, Mr. Giovanni, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

  “Miss Ford,” he called after me.

  I ignored him and darted through the dark curtains then down the stairs.

  My nerves frayed, thin as ice on a lake in a warm winter when the temperatures aren’t cold enough to freeze all the way through. Just like the ice, at any moment they could crack, leaving me so broken, I didn’t know if I could handle it.

  As I stumbled down the last stair, my body collided with another and I tumbled to the ground.

  A pair of hands wrapped around my arms as the body helped me stand. I glanced up and once again met the coffee colored eyes of the handsome Mr. Catalano.

  “Excuse me,” I whispere
d. “My apologies.”

  “Are you hurt?” His deep voice whispered against my soul with a seduction that weakened my knees.

  “No, I’m all right. Thank you.”

  I brushed the skirt of my dress and darted toward Margaret, my pace at a near trot.

  After pouring herself another drink, she draped one arm over a bar stool and shook her head as I approached.

  “You certainly have a knack for being graceful, don’t you?” she mocked.

  “Thank you for your time. I’m sorry I wasted it.”

  As I spun on my heel to leave, once again, my body slammed into another again, knocking me to the ground once more.

  Can this day get any worse?

  Instead of Mr. Catalano, Vincent clutched my shoulders as he helped me to my feet.

  “In quite a hurry, aren’t you?”

  “My apologies, Mr. Giovanni.”

  I retreated from him and glanced from him to Margaret who scowled, her face distorted with her pouted lips.

  Tears misted my eyes.

  Don’t cry. You can’t cry. Don’t cry.

  “I’ll see myself out. Thank you again.”

  Before I could take more than a few steps, Mr. Catalano stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

  “Excuse me.”

  He blocked me again and motioned for me to turn around.

  No, please, no.

  “Can’t you just let me leave?” My voice cracked as I begged.

  He said nothing and motioned for me to turn around for a second time.

  As I faced Vincent, he gave Margaret a sideways glace. “I’ll return after dinner this evening, and I expect her in my balcony tonight.”

  THREE

  “FOLLOW ME.” MARGARET grabbed my wrist, tugging on my arm with a few hard jerks as she led me through a hidden door behind the bar.

  My shoes scuffed on the uneven plank-style floor as we strode down a long hallway with exposed wall studs. Constructed without insulation, this half of the building had a slight draft that chilled my skin.

  Margaret opened another door and yanked me into a brightly lit room. Countless racks of silk and chiffon dresses in all different shades of color lined the floor and the bright yellow walls. The whole room nearly glowed more from the sparkles of the sequins and diamonds than from the sconces.