by Michelle Cox
“That type usually do, I’m afraid. Best be careful there,” he said as he took her arm and gently guided her toward the cab, depositing her and shutting the door before walking around to pay the driver. “Twenty-nine ten West Armitage,” he told him.
Henrietta, confused as to why he wasn’t getting in, too, rolled down the window. “But I . . . wait a minute . . . aren’t you coming?” she asked.
“No . . . I’ve got a few things to take care of,” he said, bending down closer to the open window, his outstretched arms braced against it.
“But . . . but you haven’t told me what I’m supposed to do next. At the Marlowe, I mean.”
“Just do what you have been doing. Keep a lookout and listen. Don’t do anything foolish. This is bigger than I first imagined. And very dangerous.”
“And how do I know you’re not dangerous?” she teased, feeling slightly woozy. It had somehow come out before she could stop it.
The inspector just stared at her, incredulous. “I’m a detective inspector of the Chicago Police!”
“How do I know? I’ve never seen a badge or anything.”
He stared at her as if trying to determine whether she was serious or not. He seemed to be fighting back the urge to smile, though he kept his eyes cool. Deftly he reached inside his jacket with one hand, his other still braced against the car, and pulled out his badge, holding it up in front of her before slowly lowering it. “Satisfied?”
“For now,” she smiled.
He was staring at her lips, now, and she felt a terrible yearning inside of her for him to kiss her. She knew it was wrong in so many ways, but she couldn’t help it. Her breath was labored, her chest heaving involuntarily as he began to lean in closer to her.
“Listen, bub!” the cab driver called from the front seat. “I don’t got all night, ya know.”
Abruptly, the inspector turned his head, then, swallowing hard and scowling at the back of the driver’s head. Reluctantly he stood up. “The time for games is over, Miss Von Harmon. You must be very careful. Don’t do anything foolish,” he said seriously.
“Nothing I can’t handle, you know, Inspector,” she said, disappointed.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, lifting his hat to her. “Remember what I said.”
The cab pulled out into the street then, heading west. Henrietta leaned forward and said to the driver, “Just drop me off a couple of blocks before the address he gave you.”
“Whatever you say, lady.”
“Thanks.” Henrietta leaned back against the greasy seat, then, and wondered what he had meant by the time for games is over. She felt guilty that she had tried to tempt him, even if it hadn’t been premeditated. She had only been half conscious of it as it was playing out; it had happened so naturally. At least he was faithful, she owned, as she tried to push thoughts of him hurrying home to Katie out of her mind. It was painfully clear now to Henrietta that he wasn’t interested in her in that way and she would simply have to accept it, but she longed to mean something to him just the same. As she sped along in the cab, an idea began to form in her mind of just how she could manage that. If she could only help him crack this case, she reasoned, she could prove herself to him, could somehow still be important to him. A girl like her, she realized sadly, could never win the heart of that type of a man, even if he were free, she owned. That was obvious. But having found him now, she longed to somehow remain a part of his world, and right now the likeliest way to do that, she speculated fearfully, was to somehow get beyond the green door.
CHAPTER 11
The next few weeks passed rather uneventfully at the Marlowe, though Henrietta tried her hardest to figure out the mystery of the green door, passing by it as often as she dared, even trying the knob a few times, but it was always locked. Once when she knew Jenks had conveniently left the theater on an errand before showtime, Henrietta had headed straight for the green door, only to disappointedly see Esther coming directly out. Henrietta had barely enough time to slow down before she nearly ran into her. Esther scowled when she saw her.
“Whatd’ yeh want?” she said, turning to lock the door, though Henrietta was sure she heard something or someone from beyond.
“I . . . was . . . I was just looking for Mrs. Jenkins, actually,” Henrietta stuttered, flustered at having been caught.
“Well, she ain’t here. Snoopin’ is yeh? Dis ain’t no place ta go snoopin’ if yeh know what’s good fer yeh,” she said, looking Henrietta over carefully.
“I wasn’t snooping! I just . . . wanted to find Mrs. Jenkins is all.”
“All right, den, I’ll tell ‘er yer lookin’ fer ‘er when she gets back.”
“Thanks,” Henrietta tried to say cheerfully and scurried back to the main floor of the theater to find her station, which was still always an inferior one, something that Lucy tried to tell her happened to all the new girls, though Henrietta had noticed that some of them had already been given better ones. The more lowly stations were fine with Henrietta, however, as they gave her more time to look around. So far, she had observed a few odd things but nothing concrete. She noticed, for example, that Jenks usually perched herself near the heavy red curtains that covered an exit doorway to the right of the stage, just before the few wooden stairs that led up to the stage itself. Jenks mostly concerned herself with looking out over the crowd, as well as giving the usherettes the evil eye if she noticed they were slacking or allowing themselves to be touched by the men in the audience, sending one of the bouncers over if she noticed things getting out of hand. Henrietta also noticed that there was definitely a hierarchy amongst the usherettes, Lucy and her gang not being near the top despite their physical allure.
It was actually a woman named Ruby, and her sidekick, Agnes, who seemed to Henrietta to be Jenks’s current favorites. They were given the best stations and could be found whispering from time to time with Jenks throughout the night. Henrietta had asked Lucy about them while they were both waiting for Sam, the bartender, to fill their orders.
“Oh, those two? Forget about them, gumdrop! They’re Jenks’s little spies,” Lucy had confided.
“Spies? For what?”
“Who knows exactly, but I think they watch to see if there’s anything going on between the usherettes and the saps in this joint or even the bouncers.”
“Why’s it so forbidden? Don’t you think that’s odd?” Henrietta had whispered.
“I think it’s because they want men to pay for any action they get, you know . . . behind the door . . . ”
“Do you think Ruby and Agnes are in on it?” Henrietta asked as she looked across the room at Ruby smiling at Jenks as she passed her by.
“I’m sure of it. They’re part of the ‘White Feather Club’ now.”
“‘White Feather Club’?”
“Don’t you see the white feather in their hair, just by their caps?”
Henrietta peered at Ruby, but it was hard to see from that distance and in the darkened room.
“Hey! Move aside!” shouted another usherette beside them. “You two deviants wanna make out, do it after the show! Some of us ‘ave got customers, ya know!”
“Simmer down!” said Lucy, sticking her tongue out at the woman as she lifted her full tray of drinks and stood off to the side, Henrietta following with her own tray so that the next usherettes could get to the bar.
“Eeww!” said another woman, a blond with small eyes who uncannily resembled a ferret. “Who knows where that tongue’s been!”
Several girls in line tittered.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Mable!” Lucy retorted. “Come on,” she said to Henrietta, “Jenks’ll be over here in a minute if we’re not careful. We’ll talk later,” she said, nodding her head in the direction of backstage.
As soon as Larry put on the house lights, Henrietta made her way hurriedly to the dressing room, hoping to catch Ruby or Agnes before they left for the night, but they disappointingly did not turn up. In fact, as Henrietta thought about i
t, she realized she had never seen them back there after a show. She recalled having seen them sometimes beforehand, getting dressed, but she had never had any reason to speak to them except to politely say hello, which they had practically ignored.
She was just buttoning her overalls when the others began trickling in. When the girls had first seen her change into them after a show, they had laughed and joked, causing Henrietta to have to tell a modified version of her secret from Ma. It was unfortunate, however, to be dressed essentially as a man at this type of party, making her all the more attractive to certain people.
“Hello, Henry!” Gwen said, gliding in from the main floor, wired from the long night of work. “Looking dashing as ever,” she drawled.
Henrietta smiled, amused. She liked Gwen. She had a naughty streak to her, but she could be sweet as well. It was clear that she was crazy about Lucy. Who wouldn’t be, Henrietta thought, considering how beautiful Lucy was and how kind. “Lucy’s coming, right? I was hoping to catch her.”
“‘Fraid I’m already caught, gumdrop,” Lucy said just then, entering the room and putting her arm around Gwen.
They laughed, and Henrietta poured the drinks while they changed. “Don’t Ruby and Agnes ever stay behind?” Henrietta asked as she handed out glasses of gin.
“With us? I think not,” said Gwen. “They’ve got better things to do, it would appear.”
“They used to weasel their way into the dancers’ room after the show, that or go out with the bouncers, but I haven’t seen them do that in a long while,” said Rose, who had joined them, a drink in hand, her crossed arms in front of her.
“The bouncers?” Henrietta asked. “Does Jenks know?”
“What do you think?” Gwen asked, as if the answer was obvious. “She’d kill them.”
“What did you mean before, Lucy, by the ‘White Feather Club’?” Henrietta asked quietly, looking around as she did so. The other girls were dancing or smoking; Glen Miller’s “Blue Moon” was now playing on the phonograph. A few had already made their way to the corners.
Henrietta saw Gwen raise her eyebrow at Lucy as a warning, but Lucy ignored it. “Oh, Gwen, no one’s listening,” she whispered, “we should tell her.”
Gwen shrugged her acquiescence as she attempted to look around disinterestedly.
“So?” Henrietta asked eagerly.
“Well,” Lucy began mysteriously, “we’ve been watching more carefully these last few weeks, and we’ve got a theory.”
“So to speak,” added Rose.
“About the green door?” Henrietta asked, trying to guess.
“Yes, we’ve made up a name for Jenks’s little operation. We call it the ‘White Feather Club’,” Lucy explained. “We think it’s Jenks’s way of ‘marking’ who’s available . . . you know, for the green door. We think that’s how the men know who to choose. If you look closely, some of the dancers have a small white feather just above their ear. Have you seen it?” Lucy asked eagerly.
“I guess I never noticed,” Henrietta said slowly.
“We didn’t make the connection either until recently. We just thought some of the dancers wore them for accent,” added Gwen.
“But if it’s mostly dancers, then how can they be in the show and behind the green door at the same time?”
“Good question,” Lucy said, seemingly impressed with Henrietta’s astuteness. “We’re not sure, but we think some go during the show and some after. That would explain Jenks’s absence from this part of the theater after the show.”
“And did you notice that as the evening goes on, the dance numbers have fewer and fewer girls? I think they arrange the routines that way on purpose,” Rose added.
“No,” Henrietta pondered, “I didn’t realize.”
“Did you see that Ruby and Agnes have a feather now?” Lucy asked Gwen.
“I’m not surprised,” Gwen said, draining her glass.
“Libby had one, too,” Rose said crisply. “I didn’t realize at the time what it meant.”
“And Iris?” Henrietta asked.
“No, that’s the strange thing. None of us remember her with a feather, but she disappeared just the same.”
Henrietta’s mind was whirling. Perhaps there hadn’t been time for Iris to have been given the feather? Maybe Neptune’s girls were separate? “How do you think Jenks decides who to choose? I mean . . . for the white feather? I mean . . . has she ever approached any of you?” Henrietta assumed they would be a shoe-in for this sort of thing, knowing how attractive they would be to men.
The three of them exchanged glances as if deciding whether to explain. Finally Rose spoke up. “We think Jenks is . . . you know . . . like us, that’s why she never approaches us . . . turns a blind eye, as it were.”
“She certainly looks blind!” twittered Gwen, and Lucy laughed.
“But . . . but I thought Libby was . . . ”
“Yes, it doesn’t make sense to us, either. She wanted to make extra money, though, and she must have kept pestering Jenks until she let her in. Something must have convinced Jenks to go along with it.”
“Say . . . why are you so curious about what goes on back there? You aren’t thinking of doing anything stupid, are you?” Lucy asked, her eyes narrowed.
“Well . . . maybe,” Henrietta shrugged. When they all gasped, she hurriedly added, “Just to find out what happened to Libby . . . and to Iris.”
“Excuse me for saying this, sweets, but why do you care so much?” Rose asked.
“Libby’s sister, Polly, was—is—my good friend. She came up here from Missouri looking for Libby, but now she’s in a mess of trouble, too. I told her I’d keep an eye out for Libby.”
“Well, you should tell your friend you couldn’t find anything!” Gwen insisted. “You don’t want to get messed up in that, Henry.”
Lucy put her hand on Henrietta’s arm. “Henry, please, don’t. We’ve . . . we’ve heard screams sometimes. We’ve confronted Jenks about it, but she told us someone saw a rat. How dumb does she think we are? Hardly a rat, I’m sure, but we’re convinced something dangerous is going on. Libby and Iris weren’t the only ones to go missing over the years, you know.”
A wave of fear passed over Henrietta, but she pushed it aside as she looked at their anxious faces. She couldn’t possibly explain everything to them, so she decided to drop it, at least for now. “Perhaps you’re right, girls,” she smiled weakly. “Let’s just forget it. Who’s round is it, then?” she asked, holding up her empty glass, successfully breaking the tension, though she caught Lucy looking at her in a strange way several times during the night as if she didn’t quite believe her.
That had been over a week ago, and since then, Henrietta had taken note of all of the women who had white feathers, mostly dancers. She made it a point to loiter outside their dressing room, hoping to find out any information that might help her get included in the club, as she was determined now to do. Whenever she peered in, however, she did not observe anything unusual, except that their setup was much more lavish than the usherettes’, but she had already known that. Usually when she passed the dancers’ dressing room, some of them could be seen sitting in their high vanity chairs, drinking cocktails and laughing. They did not in the least seem frightened or coerced, but rather very gay and stylish. Perhaps it was an act, speculated Henrietta, or perhaps these particular dancers were not involved. They couldn’t all be in on it, could they?
She kept a more watchful eye on Jenks during the shows as well, whom she now realized was periodically escorting various men throughout the evening through the red curtains and down the narrow hallways to the green door. Several times she had gone out of her way to pass by Jenks and smile, but Jenks always seemed to be able to detect her falseness and would merely stare back with her blue, half-closed lids or tell her to get back to her station. Henrietta wondered if Jenks was herself part of the ring, having to perform later, after the show, like the other girls in the White Feather Club. Henrietta shuddered at
the thought. It seemed unlikely, but having come home late at night for years now, she had seen her share of wretched women, not in the least attractive, plying their trade on darkened corners. Beauty seemed to have less to do with it than the willingness, or rather, the desperateness, to lie down in a squalid hovel or even a darkened doorway with whichever man approached.
She had also tried befriending Ruby, who was having none of it, seeming to suspect her immediately of an ulterior motive. Henrietta had sidled up to her one night after Jenks had passed by in the process of yelling at various girls before the start of the show.
“Places, girls!” Jenks had barked out. “Stop the chatter! Remember! No touching! Partners only! Show more cleavage, Dorothy!” she said, exasperated, to one of the girls. “This isn’t the convent, you know. Plenty of other girls on the streets who’d be happy to flash their tits for some dough.”
An embarrassed Dorothy had set her tray down and tried to adjust herself to be more provocative. Henrietta looked down at her own bosom and shifted her bodice as much as she dared, glancing over at Ruby as she did so. “I sure could use some extra money,” she said quietly without looking at Ruby.
Ruby didn’t say anything.
Henrietta wasn’t sure what to say next. “You wouldn’t know how a girl could make a few extra bucks around here, do you?”
Ruby finally turned her head to look at her disdainfully. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, I’d forget about it.”
Another person warning her off! But before she could respond, Ruby went on, “I’m guessing you wouldn’t have what it takes. This is the big time, see, and you’re a bit wet behind the ears, shall we say.”
“Ha. Well, I’m not!” Henrietta said unconvincingly. “I’ve done this plenty of times.”
“I doubt it,” Ruby said coolly. “And anyway, it’s a moot point, considering it’s all hypothetical. Better run along now before Mrs. Jenkins spots you. You’re not supposed to be down in this section.”
