by Janie DeVos
“I am not feeding you a bunch of baloney, Mr. Monroe!”
“Now, just that one sentence alone, Miss Strickland, is a full day’s serving of it, and personally speaking, I don’t eat the stuff.”
Suddenly, his caustic smile faded and he looked completely serious. “Just for the record,” he said, loosely hanging his arms over the tops of his bent knees. “I didn’t tell Laura your little secret. Not because I don’t feel she has the right to know, but because it’s not my place to.”
“Well, that’s for certain,” I agreed firmly but calmly.
“And it’s also not my place to tell you what to do.”
I started to tell him that was true, too, but he cut me off as soon as I opened my mouth to speak.
“But, I’m going to make an exception to the rule,” he continued. “Not because I like you, because I don’t. But I do like Laura — a lot. Leave her husband alone, Miss Strickland. Lord knows, there are plenty of fish in the sea, so stop being a bottom feeder.”
Without another word, Scott Monroe slid back beneath his plane and I walked out of the hanger while kicking myself for coming in the first place.
Chapter 13
Out with the Old…
I drove down Biscayne Boulevard, trying to figure out where to go and what to do to kill the rest of the afternoon. I needed to talk to Olivia. She was the only one I could confide in. Though I knew she’d be a tough judge, my secrets would be safe with her, and she would stand by me no matter what.
I checked my watch and saw that it was nearly 4:30 p.m. Olivia would be off soon so I headed toward her office. Several blocks down, I passed the old bakery, and noticed that lights were on throughout the building, including upstairs where the Lemon Tree had been. Through the large plate glass windows on the first floor, I could see that it was completely gutted. What had been inside was now heaped into a huge trash pile outside. Feeling as though I’d somehow lost an old friend, I sensed another layer of melancholy added to my mood.
Fifteen minutes later, I drove into the Doxleys’ parking lot and looked for Olivia’s car but it wasn’t there. Daddy had recently given her his old 1923 Coats Steamer Touring car when he’d bought a 1927 Chevrolet truck. He needed it for business, but rather than using his car as a trade in for the truck, he’d given the Coats to my sister. She seemed pleased to have it, but I wondered if she was resentful about being given a used vehicle instead of getting a new one as I had at graduation. Olivia was a rational and practical person, though, and I knew she understood that times had been better when our parents had given me my Chandler.
Thinking that maybe she’d run an end-of-the-day company errand, I decided to go inside to see if anyone knew where she might be. As I approached the building, I was amazed to see that they’d expanded the warehouse yet again. The brothers had bought the company just five years before, when they were both in their mid-twenties, and they’d built it into the successful business it had become. Apparently, they’d learned their trade well from their father, who had been in the same line of work in Virginia. Just as I reached the door, I heard the sharp beep, beep of a horn. Startled, I turned around and saw my beautiful platinum-blond sister driving into the parking lot in a dark turquoise Pontiac Coupe, with a black convertible top. Olivia was beaming at me as she came to a stop several feet away.
“Where’d you get that?” I laughed, running my right hand along its smooth lines. “And whose is it? She’s a beaut. A real beaut!”
“It’s mine, Lil!” Olivia declared proudly as she climbed out of the car. “I’m just gettin’ back from the dealership. I traded in Daddy’s old Coats. You don’t think he’ll mind too much, do you? I got an awfully good deal for it and I’ve been savin’ up some, too, and…”
She rambled on for another minute without taking a breath, and I let her. She was more excited than I’d seen her in a long time; even more so than when she gave our parents a detailed account of our night at the Biltmore Hotel. Her face lit up like it was Christmas morning, and in her brown and white polka-dotted dropped-waist dress, complete with a white scarf tied around her neck, she looked as though she was ready for a photo shoot for a magazine spread advertising the sharp Pontiac Coupe. If the car wasn’t surprise enough, Olivia removed her brown cloche hat to reveal her freshly cut bob underneath.
“Liv! It’s gorgeous! You’re gorgeous!” I said as I pulled her to me.
“You really like it on me?” she asked, blushing and wrinkling her nose, obviously unsure.
“You’re a new woman, Olivia Grace Strickland, and a gorgeous one, to boot! But what brought all this on?”
“I just needed a change, I guess,” she replied. Suddenly, her expression changed as if something had just occurred to her. “What are you doin’ here at my office anyway?”
“I’ve come to take you to dinner — unless you were planning on working late.”
“No, no,” Olivia assured me. “I just came back to catch up on a few things since I left early this afternoon, but they can wait. Where do you want to eat?”
“I’ll give you one clue: amaretto almond cake.”
“Carrelli’s!”
“I’ll buy,” I said, “but on one condition.”
“What’s that?” Olivia said as she put her hat back on her head.
“We take that darling new coupe of yours.”
“It’s a deal!” she laughed, obviously tickled that I was so delighted with her car.
“It’s good seeing you so happy, Olivia,” I said as I settled into her passenger seat. “You’ve been so down since Rusty died and—”
“We all have to move on, don’t we?” she said, cutting me off. “Besides, Lily, it wasn’t like Rusty and I had anything going on. Not that I wasn’t terribly sad when he died, mind you, but I’d have felt it even more if I’d invested a lot of time with him.” She drove the car to the front of the parking lot, looked to see that all was clear and turned right onto Biscayne Boulevard. As she did, I thought about what she’d just said, and though it was absolutely logical, it didn’t sound like something my sister would have said. But my sister had never worn a bob before, either; or done something as daringly independent as buying a car by herself.
I didn’t talk to Olivia about the Aldriches, or Scott over dinner. She was in such a festive mood, I decided to do it another time. I did, however, tell her about driving by the old bakery.
“You’ve got to figure that the bar makes money hand over fist,” I said, as we made our way back down Biscayne Boulevard to get my car. “I’d bet my last dollar it’s staying open, but the question is, who’s gonna be runnin’ it? Whoever it is, looks like they’re putting some good money into the building. There was a mound of garbage piled up outside, and the place was virtually gutted. We’re just a few blocks from there, you know. Let’s drive by it.”
“What for?” Olivia asked, glancing over at me. “Sounds like there’s nothing much to see.”
“Just do it,” I urged.
As we came down the block, we saw that the entire building was now dark. The only light that cut into some of the darkness surrounding the building was from the streetlight in the alley directly behind it. It only illuminated the back half of the building.
“Drive all the way by, Liv, and go slowly,” I instructed, lowering my voice as I did. “I think there’re people in the back parking lot. Let’s see if we know any of them.”
“So what if we do?” she replied in a heated whisper. She never liked to do anything risky. “They might not appreciate us scouting them out. Must I remind you that many of the people who hang around this seedy place are of questionable character?”
“And must I remind you, baby sister, that not too very long ago, you were one of the people hanging out in that seedy place, and throwing back Southsides faster than the bartender could make ’em? For heaven’s sake, Liv, I’m not asking you to stop and talk to those people. I just
want you to drive by!”
We did, and as we moved slowly past the group, I saw that there were several men and a dark-haired woman, but their faces were either obscured in shadow or they had their backs turned to us. Just as we were nearly past them, everyone shook hands and then walked away from one another heading for their cars. As they did, we could see a couple of their faces, but only one we recognized: Chick Belvedere.
“Ohhhhh, Olivia, that can’t be good,” I said softly, turning my face away from the window as my sister gave the coupe more gas to get us out of there. “That can’t be good at all,” I repeated, my voice back to regular volume. “I’ve always heard that Buddy owned the place, but it looks like Chick might be takin’ it over. There’s no love lost between those two, ya know. They’ve always competed against each other in acquiring real estate, and businesses. And if Chick’s takin’ over the Lemon Tree, and Buddy’s out, that’s a big deal. A really big deal.”
“Do you think Chick saw us?” She was still whispering even though we were a block away.
“So what if he did?” I said. “But, no. I don’t think he saw our faces and he doesn’t know this car. You don’t have to whisper anymore, you know,” I pointed out, laughing.
“I’m just bein’ cautious, Lily. It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more cautious, too, you know.”
“What the Sam Hill does that mean?” I asked, still laughing.
“Would you get serious, please?” she said, obviously becoming exasperated with me.
Squelching my laughter, I apologized and asked her to finish what she was saying.
“It’s just that this is a dangerous world we live in, Lily, and it would serve you well to remember that.”
Olivia looked so serious and concerned, I would have hugged her tightly had it not been for the fact that she was at the wheel. Her concern for me was both touching and endearing, so I promised her I’d be more prudent (about what, I wasn’t actually sure), and then we both grew quiet as we got lost in our own thoughts. We each pulled out of the parking lot after picking up my car, and Olivia took a right while I took a left. Oddly enough, that simple action of driving away from each other made me feel a little sad, and somehow uneasy.
Chapter 14
A Three Mile Bail Out
There wasn’t a vacant chair in the Helm by 6:30 p.m. in mid-February—a time of year that was usually a little slow since the holidays had just ended. The fact that we’d been able to book Ben Slevin and his band was a real coup. When I won the Charleston contest at the Biltmore Hotel, Ben gave me his card. He asked me to call him if I was interested in dancing professionally outside of the Spinnaker. He knew some big shots in New York, including Florenz Ziegfeld, and he said they’d be more than happy to meet me. Though I was flattered, I wasn’t interested in his offer, but I kept his card anyway and called him about playing at our hotel for Valentine’s Day. He accepted immediately, and by the end of the first day of running an ad in the Miami Herald about the Valentine’s dinner dance, our reservation book was full.
The following morning, I went to Granddaddy’s office to see how well we’d made out. Ben and his band hadn’t come cheaply, and my grandparents had served the guests alcohol on the house, which took an enormous cut from what they ended up netting.
I knocked on the door while opening it at the same time, and walked into a meeting going on with Granddaddy, Daddy, Buddy DeMario, and Scott Monroe. I froze with one foot in the office and the other out in the hallway, while all the men politely rose from their seats.
“Ah, Lily,” Granddaddy said, rising from his desk. “Come in, come in. We were just finishing up.” As if that was the cue to leave, the men shook hands all around. Then Buddy walked by me, tipping his dark gray Fedora as he did, but barely glancing at me. Scott, on the other hand, looked me directly in the eye. “Nice to see you again, Miss Strickland,” he said with an arrogant smile. He kept walking without giving me a chance to respond, as though he had far more important things to do than talk to me. Turning to my father and grandfather, I apologized for intruding.
“No, no, Lily, it’s fine,” Daddy said. “We need to talk to you anyway, so your timing was actually good. Close the door ’n have a seat.” I took the chair next to Daddy, who was sitting across the desk from my grandfather.
“That was quite a gathering,” I said, my smile tight. “What’s goin’ on?”
“We needed some direction on a venture we’re getting involved in, and Buddy and Scott are willing to help.”
“Direction for what?” I asked.
“Well, you know the yacht I’m building for Cyrus Curtis?” Daddy asked.
“Yes,” I said. Not only had Cyrus given my father the go-ahead as soon as he’d received the design sketches from him, but he’d also sent Daddy a check that far exceeded the required fifty percent down. Because of that, Daddy was able to hire all the hands he needed to get started and was almost done.
“Well, we’re going to take that same design and build another ship, only that one will be a third larger in length and width,” Daddy enthusiastically explained. He looked like a kid in a candy store, which made my smile thaw out and warm up.
“And?” I laughed.
“And,” Granddaddy jumped in, “we’re going to host gambling parties on it. Once we’re three miles outside of U.S. territorial waters, it’s legal for us to sell alcohol and have high-stakes gambling games. We’re going to have what’s been coined as ‘booze cruises,’” he laughed. “And it’s all perfectly legal. I spoke with the chief of police, Burl Ambrose, a few days ago, and he said that as long as we stay at least three miles outside, it’s as legal as drinking a glass of iced tea and playing a game of Old Maid.”
“So how do Scott Monroe and Buddy DeMario fit in?” I was afraid to ask.
“We’re going to have Scott fly in our liquor once we’re beyond the three-mile mark. With that seaplane of his, he can land and take off right in the water, which makes things very convenient for us. Also, if some of our guests would like to spend a couple of days in the islands, Scott can provide the air service to and from.”
“Why don’t you just take people over by ship?” I asked.
“Too much red tape,” Daddy replied. “We may well do that in the near future, but for now, we’ll stick to day trips. Still, it’ll be nice to be able to offer our guests the luxury of private flights to the Bahamas and back, or even to Cuba. Scott can be a valuable asset to us.”
“Well, I don’t like him,” I flatly stated.
“That was quite obvious,” my father replied, laughing. “Lord, the look you gave him when he walked by you made you look as though you’d smelled something bad.”
“He’s a skunk!” I replied.
“Actually, he’s a decent fella,” my grandfather corrected.
“He’s a rumrunner, Granddaddy!”
“Used to be,” he corrected. “But now he’s doing things the legal way and is concentrating on that charter plane business of his. Which, as it turns out, works in our favor. We need his connections to supply us with liquor, as well as his plane to deliver it in.”
“All right, all right,” I grudgingly acquiesced. “But what about Buddy? He’s a mobster, plain and simple. What makes you think he’s going to do things honestly with you all? How do you know you’re not painting yourselves into a corner? What makes you think you won’t end up compromising your own moral standards? If you ask me, you’re venturing into dangerous waters!”
“Actually, my darling daughter,” Daddy patiently replied, “we’re venturing into legal waters where gambling is allowed, and Buddy has connections in that area. No one is going to compromise anything for financial gain. We’ll see how things pan out, and if we feel anything is getting the least bit out of hand, that’ll be the end of it.”
“Before or after you walk in front of a flower shop?” I caustically asked, referring to t
he mob execution the year before of Earl “Hymie” Weiss, courtesy of Al Capone, as Weiss walked by a flower shop in Chicago.
“Lily, we’re law-abiding people,” my grandfather said firmly. “But this prohibition law is so full of holes that it’d be downright funny if it weren’t disastrously ridiculous. It’s the most unpopular bill ever voted into law — and it’s the most unregulated one, too. Most of the cops can be bought off with a case of good scotch. Hells bells, the president, himself, Woodrow Wilson, tried to veto it, but the Congress passed it anyway. And you know what Wilson did when it was passed? He said he thought it was time for a beer!” Granddaddy laughed, shaking his head at the irony of it all. “But there are people getting rich off of this damnable law, and those are the mobsters who set up enormous operations making, transporting and selling the stuff. And you know who’s getting hurt the most in all of this?” I opened my mouth to answer, but he didn’t give me the chance. “The American people, that’s who! Our economy has suffered greatly under this farce of a law, and though your father and I don’t intend on breaking it, we’re going to use whatever loopholes we can to help keep our businesses going—those same businesses that keep the roofs over our families’ heads! Once in a great while, Lily, laws, though well intended, end up hurting a lot of people to the point of ruination. And we’re going to do all we can to keep that from happening to our family. We’ve worked too hard to let some cockamamie law take it all away from us.”
Nobody said anything for a moment as Granddaddy’s words settled around us. Finally, I broke the silence. “How can I help?”
“Be a hostess on the cruises,” Daddy replied without hesitation.
“Aye, aye, Captain.” I laughingly saluted him as I stood up.
Chuckling, Daddy stood up, too, and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I already told your granddaddy he can be the captain. I’m just the poor ol’ first mate.”
“Then what does that make me?” I laughed.
“A woman cut from the same cloth as your mother,” my father said as he wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly.
