Willie the Actor

by David Barry

  ‘What was your last employment?’

  Of course, he could have lied. But then would come the demand for references. His only chance lay in being open and honest about his experience.

  ‘I’m afraid I spent the last five years in Sing Sing Penitentiary. ‘

  Bill watched the manager’s face as he digested this information. Slowly at first, in pin-dropping silence. Then the number-one efficient guy routine snapped back into action again. He leaned forward in his chair, shuffled papers on his desk, and avoided looking directly at Bill.

  ‘I’m sorry, but we have no vacancies. ‘

  ‘But I thought -’ Bill began.

  ‘You thought wrong,’ said the manager, scraping his chair back and getting to his feet. ‘We have no vacancies. ‘

  Bill remained seated. ‘If you’ll just give me a chance. I’ll prove to you. . . ‘

  He was cut short.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me. I have a very busy schedule. ‘

  And that was that. He was out the door faster than a jack-rabbit. Of course, he could have abandoned his quest for work after being turned down in similar fashion in six interviews over two days. But he was determined to give it his best shot. So every day for a fortnight he diligently studied the wanted ads in the papers and attended dozens of interviews; but whenever it seemed as if he was close to rejoining society as a respectable wage-earner, there came the inevitable question:

  ‘What was your last employment?’

  And when he had to admit to being cooped up courtesy of Uncle Sam for the past five years, there came the certain brush-off.

  On his final and fourteenth day at Jamaica, he got up early, determined to have one last attempt at finding honest employment. He bought the morning papers as usual on Jamaica Avenue. As he walked along, he noticed an armored vehicle stopping outside a bank. Two uniformed guards rang the bell and were admitted by the bank guard. He watched every move. He watched as passers-by ignored this common ritual. And he was intrigued at how easy it was to gain admittance to the bank providing you were wearing the right uniform. It was like a shot of adrenaline.

  His thoughts honed in on the finer details of bank robbery. He was so focused, he had forgotten just how cold it was. The freezing temperature and the white of his fingers suddenly brought him to his senses. He turned away from the bank, telling himself not to be such a fool. He owed it to his parents to go straight. He had no intention of committing any more felonies. He was firm in his determination to lead an honest life, in spite of how things were stacked against him as an ex-con. But as he drove back to Manhattan, a small niggling doubt at the back of his mind chipped away at his resolve. His luck had changed. That stretch at Sing Sing had taught him a lesson. The cops had traced the oxy acetylene equipment and made a positive identification. He should never have used that method. Doc had warned him. And he hadn’t listened. But the way those security guards entered that bank. . . it was so easy. . .

  He caught himself day-dreaming about what uniforms he could hire in order to pull off a bank job. Eventually he gave in to the temptation, and convinced himself that it was merely an intellectual exercise. He would plan a bank robbery purely for his own amusement.

  When he got back to the city, he parked his car on West 39th Street and strolled along Broadway, intending to visit some of his old haunts and seek out old acquaintances. He crossed over the street and dodged between a streetcar and a horse-drawn brewer’s dray. There was an anti-prohibition message scrawled across the dray and he pondered how things were starting to change since he’d been inside. The volume of traffic for a start. And, as if to consolidate his thoughts, a car horn blared loudly and he leapt onto the sidewalk. He smiled grimly, realising he still had some adjustment to make, and walked on. Outside one of the theatres he saw dozens of attractive showgirls waiting to get in the Stage Door. He wondered how long they’d been queuing in the freezing cold and it reminded him that there were now too many people chasing too few jobs.

  ‘Hey, Bill! Bill Sutton!’

  One of the girls in the queue waved at him. It took him a moment to recognise her. She said something to the girl next to her and stepped out of the queue.

  ‘Hello, Adeline,’ he said as she came towards him. ‘It’s good to see you. ‘

  She grabbed his arm and moved him further from the queue. He could smell the perfume on her neck and he desperately wanted to hug and kiss her as the memory of their brief time together returned. Her blonde curls looked cute beneath her bright blue cloche hat, the color emphasizing the blue of her eyes. He remembered the way he always kissed her gently in that same spot on her neck just beneath her hair, the place she said always gave her goose pimples and sent shivers down her spine

  ‘You’re looking great, Adeline,’ he said. ‘After your audition, what do you say we. . . ‘

  She drew back and didn’t let him finish. ‘You’ve got a nerve, Sutton. You walk out of my life five years ago, and now you think you can pick up where you left off. ‘ Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘So what happened?’

  He looked away from her for a moment, composed himself, then stared straight into her eyes. ‘I had to go back to the old country to attend an uncle’s funeral. ‘

  ‘Five years ago? It must have been one hell of a wake. Pull the other one, Sutton. ‘

  He shrugged and gestured helplessly. ‘You know better than to ask, Adeline. ‘

  ‘Oh, sure. Well, I’ll see you around, Bill. ‘

  She walked back to the queue.

  ‘Remember the Dutchman’s joint?’ he called after her. ‘I’ll wait there for you. ‘

  She ignored him and returned to her place in the queue, deliberately avoiding any eye contact with him. He waited, balanced on the edge of the sidewalk, looking helpless and lost, like a little boy. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her and she turned to look at him. He gave her a tender smile and an apologetic gesture before crossing the street. She looked away again and bit her lip.

  The girl next to her said, ‘I’ll bet a dollar to a dime you’ll be there. ‘

  The Dutchman’s speakeasy was a in large basement beneath a garment factory and the decor was of a stylish Gay Nineties bar. Bill had been hoping that at this time of day it might be reasonably quiet, but as he looked around he saw how crowded it was. Every table seemed to taken. The air was a thick fog of blue cigar smoke. A black pianist on a small stage was playing ragtime and men with loosened ties sat at the bar sipping foaming beers and knocking back whiskey chasers, as if it was some sort of convention or race to see who could get loaded the quickest. Scantily clad girls moved enticingly between tables, serving drinks, laughing and flirting with customers and milking them for decent tips, and screams of raucous laughter came from a table in the centre of the room where a celebratory party was in full swing The joint was doing such a roaring trade it looked as though Wall Street had just been a minor glitch.

  As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, Bill spotted a free table tucked away in a far corner and he made a beeline for it. As soon as he had sat down, a waitress melted out of a dark corner, her teeth gleaming through her smile. He ordered a bottle of champagne and her eyes lit up. The grin became a sexy smile. Just for him. But as soon as he asked her to bring two glasses, the light dimmed, the smile faded, and she left to get his order. He unfolded a copy of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle while he waited, and scanned the headlines. He read about Jimmy Walker being re-elected as Mayor of New York and about the Fascists controlling Italy. After the waitress had brought his order, he turned to the wanted ads section of the paper and sighed deeply, wondering if there was any point. A shadow fell across his newspaper and he looked up. Towering above him was the bulky Johnny Goldstein, a swarthy man with bovine eyes which would light up whenever his face cracked into a smile.

  ‘Bill! How yah doin’?’

  Bill
had always liked Johnny and indicated for him to take a seat. Johnny shook his head and remained standing.

  ‘Can’t stay, Bill. And I notice you’re expecting company. So when d’you get out?’

  ‘Week ago. ‘

  ‘Any plans?’

  Bill pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Not a thing. I’m in a tight spot, Johnny. I need a job. ‘

  Johnny turned his palms upwards. ‘You’ve found the right guy. I’ll put a word in for you. The Dutchman could use a reliable collector. ‘

  Bill frowned. Although he had met him just the one time, he knew Dutch Schultz mostly by reputation and was reluctant to have much to do with him. The man was fearless, ruthless and unpredictable.

  ‘Well, I don’t know, Johnny. . .

  Johnny grinned and shrugged. ‘It’s easy money, Bill. And while it ain’t strictly legit, the Dutchman has it all under control. So how about it?’

  Bill leaned back in his chair and relaxed. What had he got to lose?

  ‘Sure. Why not?’

  ‘The Dutchman’s out of town today. Come by here same time tomorrow and I’ll see if I can fix you up. ‘

  ‘Yeah - thanks, Johnny’

  Cries of laughter came from the centre table and a champagne cork popped. Johnny glanced at the table, grinned at Bill and jerked a thumb in its direction.

  ‘That’s how our old mayor celebrates when he’s re-elected. In style. See you tomorrow, Bill. ‘

  Their business concluded, Johnny Goldstein turned abruptly and walked towards the exit. Bill sat staring into space and thought long and hard about working for Dutch Schultz, weighing up the pros and cons. The Dutchman had a fiery temper and was an arrogant egomaniac. He trusted no one and had few friends. On the other hand, he was known to have police connections, and probably had most of County Hall on his payroll, so his Harlem ‘numbers’ racket was unlikely to get busted. And Bill would be little more than an errand boy, collecting the lottery takings from the salesmen, so it was unlikely he would have much to do with the higher echelons of the Dutchman’s organization. It could be easy work and easy money.

  ‘Penny for them!’

  While he was deep in thought, Bill hadn’t noticed Adeline’s arrival. She indicated the second glass opposite him.

  ‘You expecting company?’

  He gave her a cheeky grin. ‘Looks that way. So how ‘d it go?’

  Adeline bubbled over with excitement as sat opposite him, throwing her coat off her shoulders onto the back of the chair. She talked enthusiastically about her audition as Bill poured her a glass of champagne, but only half a glass for himself. He had never liked alcohol much, only in very small doses.

  ‘I think I’m in there, Bill. I know they liked me. I could tell. You know, the way they looked at me in that special way, like they thought I was the person they’d been hoping would turn up. ‘

  Bill clinked glasses with her.

  ‘They must have taste. ‘

  Adeline smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. She made up her mind, right there and then, that she was going to sleep with him. She guessed he operated outside the law. She accepted that. He more than made up for it in other ways. He was generous, caring and considerate. In fact, unlike most of the other men she had known, he had been the most considerate lover. But only for two months, until he had suddenly vanished out of her life.

  ‘It’s been almost five years to the day,’ she said. ‘How was it being cooped up with nothing but men?’

  ‘I’d sooner not discuss it. ‘

  ‘You must be. . . ‘ She paused and gave him a sensuous smile. ‘Well, let’s just say you could use a little female company. ‘

  ‘And I’m enjoying the company,’ he said.

  ‘Mmm,’ she purred contentedly as she sipped her champagne. ‘So what’s it to be, Bill? Your place or mine?’

  ‘It’ll have to be yours. I’m not fixed up yet. ‘

  She gave him a questioning look.

  ‘Only just got back from the old country,’ he lied, grinning.

  ‘Oh sure,’ she said, then raised her glass to him. ‘Welcome home.‘

  A week later Bill lay in bed watching Adeline as she sat in front of a mirror and hurriedly applied her make-up. She was about to attend a first rehearsal for the Broadway show for which she had auditioned the day she met him, and in which she had been offered a small speaking role. Although nervous and on edge, she applied her make-up with the skill of an artist.

  ‘I hope it goes well today,’ Bill said.

  ‘I always get nervous on the first day. I get more nervous performing in front of my peers than I do an audience. ‘

  ‘Wouldn’t that be the same for all the other actors?’

  ‘I guess so. But it doesn’t make any difference. I still get nervous.‘

  Bill opened a fresh pack of Camels and lit his first cigarette of the day. He lay back, inhaling contentedly, and blowing occasional smoke rings to amuse himself. After their lovemaking, both in the night and the morning, he felt deliciously relaxed. As he watched her putting the finishing touches to her make-up his mind began to wander. He thought about Adeline’s appearance, and how easily she could alter it. Something buzzed in the back of his mind, like a signal or a warning, and he couldn’t work out what it was. Eventually the thought expressed itself in a flattering remark.

  ‘You sure go to great lengths to alter that natural beauty,’ he said.

  ‘I’m a performer, Bill. So I gotta look like one. ‘

  She finished her make-up, took a last look at her reflection, pursing her lips to smooth the lipstick, then took a dress from a wooden hanger in the wardrobe and stepped into it. She came over to Bill and turned her back to him.

  ‘Would you?’

  He put his cigarette in the bedside ashtray, climbed naked out of bed and zipped up her dress.

  ‘Thanks, honey,’ she said. ‘Now I really do have to rush or I’ll be late. See you tonight. ‘

  With barely a glance back at him she threw her coat on, gave him a cursory wave, and dashed out. Bill listened for the slam of the apartment door, then sat on the edge of the bed, finishing his coffee and cigarette. From another apartment he could hear muffled voices, and from the street below came the steady sound of horses hooves pulling a squeaky cart, then fading into the distance.

  On Adeline’s side of the bed, in a silver frame, was a sepia-tinted photograph of her parents, stern and upright, standing in front of a picket fence. They reminded Bill of his own parents. There was such little laughter and gaiety in their lives. He had been to visit them only two days ago, and awkwardness hung in the air like a fog. And, as he’d guessed, not once was the past five years mentioned. Except for his mother asking if he had managed to attend Mass regularly. He’d been right about that as well. Avoiding her probing stare, he muttered something about attending whenever possible. She knew he was lying and her disapproving look bore into him, making him feel small and dirty. He’d never been able to lie to her. Ever since he was a small boy and had stolen fifty cents from her purse. After he owned up, he burst into tears. She forgave him and sent him to confession. Although lying to her was impossible, the stealing became easier after that. He and his friend Charlie McCarthy broke into the same grocery store six times, each time emptying the cash register, which sometimes contained as much as five dollars in small change. They became the richest kids in the neighborhood.

  He finished his cigarette and ground it into the bedside ashtray. For the first time in his life a thought crossed his mind concerning his parents. Like Adeline, he was an only child. Unusual for a Catholic family. He wondered if his parents had tried to have other children and were unsuccessful, or had they become celibate. As he stared at Adeline’s parents’ photograph, and saw how the camera had captured the severity of their lives, he thought it might be the la
tter. But he knew the truth would always elude him, because there was no way he could ever talk to them about it.

  He looked at his watch and thought he might get started on his rounds in Harlem. He had begun working for the Dutchman three days ago. He was paid a hundred dollars a week and it was easy money. But he was little more than an errand boy, working for a man he despised. Still, at least he’d been able to convince his parents he was now earning an honest living as a rent collector. And he thought his mother had accepted this half-truth.

  He slipped his underwear on and carried his coffee cup into the living room. He stopped to survey the mess. Adeline was a naturally untidy person and magazines lay abandoned wherever she happened to have been distracted from them. An old copy of Variety stared at him from the floor, with the headline WALL STREET LAYS AN EGG, which made him smile wryly for the second time that week.

  He thought about cleaning and tidying the apartment before going out, then decided against it. Why bother? Adeline wouldn’t notice.

  He went into the bathroom to wash and shave and stood gazing at his reflection in the cabinet mirror for a while. He was pleasant looking, but his face was unremarkable. Ordinary. Joe Blow. And this pleased him, but he couldn’t at this moment work out why it did. More of Adeline’s make-up lay scattered on a shelf nearby. He stared thoughtfully at a small container of rouge, a wad of cotton wool and a black eyeliner. He looked at his reflection again, and slowly it began to dawn on him how he might change his appearance.

  He picked up the wad of cotton wool and tugged bits off, then pressed them into his mouth, covering his gums. Next he experimented with the rouge, rubbing a small amount on his nose and cheeks, giving him a florid complexion. The reflected face that stared back at him certainly looked different. Like a more rotund person with a drink problem. It wasn’t perfect, but he knew he’d hit on something.