Nicoli guided her toward the back of the club to a small dressing room. “Mr. Marson wants you to get ready in here,” he told her.
“What do you mean, ‘get ready’? Am I going to practice with the piano player or something?”
“No, Shar, Mr. Marson wants you to wear something similar to what his other singers wear on stage. He told me that one of his girls will be bringing you a new outfit.”
Shar looked down at her clothes. She had on an olive colored two-piece gown. The jacket buttoned from her neck down to her waist, and the hemline of the skirt brushed against the floor. The dress had been handed down to her from her mother, who’d received it second hand from her mother. Shar had worn the dress to church on countless occasions and had even received a few compliments on how well maintained the dress was. “What’s wrong with what I have on?”
Nicoli took her by the hand and walked her over to a chair so she could sit down. “I like everything you wear. And if it was up to me, you could go out on that stage tonight exactly as you are. But Shar, these guys mean business. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what Mr. Marson would do if you denied his request.”
Becoming alarmed, Shar asked, “You think he would do something to me?” What had she gotten herself into?
“Don’t look like that. I don’t think he would do anything to you. I just don’t want to find out the hard way.”
“Find out what?”
He put a hand over her mouth to shush her. “Look, Shar, I know I let you down, but I promise that if you get me out of this jam, I’ll never put you in the middle of my gambling problems again.”
Putting her hands on her hips, Shar glared at Nicoli. “Are you telling me that you’re going to keep on gambling, even after getting beat up and forcing me to sing in this . . . ” she stretched forth her hand, trying to find the words, “this house of ill repute?”
“Calm down, Shar, that’s not what I meant at all.”
“Just what do you mean, Nicoli? Because I don’t want to live my life on pins and needles, wondering what you’re going to get us into next.”
Someone knocked on the door. Nicoli put his hand on the back of the chair Shar was sitting in and said, “Come in.”
The door opened, and a petite, freckle-faced young woman came into the room holding a white ostrich feather fan in one hand and the most God-forsaken-looking dress in the other hand. The woman hung the dress on a coatrack and then turned to Shar and said, “I think this will fit you.”
Shar stood and made her way to the coat stand with her hand covering her mouth as she viewed the black chiffon flapper dress with the very low “v” neckline. The dress was showered with black sequins and tiny rhinestones. It looked expensive, and Shar was afraid to even touch it.
The woman said, “Try it on.”
Looking around the room as if trying to find a place to hide, Shar said, “I can’t wear that.”
The woman waved her concern away. “Do you know how many women would kill to be in a dress like this?” She took the dress off the hanger and laid it on her arm so Shar could view the label. “This dress was made in France. Now how many colored women outside of Josephine Baker get to slide into something that came out of France?”
The woman was right. The dress and the ostrich feathers did indeed look like something Josephine Baker would strut in as she dazzled European audiences. But Shar wasn’t anything like Josephine Baker. Shar was a gospel singer and that was all she’d ever wanted to be. “But I don’t sing like Josephine Baker or any of the other women who sing in this club. I sing gospel music,” was all Shar could think to say in protest.
The woman laughed. “Daisy Little, one of your so-called gospel singers, was in here just last week, wearing a dress shorter than the one I’m letting you wear.”
Nicoli put his arm around Shar as he told the woman. “Just leave the dress, and I’ll make sure she puts it on before she goes out on the stage.”
The woman turned to Nicoli. “She got the first-time jitters or something?”
“Yeah, you know how it is. Just give me a few minutes to talk to her, and we’ll be ready to start the show in no time. All right?”
Handing Nicoli the ostrich feathers and dress, the woman said, “Good luck,” as she walked out of the room, laughing her head off.
When the door closed, Shar put her hands over her face and burst into tears.
Nicoli laid the dress and feather fan on a chair and wrapped his arms around Shar. “I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to make you so sad.”
“I-I can’t do this, Nicoli.”
Pulling back, he wiped the tears from her face and then kissed her forehead. “I need you to be strong for me. You can’t break down like some scared little know-nothing girl. You’re a grown woman, and you can handle this. My life depends on it,” he reminded her.
Shar was getting so tired of hearing about Nicoli’s troubles—troubles that he brought on his self—and now she had to come behind him and clean the whole mess up. Would the rest of their lives be like this? Could she truly be happy with an impetuous man like Nicoli?
“My mama would skin me alive if she saw me in a dress like that.” Pointing at the dress, she added, “No decent lady would go out in public dressed like that.”
“I am so tired of listening to you whine.” He stepped back and bore down on her with cold dark eyes. “We’ve got a lot riding on this performance, so you need to stop all this crying and get in that dress.”
“I don’t have anything riding on this performance. I told you that I don’t want to sing in places like this. And now I see that Mahalia was right about you. You’re just like her ex-husband, always looking for ways to make money rather than appreciating what God blesses us with.” Shar grabbed her purse and began walking toward the door.
Nicoli took hold of her arm and squeezed it. “You’re supposed to be my woman. You just can’t leave me in the lurch like this.”
“Let me go, Nicoli. You’re hurting my arm.” She tried to twist out of his grip, but the more she moved, the tighter his grip became. “Let me go,” she begged, hating the sound of her voice.
“I’ll never let you go. You and me belong together. Get that through your thick head and you’ll be just fine.”
Tears glistened in her eyes and she tried to lift his iron grip one finger at a time. “Why are you doing this?”
“Me?” he asked incredulously. “I’m not the one going back on my word. You said you would help me, and you’re not getting out of here until you do exactly what you said you would do.” As he let go of her arm, he picked up the dress and shoved it at her. “Put this on and then get yourself on that stage. I’ll be outside waiting on you.”
Tears streamed down her face as Nicoli closed the door behind him. She stood there rubbing her arm and looking at the bluish purple mark that was beginning to form. Her mind drifted back to the day Landon came to see her when the choir was in Chicago. She thought about how she allowed Nicoli to put his arm around her and tell the most honorable man she had ever known that she was engaged. And right then she knew that she was the biggest fool the world had ever known.
18
Stepping onto that stage, Shar was as nervous as she’d ever been. The flapper dress she wore showed her knees, and way, way too much of her bosom was hanging out for all to see. Shar felt like a showgirl as she opened the ostrich feather fan all the way, so that it covered her from the tip of her shoulder to just below her knees.
But Shar was thankful that the fan covered her knees because they were shaking. Totally out of her element in that environment, Shar only knew a few secular songs and that was because the lady next door to her parents’ house played her blues songs while hanging her wash out to dry. One of the songs was by Bessie Smith. It wasn’t very ladylike, so Shar stood in front of the mic, looking out at the audience in the dimly lit room wondering what she should do.
“Move that feather so we can see you, girl,” one of the men at the bar yelled.
“Forget seeing her. I thought she was supposed to be singing something,” another man hollered from the back.
Shar’s eyes darted across the ballroom, looking for Nicoli, hoping and praying that he would come and rescue her.
The piano player banged on the keys trying to get her attention. He was seated to the left of her on the floor just below the stage. Shar looked down. “What do you want me to play?” he asked.
She quickly racked her brain, but when she could come up with nothing else, she told him, “ ‘Mama’s Got the Blues’ by Bessie Smith.”
“Now you’re talking.” The piano player smiled as his fingers tapped the keys.
Having no choice but to do something now that she was on stage, Shar opened her mouth and began belting out the only song she thought would satisfy this crowd.
Some people say that the weary blues ain’t bad
But it’s the worst old feeling that I’ve ever had
The crowd started clapping and yelling, “Sing that song . . . girl, you know you got some chops on you.”
A portly man seated at one of the tables in the front of the room, got out of his chair, rushed up to the stage, and leaned over and grabbed hold of Shar’s ankle. “I’ll hold your aching head, baby.”
Shar jumped back, moving away from leering hands. She looked around for Nicoli as she held the feather closer to her body. When she spotted Nicoli, he was seated at a table in the back giving her the evil eye while a scantily dressed woman whispered in his ear.
He was getting mad again. Remembering the way he’d gripped her arm in the dressing room, Shar was terrified of what Nicoli would do to her if she stopped singing, so with tears brimming in her eyes she continued. She sang every word of that song even as tears rolled down her face. She kept singing until she was done. She then stood there with her head bowed low, feeling ashamed of herself and everything she stood for.
One by one the men and women in the room stood up and applauded. They started screaming, “More . . . more.”
The piano man hollered up at her, “You don’t want to say no to this crowd. Just start singing, and I’ll follow your lead.”
She didn’t want to sing another blues songs and didn’t think she could make it through another one if she tried. Her stomach was turning, accusing her of betraying her beliefs. She had no business in a place like this . . . dressed like this . . . singing songs like this.
“You’ve got to do something, girl. These cats will lose their mind if you don’t give ’em what they want,” the piano player hollered up at her.
But Shar didn’t care anymore. She stepped down from the stage, walked over to Nicoli, ignored the woman seated next to him, and said, “I’m leaving. I should never have agreed to do this.”
He stood. “You can’t just walk out of here. Mr. Marson wants you to sing a set.”
Shar wasn’t going to be intimidated by him one second longer. He’d hurt her arm in the dressing room, but she doubted that he would try anything like that in front of a room full of witnesses. She pointed at the woman next to him. “Tell her to go up there and sing while these dirty old men paw at her and make all sorts of God-awful comments.” Shar threw the Ostrich feather at Nicoli.
“You’re jealous over Lucy.” He looked from Lucy to Shar, still holding the feather. “We’re just friends, girl. Now stop acting crazy and get back on that stage.”
“No,” Shar said as she huffed her way toward the door.
As she reached for the door handle, a hand gripped her around her upper arm, and she was instantly paralyzed, thinking
that Nicoli was about to beat on her in front of all these people. Why oh why hadn’t she listened to Mahalia?
“I’m sorry, little lady, but I can’t let you leave out of here in that dress. I had it shipped all the way from France.”
That wasn’t Nicoli’s voice. A chill went up Shar’s spine as she turned around and faced the man who’d had Nicoli beaten to within an inch of his life, and now she wondered if he planned to do the same to her.
“I’m Joe Marson,” the big and burly man who looked like he could outbox Joe Louis said.
“I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t trying to steal the dress.” She looked down at herself and shook her head as she told him, “And believe me, I certainly don’t want to walk the streets in it.”
Mr. Marson laughed.
Shar was surprised by the laugh and was beginning to think that maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. She leaned into him and asked, “Do you think I could go back to the dressing room and get my clothes?”
“You certainly can,” he said with a smile.
Shar thanked him and made a move to go to the dressing room.
Joe Marson then put one finger up and said, “But, since I have already paid Nicoli for this performance, I’m going to need you to sing at least one more song, before I let you into that dressing room tonight.” His eyes became cold and unyielding, but the smile was still plastered on his face.
Shar wanted to refuse, but that chill was going up her spine again. This man was dangerous, and she knew it with every fiber of her being. She wasn’t about to argue with him. So, she got back on that stage and did as she was told. When the song ended, the crowd started begging for more again. Mr. Marson motioned for her to keep singing. By the third song, Shar was getting into the rhythm. The piano player was working with her, and the crowd didn’t seem as rowdy. So she closed her eyes and began to feel each song as she belted the words out.
After the fifth song, Mr. Marson walked to the edge of the stage and held out his hand to her. Shar put the microphone in its cradle and walked off the stage and sat down at Mr. Marson’s table.
“Well, I’ll say this, Miss Shar Gracey, you have a voice that other singers would kill to have.”
Shar reckoned that he was giving her a compliment but didn’t know if she liked the thought of anyone contemplating murder just to have her voice. “I’m thinking that other singers are happy with the voice God gave ’em.”
Marson shook the table with his big belly laugh. “You are a caution. I bet you keep Nicoli in stitches.”
“She sure does, Mr. Marson. Funniest girl I ever met and the prettiest too.” Nicoli pulled up a chair and sat down at the table with them. He tried to put an arm around Shar, but she brushed it off.
“I was just getting ready to invite this little lady to sing at my club for the rest of the weekend.”
Shar shook her head. “I can’t come back in here. I sing with Thomas Dorsey’s choir.”
“I know Dorsey. We used to call him Georgia Tom when he was playing his piano in the juke joints. So, I doubt if he will condemn you for trying to earn a little money.” Marson leaned back in his seat, looking from Nicoli to Shar waiting on an answer.
“What do you mean? How can I earn money?” Shar was suddenly very interested in the conversation.
“I can pay you ten dollars a night.”
Nicoli jumped in. “Since I’m Shar’s manager, I need to advise her that she shouldn’t settle for anything less than twenty-five a night.”
“Nicoli, what are you doing?” Shar asked. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to come back to this club. Even though Mr. Marson tried to make her feel better about it by reminding her that Mr. Dorsey had once played in nightclubs and juke joints, she still wasn’t comfortable with any of this. However, Shar did like the sound of that money. And she didn’t want Nicoli messing anything up for her before she could decide what to do.
Nicoli put a hand on her shoulder. “This is a conversation for us men. Let me handle this.”
Shar wanted to roll her eyes at that. But she didn’t interrupt again.
“I’ll let her put a tip jar out. If she sings like she did tonight and then makes nice with the customers, she’ll make some good tips.”
Nicoli said, “Deal,” then shook Marson’s hand.
On the walk home, Nicoli couldn’t contain his joy. “You did it, Shar. You showed them what I’ve kno
wn all along.”
“And that is?” Shar asked tight-lipped. She hadn’t forgotten about the woman he’d been whispering with in the back of the room.
“That Shar Gracey is going to be somebody. You’re on your way. And I’m going to be your manager so you don’t get cheated.”
“It sure looked like you were doing a little cheating of your own tonight. I guess this is what you do behind my back at these clubs.” She folded her arms around her stomach as she kept walking.
“You need to stop being so jealous. I ain’t got time for nobody but you in my life. And I sure wouldn’t be cheating with Lucy. That girl don’t have nothing on you.”
“I don’t care if her name is Lucy or Emma Jean or whoever else you want to cozy up with. I’m getting plum tired of the way you’re treating me.”
Nicoli took hold of Shar’s arms and stopped her from walking. “Look at me, Shar.”
She averted her eyes. Nicoli talked her into too much stuff when she looked at him.
“I’m serious, Shar. Look at me. Look me in the eye and tell me that you can’t see how much I love you. I ain’t never been with a woman like you. And I don’t want to be with nobody but you.”
She turned to him, but truth be told, Shar couldn’t tell what his eyes was saying. But the words were melting the ice from around her heart.
“I swear for God, that meeting you has changed me. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me . . . do you hear me?”
“I hear you. I just don’t know if what we’re doing is right.”
“Nothing could ever be righter,” Nicoli said as he bent his head and softly kissed Shar as if she was treasured and precious.
Coming up for air after that kiss, Shar was a little disoriented and confused. Did he love her? Was he good for her? Was she just being a worrywart? She lightly punched Nicoli’s shoulder as she said, “I just better not catch you with that woman again. That’s all I’m saying.”
He put an arm around her as they continued their journey. He asked, “So have you decided to take the gig so we can earn some money for our future?”
How Sweet the Sound Page 13
