by Judy Kundert
Katherine sighed and looked outside the galley. She delivered all the lunch trays, served all the airline quota of drinks, and survived her unpleasant Vegas passengers. She took a tour of the cabin, As she passed by the passengers were either snoring, reading, or playing poker. It was a safe time for her to take a brief escape. A vacant airplane bathroom was a haven, a place to get calm. As soon as Katherine closed the bathroom door, she took in a deep breath of smoke free air. Her nose twitched with pleasure since the air wasn’t full of the cigarette and cigar smoke that permeated the cabin. Katherine scowled at the mirror and wrinkled her brow. She touched her Thunderbird and closed her eyes. I have to figure out a story for the lost shot glass. Childhood memories of Chippewa Falls and the Native American citizens boosted her defiance.
Katherine unlocked the bathroom door and heard a soft crunch. A black crow feather touched the toe of her blue three-inch pumps. No one was near her. She swallowed and pressed the glossy black feather against her chest then bowed her head and slipped the mysterious plume inside her purse. Katherine looked up and smiled and whispered. Thank you, Great Spirit, for watching out for me. I will need this for good luck and protection.
After finding the feather, nothing could get her down for the rest of the trip, and the captain’s pre-landing announcement came on sooner than she expected.
As she walked through the cabin to make a final passenger seat belt check before landing in Las Vegas, she flashed a bright smile to the passengers. The Cheshire cat grin reflected the rapid flow of thoughts scampering through her mind. A desire to hop through the cabin pushed her down the aisle.
Katherine finished her cabin check, settled into the jump seat, leaned back, and wondered how this trip might have been her best trip. At 30,000 feet, I received the message about the reason the feather floated past my apartment window. Now I remembered what my Great-grandmother told me that a crow feather means strength, wisdom, power, and freedom. I must discover the reason for this omen and sign. What does this mean?
3
CHICAGO’S WARM SPRING BREEZE beckoned to the hibernating dwellers, calling them from their dwellings. They emerged from their lakefront high-rises, townhouses, and three-floor walk-ups to gather at their favorite pubs after a day spent enjoying Lake Michigan.
Danny O’Brien was a newcomer to the Lincoln Park neighborhood. Six months ago, he moved from his Southside home and discovered an acceptable parish home and favorite pub: St. Michael’s in Old Town and John Barleycorn. Everything fit. A good Irish boy needed his church and his bar.
Danny glided from his three-story walk-up apartment to John Barleycorn. He waved at his neighbors walking their dogs down Dickens Street. When he entered John Barleycorn, he ogled the charming young women mingling at the bar. Danny’s whole body reacted to the sight of these attractive young women, prompting his face to flush and his groin to tingle. He wanted to dance a jig. He looked up, winked, and touched Lucky McCool, his lucky charm leprechaun in his pocket. Since Danny was five years old, he’d kept McCool with him since he helped him feel Irish.
Pale ale and stout odors wafted through the room. Raucous laughter from the Tuesday-night softball crowd drowned out the classical background music. Huddled in the back room of the historic tavern, they clinked their mugs of suds. Locals told tales of hearing the former bootleggers’ bottles rattling in the corners of the bar. The locals relished telling their jokes about John Barleycorn’s past, as diverse as a Chinese laundry and a speakeasy.
Danny’s brother, one of the softball players, waved. “Hey, Danny, grab a brew.”
Danny raised his hand and ordered his favorite drink. Guinness Extra Stout flowed down his throat. With each sip, it kindled louder laughter. In his amateur boxing days, a cold Guinness after one of his many KOs affirmed his victory.
Danny sauntered to his brother’s table to join him and his teammates. With shouts of laughter, they reran their winning plays. “You made a great double play in the fifth,” one guy yelled to Patrick, Danny’s brother.
“What the hell gave you the idea to steal home on that bunt play?” Patrick asked his fellow teammate.
“And whattaya think of Billy,” another said, “the strikeout king?”
Danny sat and smiled at the winning team. “You guys did it tonight?”
His brother grinned and turned to Danny. “That we did. And I’ve got even better news. You’ve got an interview at the Playboy Club tomorrow at 11:00 a.m. I gave them the full rundown on your amateur boxing career and bouncing at Murphy’s. You have one foot in the door. Getting the next foot inside the club is up to you.”
Danny gave his brother a shoulder punch and beamed. “I’m ready. What should I do?”
Patrick, a private practice attorney, understood the workings of Chicago. In his practice, he confronted the Chicago machine politics and the “Chicago Outfit.” His motto was “stay clean.” Five years Danny’s senior, Patrick had stepped in to raise Danny when their policeman father got killed in the line of duty.
Patrick looked like Danny’s twin brother. They both had a muscular build, a ready smile, and balding-yet-handsome good looks. Patrick winked at Danny. “Well, you can handle yourself with the Outfit, so you’re okay there. Just keep your cool if you see FBI in the club or the mansion. They read every issue of Playboy. They say it’s for research on the Playboy philosophy and that counterculture malarkey. As for those Bunnies, you can look at them and protect them, but don’t touch them. Use your muscles on the drunks and perverts, and you’ll be a champ.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“And remember Dad’s warning: ‘If you see a lady in distress, move with caution.’”
Danny furrowed his brow and considered his brother’s last comment.
4
THE BRIGHT KITCHEN LIGHT jolted Katherine awake. She needed lots of coffee this morning. While the coffee pot percolated, and her English muffin toasted, she yawned and stretched. The flight home from Vegas was uneventful, but the flight there still rattled her thoughts.
She had to admit the Copa Room was fantastic. Showgirls dressed in red sequined evening gowns and long white gloves sang and danced. The ladies oozed talent and charm. After the antics on the flight, Katherine had appreciated the musical extravaganza. Life was a blend of good and bad. The Copa Room show was good. The obnoxious antics of the few grown men were the bad. Overshadowing everything was the feather and the message it gave Katherine to find its purpose in her life.
Katherine smiled as she paged through her journal of experiences. She found a quote that she liked from Ernest Hemingway’s A Movable Feast: “By then I knew that everything good and bad left an emptiness when it stopped. But if it was bad, the emptiness filled up by itself. If it was good, you could only fill it by finding something better.” Now she’d tasted the tainted life and didn’t enjoy the queasy feeling it gave her. Katherine curled her lips and pressed her hands to her stomach. Those men with the “injun” shot glass and their comments about a drunken “injun.” She grabbed her Thunderbird necklace and wrote a note. Next time, I will defend my people.
Her brow wrinkled with the distant memory of her first experience with attacks and ridicule of Native Americans. She closed her eyes and heard the three teenage boys on Chippewa Falls’ Main Street joking. “What is an empty Budweiser on the side of the road? An Indian artifact. And what is a half-empty can of Budweiser on the side of the road? A rare Indian artifact.” The jokes darted from her ears straight to her heart. She clasped her chest to stop herself from bursting into tears.
Katherine closed her notepad. She glanced at the photo of the Las Vegas showgirl who’d autographed it for the best crew deskman in the whole world. Katherine stared at a glob of strawberry crimson. She’d accidentally plastered the performer’s head with blobs of jam. Oh, no, that friendly crew desk supervisor promised he’d do anything for me if I got him an autograph from a Copa girl, but not one with a splash of jam on her forehead. Now, he’ll give me Las Vegas junkets until I
get another autographed photo without a jam blot on it for him.
The apartment buzzer startled her. She pressed the speaker button. “Hi, Fred.”
“Yes, Miss Katherine. I have a flower delivery for you. Should I bring them up now?”
“Sure, Fred. Thanks.”
Katherine put her finger to her lips and reached for the doorknob. Who would send me flowers?
“Dazzling flowers,” Fred said. “Do you know how much yellow roses and one orchid cost? I know, cuz my mom works in a flower shop.”
Preoccupied with her delivery, Katherine waved. “Oh, yes. Thanks, Fred, see ya later.”
Katherine left the front door ajar and walked to her living room. A few minutes later, Emma Jean waltzed through the unlocked door.
“Hey there, Darlin’.”
Katherine turned with a jerk. She dropped the delivery card on the table and greeted her friend. “Hey, lady. How did you get in here?”
“Well, for starters, Fred knows me. He said that he’d delivered flowers to you. Who sent them?” Like a gazelle, she glided over the beanbag chair to pick up the unread card.
Katherine admired her friend’s ease and poise. She’d learned how to sit tall in a saddle with aplomb. Those southern women popped out of their mother’s wombs with grace and refinement.
Katherine retrieved the card and laughed. “I bet they’re from my parents.” She smiled.
“There’s no mystery.”
Katherine flashed a playful grin. She held the card in her hand and started to read it. Her confident smile changed to jaw-dropping shock. “Oh, my God! Oh, no. It can’t be. I spoke with him for five minutes.”
Katherine threw the card on the table.
Emma Jean chuckled and shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I reckon you’ve eliminated your mom and dad as suspects.”
Katherine sighed. “They’re from a passenger on the gambling junket.” She skipped telling the details of her run-in with Dominick at the airport, and her dismay when he appeared on her flight. I’m going to ignore him, and he’ll go away. “He thanked me for being so pleasant and looks forward to seeing me tonight.”
“Tonight! Did you forget the Playboy party? Darlin’, it’s not proper to cancel prior commitments. I’m dressed and ready to go. I spent lots of time and money on this outfit. Don’t you just love it?” She waved her hands in the air, sighed, and collapsed on the sofa.
Katherine thought Emma Jean was a fashion goddess. She did look great in her red mini skirt with a white lace blouse and paisley fishnet tights. “You look fabulous.”
Katherine took in a deep breath to wait while Emma Jean relaxed.
“Girlfriends are forever, Emma, you tell me that story all the time. I still remember what you taught me about how to deal with men. Men are like buses. If you miss one, you can always catch another. He meant that he’d look for me tonight at the Playboy party. You know it’s kinda like when a guy says I’ll give you a call. Have you ever waited around for calls?”
“Okay,” Emma replied with exaggerated exasperation. “So, tell me. Is he a musician, an actor, a member of the press, what?”
“Well, he’s not any of those types.” Katherine nibbled her nails. “He may have family connections from Italy. He mumbled something about his dad’s name.” Katherine coughed. “If I heard right, he said his last name was Rizzo. He coughed and said his name in one breath. It sent chills through me and landed like a boulder in my stomach. My instincts shouted loud and clear on this one.”
Katherine turned away from her friend to gaze out the window as the L train moved along its 100-year-old tracks. It prompted her to review her list of things to do in Chicago, including riding all the Chicago L lines with all its rainbow of colors. Checked off her list were the brown and purple lines. She liked the humming sound of the train wheels as it clanked over the old tracks.
I’ll avoid any involvement with Dominick, she thought to herself. He may be a decent guy and might not be a gangster. But I’m not wasting time to find out. Her face turned red. But what would Mom and Dad say if he is? Chippewa Falls would shun me from town forever.
Emma Jean’s faced turned white. “Wait. Do you mean Vinni ‘the Butcher’ Rizzo? He’s up there with Al Capone and Frank Nitti, Katherine! You don’t want to mess with them!” Emma Jean giggled. “Of course, I’m a proper southern girl, but I do adore dark, handsome men.” She wrinkled her brows. “My neighbor, Dave, works for Mayor Daley. He spent an hour telling me tales about the Chicago Outfit while we sipped wine. They do terrible things, like Chop Shop stuff. Do you know, they have the nerve to steal peoples’ cars, tear them apart, and then sell the vehicle parts?” Emma Jean flinched and wrinkled her nose. “And they do something like off-track betting. He won’t tell the worst things that they do. He said it wasn’t fit for lady’s ears. But he did say they were involved with the Central Intelligence Agency. He said those thugs are the biggest of Chicago mobster legends. Oh, my heavens, what about your parents? My mama and papa would ban me from the family if I dated someone like that. They’re carpetbaggers. Scalawags!”
Katherine rolled her eyes and scanned from left to right. Hm, Dominick had The Daily Racing Form. And he was in a huddle with two guys on my flight to Las Vegas. They wore pinky rings, and gold chains flopped down to their navel. Her chest sunk like a deflated bagpipe. I can see Dad’s finger waving at me. Katherine pressed her clenched fist against her pursed lip. She sighed. “Hey, remember, my father was a civil rights lawyer in Chicago a few years ago. That’s why I’m upset. And this is what I get for doing my job since our supervisors require us to talk to the passengers?”
Emma Jean raised her hand, “Darlin’, remember, I’m a southern lady. Southern women are polite and speak when someone speaks to them first.”
Katherine recalled her father’s mafia stories. Some of his clients never got untangled from their web. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Back to my party predicament. I’ll just get busy with other people and ignore him. He may not even notice me.” Despite her words, hoping for the best didn’t wipe away her fear of the worst.
“Kate, Darlin’, don’t worry. It’ll be okay. We’ll have a ball tonight.”
Katherine tilted her head and clasped her hands behind her neck. Something about Emma’s voice wasn’t coming off right. She glanced at her watch. Emma Jean had arrived pretty early to go to the party. Something’s wrong, and here I am fussy over nothing. Then she noticed that her friend’s makeup looked like a mess of smudges and smears, something this Southern belle never allowed to happen. “Emma Jean, are you okay?”
“It’s Mama. I’m not telling her where we’re going tonight. I tell Mama everything. She’s my best friend. She believes I’m a perfect Southern belle. Even my being up north and working as a stewardess causes Mama to get the vapors and faint.”
Katherine raised her brows and chuckled. “You’re over twenty-one. I don’t tell my mom and dad everything. And they expect that I won’t. They trust me.”
“But this is different. Northern families let their daughters go wild. Mama still thinks that I just go to cotillions and church socials at the Methodist church and then rest under a parasol under a magnolia tree and practice my Southern belleness. You know I’m born and bred to wait on the veranda for the proper boy to take me home to the South. There’s no veranda in Chicago, and I still want to go tonight. Bless your heart for letting me blubber on.”
Katherine scratched her head. She couldn’t relate to Emma Jean’s preordained Southern belle pattern for living. Compared to Emma Jean, she felt wild and free. She enjoyed being considered untamed. Her parents didn’t give her a road map. They made her feel that she could become her own person and follow her uncharted path. I still see dad smiling at me when I graduated from Chippewa Valley High School and he handed me a note with a quote from our favorite author Henry David Thoreau: Go confidently in the direction of your dreams, Live the life you’ve always imagined. And my imagination tells me the sky is the limit. Wow, I’m lik
e our school mascot, the mighty Hawk. I’m getting ready to fly higher than I’ve ever flown before. I have my own power and my own wings. “Hey, we all have different ways,” she said. “If you’re not comfortable with the party, you’ll regret going tonight. I’m cool with that. We can go to McGuire’s or somewhere else.”
Emma Jean smiled. “Oh, Darlin’, I’ll just have to regret not telling Mama and Papa. You know, I never miss a party, even if it’s at the Playboy Mansion.”
Katherine recalled the first time she and Charlotte walked past the great brick and limestone Playboy Mansion on North State Parkway. They both wanted to live in the elegant mansion.
Katherine clapped her hands. “Hey, I have a good story. Remember my story about Charlotte and the Playboy Mansion?”
Emma Jean nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, before Charlotte got the Bunny job, I researched the history of the mansion before the Hefner Playboy era.” Katherine noticed Emma Jean’s eyes glazing over. She leaned in toward her. “This is the point. I found out that a law partner of Abraham Lincoln built Hef’s mansion. At that time, some of the guests were Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln. You could tell your mother about the history of the mansion. It’s impressive.”
Emma Jean shrieked. “Darlin’, if I mention Abraham Lincoln, she’d scream more than if I tell her I went to the Playboy Mansion.”
Katherine laughed. “Don’t tell Mama and let’s go have an adventure.”
5
A SPRING BREEZE ENVELOPED the women. Fresh green leaves dressed the trees that lined North State Parkway. Springs floral scents filled the air. The two friends chattered as they strolled by the elegant brownstones.
Katherine waved her hand to point at the homes and giggled. “These are Hugh Hefner’s next-door neighbors.”