Shattered Angel

by Baird Nuckolls

  “Nah, I heard the cops got ‘em just after Mickey got away. I don’t expect they’re in any position to know who has their cocaine.” Sean looked down and twisted his hat in his hands. “Mr. Hart, Mickey and me just want to get some money from this deal. I know I can trust you. You’ve always taken good care of me.”

  “Sean, I’ll need to think about it a bit.” Hart put his drink down and stared out the dark window for a long minute. “How about this? I have some tickets to the Dempsey fight coming in a few days. I can get you and Mickey tickets, too, if you’ll come early and make sure no one sits in my seats. We can talk after.”

  “The Dempsey fight? That would be great. I’d be happy to look after your seats at the fight for you.”

  “Come by tomorrow and I’ll give you the tickets.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Hart. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

  “Not at the moment, Sean. It can keep.”

  Sean set his glass down and rose to leave. As he reached the door, Hart called out to him.

  “Bring me a sample of that cocaine tomorrow.”

  Sean nodded and left. He could hear the music floating out of the mansion as he walked down the sidewalk.

  Chapter Three

  Angel

  Wednesday night

  The open-topped car careened up Park Avenue, swerving around parked cars and groups of pedestrians. The four girls screamed and threw up their hands every time the car moved sideways.

  “Watch where you’re going, Harry,” Veronica Winthrop squealed, holding on to the dashboard.

  Harold Russell Winthrop Jr., was Angel’s second cousin and Veronica’s younger brother. Only fifteen, he was really not old enough or strong enough to handle the smoking contraption that he was driving, even though he’d been talking about wanting to drive for ages. Angel had suddenly gotten tired of the old fogeys at the party after Aaron disappeared and convinced her friends to sneak out and borrow the car.

  Nice girls certainly didn’t drive and they had no one else to chauffeur them to the club they wanted to visit, so they got Harry to do the driving. He, of course, was thrilled to be at the wheel of the giant auto, steaming uptown at a furious pace. Along with their best friends, Virginia Bentley Adams and Madeline Gregson, they were headed uptown to hear some music. Harry leaned on the horn at every opportunity, cursing at slow moving vehicles and barely dodging the trams that rambled down the middle of the street. Veronica was in the front seat, while Angel, Ginny and Maddie were thrown together in a clump to one side of the back seat with every turn. They shrieked and laughed at every near miss, passing Angel’s flask between them. Ginny took a sip just as Harold turned hard left onto Eighty-fifth Street to cross the park, and she choked on the bourbon, spitting it everywhere.

  “Ginny, be careful; you’re going to ruin my new dress,” Maddie Gregson yelled. She’d lent her friend the green satin, along with dire warnings to keep it safe. It was the latest style — sleeveless with a lace collar and a dropped waist. The hemline was daringly high, showing just the curve of a girl’s calf. Madeline wouldn’t let her have the white lace stockings she’d bought to wear with it, however. Those would never have survived the evening.

  “Sorry, Maddie, but Harry is a demon behind the wheel. It’s a wonder we haven’t turned over into a gutter yet.” Ginny Bentley Adams handed the flask back to Angel. “Your turn.”

  Angel glanced ahead and calculated how long she had before Harry made another crazy maneuver, then tipped her head back and swallowed a burning slug of whiskey. There was an advantage to Aaron’s ownership of the Golden Ruby. Their house was never at a loss for liquor and no one ever seemed to notice when she indulged in filling her flasks. The family butler, Harmon, had caught her once, riffling through the bottles in Aaron’s study bar, but he’d said nothing. She liked that about him. Always watching, but usually silent as a tomb.

  The car swung wide onto Broadway and nearly clipped a lamppost, causing a young couple to jump back from the corner; the young man raised his fist in the air, shouting curses after them, but the girls just laughed and Harry kept driving. They were headed to Harlem and there was no stopping them.

  ***

  West Harlem was just beginning to bustle for the evening; people had been streaming home from work earlier, but now they were going out. Neon signs lit the streets and a cool wind blew in from the river. It carried the scent of rot and a thread of chill that warned of the coming winter. But for tonight, it was content to blow the leaves up out of the gutters and swirl the girls’ skirts.

  “Harry, stop. There it is.” Ginny pointed to a sign in the middle of the block. The Cotton Club. Harry pulled the car over to the curb and turned off the engine. The girls passed the flask around again as they noisily gathered their wraps and bags, and smoothed their hair. Maddie pulled up the hem of her pale-yellow lace dress to straighten her stockings, while Ginnie smoothed the green satin frock. The wild ride had thrown them all into disarray, but that was part of the fun.

  Veronica turned to her brother. “Harry, you stay with the car.”

  “But I want to come.”

  “Harry, someone needs to watch the car. After all, look where we are. In this neighborhood, anything could happen.”

  “Let me keep the flask, at least.”

  Angel raised it up and took another slug. “Nothing doing,” she said, slipping it into her purse.

  “Here, take these.” Veronica fished into her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and tossed them to Harry. “We’ll be back.”

  The girls linked arms and headed across the street. The sound of wild jazz music poured out of the door every time it opened. Harry sat back down in the seat, put his feet up, and lit a cigarette.

  ***

  He awoke some time later as his feet crashed down off the dash.

  “Wake up, son.”

  Harry sat up straight to find a tall man bending over the car. He had sandy blond hair and was dressed in a cheap dark suit. With his short haircut and ruddy completion, he looked like either a gangster or a policeman, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform. Harry hoped for the latter. The man’s pale white face gleamed damply in the glare of the lights on the marquee above them. Harry wondered why he was sweating in the cool September air.

  “What brings you to this part of town?” The man’s voice was stern and menacing. Harry was wide-awake now and suddenly very nervous.

  “Just waiting for someone, uh, sir.”

  “Well, I think it’s past your bedtime, boy. Why don’t you just run on home?”

  “But my sister…”

  “Where is she, son?”

  Harry pointed toward the Cotton Club entrance.

  “She’ll be fine, son. We’ll make sure she gets home all right.”

  The man stepped back from the car and crossed his arms. Harry looked past him and noticed several police cars double parked across the street; the men driving them were congregating on the sidewalk across from the Cotton Club. Something was about to happen. He thought briefly about trying to find Veronica to warn her, but the tall man was staring daggers at him.

  Harry tried to start the car but forgot to set the choke. The engine sputtered and died. The policeman gave him an indulgent smile, but his eyes were cold and hard. Harry felt a trickle of sweat run down his forehead, and wiped it away. He fiddled with the car’s controls and then tried again. This time, the engine roared to life and he felt too relieved for words. He put the car into gear and gently pulled away from the curb, aware of the policeman’s stare following him as he drove down the street and turned the corner.

  Chapter Four

  The Cotton Club

  Angel found Veronica sitting by herself at a tiny table in the middle of the club, watching Ginnie and Madeline dance a wild foxtrot, when she came back from powdering her nose. Veronica was the one who’d told them about this new club, where the chorus girls were tall and lovely, with brilliant smiles, and the jazz singers were dark and deliciously dang
erous. The club had been half full when they arrived, but now there were no empty tables and the dance floor was packed tight. Angel had never seen so many wild dancers in one place before. The women were more vivacious, and the men, more handsome, than any group she’d seen in her life. And the clothes… she could sit and stare for hours. There must be something in the lighting that made everyone sparkle.

  The band struck up a new song and Veronica jumped up from their table.

  “Come on, you have to learn this new dance.”

  She pulled Angel through the crowd, fighting for a spot on the floor. Ginnie and Maddie saw them, and worked their way over, as the crowd started to kick and swing their feet. Angel watched for a moment and then caught on to the syncopated rhythm. The music dipped and swirled, and the dancers spun around them. The feeling of bubbles popping was contagious. She couldn’t stop grinning as the girls swung each other around. Too breathless to speak, they stumbled back to their table arm-in-arm when the music was done. The orchestra took a break.

  “That, my friends, was the Charleston,” Veronica announced, her chest still heaving.

  “What, like the city?” Ginnie asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “Where did you learn it? You’ve never been to Charleston.” Angel narrowed her eyes at her friend. She thought they’d been everywhere together, done everything. Here was something V had done without her.

  “No, silly. Constance taught it to me. It’s from a show that just opened at the New Colonial Theater. Isn’t it just the walrus’ whiskers?”

  Angel took a sip of her watered-down drink and sighed. “I hope they play it again.”

  “I could dance like that all night,” Ginnie announced. “Oh, goody, look who’s here.” She pointed to an older man in a tuxedo who was weaving through the tables in their general direction. “It’s Teddy.” She jumped up and ran toward him.

  “Of course Teddy’s here,” Maddie said. “He’s always to be found wherever the fun is to be had.” Ginnie’s uncle had just returned from Europe on the Leviathan and was staying at the Ritz-Carlton, she informed them. Teddy arrived, with Ginnie on his arm, followed by a waiter bearing a bottle of French champagne. The girls were introduced and Teddy greeted them warmly.

  “To the flower of New York womanhood,” he said, raising a glass of bubbly high. Angel smirked, but the other girls all cheered. They proceeded to polish off the champagne just as the band geared up for another run.

  Ginnie and Maddie got up to dance with Teddy, but Veronica touched Angel’s arm.

  “Let them go. I wanted to tell you something.”

  “What is it, darling?”

  “I’ve met someone.” Veronica blushed and looked down at the table, toying with the stem of her champagne coupe.

  “Oh, this is amazing news. Do tell me all about it. Who is he and where did you meet him?”

  “His name is Robert Harrison. Believe it or not, he’s from California. Los Angeles. His family is in the oil business.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “I ran into him at the Metropolitan of all places. Literally. I was there to see the new exhibit on Italian Renaissance Art and suddenly realized I was late meeting Mother for tea. I was dashing down the staircase and slipped. Robert was right there and caught me.”

  “How romantic.”

  “Oh, it was so embarrassing. But he is very strong and such a gentleman. He insisted on escorting me home to make sure that I was all right. I think I was more breathless because of his blue eyes than nearly falling down the stairs.”

  “So, blue eyes and strong. Is he handsome? More importantly, is he available?”

  “Oh, he’s very handsome. Blonde hair, blue eyes, golden skin; he looks like a movie star. Mother invited him to stay for tea, but he couldn’t. He had a meeting to attend but agreed to come another time.”

  “Did your mother interrogate him about his family and his position before he left? That’s always the first thing my mother wants to know about a young man.”

  “No, but I’m sure that she’s looking into it.” Veronica giggled. “She has her network.”

  “I know. I don’t understand why it’s so important to them. If he’s handsome and all in one piece, who cares where he comes from.”

  The girls sat in silence for a moment, looking out at the dance floor. There was a distinct lack of whole and handsome young men in the crowd. So many men of their generation had gone to France and never returned. Or worse, returned without an arm or a leg or an eye. Alice Westman, a girl Angel knew from school, had been betrothed to Richard Dunthorpe Cramer before the war. He’d been sweet on her for a long time and she couldn’t wait for him to come home so that they could be married. He’d gone overseas as an ambulance driver, not even a real soldier, but he still came back without his right hand. Something tragic, about unexploded ordnance, she said. The wedding had been postponed indefinitely and Angel couldn’t believe she was even going to go through with it. How could she stand to let him touch her with that… stump!? It made her shudder just thinking of it.

  “Did your Mr. Harrison go to France?”

  “No, I don’t think so. He mentioned something about university in California.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. It means he’s less likely to be traumatized by the war. Do you remember Paul Sherman?”

  “Didn’t his family attend St. Matthews?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. His sister, Meredith, went to Vassar.”

  “I remember. What about him?”

  “I went walking with him in Central Park a few weeks ago. We were strolling along, looking at the leaves changing color and then suddenly, there was a loud noise. I think a car backfired. Anyway, I’d gone twenty feet before I realized I was alone.”

  “What happened?”

  “I looked back and there he was, facedown under a bush, quaking. His lovely suit was covered in mud and his hat was a total ruin. I barely managed to get him into a cab. So that was the end of that. And he looked perfectly fine.”

  “Such a shame. Did you like him?”

  “Who, Paul? Not terribly.” Angel’s thoughts drifted back to the fine figure of Aaron in his tuxedo this evening. He was a real man and still capable of noticing her. She wondered if she dare mention him to Veronica. Aaron was just enough older that he’d missed out on all the war nonsense. Before she could say anything, Ginnie appeared, grinning madly.

  “Come on, Angel, Veronica, let’s dance. I came here for the jazz!”

  Veronica and Angel made their way to where Maddie and Teddy were dancing together. The effervescent music had the girls moving and laughing. Angel couldn’t remember a night of such energy. She felt like it could go on forever, but she was wrong.

  A crash of glass, followed by a woman’s scream, brought the orchestra to a stuttering halt. The house lights came on and Angel fell into Veronica’s arms as the surging mass of dancers lost their collective rhythm and stumbled. Angel looked up to catch a glimpse of Ginnie and Maddie being shepherded away by Uncle Teddy, just as a group of policemen in dark blue uniforms, their brass buttons flashing, surrounded the dancers. Angel barely had time to collect their coats from the table as the girls were herded through a side door into an alley with the rest of the crowd.

  She and Veronica stood together, their heads bowed, whispering.

  “Angel, I’m worried about Harry. We left him sitting out front in the car. What if they’ve arrested him?”

  “What if they arrest us?”

  “But we weren’t doing anything wrong.”

  “Except drinking Uncle Teddy’s French champagne, remember.”

  Veronica looked chastened. She twisted her bag in her hands. “And your whiskey.”

  Angel slipped her hand into her coat and pulled out the silver flask. She’d forgotten all about it. She looked both ways to see if they were being watched, but the police seemed to be occupied talking to the other people who had not escaped the club in time. Without looking, Angel flipped the f
lask back over her shoulder and over the fence, into the yard of the building next door. Luckily, it hit something soft, perhaps the trash heap, and didn’t draw attention to her actions.

  She grabbed Veronica’s hand and stroked it.

  “I’m sure Harry is just fine. He may have seen them coming and gone home.”

  “Then how are we going to get home?”

  “We’ll get a taxi, silly, as soon as this is straightened out. Don’t worry.”

  Usually Veronica was the one who was so self-assured, but at this moment, she needed Angel to be strong for both of them.

  Their conversation was interrupted by one of the police officers. This one was not wearing a uniform, but he had a badge hanging from his coat pocket. He was a very large man with blond hair and a cold smile.

  “Well, ladies, what brings you to Harlem on a night like this?”

  “We came to hear some jazz, officer.” Angel straightened up and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Aren’t you two a little young to be staying out so late?” He leered at Veronica, who pulled her coat tightly around her. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Veronica Winthrop.”

  “And I’m Angel Eldridge,” Angel added, trying to draw his attention away from Veronica. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her friend. “My family owns the West End Bank of Brooklyn.”

  “Do they now? And does your father know you’re here?”

  “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

  “And did you happen to notice all the free-flowing booze? That ain’t strictly kosher now, is it?”

  “No, officer, we didn’t notice any alcohol. We were too busy dancing.”

  “Did you come with some boys?”

  “No, sir, we came alone.”

  “Well, that’s not a very good idea. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to young ladies of your station, now would we?” He slipped one arm through Angel’s and the other through Veronica’s, pulling them along the alley and into the street. The girls looked around for some sign of Harry, but the car was gone, and it seemed, so was he. At least that was one less thing to worry about.