by Vanda
Shirl was the most obvious person to approach for start-up capital. She’d been a major investor in Max’s first club, but she lost her whole investment in ’37, when the club slowly died. Max had crossed Shirl off his list of potential investors, but I didn’t.
“So, it’s over,” Shirl sighed. “After all these years, it’s over, but … Have you read people’s reactions in the Times editorials?” Shirl reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a rumpled New York Times.
“Yeah. It’s hard to believe they ended it—that way.”
“One man says in here.” She opened the newspaper to a dog-eared page. “‘We have, meanwhile, sunk to the spiritual level of the Nazis.’ Do you think that’s true?”
“Well, we did kill 200,000 men, women, and children, but … you know? I can’t feel it. I can think it, but I can’t feel it. I know I should feel some big thing inside me, but I don’t. I don’t know what to feel. It’s amazing to me that those men in the paper could express what they did. And now we’re hearing what the Germans did to the Jews. What am I supposed to feel about all this?”
“One of these guys says …” Shirl read, “‘It may strike us back …’” She looked up from her reading. “And yet, … my nephew—the only relative I have who’ll speak to me—a good kid—was on a troopship heading for the invasion of Japan. I know it’s selfish, but I keep wondering if he’s alive today, because now there’ll be no invasion of Japan.” She closed her eyes.
“I know.”
The silence between us sunk deep into the humidity that hovered in the room. It seemed as if we should pray, but we didn’t.
“Well …” Shirl sighed, throwing the newspaper into the trash can beside her desk. “Are you still volunteering at the Canteen?”
“Yeah, but it’s going to close soon. The Theater Wing is opening an acting school for veterans, and the teachers are all going to be celebrities, so there’s no place for me. It’s not what I want anyway. I gained a lot of experience working there. I worked with budgets, personnel, Broadway stars, orchestras, bands …”
“Are you applying for a job? Because I don’t have—”
“I want to open a night club.”
Shirl sat way back in her seat, a smile forming around her cigar. “How old are you?”
“My age has nothing to do with it. I want you to look at these plans.” I held out the plans Max had drawn up on my living room floor.
“Are you even old enough to drink?” she asked without taking the plans.
“You’re laughing at me and I don’t like that.”
Shirl sat up straight in her chair. “I’m sorry.” She stamped out her cigar in the ashtray. “Let me see what you’ve got there.”
I handed her the papers. She shook out a pair of glasses from her breast pocket and secured them onto her ears.
I couldn’t believe I’d spoken back to Shirl. No one ever spoke back to Shirl. I got up to walk around, but there wasn’t far to go.
I’d never been in Shirl’s office before. I usually went to her home on Bleecker Street. That way, I could visit with her and her “special friend” Mercy, too. Shirl’s office was on the tenth floor of a building on Madison Avenue and Fortieth. It was a small room, only big enough for a desk, three straight-back chairs, and a file cabinet. Shirl had no tolerance for ostentation.
She was taking a long time studying the papers, and I thought I was going to faint from anxiety and humidity. I leaned against the sill of the window that looked out onto Madison Avenue, counting the steady stream of cars. In my imagination, I saw Juliana singing in Max’s nightclub, a halo of stage light surrounding her.
My mind floated back to a time when I was first getting to know Juliana. We sat on her couch, drinking Turkish tea in little glasses. She said the sultan’s son had given the special tea glasses to her mother, because he’d fallen in love with her. It was a hopeless love, though, because her mother was already married to Juliana’s father.
Juliana had taken my hand in hers that night and led me to the music room. She pulled out a record from a brown sleeve and placed it on her Victrola. “I made this record—‘My Romance’—a while ago,” she told me. “Mind if I play it while I sing?”
“I’d love to hear it.”
She played the piano with the record and sang. Then she let the record play without her. “Let’s dance.”
“No. I … don’t dance very well.” I was scared to touch her; she was so beautiful.
“Put your arms around my neck.” I did, but I shook inside. She pulled me close and our bodies touched. My heart pounded, and I could hardly breathe. She sang right to me, her perfume floating around me. This glamorous, movie star-type woman was singing to me. “See? You’re doing it,” she said as she guided me over the rug.
Inside me, I felt breathless and giddy … and then … she kissed me. Right on the lips. My tongue met hers, and a vibration shot down to that place, and—
“Al? Hello, Al, are you still with me?”
“Huh? Oh. Shirl. Sorry. I was thinking.”
“Must’ve been some pretty fascinating thoughts.” Shirl held up the papers.
“These are good.”
“I know.” I sat down, ready to talk business. Of course, talking business meant I had to tell her the truth. “Those plans were mostly done by Max, but I—”
“No.” She stood to hand back the plans to me.
I stood too, trying to be as tall as her, not taking the plans. “Hear me out. Max has changed. He’s more serious now. You can ask Virginia.”
“She would never say anything against Max.”
“True, but I think this time he can do it. I think he can make you a wealthy woman.”
“I’m already a wealthy woman.”
“A fabulously wealthy woman.”
“It’s sweet you want to help a friend, but you weren’t there when he let his club die. Lots of the clubs were struggling. It was the depression, after all. Many went under, but there were some that thrived. The Onyx, for one, and Café Society, Downtown. Café Society first opened its doors in the middle of the depression, and they’re still going great guns today. These clubs helped people to endure those bad times. Everything was dirt-cheap, but the owners managed to keep going. After the repeal of prohibition, that was no easy job with all the new state liquor laws. Max was a handsome, talented boy, a powerhouse, but he squandered his gifts on too much liquor and marijuana.”
“Max smoked reefer?”
“You didn’t know that, did you? There’s a lot you don’t know. The boys were his downfall. He was always giving them money or jobs they weren’t qualified for, or taking some score on an exotic trip where he spent thousands of dollars impressing the ne’er-do-well. He’d be gone for weeks, while his club foundered.”
“But—” I tried to interject.
“It’s not only the money I lost,” Shirl went on, “my faith in Max was shattered.”
“But the war changed things inside him. He’s even nice to Virginia.”
“I doubt—”
“He wouldn’t take money from her to make his dream come true. No money for his dream, Shirl! He was afraid he’d lose it, and she’d be stuck with that mother of hers. Would he have cared about that before the war?”
“I suppose not, but—”
“He can do it. He’s learned his lesson. Everyone deserves a second chance. Don’t they?”
“Well—”
“You’re a fair woman. Everyone knows that about you. How can you condemn him forever? Forever, Shirl.”
“I lost a lot of money, and a lot of faith.”
“It’s not like you to be so unforgiving. That’s not the Shirl I know. That’s not the Shirl who’s always been my heroine.”
“Now, really, Al—”
“It’s true. Who do I always come to when Juliana makes me certifiable? Who is the wisest woman I know? Please don’t crush my faith in you. Who else will I look up to? You know how awful my real mother is.”
She sighed, �
�You’re not playing fair.” She sat down.
I smiled my cutest, sincerest smile. “Couldn’t you think about it? That’s all I’m asking. For you to think about it. You could do that much, couldn’t you? For me?”
Another sigh. “Well, if you put it like that, I suppose I …”
“And then you’ll talk to him, right? One meeting. That’s all. He didn’t ask me to come. He doesn’t even know I’m meeting with you. One meeting. What could you lose?”
“Time. Time is a very valuable commodity. Don’t you forget that.” She lit her cigar again and blew out a cloud of smoke. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll see Max here in my office next Wednesday noon, but I want you to come with him.”
“That’s fine with me. I don’t know much about business, but …”
“Don’t sell yourself short.”
* * *
“Max,” Shirl said, leaning across the desk, chewing on her cigar. “I’ll give you forty percent of what you need if, and this is non-negotiable, Al is given twenty-five percent ownership in the club and kept on as an assistant manager, so she can keep an eye on you. I’ll loan her the money for her share at a respectable rate.”
“Fine,” Max said.
“Are you certifiable?” This was happening too fast. “Me? A part owner of a club?”
“Anyone who can talk Shirl into investing her money with me is ready to be a part owner in a club.”
“Agreed.” Shirl nodded.
“But what if it doesn’t work? How will I ever pay you back?”
“So, now that your tail is on the line right next to mine, you’re not so confident, heh?” Max smiled, flicking an ash off his cigarette into Shirl’s ashtray.
“Welcome to the risky world of business,” Shirl said.
“Have your lawyers draw up the papers, and messenger them over to my apartment,” Max said to Shirl.
“And Al,” Shirl looked at me sternly, “I expect you to keep a sharp eye on this man. If he strays, and, you know what I mean, it’s your head. You understand?”
“Uh … well …”
* * *
As we stepped from Shirl’s building into the bright afternoon sun, Max stopped to light an Old Gold and put on his hat. He’d gotten a new suit—wide legs with cuffs and a broad-shouldered suit jacket with big lapels—especially for this meeting. He had no intention of appearing in Shirl’s office in anything less than the latest. “Well, we did it!” I said. “We’re gonna open a club.”
“Maybe,” Max said. He had a far off look.
“Maybe? We got the money. Okay, we still need thirty-five percent, but I can ask Virginia for ten. I know she wants to help, and ten percent isn’t so much. She won’t get stuck with that mother if things don’t go how I know they’re gonna. And sure, we still need twenty-five percent more, but …” Max stood there smoking, looking up at the cloudless sky. “Max? We did it. Why aren’t we cheering?”
“We didn’t do it, Al. The blue discharge?”
“We got around that by getting the money without asking the government, so—”
“We need a liquor license. And cabaret licenses. It’s illegal for homosexuals to own establishments that serve liquor.”
“Then lie.”
He laughed. “My goodness, you’re certainly learning this business fast. Yes, we’ll be doing a lot of that, but my blue discharge announces to the world exactly what I am, and the big guys are gonna check.”
“But you said our problem was money; you didn’t say—”
“I never thought you’d get the money.”
“Then we can’t …?” My dream of Juliana perched on a star began to drip wax.
“There’s one thing I can try. If that doesn’t work—”
“It will! It will! What is it?”
* * *
“Calm down, Robert,” Max said into the phone. We were both huddled in a phone booth at the Walgreen’s Drug Store in Times Square. “I’m not asking you to get involved again. I only want you to sign a couple little papers. I know it’s risky, but it’ll be plenty risky if you don’t. I don’t want to threaten you, but …you don’t even have to see me. I’ll get the paperwork ready, and you can meet with my assistant. You’ll be the owner in name only. I promise. After it’s done, you’ll go back to Teaneck, and continue living happily ever after with your wife, two boys, and delightfully dull job at the bank. How do you stand it after all you and I had? Don’t you miss the nude sunbathing at The Grove?—Okay, okay. Tomorrow noon. Meet Al at Child’s—Yes, he'll have the papers. Sign them, and your ‘normal’ life will remain intact.”
He hung up the phone.
“Yes?” Holding my breath.
“Yes.”
Chapter 6
September 1945
WHEN I GOT off the elevator at the Carnegie Studios, I heard Juliana singing. It was like she’d magically hooked a string to the center of my heart and was reeling me in. She was singing “Till the End of Time.” I stood in the hallway, pretending she was singing to me. I dreaded pushing through that closed door, because once I did, I’d feel all the reasons why she shouldn’t be singing that song.
Inside, it was even warmer than in the hallway. The August heat was hanging on to September. The tall windows were open, but only a dry, dusty breeze occasionally blew in. Juliana stood on a low stage near the piano, singing and smiling at Johnny, her accompanist. She wore a simple light green shirtwaist, a few of the top buttons undone. She’d bobby-pinned her hair off her neck, but a few strands hung loose around her face. There was a lot of bare skin showing. I loved it.
Still singing, she smiled at me. I gripped the back of a chair in the last row and sat down. Richard, in shirtsleeves, his jacket hanging over the back of his chair, sat in the front row, nodding to the music.
What a fool. He obviously didn’t know Juliana couldn’t handle the ballads. I bet he’s given her a whole line-up of ballads. If I was preparing her for an engagement, I’d have her rehearsing funny songs, and sexy songs, and songs where she could show off her dancing, but not ballads. It was like she had some kind of psychological block against them. Her voice always sounded terrific, but still the ballads came out stiff, with little expression, or she made them sound comical when they weren’t supposed to be. The only love song she sang well was “My Romance,” and it had some silly lines she could play with. I wondered what Sigmund Freud would’ve said about this. Of course, no one was going to get Juliana on an analyst’s couch, so whoever directed her had to work around her “problem.” I wondered why Richard insisted on directing her himself. He could easily afford a topnotch professional. That’s what I’ll get her. The best.
She finished the song. “Al,” she called. “Richard, do you mind?”
Richard turned in his seat. “Hey, Alice, I didn’t know you’d come in. Sure. Let’s take a break.” Johnny took a sip from the glass on top of the piano.
Richard put on his jacket with the wide lapels and tightened his tie. He was a few inches shorter than Juliana and had a receding hairline. He wasn’t fat, but he was round. He wore the expected baggy pants that all the men wore. “Alice, how nice to see you. Don’t you look nice. Blue is your color.”
“That’s what I’ve been told.” I put on my plastic smile. I hated when people commented on my clothing. It made me feel like they thought there was nothing more to me.
“Gosh, I haven’t seen you in such a long time.” Richard said, as if we were old friends. I’d only met him once, two and a half years ago. “Since the New Year’s Eve Party,” he said. “Isn’t this heat something? It doesn’t quit. I thought by September it would cool off.”
“I heard it’s going up to ninety-five tomorrow,” I added. Why was I participating in this stupid conversation? Juliana stood behind him smiling at me.
“You know, it’s not so much the heat,” Richard went on. “It’s this New York humidity.”
“Uh, Richard …” Juliana tapped him on the shoulder.
“Am I monopolizing yo
ur friend? I’m sorry. I’m so glad you stopped by, Alice. You’re the kind of friend I want for my Julie. Sensible, hard working. Julie, why haven’t you asked Alice over to the house?”
“I have,” Juliana said. “She’s always busy.”
The thought of visiting her when he was there was too much. I couldn’t pretend she was my “girlfriend.” So I always said no.
“Well, I’m glad to see you now,” Richard said. “What did you think of the song Juliana just sang?”
“Perry Como.”
“Very good! You keep up with Billboard. He’s on the charts with it right now. Doesn’t Juliana do a beautiful job with that song?”
“Oh, uh … very nice.”
“Wait till you see the whole act. Lots of romantic ballads.”
“What a good idea.”
“Richard, dear,” Juliana interrupted. “I haven’t seen Al in four months. Do you mind?”
“Oh, no, you two girls go ahead. But we have to get back to work in a few minutes. Not a moment to waste. Alice, do come to the house for lunch some Sunday. Convince her, Julie.”
He left us standing there opposite each other. With her hair pinned up off her neck, and the open buttons, she looked like one of those gorgeous farm girls you see in the pictures. The kind that completely knocks the socks off the traveling salesman. I supposed the traveling salesman was me. For a few seconds, I was silent, watching her breathe. A light speckling of sweat dotted her chest as her breasts went up and down. It was hard to collect my thoughts. I tried not to stare at her wedding ring.
“How can you look like that in this heat?” I asked.
“Like what? A mess?”
“You’re not capable of looking like a mess even when you are a mess, and you know it.”
“You hated it. The way I sang that song.”
“Well, uh … hate’s a strong word. It’s too bad you can’t sing opera, though. That’s your best.”
“Opera in a nightclub? I’d get laughed out of the business.”
“Maybe. I’ve missed you.”
“Really? And yet you never come to see me.”
“You said he had lots of business trips to go on, but …”