by Vanda
The lights were a warm glow, set for pre-show dining. I hadn’t had time to change out of my schoolmarm outfit. All wrong for an evening at the club, but I was the boss when Max wasn’t around, so I could get away with it. The orchestra played a medley of the top Billboard hits from December and January.
“Allow me, madam,” Moose Mantelli said, helping Virginia slide her coat off the rest of the way. His stomach pushed against the buttons of his tuxedo. He still wore his pork pie hat.
“Well, thank you, Mr.—? Mr.—?” Virginia said.
Jimmy the Crusher stood behind Moose, holding his fedora in his hand. He whipped Moose’s hat off his head with his left hand, keeping his thumbless right hand hidden in his pocket.
“Mantelli. Moose Mantelli. Very pleased to be serviceable to you, Madam.” He draped Virginia’s coat over his arm and put out his stubby fingers. “And who may I say I am having this comodious pleasure of making an acquaintance with?”
“Oh.” Virginia giggled and took his hand. I wondered if she knew who or what Moose was. “Virginia Sales.”
“I’m most appreciated to be in the presence of such a lovely lady.”
I don’t think Virginia noticed his eyes exploring her body. She did look lovely in her Dior New Look blue silk dress that hugged her form and then flared out around her knees and calves. “Well, thank you, Mr. … uh, Mr. Moose? Oh no, that’s not right, uh …”
“Mr. Moose comin’ outta the likes o’ you suits me fine, Miss Sales.” He winked at her. “Might I escort your beauteous self to your table?”
“Well, I’m with my friend, Miss Alice Huffman.”
“Al’s yer friend? Me and Al go way back, don’t we, Al?” He hit me on the back so hard I almost fell over. “Well, youse two ladies go right along. I’m gonna look out fer yer coat, Miss Sales.” He turned to the hatcheck girl, “Hey, Bert’a, take this will ya?” and threw it over the poor girl’s head.
“Miss Sales …” he called after us, taking Virginia’s gloved hand between his two.
“Yes?” she said.
“If you need anyt’in’, and I mean—anyt’in’, you come and tell ol’ Moose.”
Virginia looked suddenly shy, and that infernal giggle popped out of her again. “Well, thank you. Mr. Moose.”
I led Virginia to a table I’d reserved for the two of us down front. It was Virginia’s birthday and Max wanted to do something special for her. I suggested to him it might be nicer to take her to dinner at the Oak Room, and then to the hit Death of a Salesman at the Morosco. A show at the Mt. Olympus wasn’t special for her, but Max was busy with plans for the new club and said he couldn’t get away even for a few hours. Not even for her birthday.
“I haven’t seen you in months,” Virginia said as she took off her navy-blue gloves and laid them on the table.
“Virginia.” I leaned forward. “You know who that guy is, don’t you?”
“No. Who?”
“Moose Mantelli.”
“He told me that himself.”
“He’s a mobster. Good friends with Frank Costello.”
“How thrilling. I think he liked me. Don’t you?”
“He was flirting with you.”
“Do you really think so?”
“And you were flirting back.”
“Oh, no. Well maybe a little. I mean, when a girl reaches a certain age and a gentleman shows a modicum of interest, you can’t stomp on his foot.”
Rudolfo, the headwaiter, stood at our table at attention in his black tuxedo. “Miss Huffman, Miss Sales, good evening.” He put two menus in front of us. “Would you like a cocktail to start?”
“None for me, Rudy,” I said. “I’m still on.”
“I’ll have a glass of the house wine with dinner,” Virginia said. “And I know what I want, so you can take this menu. I practically have it memorized. Bring me the steak tartar with fresh greens.”
“And you can bring me a couple of Henri’s fried oysters,” I told Rudy.
“That’s all you’re having? You should eat more. Keep up your strength.”
“It’s plenty.”
“Have you heard from Tommie?”
“Nice letter last week.”
“Me too. Imagine! Our Tommie, in Hollywood! In my letter, he was complaining that RKO hadn’t lined up a script for him yet. My goodness, it’s only been a month. He can be impatient. I told him I was sure they’d use him soon. In the meantime, he should seek out the best teacher and study. Oh, did you read that article about Senator McCarthy saying there are two hundred and five Communists in our very own government! Two hundred and five!”
“Yeah, I read that, but I don’t know if I believe it. That’s an awful lot.”
“I hope you’re right. It gives me the willies. So, tell me what you’ve been doing. I never see you anymore.”
“I’ve been doing everything, helping Max run this place, and getting the new place ready for the March opening, and then there’s school, and I’ve just started managing a new singer.”
“My goodness, that’s too much for one person.”
“I love it. Except …”
“Yes?”
“I rarely get to see Juliana alone. I see her almost every day, but we’re never together. Did you know that if Catholics get a divorce they get kicked out of their religion?”
“Yes. I think it’s a stupid rule in some ways. I mean, people do make mistakes. Still, divorce is an awful thing. No religion approves of it, but they go to extremes. You know what they say about divorced women.”
“Yeah. That they’re loose.”
“Exactly. I’d never want any part of that. Of course, I’m not married, so I may never have to concern myself with it.”
“What have you been up to?” I asked, feeling like a lead ball sat in my stomach. Forever. I’m stuck with him forever.
“Well, the good news is Max decided to stop looking for that man, Scott, he met in the army. Didn’t he tell you?”
“No. We never have time to talk.”
“I thought he would never stop thinking about him. Every time I saw him he’d either tell me about the latest lead he thought he had on Scott—he’d be elated—or how the last lead led to nothing, and he’d be blue and I’d have to perk him up. I’m not very good at perking people up. Especially Max when he’s mourning the loss of a man. But at last, he’s decided to forget him. He’s going to put all his attention on building the new club. That’s what he told me, and he hasn’t mentioned Scott in a month. And now this.”
“Now, what?”
“Inviting me here to celebrate my birthday. He’s never done that before.”
She didn’t know she should be expecting much more.
“We’ve been closer than ever, lately,” she continued. “Of course, it wasn’t me who told him it was my birthday. I wouldn’t want to remind him about my age, but my mother ...”
“How is your mother these days? Max told me she’s been, well, difficult.”
“Difficult? That’s one word for it. She scares me. Back in the spring, she was selling off some of my father’s art collection. She let valuable pieces go for a song, like the Monet. My father loved that painting. When I saw it was gone, I cried. She hired a dealer who I’m sure took advantage of her, buying her lesser artists at high prices. Probably pocketing a handsome commission.
“I don’t want to sound greedy, but that’s my inheritance she’s throwing away. I have the trust fund from my father, but it’s small compared to what I’ll inherit once she … Oh, that’s an awful thing to say. I suggested she speak to Max—he knows art and has invested in some good pieces. That’s what kept him from completely going under when his first club closed. Well, she said, ‘I won’t do business with your … ‘pimp.’ She said that word right out loud. She’s always been a little, well, testy, but never crass. So improper. Where is her dignity? After all, she is a Sales. The terrible things she says to people. Not only to me. The other day, she called her oldest, dearest friend on th
e telephone and accused her of sneaking into our home through the second floor window to spy on her. Al, the woman is seventy-nine years old!”
A laugh popped out of me, but I hurried to swallow it.
“Oh, you can laugh. I did. Before I cried. Sometimes, a few minutes after Nola clears away her luncheon or dinner dishes, she yells at Nola to bring her food, accusing the poor woman of starving her. I thought it couldn’t get any worse, but … sometimes she stares at me and asks me where Virginia is. I’m standing right there, Al, but she doesn’t believe me. I’m afraid to leave her alone. One day, she was out in the neighborhood and got lost. She couldn’t find her way home. A policeman brought her. She’s lived in our neighborhood for fifty years! Oh, but Max comes over sometimes to help. To entertain her. And since she can’t remember who he is, she enjoys him. A few times he helped me to … well, to …” she whispered, “She messes herself sometimes, but Max takes it in stride. He said it’s much easier to deal with than the war. Oh, he’s such a dear man, and I depend on him. And now that he’s stopped looking for Scott … You know, it reminds me of the time when I was about to have my uh—well, you know, my child, Joan. How helpful he was. And—loving. I wonder what’s keeping him.”
“He’ll be along soon. The Swing Street club keeps him pretty busy with the contractors.”
The assistant waiters in white jackets laid our food on the table in front of us.
“We’ve gotten much closer since he stopped looking for Scott. It’s sad that he couldn’t find a boy he cared for, but he has lots of boys who love him.”
“Maybe he was hoping for a special someone to share his life with.”
“He can share his life with me.”
“Virginia, I know he cares for you, but— ”
“What?” she said, with a challenge in her voice.
How dare I stomp on her fantasy? “Nothing.”
Rudy checked to be certain the waiters in white jackets had done everything correctly, then wished us, “Bon Appetit.” He snapped his fingers, and they were all quickly gone.
“I almost forgot.” Virginia opened her handbag. “I brought you a copy of …” She pulled out a thin pamphlet. “I got it at the post office. I know you have no time for extra reading …” She handed me a copy of ‘Survival Under Atomic Attack.’ “…but this is important.”
Sweat gathered around my waist as I opened the booklet to the section called, “What Are Your Chances?” It read:
“Even if you have only a second’s warning, there is one important thing you can do to save yourself: Fall on your face.”
“Really? That would work? I mean, the radiation—”
“That’s nothing. The Japanese have gotten over that fine. Read the pamphlet, and do what it says. The Soviets are inhuman devils. We must be prepared.”
The house lights faded as the stage lights came up. The orchestra rose from a lower, unseen deck and appeared behind a fountain shaped like a man and a woman in togas, pouring water from a bucket into the shallow pool.
“Where is that man?” Virginia whispered. She turned in her seat to scan the room before the light had completely disappeared. Jimmy the Crusher was taking his seat next to Moose Mantelli who was sitting ringside with the boys at Frank Costello’s table. The light highlighted that face for a few moments. He seemed to be looking at me, but it was hard to tell for sure with the way his face was half-melted. Moose waved his fingers at Virginia and Virginia waved back as The Maxines filled the stage with their song, elaborate headdresses, and high-kicking legs.
Max joined us as the Maxines made their grand exit, shaking their rear ends at the pool.
Chapter 29
March 1950
CONNIE LINGUS, WHOSE name was now the more delightful—if I do say so myself—Lili Donovan, and the accompanist I’d gotten for her were rehearsing, “After You’ve Gone.” That was the number she’d be doing for the opening of The Haven. The lights were the flat daylight type, none of the magic that took over the night when the Mt. Olympus was open. From the side windows, I could see snow falling in big flakes. Only a few hours to go before the dinner show. I hurried about, checking on the chef and making sure the assistant waiters were dressed in their crispest best—white shirts, black ties, and white tuxedo jackets. I had to send one man to the back room for a fresh shirt, and I had a talk with Dave, our head checker, who was supposed to inspect each waiter for cleanliness.
I’d gotten a call from Jules Podell at the Copa, and we’d scheduled a time to meet. It was unfolding exactly as Max had said it would. And as I had dreamt it. I had never lived a dream-come-true before, but it looked like I was about to. I hadn’t told Juliana about Jules Podell yet. I didn’t want to add more pressure. Besides the show at The Onyx, she was flying out to Chicago six nights a week to do the late show at the Chez Paree. Again, the reviews were glowing. The Life Magazine interview was due out in a couple days.
I looked at the time. “Oh, damn. I promised Max I’d call Walter’s agent tonight.” This was the Walter Liberace who had walked out on Madame Spivy when Jule, Shirl, and I were at Spivy’s Roof during the war. He’d recently become plain ol’ Liberace. Max left me a note to book him for the Mt. Olympus early in the new year, while he was over at The Haven supervising the movers bringing in the red leather banquettes.
I ran toward my office to make the call when I saw … him. He sat at a table that hadn’t been set yet, with only a white tablecloth and an ashtray. Someone must’ve left the front door unlocked. I walked around the table to see his face, but I knew who he was before I got there. “You’re him, aren’t you?”
He looked up at me with dark, questioning eyes, then, stood. “Ma’am?”
“Sit,” I said, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite him. “You’re Scott.”
“Scott Elkins, ma’am.”
“From Armpit, West Virginia.”
“Sorry?”
“Oh. That’s a joke between, uh—”
“The name of my town is Pickle Paw, ma’am, and I’m proud of it.”
“Of course you are.” Well, he didn’t have much of a sense of humor. He spoke with a slight West Virginian accent and wore a navy-blue suit and tie. He must’ve been twenty-five, from my calculations. Yes, Max did like them young. Eleven years younger than himself. There was a subtle femininity about him that was quiet and pleasant, not something the straights would notice. Something in the way he used his hands. A delicate touching of his dark hair to be sure it hadn’t slipped away from its Vitalis. His dark eyes, too. Penetrating, questioning like a girl’s. These were the eyes that Max had fallen in love with in a bombed-out bar in Palermo.
“Max’s been looking everywhere for you.”
“Is Maxwell here, ma’am?”
“Maxwell? You call him …? Uh, he’s at his other place right now. The new one he’s opening. The Haven. I’ll call him. I know he’ll come right over.”
“Don’t disturb him, ma’am.” He started to rise. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, wait, don’t go.” I got up to stop him. “He wants to see you.”
He remained standing as if on a precipice between returning to some other life and beginning something new. “Let me get you something,” I said. “It’s kind of early for a drink, but it’d be okay if that’s what you want. Do you?”
“I don’t drink, ma’am.”
“You don’t?” This was too much. Max had fallen in love with a man who couldn’t possibly be more unlike him.
“How about a cup of coffee? Or tea? I have a friend who thinks tea cures just about anything.”
“Coffee would be fine, ma’am.”
“I’ll be right with you. But could you please not call me ma’am?”
“I don’t know if I can do that, ma’am, uh, I mean … Ya see, that was the way I was raised, ma—”
“My name’s Alice. How about calling me that?” I figured it was too soon to tell him about ‘Al.’
“Thank you, Alice. I surely will try.�
��
I hurried to ask a waiter to bring him a cup of coffee, while I ran to my office to call Max. He wasn’t in. I left a message with one of the decorators to find Max and get him over to the Mt. Olympus pronto. Then I ran back to Scott. I was afraid he’d bolt if I didn’t keep an eye on him. “So, Max and you were army buddies during the war.”
He stared into his cup before picking it up, then wrapped those feminine fingers around it. “Yes. It was all difficult.” He sipped from the cup and placed it back in its saucer. Every gesture cautiously deliberate. “I guess Maxwell told you. He was very kind to me. I’d never been so far away from home before.”
“Max thinks you’re quite special.”
He grinned for the first time. “Not so special. Only a West Virginia boy with a grandma to take care of who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“How is your grandma?”
“Grandma’s aces. I miss her. I’ve been working in Washington DC at the State Department. I was only a low-level accountant, but it was paying the bills, and I could send her a little money to help out.”
“Has something happened? You said ‘was.’”
“Uh …” His eyes darted about the room. His fingers stroked the tabletop.
“Look, Scott, I’m good friends with Max. I know you and Max were close. I also know that Max is a—” I whispered, “—homosexual.”
“He told you about me?”
“Yes, but it’s okay.”
“You mean, you know I’m like him?”
“I’m glad Max found someone to care about. Most of my friends are like that. I’m not, but I care about my friends, so I don’t mind that they are. You can talk to me. What happened in Washington?”
“I quit. There are frightening things happening there.” He looked around as if afraid someone could be listening. “They’re firing people suspected of,” he whispered, “homosexualism. They’re saying sexual perversion and communism go together, so for the sake of the country … Do you think that’s true? They say inverts are emotionally unstable with a weak moral character, so that makes them more likely to join the communists and plot to overthrow our government. Do you think so?”