Heaven Is to Your Left

by Vanda Writer

  “Of course, I care what happens to this place. You know that. What are you talking about? We’ve been doing business for six years.”

  “Some unsav’ry el’ments could start frequentin’ yer club,” Murray said. “Ya know, immoral types, sissy homos and lessies. Ya don’t want da likes a dem invadin’ your club. It’s against de law to serve ‘em, ya know.”

  “I’m not new at this.” I was growing impatient with this game they were playing. “What are you getting at?”

  “If we found dem types comin’ in here, we’d have no cherse but to close ya down. And we’d hate doin’ dat to you, Al.” He put his hand over his heart on his badge. “We got lots of affection fer ya, don’t we, Chunk?”

  “Sure do,” Chunk said, his hand over his heart. “Lotsa affection, but business is business. Ya know how dat goes, Al?”

  “What’s this about? What’s changed?”

  “We heard yer business ain’t so sound,” Murray said.

  “We’re not going out of business. If that’s what you mean. Did you see the crowd we have in there tonight?”

  “Yeah. But what about next mont’ or de mont’ after dat? Here. Read. Tomorrow’s Journal-American.” He thrust a newspaper at me. “We’ll be back tomorrow for the second half.”

  “Two in one week? You’ve never . . .”

  Murray turned the key in the ignition and the car bucked. I moved back from the window as he pointed the wheel away from the curb. They forgot to give that truck a ticket.

  I shivered—I guess with cold—and ran back into the club. I stood in the foyer and held up the Journal. It was folded open to Kilgallen’s column, “The Voice of Broadway.” I read:

  “What popular swinging night club may not be swinging much longer if the crowds stay away?”

  How could she know about our financial problems? Only Max, Shirl, and I knew. It was top secret among only us. I didn’t even tell Juliana. An article like this could create just what we were trying to avoid. Other papers could start nosing around and . . . Max was inside being happy, and I wanted him to stay that way for as long as possible. I snaked my way around and through the tables and teenagers that choked the aisles. I pushed my way toward Dorothy Kilgallen. Johnnie hung onto the microphone, almost swallowing it, as he sang “Don’t Blame Me.” Boys escorted their girls to the dance floor for this slow dance. I had to make it up to her for not welcoming her when she first came in, get back into her good graces, ask her to lunch, and convince her to print a retraction. As I drew close to Dorothy’s table, I stopped short. Bertha was standing at her side. Dorothy was nodding at Bertha while trying to watch Johnnie on stage at the same time. Bertha handed Dorothy an envelope. Dorothy unsnapped her handbag and placed the envelope inside. She drew out a second envelope and handed it to Bertha. Bertha was working for Dorothy! Not Schuyler. Dorothy! Unless . . . did this mean Dorothy already knew about Juliana and me? Would that be in next week’s paper?

  I marched into Max’s office and threw the paper on his desk.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Read. Dorothy’s column. The cops want double to protect their investment.”

  Max quickly read and pushed the folded paper back toward me. “Give it to them.”

  “What? Things are really tight now. They’re coming for the other half tomorrow night.”

  “Give it to them.”

  “But Max—”

  “Who would you rather work for? The cops or the mob?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Not much, but some.”

  “So that’s it? We’re just going to knuckle under? We’ve been building this business for years. We can’t just let them . . . There must be something we can do, Max.”

  He sat way back in his chair. “Do? Carefully. Very carefully. And I want you to have as little to do with the gritty side of this as possible.”

  “I want to do something. I can’t just stand by and—”

  “Oh, there’s plenty for you to do. Give the cops their take and invite Dorothy to lunch. Politely get her to print a retraction, convince her Bertha is an unreliable source, get Dorothy to drop her.”

  “Oh, and I’m sure Dorothy is going to listen to me.”

  “Use the charm I know you have. Stay out of the rest of it. That’s my department.”

  Chapter Nine

  I got to Schrafft’s early. I wanted to mentally prepare myself for lunch with Dorothy. She was no pushover, and I had no idea what I’d say to get her to print a retraction and also get her to not trust Bertha. The hostess led me to the table I’d reserved. Dorothy liked being seen and I wanted to accommodate her, even if it meant sitting at the largest, most central, most ostentatious table in the place. It made me feel naked, but anything for Dorothy. I nodded at the pleasant hostess in her dignified Schrafft’s black dress and she left me. I stood at the table sliding off my beige gloves and dropping them into my handbag, but really my eyes were roaming about the room, discovering the others who were seated in the second-floor dining room with me. I needed to know who I’d better notice. I didn’t see anyone particularly special, just a roomful of mostly women in their spring hats and flared dresses in various stages of lunching. There were a few tables with the usual man and woman combination, one table with two businessmen devouring their corned beef, and a group of kids that I knew had to be actors talking excitedly about the future they’d never have.

  Since there was no one there yet that I needed to greet, I thought I’d sit and jot down some thoughts on my memo pad on how to proceed with Dorothy. I pulled out my chair, but before I could sit, Virginia came tearing up the stairs, furiously waving. She was headed straight for me with Mercy close at her heels, trying to keep up. No. Please not Virginia and Mercy. Not today. Not when I have to handle Dorothy.

  “Al!” Virginia shouted, all bubbles.

  Some diners turned in their seats to see who she was greeting. So unlike Virginia to be that loud. She was a demur— “How delightful to see you,” she went on, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. “It’s been too long. Mercy and I have been hat shopping. Can you believe it? I haven’t had a new hat in ages. Mercy is good for me. Sit. We’ll show you.” She threw her hat box on the table and proceeded to lift the top.

  “Well, uh . . .” I mumbled, still standing. I had to come up with the right words to get them to go.

  “Do you mind?” Mercy asked, looking at me as she put her hand on the back of one of the chairs. How could I say, ‘Yeah, a whole lot.’? We were standing at the largest table in the room with four chairs that could’ve fit six.

  “Uh, well . . .” I sought words to get rid of them without losing their friendship.

  “Look!” Virginia said, pulling her new hat from the box. “Isn’t it darling?”

  Virginia took off her black hat with the small brim, placed it on the table, and plunked the new one on top of her hair that was done up into a French twist. The hat was pink and round. It tilted on top of her piled-up hair, as if sliding down a steep mountain slope. “Well?” she said proudly. “What do you think?”

  It wasn’t her best look. “Yes,” I said, trying to maintain my plastic smile.

  “Uh, Virginia,” Mercy said carefully. “Remember I told you that this hat should be worn when you have your hair down?”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot.” She giggled. “I must look perfectly ridiculous.” Mercy took off Virginia’s hat and put it back in the box.

  “Put your new hat on, Mercy,” Virginia said. “Show Al.” She turned to me. “She can wear her hat with her hair up or down.”

  “Virginia,” Mercy said, “I think Al is expecting a guest. We should go to the downstairs dining and—”

  “Oh, but it’s so much nicer here. You don’t mind if we join you. Do you?” She pulled out a chair, sat down, and immediately tugged at the fingers of one of her gloves. “Sit, Mercy. Al’s not a snob. She values her old friends, no matter how many new ones she meets. Don’t you, Al?”
/>   “Uh, yes, but you see—”

  “And that is a lovely pale green suit you’re wearing. Isn’t it, Mercy?”

  “Yes,” Mercy said, “but perhaps we should—”

  “Sit, Mercy,” Virginia commanded.

  Mercy looked over at me as she slowly melted into her chair.

  “Uh, yes, yes of course.” I made my smile so broad my lips hurt. I glanced over at the stairs, expecting Dorothy to pop in at any moment. Virginia tugged off her second glove. “It’s just that Dorothy Kilgallen—”

  “Dorothy Kilgallen!” Virginia gasped, almost falling out of her seat. “We’re having lunch with Dorothy Kilgallen?”

  “No, dear,” Mercy said. “Al is. We should go.” She started to rise.

  “Go?” Virginia said, shocked at Mercy’s suggestion. “When we can have lunch with Dorothy Kilgallen? Al would never deny us this opportunity. Would you, Al?”

  “Uh . . . Well . . .”

  “It’s a business luncheon,” Mercy said. “Isn’t it, Al? Something you have to do for your work.”

  “I just love her column!” Virginia said before I could answer.

  Mercy put a gloved hand on Virginia’s arm as if she were trying to calm her. “We should go, dear. Al wants to have a private meeting with Miss Kilgallen. This is her work, you know. This is how she gets paid. You wouldn’t want to interfere with that.”

  “I obviously know Al a lot better than you.” Even though she was smiling, her tone was tinged with an undercurrent of anger. “Al doesn’t mind us sitting here with Dorothy Kilgallen. Do you, Al? Mercy is such a worrywart. Tell her you don’t mind us sitting here with Dorothy.” She giggled and put her gloved hand to her mouth. “I just called Dorothy Kilgallen Dorothy. Do you think she’ll mind?”

  There was a time I would have come right out and told Virginia the truth, but she was so different now. Fragile.

  “You need us to go, don’t you Al?” Mercy said.

  “Oh, well, uh, I don’t want to be rude, but . . .”

  “That’s all right,” Mercy said, pushing her chair away from the table. “We under—”

  Dorothy Kilgallen came running up to me, her handbag hanging from her wrist, a turquoise turban on her head and her usual short white gloves on her hands. “Al, how nice you look. And who…?”

  “Some friends,” I said quickly.

  “We were just leaving,” Mercy added, rising from her seat.

  “Miss Kilgallen!” Virginia stared, her mouth open. “It’s really you, isn’t it? I just love your column. Sit Mercy. It’s not polite to stand while others are sitting. I read “The Voice of Broadway” every single week. I couldn’t live without it.”

  “Really?” Dorothy said, pulling off her gloves and taking the seat next to mine. She wore a large ruby on her left ring finger. “That’s very kind of you to say, Miss . . .?”

  “Sales. Oh, but please call me Virginia. And this is my friend Mercy, and we’ve been out hat shopping. Would you like to see?”

  “Not right now, Virginia,” Mercy said.

  “No? We both bought lovely hats. Oh, but Miss Killgallen, your hat is exquisite.”

  “Yes,” Dorothy said. “Do you like it?” She moved her head from side to side to give us a good look, apparently enjoying the compliment.

  “I bet Johnny Ray just loves it,” Virginia continued. “Did he buy you that beautiful ring?”

  Instantly Dorothy’s placid face melted into rage. “Whatever do you mean by that?” She threw me a look that said, “Who the hell are these women?”

  “Nothing,” I intervened. “She didn’t anything mean anything. Did you, Virginia? Virginia and Mercy were just leaving for another engagement.”

  “Yes, we were,” Mercy said, rising from her chair. She pulled on Virginia’s elbow, trying to lift her from her seat.

  “Oh? Did I say something wrong? Stop poking me Mercy. Oh! Miss Kilgallen, do tell us”—she pulled away from Mercy’s gentle nudge—“did you just come from your radio show, Breakfast with Dorothy and Dick?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. It takes such a lot of energy doing that show all morning. Every morning.”

  “I’m sure it must, but I just love it. Don’t you, Mercy? When you say, ‘Good morning, sweetie’ to Mr. Kollmar, and he says—Virginia lowered her voice to imitate Dorothy’s husband—'Good morning, darling. It’s time for Dorothy and Dick. My, my this is good orange juice,’ it makes me feel like I’m sitting right there in your dining room having breakfast with you and your husband. It’s so homey. Still, I don’t know how you fit the radio show in with your newspaper articles and your TV show. Oh! What’s My Line? I love it. Every Sunday at 10:00 p.m. Mercy and her friend Shirl and I sit in the library and watch it. We wouldn’t miss it. Would we, Mercy?”

  “We certainly enjoy it, Miss Kilgallen.”

  “How nice of you to—”

  “Yes, it’s very good,” Mercy continued. “But we need to go. I’m sure you and Al have things to discuss and we must—”

  “And, Miss Kilgallen, you are so smart,” Virginia said. “You always guess who the mystery guest is before any of those other stars.”

  “I don’t always get it right, but I do have a pretty good average, don’t I?” Dorothy gloated.

  “Yes, you do. That’s because you’re brilliant.”

  Dorothy chuckled, “Well, yes, I suppose I might be considered that.”

  Virginia was finding her way to Dorothy’s heart through some instinctual sixth sense.

  “And beautiful! You are beautiful!”

  Bingo! Virginia just hit the bull’s-eye right in the eye. Dorothy had no faith in her looks, but she wanted desperately to be pretty.

  “Really? Do you think so?”

  “Yes! Definitely!” Virginia said. “Don’t you agree, Mercy?”

  “Uh, yes, yes, of course. You’re lovely, Miss Killgallen.”

  “Al, I love your friends. Why have you been keeping them such a secret?”

  “Probably because she wanted to keep you all to herself,” Virginia offered.

  “Why don’t we order drinks? I’m simply parched,” Dorothy said.

  I looked at Mercy and Mercy looked at me. Neither of us knew what more could be done. I would have to proceed with this audience that could ruin everything.

  “A drink sounds good to me too,” Virginia said. “Oh, did I tell you all? I’m in analysis.”

  Mercy touched Virginia’s arm. “Maybe that isn’t a proper topic for Shrafft’s, dear.”

  I signaled for the waitress. Maybe if I loosened up with a drink, I’d be able to redirect our conversation onto Dorothy’s retraction. Of course, how I would bring it up with Virginia and Mercy sitting there, I wasn’t sure.

  “Maybe we should order some lunch,” I suggested.

  “I’ve got to have a drink first,” Dorothy announced.

  The waitress came and took our drink orders. We followed Dorothy’s lead, and all ordered old-fashioneds. Dorothy said, “I think your analysis is a perfect luncheon topic. Don’t you, Al?”

  “No, Dorothy, I don’t.”

  “Give me one good reason why not. Nowadays everyone is talking about their analysis.”

  “This is not a cocktail party game to Virginia.”

  “Neither is it a cocktail party game to me. Of course, I don’t go myself. I don’t need to, but my friends all seem to be in it and all they do is talk, talk, talk about it. Their neuroses, their complexes, their fixations, their psycho-watchamacallits. I don’t know how they manage to function in the world at all. Tell me about it, Virginia, dear.” Dorothy took a silver case from her handbag and removed a Camel. She lit it with her silver cigarette lighter. Taking a puff, she looked straight at Virginia,

  “Now, that we’ve become friends—”

  “Friends? We’ve become friends?”

  “Don’t you feel it? I really must hear about your analysis. As your friend.”

  “Dorothy, don’t,” I repeated.

  �
�Shh,” she said back. “I want to hear Virginia. Al, you have developed the most annoying habit of speaking for your friends. Virginia is an adult who is perfectly capable of speaking for herself. Aren’t you, Virginia?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then tell me about your analysis.”

  “Oh. Well. I’m not sure how to talk about it. I don’t know what I should say.”

  “Because it’s between you and your doctor,” I said.

  “Tell me about your doctor,” Virginia said. “Do you like him?”

  “Oh, yes, very much. He is very kind.”

  “Is he?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve never met a man so—”

  “Let’s order some food,” I said. “I’m starving.”

  “Later,” Dorothy said, waving her cigarette at me. “Does he have you on the couch?”

  “On the couch?” Virginia seemed confused. “I don’t think I—”

  “Don’t you lie on a couch with him?”

  Virginia giggled. “With him? Well, he’s certainly there. Oh, yes, yes, I guess you could say that. And he speaks so soothing and he makes me feel all tingly just being near him.”

  “Does he?” Dorothy said, showing much too much interest. “I bet he’s handsome too.”

  “Dorothy, that’s enough.”

  “Al, what’s the matter?” Virginia turned to me. “Dorothy is just being friendly. Showing an interest in me. Why are you sounding so mean?”

  “Tell me more, Virginia.”

  I leaned close to Dorothy and said loudly, “Max and I insist that you print a retraction of last week’s news item about the Haven.” The old-fashioned must have been doing its job, or I was just desperate to get her to stop picking on Virginia.

  “The Haven?” Dorothy said. “I don’t believe I had anything in there about—”

  “I didn’t see anything about the Haven,” Virginia said. “I look for those things since I am part owner.”

  “Are you?” Dorothy said, taking a sip of her old-fashioned. “You’re a part owner of the Haven?”

  “Only a very small part, Dorothy,” I clarified. “Our business is just fine, but those little code words you put in your column can have a real impact on us. Bertha does not make a trustworthy confident. She gave you the wrong scoop. I believe she does that a lot.”