Four of a Kind: A women's historical fiction

by Russell, Vanessa

  Pearl’s boyfriend wore his hair slicked back and black with a matching clipped mustache. One jacket sleeve hung empty as like many men, ravages of the war. He acted as if he wanted Robert to think he was older than he was, enjoying calling out to and openly flirting with other women by their first names, his dark eyes squinting as if from deep thought, but I think it was more from cigarette smoke. When he agreed, he used one word: “Pos-a-lootly!” I found him far too forward and presumptuous with Pearl, kissing her hard and long, keeping his one arm possessively about the back of her neck and shoulders. She was quite brash in return and I felt embarrassed that my sister behaved in such a way in front of Thomas. I conveyed as much to her via shouting into her ear across the table but she pretended she couldn’t hear me.

  Conversation was difficult but enough words and signs were given to follow David and Pearl into another room upstairs, leaving our half-finished sodas behind. “I know the password,” David winked and another nail went into his coffin-according-to-Bess.

  Upstairs displayed a larger band playing the piano, trumpet, saxophone, banjo, bass, and drums. The strong rhythmic music beat in my chest. This rhythm traveled down my spine and into my legs and feet. Many were dancing fast steps, their energy and pounding shoes vibrating the floor. As I followed Thomas to our table, I found myself walking in rhythm to the beat, marveling at the dancers.

  The dim lights went dimmer still as a voice spoke through a microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, give a loud clap to Lady and Her Tramps as they perform her hit number, Razz-Ma-Tazz Jazz!” The lights flashed blue onto a small stage where a lone figure stood, her silhouette a very womanly hourglass in the shadows. A spot light suddenly shone bright on her to reveal her long bare legs and bare arms. Her costume had less fabric than a man might wear to the beach, except for exposed garters holding up her net stockings. Three men appeared and danced with her in such an intimate way that I flushed in the smoky dark.

  I glanced over at Thomas who was watching me. He burst out laughing so I closed my gawking mouth with a snap. A glass was placed in front of me. I sniffed it and looked at him quizzically. It was whiskey. I leaned over and loudly whispered in his ear, “What about the Prohibition?”

  “It’s still illegal,” he shouted with a grin, his face too close, his breath already strongly illegal. “Drink up. We don’t want to be here too long.”

  I took a small sip, the burning in my throat taking my breath away. What if someone recognized us?

  Too late. Several approached Thomas and knew him by his first name, including some scantily-clad females – I dare not say ladies – who were quite pleased to see him. He shouted introductions but I missed the names in the noise. I could only nod and smile. I took a large sip to swallow down the rising jealousy and this caused my eyes to water. I watched him chatter and envied that confidence he exuded in any situation I’d seen him in, whether it be editing the newspaper, calling out orders to his staff, stepping onto a speaking platform, or answering confrontational questions from the public and reporters. And now in an illegal establishment he appeared as comfortable as at our dinner table. With his jacket off, suspenders and white shirt glowing in the dim light, he looked distinguished and casual at the same time. I hadn’t quite seen him like this before and felt proud to stand beside him.

  I took another sip. I wondered what kind of life he had been leading. Had there been other women since his wife’s death? Most certainly, I scolded myself. A long-time widower would know other women. One here wished to know him, if she didn’t already (why else would she call him ‘sweetie’?); touching his arm at every opportunity, speaking low enough so that he must bring his head down to hers to hear her. I took another sip and slid my arm around his. He’s my date tonight, sweetie, I smiled to the woman on his other side.

  The music slowed its pace and the dance floor slowed with it. The saxophone played a mournful sound, the banjo giving it a swaying tempo. I swayed with it. I could dance with that, I decided. I took another sip and brought down Thomas’ handsome gray-blond head to mine, interrupting his sentence to others who didn’t matter. I was learning the sultry side and feeling warm all over.

  “Dance with me,” I said into his ear. I expected raised eyebrows and another surprised look, but he only nodded and held firm to my elbow as we weaved through the crowd and onto the squared-off dance floor below the band of colored and white men, their perspiration and instruments glistening in the blue light. We stood facing each other, our eyes locked and his arm slid around me. He held me so close I became breathless. Such warm, green eyes, such an earnest smile, I longed to kiss him. Instead I gave him a heartfelt smile of my own and laid my head on his shoulder as I’d seen others do on this patch with their partners. It felt so nice here, swaying and moving our feet, his hand clasping mine tightly, that I giggled. I looked up at Thomas, feeling self-conscious at my outburst, but he hadn’t heard.

  Instead he said, “I love the way those beautiful blue eyes of yours light up like that. I wish they’d do that more often.”

  So did I and I had all the faith in the world that as long as we danced, he would keep them lit. I kissed his cheek and he gave me his sheepish half-grin.

  “Now, now, girl. Behave.”

  Why should I? I had been behaving all my life. Wasn’t it time to let go this corset and slip on a garter? That thought gave me another giggle that I hid in his shirt as we continued to shuffle along.

  I was sorry to hear the saxophone wind down and cymbals end the song. We had no recourse but to return to our table. David and Pearl were standing there, Pearl’s eyes darting about.

  “We didn’t want to make a scene by dragging you lovebirds away from the schmaltz,” said David, “but you’ve got to kick out of here. Someone tipped the police off and you being here, Mr. Pickering, has given this more juice. Here comes the owner.”

  “Hello, Mr. Pickering,” said a short, thin man, shaking Thomas’ hand. “Follow me, sir, I’ll show you out the back door.”

  I waved a goodbye to Pearl and David, glad to be rid of the Siamese Twins. Our departure meant a blur of squeezing through people, descending down a dark staircase, and breathing in foul air in a trashy alleyway. The owner shook Thomas’ hand again, saying “Become mayor and pave these muddy streets.”

  A white blinding flash made a loud pop and I brought up my arm to protect my eyes.

  “Jack, give me that camera!” shouted Thomas.

  White spots blurred my vision but I could see well enough to recognize one of the newspaper reporters.

  “Sorry sir,” Jack said as he obeyed. “I didn’t know it was you. I only heard that a prominent politician was here.”

  “Now you know different.” Thomas took the roll of film out of the camera and handed the camera back. “Now move on out of here.” Jack looked down at his gaping camera and his missed opportunity and shook his head. Thomas must have noticed the angry look as I did. He patted the young man’s back, saying, “Good detective work in coming out here, son. Nice touch waiting in the alley. But save it for a day when you have a good story. I’ll see to it you get one. Nothing going on here tonight.”

  We scurried through the alley for two blocks to his new Duesenberg. I was out of breath by then and sat in the passenger’s seat waiting for my heart to calm down. I felt oddly thrilled by it all. Thomas took note of my rapid breathing, my hand over my heart and my guilty smile. His hands left the steering wheel and clasped my face. He looked into my eyes as if trying to read my thoughts from there. Likely reading my dormant desire for him, he gave me a deep and long kiss. Delicious enough that I wanted more. The warmth that began earlier had heated up a few more degrees.

  He started the engine. Looking straight ahead he asked, “Would you like to go to my apartment for a coffee?”

  This was not goodnight as yet! “I would like that very much.” I said, smug in being so audacious. I would see his apartment!

  Taking turns swigging from his flask of yet more whiskey, we rode in
to the center of town and parked outside a large gray stone building. A statue of a lion was posted on each side of the stairs leading to the entrance. I patted one’s backend as I walked by. “Swell butt,” I said and giggled.

  Feeling more than a little lightheaded as a doorman tipped his hat to “Mr. Pickering, sir”, I stifled another giggle. Pleased to be holding Thomas’ arm to keep me steady, I attempted to straighten my posture and my long climb to his third-floor apartment. I was grateful that he asked me to sit down. His tweed sofa felt scratchy, his living room looked sparse.

  “Looks quite different from the Beauchamp Manor’s front parlor, doesn’t it?” he called from the tiny kitchen tucked into the corner of the large room. The only lighting came from there.

  “Beauchamp Manor?”

  “Yeah, where you’re living, the Lighthouse, didn’t you know? When we first bought the place, it was known as the Beauchamp Manor from two generations of a French family who had lived there. My wife, Cady, included this on her calling cards to give a better indication of where we lived. The name seemed to die out as the Lighthouse took over.”

  He said “we” twice. This irritated me. “Oui, oui, monsieur,” I called out jadedly. I watched, fascinated, as the coffee table swayed to the left and then to the right. A scratchy record player was playing Second Hand Rose somewhere. I hated that song. It finally ended and a cup of steaming coffee appeared.

  “Straighten up, Bess. You’re slouching.” He sat next to me and peered into my face, his hand on my knee. “Are you feeling okay?”

  I smiled back at his sweet mouth. “Fine and dandy.” I licked my lips, feeling as brash as my sister. I wondered where she and her boyfriend had gone off to – was I supposed to be their escort? But when I opened my mouth to ask Thomas, I couldn’t remember what her boyfriend’s name was.

  He continued to look at me intently as he took a drink of his coffee, his thick brows shadowing his thoughts. I followed suit, taking several sips into my parched mouth.

  He snorted into his cup. “Your eyes crossed when you looked into your cup just now. I think you’ve had too much hooch.”

  “So much for looking like a sultry flapper girl,” I said. My low voice was meant to sound sensual, but the smoky speakeasy had reduced it to a hoarse whisper. I cleared my throat and took another drink.

  “Here, give me that cup, you impetuous thing,” Thomas said. He placed his cup and mine on the coffee table and returned his hand to my knee. He gave me a light kiss, the coffee’s bitter taste lingering. We kissed again, his hand sliding up my leg, under my dress. He pressed me back and further down to where he suddenly appeared above me, his weight on me, the toes in his sock removing my slip-on shoes, his knees between my legs. I gasped for air and reached for another kiss, a wetter one, on my lips, my ears, my throat. He moved his hips against my pelvic and I moaned for a deeper touch. The room began spinning and I gasped again, unsure if this was because of him or the hooch.

  “Thomas?” I whispered into his hair.

  “Yes, darling?” he muttered into my neck.

  I began to feel nauseous. I tried to breathe in deeply but his mouth came down on mine again. How could I be ill at a time like this? I debated what I wanted more – to breathe or to be kissed. His hand massaged my thigh. We were moving too fast, or the room was. It seemed exceedingly warm.

  “Thomas, I’m becoming dizzy!”

  He slowed his motions and brought his hands to my hair. He studied my face for a moment and then kissed my nose. “No, not like this,” he mumbled, more to himself than to me. His half-closed eyes looked into mine, sending tender affection. “I won’t take you like this.” He smoothed back my hair and kissed my forehead. “Raise up, you’ll feel better.”

  We rose together, smoothing down our hair and laps. Another wave of dizziness came over me and I heaved to his toilet in the nick of time. A few moments later as I remained leaning over the bowl, a cool wet cloth softly landed on the back of my neck.

  “You’ll never be a flapper girl at this rate,” he said.

  “Darn.” I moved the cloth around to wipe my face. “Oh well, the dresses wouldn’t become me anyway.”

  Such a disgusting bodily reaction to alcohol was sobering – and humiliating to say the least. This introduction to the social scenes was very telling to Thomas I was certain; so much for appearing worldly. Lizzie would be so pleased. More than ever, I was relieved Pearl wasn’t there to see how quickly I had been despoiled.

  He poured water into a glass and handed this to me. “Rinse out. I’m taking you home.”

  My head now sitting straight, I glanced around the room and noted that the only enviable piece of furniture was a chunky walnut cabinet, its dials, knobs, and panel telling me it was a radio, just such a one as I hoped to purchase some day. Was he happy living here when so many more of his earthly treasures were at the Lighthouse? It hardly seemed fair that his existence was reduced to this on behalf of women’s plight.

  As we were leaving, I grabbed his hand and stopped until I had his attention. “Thomas, it’s your home too, you know.”

  “It will be a home for me again someday.” He motioned around the room. “This place is certainly no home.” He placed his felt hat on his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking by bringing you here.” He gave me his sheepish grin. “That whiskey made me sick in the head and you sick to your stomach. No wonder it’s illegal.”

  That next day after that first date, I face down Uncle Joe to get my Duesy back.

  “Now, little lady, that’s the last thing you need with all those wild soldiers running loose and free on furlough. Traipsing around Savannah alone can only get you hurt. I protect my kin,” and here his fat thumb points to his little heart, “or I’ll end up having to answer to your daddy. Why, his ghost would come around scaring the living daylights out of me, and I don’t have many daylights left.” He chuckles to himself.

  Boy, is he funny.

  “I thought I was here to look after you,” I say, trying to sugarcoat.

  “You might if you weighed more than a hundred pounds, but you don’t.” He eyes me slowly up and down my body until I blush and take my hands out of my pockets and fold my arms across my chest. His eyes actually wet with a lusty shine. “You couldn’t whip your way out of a paper sack,” he said. “No, I’ve got Clary to help me around here; she’s better than most niggers. What I want you to do is to make up with TJ. And don’t you roll your eyes around with me, missy. I damn well heard you yelling ‘so-long’ in nary a sweet tone and then abuse ol’ Duesy by slamming her door. What else was TJ to do but to take it away until you cooled down? We southern gentlemen don’t take well to whores or to you sweet young things with temper tantrums. You be careful with her from here on out or I’ll take it away from you for good. What you need to remember is, they stopped making automobiles two years ago, thanks be to the war effort needing steel and rubber.”

  He raises his hand to my open mouth. “Now, don’t get mad. I’m sure TJ had it coming, but he means well.” He drops his hand as if that’s too much. He leans his head back against the pillow and closes his eyes. He uses a softer tone. “I just want you to be hospitable to him is all, when he comes over tonight. Can you do that for your dying uncle? That’s all I’m asking of you.”

  I want to ask, Why is this so important to you? But I just sit there watching him go to sleep, not really wanting to hear him talk.

  So here TJ pulls into the driveway again that evening. In my car. He steps out like he owns it and everything around him. He brings irritation to settle on me like dust in the air and I fold my arms across my chest again. I kick at the gravel with my scratched oxfords and say nothing.

  I hear the gravel crunch as he walks closer. “Go to a flick with me,” he says.

  “Why?” Why is he interested in me? is what I really want to ask. I’m no lady, well, not like my mama is a lady, with good posture and dresses up every day of the week as if the mayor might just drop in.

  �
��Cause I love going to the movie house more than anything,” he says, starting to circle around me. “Cause I’m buying the malted milk balls.” He pops his head over my shoulder from behind. “Cause it includes a newsreel on what’s going on in the war.” He comes around to face me and lifts my chin to look at his casual grin, his head tilted to the side as he watches me closely. “Cause I know you’d love this new one just came out.”

  Ouch, he got me in my weak spot. “What film?” I say, against my will.

  “‘Meet Me in St. Louis’. They say it’s a smash.” He says that last part like he’s tempting a child. He is, and I also love Judy Garland. I’m weakening.

  “Besides the fact that the Office of War declared movie flicks essential morale,” he says, boldly placing his arm around my shoulders and pointing to Duesy. “I can’t very well leave your car here if you can’t take me home. And, while we’re out, we might as well see a picture show, don’t you see? Then you drop me off at my place and everybody’s cheery.”

  Everybody’s cheery, most of all William, and I quickly learn that is the most important thing in the world. When I drive him home, even his mother, Marge, says so. “I do hope that picture show made you cheery, TJ,” she says, handing him a glass of iced tea. She hands me mine with a wink and a smile. “He’s been in some sort of snit here lately. I thought I was going to have to sic the dogs on him and his big brother the other day, they were battling so. I don’t know whether to call the sheriff or call the Army. Is it warm out here to you?” She blows down into her pink sleeveless blouse and manages to plop gracefully into a wicker chair, her silver hair glowing from the lamplight coming through the window.

  The white-sided two-story feels so homey with the front porch as wide as the house and the overhead balcony almost as wide, like arms open wide saying Welcome. Its pretty hostess plays the part of the charming southern lady wholly, with her healthy complexion and that silver hair styled and waved without a glitch. I like her and her home so much, I start liking William more.