Oliver and Peggy kept an eye on us. Peggy seemed to encourage a relationship between Dorothy and me while Oliver didn’t want to lose his daughter to anyone.
Dorothy cocked her head. “Are you pretending to like my father to get to me, Mr. Donovan, or are you pretending to like me to get to Father?”
Damn! Was I that obvious? “Why would I want to get to your father?”
“Why indeed. Father’s a famous man.”
“I know plenty of famous people. Fame is overrated.” It hadn’t brought me happiness.
“I suspect you admire Father’s past as a war hero, but the future will bring him even more recognition.”
If he was part of the Golden Legion plot, the future might also bring him a prison sentence. “I do want to get to know your father better.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I’m working on a new novel. One of the characters is a charismatic war hero considered for vice presidency by both parties. I thought I might pick his brain about what it’s like to be someone like that.”
“Is this character a good guy or a bad guy?”
The song ended, and the band began to play “Night and Day.” “I’m not sure yet.”
While her parents returned to the table, Dorothy and I continued to dance.
“What would you like to know about Oliver Wendell Greenwoody?”
“What does he do now … for a living?”
“Mostly he makes sure Mother isn’t squandering her inheritance. He gives speeches for which he’s paid handsomely. He’s on the board of several banks.”
“Spencer Dalrymple’s bank?”
“And others.”
“Is he interested in politics?”
As we continued to dance, she paused a moment as if choosing her words carefully. “He’s concerned about the country’s future.”
“Aren’t we all?” I wanted to ask about his ties to the Golden Legion but didn’t dare. The song ended, and we returned to the table.
Her parents rose. “Oliver has an early-morning engagement,” Peggy explained.
Dorothy sat at the table. “You and Father run along. Mr. Donovan and I were just getting started … dancing.”
Oliver tapped his watch. “Dorothy, it’s after eleven.”
His wife took his arm. “Come on, General. You were young once, too.”
On the dance floor I’d discovered I might learn as much from Dorothy as I could from him. I rubbed my thigh. “We won’t be late, Mr. Greenwoody. My leg won’t last too many dances.”
His disapproving eyes narrowed. “I’ll be waiting up.”
“No you won’t.” Peggy winked at me and led her husband through the tables toward the front door.
I sat beside Dorothy, determined not to arouse her suspicions about my motives. “Would you like a drink?”
“After my performance of Daddy’s little girl, I think I deserve one, don’t you?”
I signaled the waiter, but she tugged on my hand. “This place is way too stuffy. Let’s go where I won’t feel like I’m being watched by my mother’s friends. Know a speakeasy that’s a bit more fun?”
I smiled as I rose and held the chair for her. “I know the perfect place.”
Chapter 11
The Bambino and Peaches
My plan to get Dorothy to talk about her father over quiet drinks hit an immediate snag. When the cabbie pulled alongside The Yankee Club I hardly believed the scene. At least fifty people waited in a line out front. I could only imagine how many were inside.
Danny puffed on a cigarette beside the front door. Two men left, and he let a couple inside.
Dorothy’s face gleamed as if she’d arrived at a Broadway premiere. Her question bubbled out. “Is it always this busy on a Sunday night?”
“I’ve never seen a line out front.” What was going on?
I paid the cabbie and introduced Dorothy to Danny, whose size appeared to be keeping the crowd in line.
He flicked the cigarette into the gutter. His lips froze as if he couldn’t speak. He straightened his tie and blushed like a schoolboy. Plenty of flashy women frequented The Yankee Club, Gino made sure of that, but Danny looked positively smitten. “Jake …” He swallowed hard. “Jake and me, we’re old school friends.”
“What’s going on?” I thumbed toward the line. “You paying people to come in?”
Danny pointed to the door. “The Babe is here.”
Dorothy sucked in a quick gasp. “Babe Ruth.” She whispered the name to herself then squeezed my wrist, her nails practically drawing blood. “You know him?”
I shook my head. “We’ve never met, but we’re mutual friends with the owner of The Yankee Club, Gino Santoro.”
“Jake and Gino stole my bike,” Danny blurted. Even in the dim light his cheeks turned crimson.
Dorothy frowned. “Why would you steal his motorcycle?”
I struggled to keep from laughing. “It was a bicycle, and it happened a long time ago.”
“Not that long ago.” Danny’s lip curled into a sneer. He opened the door to let us in. Several people in line jeered and gave us the raspberry. He silenced them with a shake of one massive fist.
Inside I gritted my teeth and gave up any lingering hope of learning about Dorothy’s father anytime soon. Customers jammed the lobby waiting to get into the main room.
Dorothy coughed and covered her face. With so many people, the place smelled of cigarette smoke.
I hardly heard myself as I suggested we leave and find another place where we might talk.
Dorothy looked like she might strangle me for suggesting such a thing. “And miss the Bambino?” She rattled off Babe’s stats like a sportswriter. “In ’27 he belted sixty homers and batted .356. He’s never struck out a hundred times in any season. He still holds the World Series record for consecutive shutout innings by a pitcher.”
Most female sports enthusiasts I encountered weren’t as stunning as Dorothy.
“What made you a baseball fan?”
She cocked her head. “I didn’t become Daddy’s princess until my teen years. Before that he taught me to swim, shoot, play hockey, and play baseball. He took me to my first game when I was eight. The Babe pitched for the Red Sox and shut out the Yankees.”
Gino pushed his way through the crowd and entered the lobby. “Some turnout for a Sunday night, huh?”
I introduced him to Dorothy.
He kissed her hand and looked her over. “Jake told me he had a hot date.”
I wished he hadn’t said that.
Dorothy’s eyes widened. “He did?”
“Sure.”
She patted my face.
Gino took a quick glance at her cleavage. “Be careful when you walk past the bar ’cause a doll as hot as you could melt all our ice.”
Dorothy laughed. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
I chuckled. “If I had a buck for every time he said that—”
“Hey, come on, Jake.” Gino held out both hands. “Give me a break.”
The crowd inside the main room parted. A broad-shouldered man with a bulldog face emerged with a flashy woman on each arm. Babe Ruth was bigger than I imagined. At least a couple of inches taller than me, and I was six even.
Dorothy gazed at her hero much like she’d stared at the statues outside the Dalrymple Estate. Not even Blackie Doyle would have held her interest in the presence of the Babe.
“It’s really him.” Dorothy let out a breathy whisper. “Pinch me.”
Gino grinned. “If you insist.”
Ruth pumped Gino’s hand. “Thanks for your usual excellent hospitality.” Hospitality meant free booze.
“Babe.” Gino held up one hand. “You’re not leaving already.”
“We’re playing the Sox tomorrow. I gotta get these girls back to the … the boardinghouse so I can catch some rest.” He gave Dorothy the once-over.
Gino made the introductions. “Babe, I’d like you to meet Dorothy Greenwoody and my friend Jake Donovan. Jake�
�s a writer who—”
“My pleasure, Miss Greenwoody.” Babe kissed Dorothy’s hand. “May I call you Dorothy?”
She giggled. “Of course.”
Ruth let go of Dorothy’s hand. “I can’t call you at all if I don’t have your phone number.” His approach was as smooth as his famous swing.
My interest in Dorothy was strictly professional, but I felt more than a little rejected.
“Hey, Babe. How ’bout a picture?” A reporter with a mustard-stained tie held up a camera.
“Sure. All right with you, doll?” When Dorothy nodded, he ignored the two women at his side and slipped an arm around my date’s waist. She and Ruth smiled as the bulb flashed.
I might as well have been back in Florida.
The brunette on Babe’s arm checked me over, as if scrutinizing the cut of my suit.
“Like I said,” Gino gestured toward me, “Jake here’s a writer.”
“Sportswriter?” Babe slipped his arm from Dorothy and shook my hand with a grip that could crack a walnut. “I thought I knew all you guys. You from out of town?”
The brunette rolled her eyes. “Jake Donovan writes the Blackie Doyle mysteries.” She ran a manicured red fingernail over my sleeve. Her breathy voice lowered an octave. “Blackie’s been in my bed for the past week.”
I struggled to come up with a reply. “I … I’m flattered.”
“Nice to meet you, Flattered.” She flashed a flirtatious smile. “I’m Peaches.”
The Babe pulled her away then aimed a thick finger at me. “Quit making eyes at Peaches, Donovan.”
Gino led Babe to the door. “He didn’t mean nothing, Babe.”
He glared at me over Gino’s shoulder then took the brunette’s arm. “Come on, doll.” He tipped his hat to Dorothy and held the door open for Peaches and the blonde. Before following the two women outside, he shot me a menacing stare.
What did I do?
Gino closed the door and held out both hands to me. “You can’t put the move on Babe Ruth’s girl.”
I’d done no such thing. I took Dorothy’s hand and pulled her toward me as scores of customers surged after the Babe. After they’d left, Gino, Dorothy, and I stood alone in the lobby.
With a wistful sigh, Gino glanced around at the half-empty speakeasy. “It was good while it lasted.”
Babe’s anger bothered me. “I didn’t put a move on his girl.”
Gino shrugged. “With you, it’s hard to tell. You’re about as smooth as the stubble on Danny’s chin.”
Dorothy snickered.
I didn’t mean to cause trouble between Gino and the Babe. “Sorry.”
“Forgetaboutit.” Gino pointed to a new bat hanging next to the familiar picture of Gino and Ruth. “Babe gave me a present. It’s a club, get it? The Yankee Club.”
Dorothy read the signatures on the bat. “Lou Gehrig, Red Ruffing, Bill Dickey …”
“Even a couple of Italians,” Gino added. “Tony Lazzeri and Frankie Crosetti.” He gestured toward the main room. “The rest are near the dance floor.”
The rest?
Dorothy slipped her arm in mine, and we followed Gino. The last people I expected sat at two tables pushed together at the edge of the dance floor. Seated closer to her fiancé than I would’ve liked, Laura glanced up, as surprised by my presence as I was by hers. Her gaze settled on Dorothy’s arm in mine.
Beside them Karl Friedman nursed a large stein of beer. His eyes traveled over Dorothy’s curves. “Jake Donovan, the famous mystery writer.” He rose and gave Dorothy a small bow. “Miss Greenwoody, is it not?”
Dalrymple reached across the table. His handshake made a person want to check the contents of his wallet when he took his hand back.
He appeared thrilled by Dorothy’s arm in mine. He’d be pleased with any woman’s attention to me other than Laura’s. Our differences weren’t just about her. I believed in giving the next guy a fair shake. He believed in giving people a shakedown.
Dorothy nodded to Laura. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Wilson.”
“Likewise.” She studied Dorothy’s figure-flattering dress. “What a lovely dress.”
I might’ve been the only one to realize Laura used the word lovely in place of scandalous.
Dorothy smiled at Laura. “Yours is lovely as well. Mother has one very similar.”
I could almost hear Laura’s teeth grinding.
I held the chair for Dorothy across from Friedman. I sat between them and laid the cane beneath my chair. “What brings you to The Yankee Club, Baron?”
His lecherous eyes left Dorothy if only for a moment. “I just had to experience an American speakeasy before I return to Germany. Miss Wilson kindly recommended this quaint establishment. Little did I suspect I’d get to meet the famous Babe Ruth.”
“The Yankee Club’s been called a lot of things. Never quaint.” Gino slapped Friedman on the back and dropped into a chair across from Laura and her fiancé.
The German took a long swallow and finished his beer. “Prohibition, America’s noble experiment.”
Always the perfect host, Gino raised a hand toward Stella, the cigarette girl he’d taken to Laura’s play.
She set one hand on her hip. “I’ve got it. Another bottle of your best scotch.” She stomped off.
“And glasses for Jake and Dorothy.” He lit a cigarette. “Cigarette girls oughta have better manners than that.”
Laura patted Gino’s hand. “It’s not easy doing what she does.”
Friedman admired Stella’s backside as she headed for the bar. “Be careful of the working class, Mr. Santoro. The spread of communism threatens Europe and America under the guise of workers’ rights.”
“Workers’ rights. See, that’s where I’m not worried.” Gino blew out a long puff. “ ’Cause Stella barely qualifies as a worker.”
After the scotch arrived, Gino refreshed everyone’s drink. He lifted his glass. “What shall we drink to?”
I raised my glass toward Laura and Dalrymple. “To future happiness.” I wished her love. Him—a comfortable prison cell with a lonely cellmate.
Everyone drank to the couple. The conversation started with Babe Ruth’s visit then drifted to the Depression and Chicago jazz. I read the faces around the tables. Dalrymple’s was the clearest. He wanted to know if I’d be on a train back to Florida in the morning. Laura appeared interested in my relationship with Dorothy Greenwoody, and Dorothy kept her eye on Laura, wanting to know the same about her. Gino was Gino, everyone’s pal, except maybe the Nazi’s.
I couldn’t read Friedman. When he wasn’t ogling Dorothy or the waitresses, he played the role of the unassuming German landowner. If only to learn how he’d react to the unexpected I asked, “Are you a member of the Nazi party, Baron?”
Quiet spread over the table as if I’d broken an unwritten rule of etiquette. Gino grinned like I’d told the best farmer’s daughter story ever.
Friedman removed a cigarette from a silver case. “I’m afraid I’m not very political.” He lit the cigarette with a gold lighter. “I heard you fought in the war, Mr. Donovan. Surely you were an officer.”
“A corporal.” I smiled. “Like, I believe, your new chancellor, Adolph Hitler.”
He stiffened at the mention of the Führer’s name. “My country awarded Herr Hitler the Iron Cross. He was shot once and temporarily blinded by a gas attack from your country’s allies. He learned of Germany’s surrender while in the hospital.”
Friedman knew a lot about Germany’s new leader for someone not very political.
The band began a new number. Laura gave me a quick frown of disapproval and grabbed Spencer’s hand. She led him to the dance floor where they danced to a slow jazz number from the three-piece band.
Friedman offered his hand to Dorothy. “Would you care to dance, fräulein? That is if it’s all right with Corporal Donovan, of course.”
I gestured toward the dance floor. “In America women dance with whomever they please.”
Dorothy frowned then regained her composure and let Friedman lead her to the dance floor.
While they danced, Gino sat back in his chair and held up both hands. “I can’t believe you let him get away with that Corporal Donovan crack. In the old days you would’ve belted him.”
“These aren’t the old days. We live in a time when people can’t go around smacking each other.”
“You serious? Maybe not in Florida, but you’re back in the Big Apple now.” He nodded toward Friedman who led Dorothy in a surprisingly graceful manner. “I have to admit the Nazi is shattering one of my beliefs with his dancing skills. I expected more of a stiff goose step.” He flicked an ash into Friedman’s scotch. “You should’ve been here earlier when he was telling me what a swell guy Mussolini is.”
“Oliver Greenwoody admires the efficiency Mussolini’s brought to Italy.”
Gino appeared to stare at Dorothy as she danced. “That dish sure can pack herself into a dress. A few months ago a dame comes into The Yankee Club. Her dress is even tighter. So snug she’s barely able to walk. I grew curious about how she could get into a dress that tight, you know? So I say, ‘Excuse me, Miss—’ ”
“You’ve never said ‘Excuse me, Miss’ in your life.”
“I cleaned it up, ’cause it’s Sunday. Where was I? Oh, yeah, so I say, ‘Excuse me, honey, I’m curious. How does one go about getting into that dress?’ She grins and says ‘You can start by buying me a drink.’ ”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s some story.”
“Story?” He held up his right hand. “It’s the truth. The next day I hired her.” He pointed to Stella, who was selling a cigar to a customer.
Gino blew a plume of smoke toward the dance floor. “What’s up with you and Dorothy anyways? You trying to make Laura jealous?”
Perhaps a little. “I didn’t expect Laura to be here.”
“So why did you bring a hot date to my place? Something else, why are you out with Dorothy Greenwoody when you’re still carrying a torch for Laura?”
I lowered my voice. “Dorothy’s father might be connected to people who ordered the hit on Mickey. I brought her here to learn what I could about him from his daughter.”
The Yankee Club Page 15