The Yankee Club

by Michael Murphy

  Stella dismissed Laura’s concern with a wave. “So Jake sowed a few wild oats—”

  “I haven’t sowed any oats.”

  Stella cocked her head. “Never?”

  I had no intention of getting into intimate details, especially about my time in Florida.

  “What Gino did before he gave me this ring is his business,” Stella said. “From now on it’s just me until death do us part.”

  Gino’s eyes widened as if this was the first time he realized he was expected to be faithful the rest of his life. “That could be fifty years! Ain’t there some kind of statute of limitations or something?”

  Stella kissed his cheek. “He spent all morning going through his little black book, calling dames, telling ’em he’s off the market.”

  “I’m up to the D’s.” Gino grinned.

  Stella laughed. “How ’bout this guy, deciding to make an honest woman out of me.”

  “No more cigarette girl,” Gino said.

  “Gino, ya mean it?” Stella put both hands to her cheeks.

  “Sure.” He winked at me. “I’m promoting you to cocktail waitress.”

  Stella’s face reddened. In a brief moment, she caught on and grinned. “Wise guy.”

  Gino smiled at Laura. “That picture of you splattered all over the papers. How’s your hand?”

  “Still good enough for a couple more punches.” She made a fist and shook it in my direction. Laura led Stella toward the balcony and admired the diamond in the morning light. Girl talk.

  Gino lowered his voice. “She really sore about Dorothy?”

  “It’s more than that. She missed out on Cole Porter’s next play, thanks to me. She’s hesitant about appearing in a movie.”

  “She’s making a movie?”

  “In Hollywood.”

  “California?” Gino held up both palms. “You were serious about that?”

  I pulled two train tickets from my pocket. “Just for six months.”

  “Son of a bitch. You sure you’re coming back?”

  “Absolutely.” Or at least I was fairly sure. “What caused you to pop the question? You love her?”

  “Sure I do … and the little fella she’s carrying around inside her. Don’t say nothin’. Ma don’t know.”

  Gino, a father and a husband? I had trouble picturing him in either role.

  He held up both palms. “What?”

  “You’ll make a swell dad, a terrific husband.”

  “Which is it?”

  The women rejoined us as I pulled the envelope from my pocket. “Here’s the grand I owe you.”

  Like a cat spearing a goldfish, Stella snatched the envelope before Gino held out a hand. “He ain’t gonna carry around all that dough now that he has … responsibilities.” She handed him a fifty and stuffed the rest of the money down the front of her dress.

  We heard a knock, and I let a bellhop in. He loaded the bags onto a brass cart.

  Laura followed as I gave the suite a final walk-through. When we returned, I studied her tentative expression. “You ready?”

  For the first time since Mildred entered, Laura’s face softened. She gave me a warm slow kiss. “I’m sorry about earlier. I love you, Jake Donovan.”

  “Ah,” Gino slipped his arm around Stella. “Ain’t they adorable?”

  We followed the bellhop to the elevator and rode down to the lobby.

  I checked out at the front desk and learned Empire Press had paid the entire tab. An advance on my advance, knowing Mildred. I turned and nearly collided with Gino.

  He wiped moist eyes with a handkerchief then blew his nose, sounding like a foghorn. “You did a good thing, Jake. I ain’t talking about the mess with the Golden Legion. You took care of the two bums who plugged Mickey. You did good, real good.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you.” Or Danny and Frankie. Without them, Laura would be wearing black.

  Outside, I tugged on my hat as wind swirled in front of the hotel. Laura and Stella stood in the shade of an awning talking to Danny. Astride a blue Schwinn with chrome handlebars, his huge frame dwarfed the bicycle. Not many bicyclists wore a gray suit and fedora. “I came by to thank you for the bike you and Gino bought me.”

  This was the first I’d heard about it.

  “I forgot to tell you.” Gino squeezed the horn on the handlebars, making a noise like a Canadian goose. “Just like the one we stole.”

  “And gave back,” I added. “Can you ride it?”

  “How you think I got here? It all came back to me. You know the old saying, it’s like …” confusion swept over his face, “riding a bike.” Danny pushed off and began to pedal. The front wheel wobbled as he struggled to keep the wheels stable. The bike veered toward a large woman, with ostrich feathers on her hat, standing at the front entrance. He overcorrected and slammed into a fern in the lobby, shattering the pot. Danny fell on his side, slicing a hole in his trousers on one of the pedals.

  Gino and I helped him up.

  Danny brushed himself off and handed the doorman a twenty for the damages. “Starting is kind of rough, but once I get going …” He wheeled the bike from the lobby and pedaled off. “See ya, Jake.”

  This time he kept his balance. Laura shrieked as he turned onto the street in front of an oncoming truck. The driver blasted his horn and swerved around Danny.

  I held my breath until he rode out of sight.

  A cab pulled up, and a pretty redhead climbed out. She tugged on the hem of her short skirt, fighting a losing battle with the breeze, showing shapely legs. She paid the cabbie then smiled at Gino as she walked past.

  Stella grabbed his arm. “You ain’t gonna give every good-looking doll you see the once-over after we’re married, are you?”

  “Course not.” Gino winked at me. “Not every good-looking doll.”

  “Have you made any honeymoon plans?” Laura asked.

  “I’ve got plenty.” Gino winked.

  A wide-eyed look of excitement spread over Stella’s face. “We’ve been talking about Hawaii.”

  Gino nodded. “Ma always wanted to visit the Islands, but I think she’d like California, too. She’d enjoy seeing the Pacific Ocean, and we could spend a few days with you guys.”

  Stella smacked Gino on the arm. “I never know when this guy’s serious.”

  Gino shrugged. “I’m serious.”

  The cabbie opened the rear door. “You folks need a lift?”

  “You mind if we take this one?” Stella tugged Gino toward the open door. “Gino wants to meet my mother in Brooklyn.”

  Laura grinned. “We wouldn’t want to keep him from that. We’ll take the next one.”

  We exchanged hugs and kisses with Gino and Stella. Gino gave me a final hug with more than a touch of sadness. “By the time you come back, Prohibition will be over, and I’ll be running an Italian restaurant instead of a speakeasy. End of an era. It’s the last of the ninth for The Yankee Club.”

  Gino helped Stella into the cab. With her view blocked, he grabbed his tie, cocked his head, and pulled, imitating a hangman’s noose.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat as they drove away.

  The doorman hailed another cab. Laura took my arm and dabbed at tears with her lipstick-smeared hankie. “Think being a daddy will change him?”

  Gino change? “Not a chance.”

  A green Model A cut in front of a cab and skidded to a stop in front of the hotel. Frankie jumped out. “Surprise! Need a lift?” He opened the trunk and gestured to the bellhop, who wheeled the cart of luggage to the car.

  I helped Frankie load Laura’s trunk. “I thought you turned in the car.”

  “Cole leased it.”

  “Cole Porter?”

  Frankie tossed the rest of the bags in the trunk. “Yeah. He hired me as a driver. Edith’s happy, my first full-time job since … forever.”

  I stuffed several bills into his hand. “You saved my life more than once.”

  “I didn’t do it for the dough.�
� He offered it back.

  “Consider it our fare.”

  “This much could take you to Canada and back, but if you insist.” He stuffed the money in his pocket and slammed the trunk closed. “You heard from Belle?”

  “She’s staying in Florida awhile, subleasing my apartment for the next six months, while Laura and I are in Hollywood. She’s apparently made more off some of the old retirees than she did here.”

  Frankie opened the rear door for us, and we climbed inside.

  Laura took out her hankie and wiped Stella’s lipstick from my mouth. She showed me the cloth. “Looks like you’ve been bleeding.”

  “Penn Station?” Frankie asked as he started the car.

  “Penn Station.”

  “Out o’ my way, lady.” Frankie swerved around a stoop-shouldered woman crossing at the corner. Laura dug her nails into my thigh as he sailed through the intersection. He glanced in the rearview mirror. “What will you do in Hollywood, Jake, while Laura’s making movies?”

  “Write.”

  “Write. Sure you will. If I know you, before long, you’ll be knee-deep investigating some sinister caper.”

  I’d done enough investigating the past couple weeks to last the rest of my life. “I plan to stick to writing mysteries, not solving real-life ones.” Like Dashiell.

  Laura patted my hand. “Jake’s detective days are behind him.”

  Frankie stuck a toothpick in his mouth, glanced over his shoulder, and grinned. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  As we drove through the city, Laura gazed out the windows. Her eyes filled with tears. I held her hand and let her silently say good-bye to the place where she and I grew up.

  Laura squeezed my hand. “This city holds a lot of painful memories … but it’s still home, you know?”

  What a sap I’d been. Laura hadn’t really been angry at Ethel Merman or jealous over Dorothy. Unlike me, she’d spent her whole life in New York City. She didn’t want to leave Broadway, but with theaters closing, Hollywood offered the best chance to continue her career.

  I wasn’t so sad leaving New York. Since I’d returned to the city, I’d been shot, shot at, and handcuffed on more than one occasion. I escaped from certain execution by Tony Vales, fled a boat off Dalrymple’s Connecticut lodge seconds before it exploded, and rescued Laura at Madison Square Garden. “We’ll be back.”

  She squeezed my hand and sniffled. “Of course we will.”

  I handed her a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose. “Thanks.”

  A part of Laura was a little girl about to leave home for the first time. I’d be there to help her adjust to her new career. I looked forward to the future, Laura a movie star and me with opportunities to get to know creative people I’d never meet in New York. I couldn’t wait to get started. When Laura rested her head on my shoulder, I knew she felt the same.

  As we drove through the crowded streets, Laura opened her fingers revealing the lipstick-smeared hankie in her hand. “I think I need a new one. Then again maybe I should keep this to remind me of all the women you’ve kissed since you returned to New York.”

  I smiled and tossed the hankie out the side window. I glanced behind the car and watched a breeze toss it around like a kite in Central Park. As we turned the corner, the hankie fluttered between two cars then skidded along the sidewalk and disappeared in the streets of New York.

  MICHAEL MURPHY is a full-time writer and part-time urban chicken rancher. He lives in Arizona with his wife of more than forty years, and the five children they adopted this past year. He’s active in several local writers’ groups and conducts novel-writing workshops at bookstores and libraries.

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