The Songbird with Sapphire Eyes

by Anna Brentwood

  Guarding the conference suite doors, Bucky Lincoln, doorman in training, his honey- colored eyes warm with distinct masculine appreciation, swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed like a cork at sea as she came to a stop right before him. She smiled. “How you doin’, Bucky?”

  “Uh, ah, howdy, Miss Hannah. Mr. Innorata’s, um, still in his meetin’.”

  Pulling a piece of gum out of her purse, Hannah popped it into her mouth. “Fancy that? I was sure he said to meet him here at six?” She glanced uncertainly at the large clock above him.

  Bucky clearing his throat, straightened his epauletted shoulders. “Mr. Innorata did say he was expecting you. He said to peek in and take a seat in the back. Said you’d be his cue to exit, said youse were old family friends?”

  So Seymour had found a way to explain her presence. “Old? Lord knows, Bucky, I sure don’t want to be thought of as old.”

  Bucky turned red. “Uh, ah, didn’t mean to imply that, Miss Han, uh, Glidden.”

  “Oh, Bucky, I’m teasing.” She laughed as he rushed to open the door tripping over his own big feet. It still amazed her how folks treated her like she was so important. Grateful that a partition separated the entrance from the main meeting room she quietly braved a look around it. She spotted Seymour, his trademark cigar hanging from his mouth. Sitting across from him, backs to her and obscured by fedora-topped heads, were five men. Seymour smiled, acknowledging her. She slipped back behind the partition listening to what already sounded like a heated discussion.

  “We have to keep the flow of liquor and tobacco free. We’d be doing a disservice to the good citizens of this country, not to mention the well-being of our city if we didn’t preserve the very freedoms so many of our brave young men valiantly gave their lives for.”

  Another agreed, vehemently. “The government has no right to interfere if it isn’t hurting anyone. Frankly, I can’t see how they can enforce such an asinine law, can you? Cy? Hank? ”

  “No and Mr. P. recognizes that, but he can’t be associated with this, you understand?” The tone was firm.

  A frequent visitor to the hotel and a close associate of Tom Pendergast’s, Hannah recognized the city manager’s voice. Cy and Hank were Cy Jacobs and Hank Clark, prominent men and nightclub owners to boot. She had no idea who the other two men were. She could smell cigar smoke and knew they were all smoking Havana’s.

  “Anything to thwart this damned Prohibition,” muttered Seymour. “We’re all in agreement here. Let’s hear what Mr. Lazia has to say.”

  Hannah quickly remembered the buzz about John Lazia, a lesser-known Pendergast intimate. The bespeckled businessman reputedly looked like a college professor, but dressed like a dandy, spats, cane and all. Even more scandalous, he was once a bank robber. Captivated, she thought his voice was mild for a former criminal.

  “This stupid law goes against the constitution, but whether we like it or not, this thing is coming and soon. We’ve got to put our heads together and do something now, or we’ll all be suffering the consequences later. This thing is bigger than us, bigger than Tom, bigger than Kansas City.” Lazia paused for effect. “That’s why my cousin Johnny’s come all the way from New York City. I’ll let him tell you what he came here to say.”

  Interesting. They were discussing Prohibition. Everyone seemed to be talking about it lately. They sounded worried though. She wondered why someone from New York City would come all this way, care. She restrained the urge to get a gander at the New Yorker.

  “Look fellas, it’s simple. Basic. You watch our back. We watch yours.”

  The cousin’s voice was as forceful as a rock, each word a punch. And, his accent, well, it was unlike anything she’d ever heard before.

  “There’s poweh in numbers and my guys are lousy with takers for the deal. We truly believe if we all stick togetha we can beat Uncle Sam at his own game and give people what they want and deserve. Basic. Simple. We provide, we get paid and everybody is happy.”

  McElroy spoke up first, his voice hesitant. “I’d have to talk to Tom first.”

  Hannah wondered if the New Yorker looked as tough as he sounded. Probably ugly as a bull hound, she mused feeling a child’s excitement when Seymour called an end to the meeting. She refreshed her lipstick and pasted a big smile on her face. She walked into the room as if she’d just arrived.

  Hannah knew how to make an entrance. She was well aware of all the men turning to stare, though she kept her eyes on Seymour. Cigar in mouth, he grabbed her hand, holding it to his chest, brightening immediately upon her approach.

  “Hannah. Oy. You look fetching enough to stop a beating heart. As usual, I forget how gorgeous you are. Gentlemen…Miss Hannah Glidden.”

  “Seymour, you flatterer you. Stop or you’ll have everyone believin’ such claptrap.” She blushed more from a prickling awareness of being studied at close range by five impressive men than any kind of real embarrassment. A jolt, not unlike a lightning strike went through her when her eyes met the New Yorker’s black, soul-deep pools. Damn, he was as handsome as Valentino and probably just as vain. Unusually unnerved by his good looks, she looked away, but not before noticing the scar on his well manicured right hand and his gold pinky ring.

  “Gentlemen, Miss Glidden is The Jefferson’s pride and joy and number one songbird.” Seymour proudly made the introductions. “City manager McElroy, Cy Jacobs, Hank Clark, John Lazia and Mr. Johnny Gallo.”

  “You’ll have to catch Miss Glidden’s show one of these nights,” offered Lazia turning to his cousin and still puffing on his cigar. “She’s an engaging performer.”

  Gallo nodded politely, not taking his eyes off of the songbird with sapphire eyes even as he stomped out the end of his cigar in a nearby ashtray.

  His Roman roots were obvious in his unblemished olive skin, crow black hair, straight fine nose and classically sculptured face. His lips were far too sensuous for a man. Something passed between them. She flushed. Bee’s Knee’s, what was the matter with her that this dark, dangerous pirate of a fella with eyes black as pitch could affect her with a look? Good Lord, he was only a man. Her nails dug into her palm as she looked away and thanked John Lazia for his effusive praise.

  Seymour shook hands with the departing men, shaking Johnny Gallo’s hand last. He came closer. Too close. She had to look at him again or chance being rude. She took a deep breath and remembered her manners. “So, Mr. Gallo. What’s New York really like?”

  “It’s a city, like any other city, though bigger than most, Miss Glidden.” His gaze never wavered despite their audience.

  “I’ve always nursed a fascination for New York City,” she said. “It seems a lively place. Is it?”

  “It could be.”

  “Maybe I’ll look you up if I ever get to visit,” she quipped.

  “Do that,” he said, sounding amused.

  She was glad when he turned from her to shake hands with Seymour and leave. His eyes seemed to invade her senses. It was if he could discern her most private thoughts and desires. Frankly, the man made her nervous, very nervous.

  “Sorry about running late, doll. I hope you’re not peeved?” Seymour yawned and rubbed his eyes. They entered his darkened penthouse suite on the top floor of The Jefferson.

  “Not at all, in fact, I heard what you said about Prohibition. Do you think it’s gonna change things a lot?”

  “Probably.” He took off his shirt, his tie, pulling on a burgundy satin smoking jacket. Loosening his pants, he sat on the end of the bed. He unhooked his garters and kicked off his shoes. “Phew, that’s better. Can’t remember when I’ve had a more tiring week.”

  She noticed he was breathing heavy. His color seemed off and the lines in his face were more deeply etched than usual. She handed him back his cigar. “Are you sure you’re okay? That you want me to stay?”

  He looked appalled. “What! You’re the highlight of my visits here and I gotta be leaving first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Hannah was stunned.
“But, you just got here and tomorrow is Jefferson’s New Years Eve ball. I assumed you would stay. I left the time open.”

  Chucking her under the chin, he apologized. “Beatrice would have my head if I wasn’t back and business is—”

  “Business,” she finished, upset to discover she’d be spending another holiday alone. But, wives expected their husbands to be home for the holidays and men expected their wives to whine, not their mistresses so she buttoned her lips.

  “I did order up room service, a real special dinner for two,” he cajoled heading towards the bathroom. “Make yourself comfortable, baby.”

  “Okay,” she said, containing her disappointment. She’d worry about tomorrow night tomorrow. She’d refused several offers to be escorted to the ball in lieu of Seymour’s visit and had no one to blame but herself. She rolled down her stockings, kicking off her shoes to pad around barefoot on the lush, expensive carpet. Dropping her purse and wrap on the chair, checking herself in the mirror she eyed the fully stocked bar in the corner of the room. She went over to pour herself a drink. Maybe she deserved being left alone on another important holiday. Everyone seemed to have someone special except her. Up to now that’s the way she’d wanted it. Sure she had tons of admirers and looked popular, but none of them really knew or cared about the real Hannah, the person inside. She wondered now if they’d even want to. And, Seymour, she knew he cared for her as she did for him, but it wasn’t a romance by any means. Just thinking of Meg’s passion for Alec and Rosie’s for Mike made her realize that maybe something important was missing in her life. She thought back to the handsome New Yorker she’d met earlier, how he’d flustered her with just a look. Her latest conversation with Meg came back to haunt her.

  “Surprise. Loved the show. Girlie, you amaze me every time I see you perform.”

  Hugging Meg, she told her she was glad to see her and still had her Christmas present.

  “Don’t feel bad, I still have yours, but I left it in my apartment.”

  They walked arm in arm to Hannah’s dressing room. “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you.” Hannah started removing her stage make-up.

  “Far too long,” agreed Meg, lighting a cigarette.

  She looked as elegant as ever, but disturbingly thin. Meg’s cheekbones were sunken and her usually olive skin was pale and almost translucent. Even artfully applied cosmetics couldn’t hide the gray circles under her usually bright brown eyes. Hannah felt concerned. “Are you better?”

  “I’ve had a dickens of a time with that stomach bug coming and going. I didn’t have much of an appetite between that and arguing with Alec about going back to work, which he won’t hear of, the stubborn cock. He expects me to be at his beck and call.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Of course not, they’re all quacks.” Meg had pooh-poohed the idea.

  Shifting in her chair, Hannah rifled through her things. “Rosie’s in love again. She’s passionate about him. This time she might really be in love and this one is no schoolboy just out of short pants.”

  “She told me all the gory details. Alec thinks he’s mob.”

  “In any case, Rosie claims he treats her like glass. Calls him Mikey. She even spent Christmas with his family. Should we tell her?”

  “Mikey?” Meg smiled. “I did tell her but she just went on and on about how wonderful he was. Anyway, there’s no talking to her when she’s in love.”

  “See, that’s just what I want to avoid.” Hannah had jumped up to change. From behind her dressing screen she’d unhooked her torn stocking. “When love comes into the picture, all good sense goes out the window. Folks can’t think straight, they do things and say things they wouldn’t ordinarily do, make promises they can’t keep. They tell one another what they can or can’t do. Carin’ that much doesn’t seem worth it to me.”

  “Alec is leaving to go to Europe with his family for two months.” Meg looked forlorn.

  “See. For someone who defends the virtues of loving a man, you don’t sound too happy.”

  Meg stood, hand on hip and swayed dizzily.

  Hannah jumped and started around the screen.

  Meg caught herself and swore. “Damn, I still have a touch of that bug, but I’m fine. And I’m not happy all the time, but nothing is perfect, least of all in matters of the heart.”

  Hannah looked smug. “Just proves my point. Caring too much and depending on someone is just plain risky.”

  “And, not having someone special to care for who cares for you is even riskier, lonely too.”

  She was interrupted from her reverie when the doorbell rang. Their supper arrived.

  An hour later as they finished up the extravagant meal, Seymour put his napkin down and said, “Umm that was fit for a king.”

  “For a king, a queen and the whole damned court,” chirped Hannah. She eyed the fancy rollaway table with its covered dishes, wine, flowers, linen, crystal and fancy silver utensils. Wiggling her toes, she stood stretching like a stuffed, but sated cat. She executed a quick curtsy. “I need a cigarette.”

  Seymour laughed, already puffing on another cigar. He picked up the wooden humidor she’d bought him and moving plates aside began putting the rest of his cigars inside the box.

  She smiled as she lit her cigarette. “You like your gift?”

  “Love it, doll baby. But, you didn’t hafta spend money on me. I’m supposed to be spoiling you.” Eyes twinkling mischievously, he reached into his pocket. He handed her a long, narrow white box. “Thought I forgot, didn’t you?”

  Grinning, she took it, throwing him a great big kiss. “You’re a good guy, Seymour.”

  “Yeah, yeah, open it already,” he said, voice gruff.

  Hannah needed little coaxing. Parting the leaves of soft gold tissue with an eager smile, she looked up curious when all she saw was a plain, flat envelope.

  “Keep going, will you.” He sounded impatient.

  She stood, gasping as she opened the envelope. “A check…is this real?”

  “Of course,” he laughed, his cigar wobbling in his mouth. “Think that’ll keep you in stocking’s for a bit?”

  Considering that a modest home cost four thousand dollars, a brand new automobile less than five hundred and most factory workers earned less than $1200 a year, Seymour’s gift was a small fortune. “Does this really say ten thousand bucks?”

  He nodded. “I wanted you to have something to fall back on. Frankly, I suspect Prohibition is gonna be a pain in the keister. Things will get worse before they get better.”

  “This is awfully generous. Is is a kiss off?”

  He shook his head. “No, it ain’t no kiss-off, baby. Just something for the tough times. Plus, you deserve it, you’re talented, you work hard and you’ve made me a happy man.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Seymour, you’re the berries. I can pay back the money I took from my ma, put away for lots of rainy days and buy new shoes too. Bee’s Knees, I’m rich!”

  He laughed again, lighting his cigar. A smoke wreath formed around his face making him look like a balding, benevolent Santa. He grunted in delight when Hannah affectionately plopped down on his lap to rest her cheek against his big barrel chest.

  She sighed. She didn’t have love, but she did have good friends. Seymour had a warm heart. Feeling grateful, she hugged him fiercely. “Thank you, thank you and thank you for stakin’ me! Why the thought of all those zeros just has me dizzy.”

  Amused, he nuzzled her hair.

  “Oh Seymour, I feel like Cinderella. And you’re my Fairy godfather.”

  “Granted I’m old enough to be your grandfather, but I could do without the Fairy part.”

  “Hey, lazybones get up. I’m on my way out,” called Rosie, peering into Hannah’s bedroom. “Mikey and I are going to a party. Don’t figure on me coming home tonight.”

  Hannah moaned, trying to ignore her. She burrowed deeper into her pillow. She opened one unwilling lid. Her limbs felt lethargic from the nee
d for more sleep. “Go, you’re too energetic for this early in the morning.”

  Rosie laughed. “Meg called twice and Mikey proposed to me five times last night. By the way, it’s not morning.”

  “Geez, what time is it anyways?” muttered Hannah shivering as much from the thought of Rosie going middle aisle as from the cold room, despite the gurgling of the radiator pipes.

  “It’s half past noon, the first day of January nineteen twenty. Nothing’s happened yet with that dang Prohibition hovering over everyone’s good times like the plague.”

  “Seymour didn’t stay so I didn’t go to the Ball. I’ve got the whole damned day and night off too,” she groaned, adding grumpily, “Here I’m supposed to be the toast of The Jefferson, the golden girl in the Paris of the Plains where everyone thinks I have my pick of handsome admirers, alone on Christmas, New Year’s Eve, now New Years Day too.”

  “Ahh, Han. I’m sorry. I had no idea, but hey, you’re welcome to come with us.”

  “Lord, no, yuck. You two can’t keep your hands off each other.”

  “True.” Rosie giggled.

  “And don’t even suggest fixing me up.”

  “Okay, but if you’d listen to me, you wouldn’t have waited around for that old man—”

  “Well, I have news for you, Rosie dear. That old man gave me a real nice Christmas present.”

  “Let me guess, another piece of jewelry,” said Rosie somewhat fractiously.

  “No. Try ten thousand real honest to goodness American dollars,” drawled Hannah watching eagerly for Rosie, the original gold digger of all time, to react.

  Eyes bulging, she didn’t disappoint. “Wow, that’s a haul, Han. I guess you’re flush now.”

  “I’d say,” agreed Hannah, squinting as the afternoon sun blazed right through the window shade into her room. “I’ll bank the bulk, but splurged at Adler’s. Spent over one hundred dollars on a Paris original and shoes. I bought you a new tube of that lipstick I borrowed, Meg a scarf and decided to make amends and pay back the money I took from my Mama. I am going to start the year clean if I can figure out how to do it without them findin’ out where I’m living.”