Chipped Pearls

by Helen Jacey

  Sonia would have to question Dolly about a lot of things. The mystery job offers, any boyfriends, why she made promises only to let people down. Sonia would need to get ahead on anything that the DA might spice up to make Dolly look even more morally dubious or chaotic. A girl that up till recently preferred the company of a racially mixed group of jazz musicians? That could be painted as crime of the century. And singing in a band who played regularly at lesbian clubs? Dolly should be burnt at the stake.

  I pointed at the sax case. ‘You’re playing tonight?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Private party, at Joyce’s.’

  I wondered what that meant exactly. The club was already the epitome of private. ‘Wasn’t Dolly supposed to sing tonight? Before the arrest?’

  ‘Yup. Wanda’s covering it. It’ll be a sextet. Carmen on drums, Bertha on bass, Jewel on reeds, Wanda on vocals and trumpet, Zetty on trombone. And yours truly, tenor sax. Why don’t you join us? I can give you a ride.’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t.’

  ‘You really gonna stay at home on Christmas night?’

  ‘Why have you and Dede got Dolly’s back like this?’ I asked out of the blue.

  It was the closest I’d come to acknowledging their coupledom.

  Alberta didn’t flinch. ‘Something real lonesome about her. She was adopted, and they died. She ain’t got no one in the world so we’re helping her out.’

  We’re helping her out. It was the closest yet Alberta had come to saying they were an item and she had a say in how they spent their money. And I felt a surge of comradery. With her and Dede because of our secrets. With Dolly, because we were both orphans with a double abandonment in our childhoods. She might be my helpless little sister.

  But still, they were giving a lot, just out of pity for somebody. ‘Dolly’s lucky to have such good pals.’

  She glanced at her watch and stood up. ‘Change your mind? There’ll be plenty of food and you can meet the girls. Then you can see for yourself nobody hated Dolly!’

  I gave a short laugh. ‘Never said I didn’t believe you.’

  ‘You detective types, you don’t trust nobody. Come on, what do you say?’

  It was obvious she wanted me to meet them to rule them all out. But just because Alberta trusted the band didn’t mean I had to. Dolly languished in hell, and here were some of the females that she regularly hung out with.

  Any one of them could have nabbed her lipstick.

  ‘All right. Why not?’ It certainly beat sitting at home next to the radio, trying not to think of Lauder’s vacation.

  I stood up. ‘Just don’t say I’m an investigator. Joyce knows, but nobody else needs to.’

  I wanted to be free tonight. Dancing, killer cocktails, fun.

  Alberta seemed to read my thoughts. ‘You gotta dance tonight, for Dolly’s sake. Because she can’t. And if all this goes bad, she might never again.’

  We met each other’s eyes. I nodded. ‘I’ll give it a shot.’

  She looked my outfit up and down. Unimpressed. Black slacks and beige pullover, things I’d slung on for a simple night with a takeout. ‘Wait here.’ She bounced out of the room.

  A few minutes later, Alberta came back with an entire outfit: a dress, in a shimmery golden fabric, a black-and-gold striped jacket, a gold feathery tilt hat and gold backless shoes. She bundled the lot into my arms. ‘Go change in the bathroom. But hurry.’

  I hesitated. It was all brand new!

  ‘Dede buys a pile of stuff she never wears. Then before she’s even tried it out, she don’t like it no more. Fickle lady. You may as well have it for tonight. Then I’m gonna donate it to the needy.’

  She didn’t know it, but she already was.

  17

  The slick moves of my dancing partner, a tall girl called Cheryl, made my re-introduction to dancing seem effortless.

  When she’d asked if I wanted to dance, Cheryl told me she was Irish, and that her girlfriend was a midwife, who was unexpectedly called in to do a shift on the maternity ward.

  She wanted to make it clear a dance was just a dance. Fine by me. I had enough complications right now.

  On stage, the band’s wailing horn section let rip. All the members wore silky purple gowns identical to Alberta’s, with high necklines and mounds of ruby sequins over the shoulders and waistband that gleamed like fresh pomegranate seeds. Their dresses swayed in tune and the flowers in their hair, sprays of fake purple and red orchids with silver veins, bounced in rhythm as the horn section took it to the top.

  The singer, who had to be Wanda, had a liquid satin voice that wafted me to another world. I closed my eyes, letting myself go.

  If Lauder could see me now, jitterbugging with a woman!

  The song came to an end, and the crowd went wild. I turned to Cheryl. ‘Thanks for going easy on me.’

  ‘Pleasure. Find me later if you want to do it again.’

  On stage, Wanda took a long bow, a grinning ball of energy. ‘Well, thank you very much, ladies and gentlewomen! I wrote My Particular Guy myself and it’s all about the best kind of love. Forbidden love, y’all know what I mean?’

  Everybody cheered. Wanda beamed. Confident and charismatic, she was a five-foot-tall powerhouse, totally in her element. She was stunning, with warm brown skin, now moistened with perspiration, and jet-black hair that was curled, coiled and oiled.

  Then I noticed something odd. The stage bandstands didn’t say The Charmettes. They said Wanda and her Charms in curly lettering. Alberta hadn’t mentioned anything about playing in another band tonight.

  Wanda went on. ‘We love who we love, and nobody can do a thing about it. Ain’t that right?’

  The crowd exploded.

  On stage, Alberta’s eyes landed on me, and she gave a half-smile. Wanda beamed at her fans. ‘We’re gonna take a break now, but we’ll be back real soon! Then I want everybody on their feet.’

  I headed for the bar through the throng.

  ‘Well, look what the cat dragged in. Miss Slate?’ It was a warm, polished voice. One that I knew all too well.

  I turned around. Joyce, the club’s proprietress, had a wry smile on her face. ‘What a charming surprise. You’re here for pleasure, not business, I hope?’ Her dark eyes twinkled at me. ‘You’re certainly dressed for pleasure.’

  She could be describing herself, fabulous in a long dark blue velvet gown and a bucketload of diamonds at her neck, ears and wrists. A diamond tiara glittered on top of her black hairdo, which was parted in the middle with elaborate braids forming curls on either side. She evoked a hybrid concoction of European shepherdess, Native American and Cleopatra. Joyce had been born in the wrong body, but now she was her true self.

  ‘Officially off duty,’ I lied. ‘Alberta invited me along. We live at the same place.’

  ‘The Miracle Mile? Nice digs. Let me get you a drink. A cocktail, created especially for the occasion.’

  ‘Christmas special? If it’s eggnog, thanks but not thanks.’

  Joyce tutted. ‘Do I look like an eggnog girl? No, this is a wonderful cocktail to celebrate my birthday.’

  ‘Many happy returns.’

  How old was Joyce? Fifty? Sixty? I had no idea. She was ageless in a way.

  ‘I make a point of celebrating Christmas just like the Europeans do—on Christmas Eve. That means today is only ever all about me.’ She gave a superior smile.

  Joyce looked around and her eyes fell on one of her many glamorous waitresses. She held up two fingers and the girl nodded and pranced off in the direction of the bar, worked by female bartenders.

  Tonight, all the staff were dolled up in gold lamé pant suits, covered in silver stars. Their hair was in elaborate buns with small silver top hats perched on top. They could have walked off the set of a musical.

  But they didn’t make musicals featuring lesbians. And they probably never would.

  ‘Join me in my booth. I want to hear all your news.’

  News? We didn’t exactly move in the same circles.
/>
  Joyce’s plush booth occupied a prime spot at the edge of the dance floor. I looked around. The place had definitely had some kind of makeover with a cream and purple pearly theme. Faux columns edged the walls, ivory and purple satin drapes hung around the back of the stage. The table tops were now a dark marble on which stood small brass lamps with deep purple shades, lending a soft light. It was more sophisticated than decadent. Even the resident drug dealer that I remembered had disappeared. I said, ‘Looking swanky. Did you…er…get busted?’

  ‘No. I like to run a tight ship in these uncertain times, so a couple of features you may recall have been relocated or discontinued. My clients have enough trouble as it is. Being closed down wouldn’t do anyone any favors.’

  I nodded. The waitress soon reappeared with a brass tray carrying a cocktail in an elegant glass and a flute of bubbles which she presented to Joyce, who smiled graciously. The waitress handed the cocktail to me. The drink was a creamy white, with a dark streak through the top.

  ‘I haven’t thought of a name yet, but I invented it. Try it.’ Joyce nodded to me. Why wasn’t she partaking of her own concoction?

  ‘Happy birthday,’ I said. We chinked glasses, and Joyce smiled again, watching while I sipped. The drink was soft, like fluffy vanilla ice cream laced with something orangey and floral. The dark streak tasted like a boozy treacle with chocolate undertones. ‘Deadly.’

  ‘Have to say, I’m quite proud of myself.’ Joyce leaned back, pure satisfaction spreading over her face.

  ‘You’re right. You need a memorable name for it.’

  ‘I’m thinking Wolf’s Eye. It kind of looks like a white eye with a long dark pupil.’

  I looked at down at my glass. The treacle streak was slowly blurring into a wider band. Brown was bleeding into the white.

  ‘Why not name it after you? It’s your birthday, after all. How about…Joyce’s Bliss?’

  ‘Ooh, Joyce’s Bliss. Once tasted, never surpassed. Perfect! That settles it.’ She looked at me, impressed.

  We chinked glasses again. Now I was in her good books, I couldn’t resist a little probe. ‘So…you heard about Dolly Perkins?’

  Joyce looked at me, askance. ‘Of course she didn’t do it. Dolly Perkins! How ridiculous.’

  So Alberta had told Joyce and possibly the band too. Considering our story was that she hadn’t been with Dolly that night, wasn’t it a risky move to talk to anyone at all about Dolly being in a jam? But Dolly had called the club, and Alberta had left for a while.

  Alberta was convinced everyone liked Dolly. But if Dolly had enemies in the band or at the club, who could be involved in the frame-up—maybe by stealing the lipstick, even if it was at the real killer’s behest—it was dangerous to talk.

  If Flannery got to hear Alberta had been with Dolly, she could be in the firing line.

  I nodded towards the stage. ‘The stage bandstands. New name?’

  ‘Wanda’s been itching to launch her own band for some time. You can’t blame her for wanting to get some distance ahead of the scandal breaking. Dolly’s bound to be all over the papers soon.’

  ‘Smart move, then.’

  ‘Just bringing forward the inevitable,’ Joyce said, enigmatically.

  Wanda wasn’t just itching to launch her own band; she’d been busy preparing for it long before.

  ‘Kind of suits you, too, I guess, if the name’s switched?’

  ‘I’m never one to mind anyone switching anything.’ Joyce gave a pointed look. ‘So long as somebody plays at my birthday, I’m happy.’

  ‘Do you know Dolly well?’

  ‘Not well. A funny little thing. Nervous energy, a little too keen to please. You always worry for girls like that, don’t you? But boy, can she belt out a song, and from such a tiny body. Where Piaf is Paris’s little sparrow, Dolly’s our very own Los Angeleno yellow warbler.’

  Sadness flitted across her eyes. ‘Well, could have been. I guess she’s finished now. Even if she gets off, this will follow her like a ball and chain.’

  Joyce sipped her champagne.

  ‘How long did The Charmettes play here?’

  ‘On and off, since I opened.’ She peered at me over her champagne flute. ‘You’re asking an awful lot of questions for someone on her night off.’

  ‘Just curious.’

  ‘Hm. Once a nosey parker, always one, I guess?’

  ‘A professional habit. Hard to shake off.’

  Her eyes suddenly bored into mine. ‘Or are you in fact helping Dolly?’

  I lowered my glass, avoiding her gaze. Had Alberta said anything about my involvement when she returned to the club? Surely not. I was between a rock and a hard place. I couldn’t spill to Joyce, but could I outright lie?

  A halfway house answer would do. ‘Being incarcerated isn’t fun. Particularly when you’re innocent. If I could help, sure, why not?’ My voice sounded sufficiently blasé.

  Joyce studied me. ‘You know, I can never quite make you out. Do-gooder or meddler? Well, as I’m in such a good mood, I’ll cut you some slack.’

  Joyce’s eyes were already flitting elsewhere. She politely told me she had another guest to see, and did I mind if we ended our little chat? It was a polite way of kicking me out of the booth.

  I wished her happy birthday again, finished my drink, and reluctantly got up from the comfy seat.

  Joyce’s voice sang out after me. ‘Remember, everything’s on the house tonight for my nearest and dearest. Maybe that will include you, one day?’

  I laughed, but didn’t look back. A suave man in a tuxedo passed me, heading for Joyce’s booth. He had a pencil thin moustache, greased silver hair like a sheet of aluminum, and perfect skin. His face split into a good-natured grin, revealing gleaming teeth. Joyce’s particular guy? I resisted the urge to look around and watch their greeting.

  I merged into the maelstrom of noisy women.

  No sign of Alberta, or any of the musicians in their purple frocks. I needed to pee, and found the bathroom.

  In the mirror, I was a new woman in the golden dress. Across the top and shoulders, pale gold and black beads were embroidered into fern-like frond patterns. The same pattern was repeated around the hips. The jacket was a stiff little bolero, with three gold tassels as fastenings. The stripes turned out to be ribs of gold brocade across the chest. The high-heeled gold shoes fitted well enough for one night if I did the straps up tightly. I fluffed my curls and pinned on the hat. It was a black and bronze turban, with a big gold centerpiece encrusted with a polished striped slab of tiger’s eye.

  I found my darkest red lipstick and powdered my nose.

  ‘Not bad for an ex-con,’ I announced to myself in the mirror.

  I left the bathroom and turned into a small corridor lit by small glowing wall lamps in the shape of ice cream cones. From a partially open door, I could hear a discussion. I paused near the door.

  Wanda was saying, ‘I wanna do it, so you girls gotta tell me if you’re in.’

  One woman said, ‘If it pays like you says it will, why the hell not?’

  Another said, ‘Count me in, too.’

  ‘Santa Barbara? Where we gonna stay? She gonna put us up?’

  ‘Yeah. The deal is our own rooms, doubling up of course, new formals, and a bus with our name on!’

  ‘You mean, your name on it. Now we’re just the Charms.’ This was Alberta. ‘You work fast, girl. I only told you last night. How’s Dolly gonna feel?’

  ‘She don’t have to find out.’

  ‘Course she’s gonna find out.’

  ‘We gotta look out for ourselves now. I don’t want no cops grilling me about Dolly Perkins and her dead boyfriend. None of us need that shit. What I do want is to make some good money for a change.’

  Alberta spoke again. ‘How did you find out about this party?’

  There was a beat. Wanda sounded coy. ‘Zetty’s boss. Tell ‘em, Zetty.’

  There was a long silence.

  A woman spoke. She had a dee
p, husky and thick accent. European. Italian? I couldn’t tell. ‘I work for her. Very rich. Everything Wanda says is true. She wants us to play. Money no problem for her. I tell Dolly. She was excited. Now she can’t sing. So Wanda do it.’

  Alberta said, ‘I feel bad for Dolly.’

  Wanda’s voice took a plaintive tone that didn’t suit it. ‘I want to tour, I want a recording contract, I want to play in concert halls one day. This party, if it pays well, it gets the show on the road.’

  ‘Good timing for you, then, ain’t it?’ Alberta sounded sarcastic.

  ‘Everything happens for a reason. God’s plan.’

  Alberta said, ‘Zetty, you’re Dolly’s best pal. What do you think?’

  Zetty said, ‘Dolly will be disappointed. But maybe we give her a cut to help her.’

  Some grunts of agreement. Wanda said, ‘How about that? Whatever happens, Dolly’s gonna need dough.’

  Alberta sighed. ‘This boss lady okay, Zetty?’

  Zetty said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right. Count me in, I got time on my hands and I like to play. Anything after that, we’ll see.’

  Wanda said, ‘You made my day, girl!’