Jazz Baby

by Téa Cooper

  ‘Where is this Barbary Coast? Down near the harbour?’

  ‘We’re there already,’ Lawrence said with a chuckle. ‘It’s just the name they give this area around here.’

  ‘Why the Barbary Coast? It sounds like something out of Robinson Crusoe or a Boy’s Own paper.’

  ‘That’s pretty much right, my sweet.’ Lawrence gave her arm a squeeze and pulled her closer.

  Dolly released her hold on his arm and rubbed at the fine hairs standing to attention on her arms. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Round here a man can get whatever he wants. Grog, women, more snow than you could shovel — untold treasures. Just like San Francisco before the earthquake. The madams have got everything illegal tied up. Stick with me and you’ll be fine.’

  Dolly managed a polite smile to hide the rising sense of trepidation. The memory of Mrs Mack’s dining room with all the girls chattering over Annie’s bread-and-butter pudding became more enticing with every step she took through the dingy streets.

  ‘Are we nearly there, Lawrence?’ Dolly cast a furtive look over her shoulder, trying to recall the streets and laneways they’d turned down, wishing she had paid more attention. A man brushed past her and accelerated into a run, almost knocking her off her feet. Before she had a chance to regain her balance his pursuer rammed into her, throwing her against Lawrence.

  ‘Steady on. Take it easy.’ Lawrence reached for her arm. ‘It’s not much further, just around the next corner.’

  ‘I’ll be glad when we get there.’ She swallowed the quaver in her voice hoping he hadn’t heard.

  ‘Here we are.’ He stopped by a small two-storey building.

  The front resembled a corner shop except the large glass windows were covered in old newspaper and a red light dangled from a frayed cord above the firmly closed door.

  Lawrence rapped on the door and it opened a crack. ‘I’m here with the singer.’

  The door swung wide and the blast of unwashed bodies, cheap perfume and stale smoke caught in Dolly’s throat making her cough and her eyes water. Lawrence pushed her inside and the door closed behind them with a click.

  ‘Through there.’ The man on the door flicked his head in the direction of the back room.

  Lawrence led the way down the narrow passageway. Dolly peered into the first room and stifled a shocked gasp. A dirty tangled mess of limbs writhed on a broken-down cast iron bed — a far cry from the lavish rooms she’d been cleaning. ‘I thought this was a Jazz Club,’ she hissed.

  ‘That’s up the road a bit. We’ve got to go and make you known, so you’ll stay out of trouble.’

  Stay out of trouble? Dolly’s stomach plummeted realising she’d got herself into plenty of trouble already. ‘I think I’ve changed my mind. Can you take me back to Number Fifty-Four, or tell me which way to go and I’ll get out of your hair.’

  Lawrence’s hand clasped her upper arm tightly and she tried to shrug him off. ‘Too late now. It’ll all be fine. Just come down here.’ He kicked open the door in front of them keeping a firm grip on Dolly’s arm and pushed her into the back room.

  A well-covered woman wearing a low-cut black blouse and a large brimmed hat sat at the table flanked by two men. The larger of the two had his jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled up. His meaty hands cradled a gun. On the woman’s other side a smaller man, dressed in a suit that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Number Fifty-Four, rested against the back door, his hat tipped at a raffish angle over one eye.

  ‘Lawrence. What have you brought me tonight?’ The woman leant back in the chair.

  ‘This is Dolly. I was telling you about her. She sings.’ Lawrence placed the palm of his hand in the small of Dolly’s back and nudged her closer to the table. Dolly resisted for a moment then took one small step.

  ‘Nice.’ The woman’s eyes roamed Dolly making her feel like one of the cows at the Wollombi cattle sales. ‘You’re looking for a job, I hear.’

  Dolly sucked in a deep breath of the fetid air and peered over her shoulder at Lawrence. He nodded in encouragement. ‘I’m a singer.’ Her voice sounded small and for a moment she imagined she was back at Mrs Mack’s on the very first night, but this time there was something in the woman’s shrewd hard eyes making her flesh crawl.

  ‘Sure you want to sing? I could offer you something a little more lucrative.’ Her flat, cold eyes slid to one side and the big man with the gun curled his lips in a parody of a smile.

  Dolly nodded. ‘Yes, I want to sing, maybe…not this evening.’

  ‘I think this evening is as good an evening as any. We’ll talk about your future career another time. Take her around to the cellar, Lawrence, there’s a good boy. Jim’ll talk to you later.’

  Dolly recognised that the woman had dismissed her though somehow her legs refused to move. Lawrence’s hand slipped back to her arm and he tugged her out through the door.

  ‘Lawrence,’ the woman called, ‘good move.’

  The words swirled around Dolly’s head mixing with the close atmosphere and the increasing feeling of despair growing in the pit of her stomach. She as good as ran back down the hallway, turning her face away as she passed the groaning bedroom. The front door swung open and before she knew it she stood once again in the darkened street. A woman lounged back on the window, her skirt rucked high above her knees. The pinprick of her burning cigarette glimmered and a cloud of smoke billowed from her mouth into the face of the rutting man heaving against her.

  Dolly gasped, turned a full circle and tried to get her bearings. A door crashed behind her and grasping fingers clawed at her shoulders. ‘Get your hands off me.’ She swatted them away and struck out in the direction she prayed would lead back to Number Fifty-Four.

  Her head pounded with a growing sense of despair. How could she have been so stupid? The sound of thundering feet echoed behind her and she darted across the road seeking the security of the darkness. Her ankle turned sending an agonising spasm of pain up her leg.

  ‘Slow up, Dolly. You’re going the wrong way.’

  Hobbling, she swung around to face Lawrence, more lost and alone than the day she’d stepped onto the train for Sydney. ‘No, I’m not. I want to go home. I want to go back to Mrs Mack’s. This is all a horrible mistake. If you won’t take me then I’ll find my own way.’ She stumbled around and limped off down the narrow street heading for the glow of lights in the distance.

  In two steps Lawrence caught up with her. His fingers dug into her arm as he pulled her to a halt. ‘Listen to me! You haven’t got an option. Not now. Tonight you have to sing.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’ The wistful sound of her voice brought the tears to her eyes.

  ‘You have to, Dolly. No one contradicts The Queen of the Night.’

  His words tightened like a hangman’s noose and threatened to throttle her. ‘That was the woman who runs all the gangs and the sly-grog shops…?’ Dolly didn’t need an answer. Now it all made sense. She’d well and truly dropped herself in it this time.

  Chapter 20

  After the longest day of his life Jack stood once more on the doorstep of Number Fifty-Four. Millie assured him Dolly would be singing at the club off Palmer Street. The knowledge didn’t fill him with any sense of relief. Housed in the underground cellars behind one of the more dubious pubs, the after-hours drinking spot was home to a bunch of hit men and right in the middle of the ongoing arguments between the two madams who ruled the seamier side of Sydney life. His only advantage, and Dolly’s, was the fact the night was still young and trouble rarely broke out before midnight.

  ‘So help me, Jack, if anything has happened to my sister your life won’t be worth living.’ Ted’s threat wafted through the night air as they set off down Oxford Street.

  After a couple of hundred yards they took a short cut through the back lanes to the top end of Palmer Street. If anything had happened to Dolly he’d be holding himself responsible and he had no doubt whatever punishment Ted chose to mete out he’d deserve.
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  Jack pulled his battered felt hat further down over his eyes and ran his finger around the neck of his cheap shirt to ease the itch. Every time he drew a breath the welcome weight of his old service revolver brushed against his ribs. Tonight he meant business and if anyone laid a hand on Dolly he intended to be in a position to sort them out, and bugger the consequences. ‘We’ll find her, Ted,’ he said with more conviction than he believed. ‘Millie knows the area like the back of her hand. It’s where she started out. She’s got the contacts. I wouldn’t have found you otherwise.’ Refusing to contemplate any possibility his confidence might be misplaced he picked up the pace.

  Ted matched him step for step. ‘Remember the time Dolly took off because Pa said he was going to send her old pony, Mischief, to the knackers’ yard?’

  Jack gave a strangled snort. It had taken them three days to find Dolly. She couldn’t have been more than eight. She’d camped out in one of the old huts on St Albans Common. When they arrived she’d offered them a cup of tea and asked them if they’d like to stay for the night. It had taken a shit-load of convincing to get her back to Wollombi, and the pony had lived to a ripe old age. ‘That was out in the bush, hell of a lot safer than these back streets.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just send her home when she turned up at Number Fifty-Four?’ Ted asked.

  Unsure he could give an honest answer Jack shrugged his shoulders. When Dolly walked into Millie’s it had been a hell of a shock. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to send her home. At that stage he’d believed Ted and her father dead and thought the kid deserved a break. Besides, he’d been unexpectedly happy to see her. A ray of sunshine lighting his jaded existence, a reminder there was more to life than the hedonistic pleasures he took for granted. She anchored him.

  The longer she’d been at Millie’s the more he’d enjoyed having her around, and Sydney life suited her, brought a sparkle to her eyes. And then when she’d fronted up in that dress…he caught his breath.

  ‘Walking too fast for you, am I? Getting a bit soft in your old age?’

  Pushing the image of Dolly aside Jack punched Ted lightly on the arm. ‘I’ll keep up, don’t you worry.’ Ted sidestepped the blow and careered into a couple of girls propping up the corrugated fence marking the backyard of one of the rundown terraces.

  ‘Five bob for a twist of snow, gentlemen.’

  ‘Or anything else you fancy.’

  Jack slid to a halt as Ted lifted his hat. ‘What are you girls doing working this laneway? You don’t belong here. Your guts will go for garters if you’re found out.’

  They shrugged their scrawny shoulders in unison and pouted. ‘Got to catch us first. Come on, give us five bob. We can do both of youse real fast.’

  Ted reached into his pocket and pulled out some money, offering it to the taller of the two girls. ‘Take the money and bugger off where you belong,’ he said, shaking his head at the offer of the thin piece of paper twisted at both ends.

  ‘You used to be one of our best customers.’

  ‘Go on, get on out of here.’ He flicked his head and the two girls skipped ahead with a flutter of their blackened eyelashes and a giggle. Their tightly-clad buttocks twitched in harmony as they tripped down the laneway.

  ‘You weren’t using that muck were you?’ Jack asked. Cocaine was rapidly becoming the drug of choice in Sydney for rich and poor alike. Use had tripled since the Sydney madams had added it to their repertoire. He’d insisted Millie break with it when he’d put up the money for Number Fifty-Four. Just because all the other brothel owners made certain their girls were well and truly hooked didn’t mean Millie had to. Paying them in cocaine and not money got them addicted and kept them dependent. He’d drawn the line at that.

  ‘For a while. Snow’s a great painkiller…’ Ted started before his vice-like grip latched onto Jack’s arm. ‘If Millie’s been dishing that muck out to Dolly…’

  ‘Millie won’t have a bar of it.’ Jack shook his arm free. ‘The most Dolly would have had is alcohol and I doubt that. She said she didn’t drink.’

  Ted’s mouth twisted in a smile. ‘She hasn’t got caught up with the Temperance mob has she?’

  ‘No, Dolly’s just Dolly, the same as she’s always been. Determined, independent and a tad bloody-minded when it suits her.’ Lying by omission Jack chose not to mention the fact the little girl who’d followed them around like a puppy dog had, in his eyes, grown into a highly desirable young woman capable of triggering a whole range of emotions, none of which had anything to do with the past.

  ‘She’s quite a looker now.’ The pride in Ted’s voice failed to ease Jack’s concern.

  Ted wouldn’t want the man who he believed left him for dead hooking up with his little sister. Not a great recommendation and something he intended to sort out just as soon as they found Dolly. ‘Let’s concentrate on finding her.’ He had some serious talking to do before he could even contemplate discussing with Ted the possibility of courting Dolly.

  A few moments later Jack ground to a halt outside a pub. ‘This is the place.’

  The locked and chained doors complied with the six o’clock closing laws although light from the first storey windows spilt across the road like puddles of discarded beer. Rowdy voices wafted from the back alleyway along with the smell of damp cats, stale grog and urine. ‘Here we go, if Millie’s right there’s a door about half way down here into the old cellars below the pub. Let’s go.’

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ Ted’s hand came down on his shoulder. ‘We need to decide how we’re going to play this. Don’t want any misunderstandings this time. My sister, my call.’

  Jack bit back his answer. This time. Ted’s warning rang loud and clear in his head. No misunderstandings about who would call the shots or who would take the lead. Then there’d be no misunderstandings if anything went wrong.

  ‘We can’t go blazing in and drag Dolly out. It’s one of the big joints and they’ll have enough baboons in there to staff an army making sure everything’s going their way. We’re going to have to be smarter than that.’ Ted’s lips snapped shut as one of the double doors set into the heavy sandstone wall swung open; a sepia light spilled into the confined alleyway throwing them into a dirty spotlight.

  An ungainly heavy-set bloke in a filthy shirt with the buttons straining across his gut lumbered out. Jack’s hand slid under his jacket to his revolver. Before he had a chance to pull it Ted clenched his elbow and squeezed, frizzling the nerves in his arm. ‘Don’t be a fool,’ Ted hissed as Jack flexed his fingers trying to restore sensation to his numb arm.

  ‘What d’you want?’ The man lifted his chin and glared down his broken fighter’s nose.

  ‘Drink and a bit of company.’ Jack attempted to curb the aggression in his voice.

  Taking two steps nearer to Ted the bouncer peered under the brim of Ted’s hat. ‘Oh, it’s you. Stop lurking and get inside.’ He swaggered back to the door and held it open with a gratuitous sneer.

  ‘You’ve got quite a reputation around here,’ Jack said.

  ‘Guess we haven’t been mixing in the same circles. As I said, my sister, my call. My territory, too.’

  As Jack’s eyes grew accustomed to the half-light in the basement he picked out a piano and small stage set up in the corner under the vaulted brick ceiling. A metal pipe strapped to the wall supported a single bulb over the piano. He found no sign of Dolly, or Lawrence. ‘Can you see her?’

  Ted shook his head as he headed for the bar at the back of the main room. ‘Beer?’

  The thought of alcohol of any description made Jack’s stomach churn. He pushed his hat back and wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead, taking in the rough irregular floor and checking the exits.

  Ted pushed a bottle of beer into his hands.

  ‘I don’t want it.’

  ‘Then just bloody hold it and relax. You stick out like a pimple on the arse of humanity. Wait. Be patient.’

  A familiar shiver skittered down Jack’s spine remin
ding him of dogfights in the skies over France and unseen dangers. He squinted back at the stage and let out a breath as the piano music began. Craning to peer over the shoulders of the men in front of him he shifted his weight. Beer slopped from the bottle and trickled over his hand. A long, low whistle permeated the hum of the crowd.

  ‘There she is.’ Ted inclined his head.

  Dolly stepped onto the small stage. Her fingers trailed the length of the piano as she walked to the centre, making Jack’s heart hammer against his ribs in time to her steps. When she began to sing her voice barely broke over the rumble of voices and shrieks of appreciation.

  Ignoring the muttered complaints of the men in front of him Jack elbowed his way closer to the stage. He skirted another group and found an empty seat at the end of a long wooden bench.

  Dolly’s words became audible. ‘I cried for you…’

  She couldn’t have picked a better song if she tried. The longing slammed into him and it hurt. He well and truly knew what a fool he’d been. He rammed his fist onto the table sending the bottle of beer rolling over the edge. The wet puddle prompted a shout of annoyance from the drunk slumped next to him. Apologising he left the table and picked up the bottle as it skidded to a halt against the brick wall.

  Ignoring Ted’s advice Jack flattened himself against the wall and edged even closer to the stage. As Dolly reached the end of the chorus she stared out into the audience and gave a small bow. She lifted her head and their eyes locked. Her moist lips formed a perfect ‘O’ and her eyebrows rose, disappearing behind her dark fringe. Lawrence hit the notes of the next song.

  She missed only a heartbeat before picking up the words. ‘I’m just a girl that men forget…’

  Jack’s breath caught, captured somewhere between his admiration for her guts and his pride in her performance. He winked as she ran her hands along the over-worked piano again and sidestepped closer to the wall.

  ‘Jesus, bloody Christ! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Ted’s hissed whisper singed Jack’s ear.