by Joe Corso
The bell rang for the second round to begin and Gonzo steadied his eyes on his opponent’s, looking for the telltale sign. They jabbed a bit, teased each other a bit and each got in a few punches, then, there it was. His opponent raised his eyebrows. Instantly, Gonzo fired a hard right to his midsection. This brought the man’s guard down. Now was the time. Gonzo hit him again, this time with a hard right to his unprotected jaw. His opponent was dazed. Gonzo seized the moment and followed up with a right, left, right, left, right, right, left, right until the man went down, literally for the count. The fight was called. Gonzo was left feeling a little disappointed. He didn’t know what to make of it all.
“I want you to schedule another fight for me as soon as you can,” Gonzo said to Red back in the dressing room.
Red was surprised by the request. “Why so soon Gonzo?”
“Because this fight was bullshit. I knew exactly when the guy was gonna throw a punch. That’s no fight. That’s no way to really test skill. Get me a real opponent . . . and soon.” Gonzo was clearly miffed about the whole thing. He had something to prove. Red assured him that he’d check with the match maker before leaving the arena tonight.
Meanwhile, Red addressed all of his fighters in their dressing room. “I was proud of you boys. You did real good tonight. Clancy says you have talent and someday you’ll be champs.” Red then left to find Benny Spinoza, the match maker. He found him in his office, getting ready to leave, and he told him about Gonzo and his request.
“I’ll check my schedule and give you a call tomorrow afternoon, but I believe I have a cancellation coming up for next Saturday night. I’ll check on it and let you know.”
Red walked back to the dressing room. “I have the limo outside waiting to take us back to the Starlight Club. Do you boys want a lift?”
“No,” Swifty answered. “We’re going back with the girls. Now that our fight’s over and we’re not in training, I plan on enjoying some sack time with a pretty woman.” Red smiled a little.
“Go on,” Red said, “You boys deserve to relax and have a little fun. Look, I’m throwing a party Saturday night at The Starlight Club and the three of you are invited. Why don’t you bring the girls? Let me know and I’ll reserve a table for you.”
“Thanks Red,” Swifty replied. “Go ahead. Reserve us a table. We’ll be there.”
chapter twenty-eight
The two movie moguls and their families were dressed in their finest. They had been to The Starlight Club the previous Thursday evening and had been duly impressed by Red’s food. The formal dining room itself had been nothing special but the food was good. As movie moguls, evenings out were routine and neither Larry Morgenstein nor John Bernstein relished the idea of another evening out, but they owed it to Red.
Red met his guests at the door and escorted them to the bar and explained that the ballroom would open soon, but in the interim, to please enjoy drinks while waiting. Marco and Karen joined the movie men and Bernstein watched as Red greeted a few recognizable politicians at the door. Red motioned to a tuxedoed waiter who led the politicians to another area of the club. In the background, amidst the chatter of patrons enjoying cocktails, there was the sound of instruments being tuned. Approximately ten minutes later, the walls from the ballroom pulled back revealing in slow motion the splendor of the room until they rested like accordions on each side of the wall and those background noises morphed into the symphony sounds of a foxtrot, luring customers from the bar into the ball room. The room was magnificent. Larry Bernstein was in awe.
“Where the hell have you been hiding this room?” he asked Red.
“We just portion off enough for the dinner crowd,” Red answered, “and we open the room when we have a big party, you know, a wedding or a special occasion like tonight.” Bernstein, a man not easily impressed, was now.
“This is like the Stork Club or the Copa, but . . . even grander. It’s beautiful. Why have I never heard of it before?” Bernstein asked as he gazed at the walls and ceiling.
Red was happy that Bernstein liked the club. “I have a select mailing list – friends, politicians, some actors and a few other Hollywood types. The list is limited and exclusive. The Starlight Club is my hobby,” Red answered. “I serve the best food money can buy and I keep the prices moderate so people can afford it, but . . . I don’t advertise. That’s why you don’t hear so much about it. This big ole ballroom is a secret. It’s not so much for revenue purposes as it is for my sanctuary,” Red laughed as he patted Bernstein on the shoulder. Then he continued, “That ‘list’ gets invited to my special parties and events like the one I’m havin’ right now.”
“When we had dinner the other night,” Bernstein said, “I never dreamed this part of the club existed. I love it.”
“Well, then, my friend, you’ll love it more as the night goes on.” Just then an older gray–haired gentleman entered the club with two men walking behind him. He walked right over to Red’s table and politely excused himself.
“Red, I hope you don’t mind my coming here unannounced,” the man said, “but I heard that Jerry Vale is singing tonight and I like the way that boy sings, and besides,” he said as he leaned into Red’s ear and whispered, “I wanted to tell you personally that the mediator told me what happened in California. You did a good job with the way you handled that situation. Now, would you please have someone show me to my regular table if it’s not taken?” Bernstein’s tried to contain his composure. “Is that who I think it is?” he asked Red.
“Yes,” Red replied. “That’s Carlo Gambino, the boss of bosses himself.”
Red looked up to see his three fighters entering – each one with a girl on his arm, one of whom was June, Morgenstein’s oldest daughter. Morgenstein leaned over to Red and said, “It looks like you were right. I let my guard down and Swifty stepped right in with my daughter.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Red laughed.
Dinner was a feast to behold. Oysters Rockefeller, Potato Leek Soup, tableside Caesar Salad, Angel Hair lightly tossed in olive oil and herbs, fresh Maine Lobster Tails and New York Prime, and for dessert, miniature chocolate pianos adorned with the Starlight Club logo and filled with a combination of decadent milk chocolate and white chocolate mousse, almost too beautiful to destroy by tasting. Irish coffees, flaming brandies and cordials were served from specialty carts.
After dinner, the guests migrated to the dance floor, and embraced the tunes of the big band. There the guests remained dancing until the music began to slow to a lull – a signal for Red to approach. The band leader handed off the microphone to Red.
“Excuse me ladies and gentlemen,” Red began. “As is the custom of The Starlight Club, every so often you have to put up with me while I say a few words. The last time I picked up the mic I told you about my friend Trenchie and his wife Mary’s pregnancy. Before that, I announced their engagement and if you remember, it was James Roman who brought up the engagement ring that Trenchie presented to his future wife. That night, James Roman visited each table and chatted briefly with everyone in the room. That was the kind of guy he was. Bear with me, this is all goin’ somewhere. Well, I’m pleased to announce that Larry Bernstein, the President of Columbia Pictures is sittin’ right there.” He pointed to the table. “Stand up Larry and let everyone take a look at you.” Larry stood and gave a short wave then sat back down. “And yesterday, we had three young men who were recently discharged from the army, who fought their first fights under my management and trained under the watchful eye of none other than Gil Clancy. Stand up fellas.” The three men stood and acknowledged the applause and sat back down.
“Swifty, would you mind standin’ again?” Red asked. Swifty was hesitant, not sure why he was being singled out, but did as he was told. “James Roman,” Red continued, “worked for me before he became a movie star, thanks to Larry Bernstein. Now I’m pleased to announce that Swifty, that young man standin’ there, will be leavin’ for Hollywood for a screen test next week
.” The room thundered with applause. June whispered, “You never told me anything about a screen test, Swifty.” “That’s because I didn’t know anything about it till just now,” Swifty replied with a surprised look on his face.
June’s father, John Morgenstein, was sitting at the table behind his daughter. June reached over and tugged his arm. “Dad, is it true that Swifty never was told about a screen test?”
“That’s right,” her father answered. “Larry decided at the fight, after talking to him, that he had the potential and he asked Red to fly him out next week.” Red was still talking.
“And Ladies and Gentlemen, I have one more announcement. I am proud to announce that we have a special treat for you tonight. For those of you who were not present when he last sang for us, you’re in luck because he has agreed to do an encore performance at The Starlight Club so . . . without further ado, I’m proud to present for your entertainment Mr. . . . Jerry . . . Vale.” The guests went wild. Everyone knew the name Jerry Vale. What a surprise it was to have this superstar singer performing live! Bernstein and his wife, completely impressed, were captivated by the singer. Larry was enjoying himself this night more than any he could remember in recent years. He turned to John Morgenstein and asked, “Having fun John?”
“Can’t remember when I’ve had a better time,” Morgenstein replied as he sat smiling and tapping his feet to the sounds of the band.
“This has been one special night,” the President of Columbia Pictures added. “Do you know what I think?” he asked Morgenstein. Without waiting for an answer he continued, “We need to make a movie right here in The Starlight Club. This will be the backdrop. As soon as we return to California, I want you to get right on it. I want you to assign a team, research story lines and when we have what we’re looking for; I want our top writers to start on the screenplay.”
“I will, but don’t you think you’re being a little premature Larry? I mean, what story could we possibly tell? Gangsters? Hoodlums?” Bernstein shook his head. Morgenstein didn’t get it.
“The story doesn’t have to be about gangsters or hoodlums. You’re missing the point here. This place is magical. Don’t you feel it? This is the place where James Roman walked out from behind that curtain. Why couldn’t we change the players and make Trenchie’s character a shy, likable boxer? We can keep the storyline showing how this fighter met a girl and how he saved her from an abusive husband. We can make it a family film, a romantic comedy even, and we can film the story on location right here in Queens and center the story around The Starlight Club. I think I just found the right vehicle for our new, unknown star named Swifty,” he said as he nodded his head and smiled, pleased with himself.
Bernstein loved the movie business. He felt the same way today about it as he did the first day he had started in the business. He always got the same feeling – that adrenaline pumping excitation laced with some happy factor – the thrill of taking a seed of an idea and watching it transform into something larger than life, something that would make its mark in history. It was challenging, it was money, it was ego, and he loved it. The thought of his next colossal success excited him. What had begun as a favor to Red, was turning into something that might just become a moneymaker. One never knew. Larry spent the remainder of the evening listening to Jerry Vale sing and watching the faces of the guests as they danced and laughed. They seemed like a family. He was inspired. The next day, Moose drove the families to LaGuardia airport. Bernstein settled himself into the plush comfort of the Lincoln limo, his mind abuzz with ideas for his next major movie.
chapter twenty-nine
Red instructed Swifty to head over to Valentino Maximus on Spring Street in Manhattan to get fitted for a wardrobe. He wanted Swifty looking like the movie star he was about to become when he walked into Bernstein’s office. Red walked to his desk, took out his check book and tore a check off, signed it, and handed it to Swifty. “He has a nice selection of expensive Italian shoes,” Red said, “so just tell him you’ll need about six pair. Let him pick ‘em out for you and just tell him to fill in the amount. Get a receipt and bring it back to me for my books.”
Valentino was fully prepared as Moose and Swifty arrived in the limousine. Maximus had coordinated an assortment of clothing that included five suits, ten silk shirts and three sports jackets. Swifty promptly returned to the club where he delivered the receipt to Red. Red took it with one hand and handed Swifty an envelope with his other.
“What’s this?” Swifty asked.
“It’s a one way ticket to LAX. I have you booked at the Best Western Hollywood Hills Hotel. I included Shorty Davis’s phone number. Have you ever met Shorty?” Red asked.
“No. Who is he?”
“He used to work for me. Now, he’s a big Hollywood cameraman. Won a few awards for his work on films. One was for Jimmy the Hat’s first film, Mob Hit Man. Give him a call when you get out there. He’s a good guy. If he likes ya, he’ll be a good friend to you. I already called him and told him you’d be in California this week and to expect a call from you. Call him the first chance you get. Ask Shorty to find you a gym. You’ll need to keep in shape because I’m setting up more fights for you and the boys. I’ll talk to Bernstein and tell him what day the fight is scheduled and I’ll let him know that you’ll have to return a week before for prep training. I know it’s an inconvenience, but I want you to be set – to have two careers – movie star and boxin’ champion.” Red then handed Swifty another package, one that was thicker than the other and bulky.
“What’s this?”
“There’s ten thousand dollars in cash in that envelope. Be careful with it.”
“What’s it for?” Swifty asked.
“It’s for you. You can’t go to Hollywood with no money in your pocket.” Swifty looked at the envelope and then back at Red.
“Gee thanks Red. I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Just remember that no matter what job you’re doin’, you’re still one of my boys – you represent me. Capiche?”
Thursday morning Swifty was on an American Airline’s jet, on his way to Hollywood. Everything, besides the place, was moving at breakneck speed. Before Red had bought out his contract, he had been just another kid fighting for chump change. Now, here he was on his way to Hollywood to test for a movie. Unreal. Swifty didn’t know if he’d be successful in films and like Jimmy, it was fine if he made it, fine if he didn’t. Also, like Jimmy, he was a product of the streets. Swifty knew he was a good fighter and he knew that, with Gil Clancy handling him, he could be a champ someday. Clancy had a reputation for working slowly, methodically in developing his talent. He turned out boxing greats. Yep, he was the champion maker. Swifty’s hopes had always been set on that kind of success, not really the movie star gig, but if Red thought it was the right move for him, he’d follow through. Red was boss and that was that. Swifty would meet with Bernstein and he would do as he was told.
The flight was close to five hours long. Jimmy waited patiently as a mother and her children slowly made their way into the plane’s aisle. He headed out the exit into the jet bridge and toward the baggage areas. Near the luggage carousel, he spotted a man holding a sign flashing a grin and the name “Swifty”. Swifty approached the man. “I’m Swifty. I know you must mean me ‘cuz ain’t too many Swifty’s around.” The man put out his hand and broke into a broad grin.
“I’m Shorty Davis and I’m here to take you to my place.”
Swifty smiled and said, “I’m already booked at the Best Western Hollywood Hotel.”
Shorty shook his head. “Not anymore,” he answered. “I cancelled your reservation. You’re staying at my place with me. Tomorrow I’ll drive you to Larry’s office.” Swifty grabbed his luggage off of the carousel. Shorty nudged his arm and said, “Come on. Let’s get going. My wife has dinner waiting.”
The following morning it was time for the Larry Bernstein test. Part one of the process was to leave Swifty, all handsomely outfitted li
ke movie royalty, sitting, for a while, in a chair across from Bernstein’s receptionist. The women were the greatest gauge for measuring a new actor’s sex appeal and potential popularity. Funny how his assistants never caught on after all this time. It was his secret and sure enough, an empty lobby suddenly turned into quite the center of activity. Ladies buzzed around and around, like bees to honey, one after another, each one having an excuse to walk into the lobby to catch a glimpse of the rugged hunk waiting to see their boss.
Swifty was impeccably dressed. He sported a soft pin–striped, navy blue Valentino Maximus suit, a pale blue silk shirt and a coordinating blue and white silk tie. He looked like a GQ ad. Bernstein could see Swifty from the monitor in his office. Larry noticed Swifty’s poise and control – he didn’t seem the least bit ruffled by this meeting. Next, Bernstein’s gaze went to the women in his office. He watched as they chatted and giggled like school girls, each vying for attention from the handsome young man still waiting. After twenty minutes of waiting, a young lady appeared. “Would you come with me please?” Swifty rose and followed along behind her.
Bernstein’s office was grand. The walls were lined with movie stars, each singing their praises and signing their thank yous to the studio head – the one who had single-handedly catapulted their careers into the stratosphere. Swifty’s eyes went straight to the photo of Jimmy, all smiles, with his leading lady, Lana.
Bernstein casually looked up. “Sorry for keeping you waiting, Swifty, but I couldn’t get off the phone. Please, have a seat.” Swifty positioned himself close to Bernstein’s desk – a sign of confidence, Larry thought – a good thing. Larry leaned over and pressed the intercom. “Marla, please come to my office.” A brief moment passed and Marla entered the room.