Too Darn Hot

by Sandra Scoppettone

  “Why can’t ya get him to take you out to dinner and get him plastered anyways?”

  “What would I do without ya, Birdie?”

  “You’d close up shop,” she said.

  When I got home, I called Claire and told her to be ready the next day to make the drop, but I couldn’t promise. She said she was ready for anything.

  Then I called Ladd at his hotel. After a few snipes from him, I got him calmed down.

  “Mr. Ladd, you and I want the same thing for Charlie. We’re not enemies here.”

  “I want my boy back. I want him safe, unharmed.” He sounded like maybe he’d been bending his elbow already.

  “That’s what I want,” I said. “That’s why I think we should work together.”

  “How?”

  “Could we meet? It’s so . . .”

  “Impersonal this way.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Why don’t we have some dinner?” he said.

  “Oh, that’s a terrific idea.”

  We made plans to meet at seven at the 21 Club. I’d never been there, but I knew enough to know I’d need to borrow something dressy from Jeanne Darnell. The 21 Club was no Blondell’s.

  Then I called Johnny and broke our date. He understood. He was an A number one kinda guy. But if I married him, everything might change. I was getting Birdie’s philosophy more and more.

  What was I thinking? The guy hadn’t even hinted at marriage. Well, why the heck hadn’t he?

  NINETEEN

  I spent an hour with Jeanne going through her closet. We were basically the same size. Half an inch here or there didn’t matter. Good thing she was a clotheshorse. My wardrobe consisted of one nice black cocktail dress I’d bought before the war, and clothes for work, simple and comfy.

  There were a hill of dresses on Jeanne’s bed. We’d discarded one after the other. Too dressy, not dressy enough, too sporty, too revealing, and so on.

  Finally we found the perfect one. It had a sweetheart V neckline and short, set-in sleeves. There was a decorative design all over the dress that was hand-stitched. It was blue but not blue. The rayon fabric kept changing.

  “This is you,” Jeanne said.

  “I don’t know about those little things around the neckline.”

  She looked at me, surprised. “They’re rhinestones, Faye, and they’re in good taste. Trust me.”

  I trusted Jeanne in everything and especially when it came to clothes.

  “Try it on,” she said.

  “Okay.” I was already in my slip, having tried on about five other things. Jeanne zipped me up in back.

  “Yes. Perfect,” she said. “All eyes will be on you tonight. And Johnny’s going to adore it.”

  I smiled. I hadda lie. It was too complicated to explain.

  “I bet he’s going to propose, Faye. I mean, how often do girls like us get taken to 21?”

  “I don’t think this is about marriage.” Not a lie.

  “You think it’s just a regular date?”

  “No.” Not a lie.

  “Then what?”

  I felt like a louse when I looked into her eyes. “I’m not sure.”

  “Whatever it is, I get the first phone call tomorrow.”

  “You bet,” I said.

  “Oh, dear.” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “What?”

  “Shoes. And an evening bag.”

  “I don’t have any shoes that’d go with this dress. And I don’t own an evenin bag.”

  She smiled, showing her dimples. “I have both. What size shoe do you take?”

  “Five.”

  “Mine might be slightly big on you, but you can adjust, can’t you?”

  “I think so. How much bigger?”

  “Only half a size.”

  “Let’s see.” Jeanne went back to her closet to pick out a pair from her shoe rack. She’d admitted to me once that she’d never met a pair of shoes she didn’t like.

  “These will be just the ticket,” Jeanne said.

  The shoes she held out had a wide high heel and were a dark blue with ankle straps. The top was cut into a pattern and had an open toe.

  “Before the war,” she said. “You wouldn’t find anything like this now.”

  I thanked my lucky stars that Jeanne kept everything she bought. I tried on the shoes and though they were a little big it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.

  “They look swell on you, Faye.”

  “Thanks.”

  She was back in her closet and from a rustling of tissue paper she pulled a dark blue sequined bag with a gold-colored frame, a brass clasp, and a brass chain.

  It couldn’t have been more on the button.

  Jeanne said, “Suits you to a T.”

  I didn’t know how to thank her.

  “Now let me do your face.”

  I knew this was coming and I dreaded it. I wore lipstick, powder, and rouge like any girl, but the big makeup job didn’t knock me out. Jeanne, on the other hand, made it an art.

  While she was working on me, I asked her what it was she wanted to tell me.

  “You’ll never guess so I’ll give it to you straight. I’ve joined the Wacs.”

  I grabbed the hand that was about to do something to my eyebrows. “Are ya serious?”

  “I leave in two weeks.”

  “Yer on the level?”

  “You bet.”

  “Have ya thought about what yer gonna hafta wear?”

  She laughed. “That’s one of the reasons I joined. I won’t have to think about what to wear anymore. You don’t know how much energy it takes out of me, Faye.”

  I’d always thought it was a snap for Jeanne. Always envied her ease with looking smart.

  “I didn’t know that, Jeanne. Ya make it look so easy.”

  “Well, it drives me crazy to make it look that way. I’m hoping wearing khaki will break me of my obsession. But that’s not the only reason I joined up. I know it’s corny, but I want to give something to the war effort.”

  “Couldn’t ya have bought a war bond?” I hated the thought of Jeanne leaving, maybe getting hurt. “And what does Ronald say?”

  “I can’t say he’s pleased as Punch, but he understands I have to do what I have to do.”

  I felt guilty as could be. What was I doing for the war effort? I wasn’t even rolling the tinfoil from my cigarette packs and chewing gum wrappers into balls. Maybe if I understood what they wanted it for, I’d do it. Nah. I was a selfish person. Too busy to have a Victory Garden or collect scrap metal. And here was my good friend going off to war.

  “I’m nothin but a yellow belly,” I said.

  “Oh, knock it off.”

  “I don’t even have a Victory Garden.”

  She looked at me like I was crazy. “You’re right. I think you should start one right away. In your bedroom. Now stop this. Catching bad guys is important. Besides, everyone isn’t the same. I could never do what you do, Faye.”

  “You mean that?”

  “You bet I do. Now hold still or we’ll never get this done.”

  By the time she was finished I had to admit she’d made me into one swanky-looking dish. I barely recognized myself and I hoped William Ladd would like this look.

  It had gotten late and I couldn’t see any way to meet him on time if I didn’t go right to 21 from Jeanne’s.

  “Can I leave my stuff here and pick it up tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  I went through my pocketbook to get my keys and smokes and transferred them to the evening bag.

  “Jeanne, I think yer the bravest dame I know, and even though I’ll miss ya, I admire yer courage.”

  We hugged and said our goodbyes. Walking along Barrow toward Seventh I kept making my case to myself. Sure I wanted to help the war effort, but I figured the best way I could do it was to stand in for Woody. So I didn’t get a job in a war plant like Stella Dallas, or join the Wacs like Jeanne. I was doing my part another way. At Seventh, be
fore hailing a cab, I overheard two passing sailors.

  “A real glamour-puss.”

  “I saw her first, buddy.”

  I looked around to see who they were talking about and was struck dumb. It was me. I could get used to this.

  There were jockey statues lining the walkway into the restaurant. And once inside, there were two more. A maître d’ showed instantly and gave me an obvious look-see.

  “May I help you?”

  I raised my chin so my nose was in the air and tried for the lockjaw sound blue bloods used in the movies. “I’m meetin Mr. Ladd.”

  “Oh, yes. He said to expect you. He’s in the main dining room. Follow me, please.”

  Everywhere I looked I saw something beautiful. The wood itself, a painting, a silver tray. I felt dizzy. Who’d a thought I’d ever be in a joint like this. And even though it’d been a speakeasy during Prohibition, it sure wasn’t that now.

  As we threaded our way through the tables, I couldn’t help but notice the glamorous customers. I was sure I was dressed all wrong, but then I spotted a woman wearing something like my getup. And I didn’t spot anyone giving me the fisheye.

  William Ladd was sitting at a small round table and rose when I came near. He was wearing a dinner jacket and a black tie. We smiled at each other. The maître d’ pulled out the plush red satin chair for me, bowed slightly, and left. Mr. Ladd listed on the way down but landed back in his chair.

  “What would you like to drink, Miss Quick?” He pronounced the words carefully as if they were all new to him.

  “A manhattan, please.”

  A waiter materialized out of nowhere. Mr. Ladd gave him my order and asked for another martini. Then he opened the gold cigarette case lying on the table and offered me a cigarette. My best instincts told me to forget my Camels and take his offering. With a matching lighter he fired up my cig.

  We both took big drags and I let the smoke out very slowly. Then I said, “I’m a little late because . . .”

  He put up his hand to stop me. “Never apologize, never explain.”

  I stared at him. “Never apologize?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “But what if I bump someone, step on somebody’s foot.”

  “That’s different. By the way, you look lovely tonight, Miss Quick. I wouldn’t have thought . . . yes, very lovely.”

  “Please call me Faye.” What he wouldn’t have thought didn’t get past me.

  “Certainly. And you must call me William.”

  I smiled and nodded.

  “So, Faye, let’s get to the point of our little rendezvous? You said you wanted to work with me on getting Charles back.”

  “Oh, yes. I do . . . William.”

  In the nick of time a waiter came with our drinks. Playing my part wasn’t like rolling off a log. I hadn’t thought about how I’d work my wiles; I’d only been worried about what to wear.

  “Shall we toast?” he said.

  “Why not?” I gave a toss of my head, trying for a devil-may-care air, but I wasn’t sure it worked.

  “To having Charles returned safely.”

  Our glasses clicked and I took a dainty sip while he took a gulp. Good.

  “So what do you propose, Faye?”

  It was too early in the game to suggest he let Claire make the drop. “Plenty of time for that, William. Tell me what it’s like to live in Rhode Island.”

  “Why, it’s like living anywhere, I suppose.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. Isn’t it the smallest state in the Union?”

  “Well, yes. But I don’t see what that has to do with what it’s like to live there.”

  “What town do ya live in, William?” I sipped my drink, then puffed on my cig.

  “Newport.”

  “Isn’t that where all the rich people built their summer houses?”

  “Cottages. But we don’t live in anything like that. Newport is a lovely comfortable town on the sea. Our home is modest.”

  What this guy considered modest would probably be like a palace to me. But I wouldn’t wanna live in Rhode Island, no matter how nice it was. Let’s face it, I wouldn’t wanna live anywhere but New York City.

  “Is that where Charles grew up?”

  “Yes. Now what’s your plan for getting him back to us?”

  He’d finished his drink and was looking a little glassy-eyed. I couldn’t decide whether to take the plunge or wait. Just in time the waiter arrived.

  “Do you wish to order, sir?”

  “I’d like another drink, William.”

  “Yes, of course. Bring us two more,” he said.

  I smiled at William, happy that he’d have a third martini. For all I knew it mighta been his fifth or sixth. I’d sip at my manhattan.

  “Now what were we saying?” he asked.

  “You were gonna tell me about Barbara Swanson.”

  “I was?”

  “Yeah. Ya said she was takin this whole thing real hard.”

  “I did?”

  “Why didn’t she come with ya, William? I mean she’s his fiancée and all.”

  “Her parents wouldn’t let her. They considered the whole matter sordid. It’s all so embarrassing.”

  “Embarrassin that Charlie was kidnapped?”

  “You don’t understand the Newport attitude about privacy. They don’t look kindly on being splashed all over the newspapers. Bad form.”

  “Ya got a picture of Barbara?”

  “Why would I have a picture of Barbara?”

  “I thought maybe ya had one with Charlie in it.”

  “No.”

  “What about Mrs. Ladd? Tell me about her.”

  “Fragile. She’s a very fragile girl.”

  By the time he finished talking about Jennifer and how she didn’t understand him, and he’d tossed down his fourth martini, William was mine.

  “I think we gotta talk about Charlie.”

  “Who?”

  “Charles. Your son.”

  “Oh, Charles. Yes.”

  “The kidnappers demanded that Claire make the drop and I think that’s how we should do things.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s my son. I’m doing it.”

  “Could I let ya in on some of my experience, William? Only cause it may be helpful to you and to Charles.”

  “Of course, Faye. Yes. Please do that.”

  I felt Mr. Ladd could slip away, or under the table, at any time.

  “Kidnappers are a strange breed. Once they’ve decided on something, it’s set in stone, and when a kidnapper is disobeyed he sees red, if ya know what I mean.”

  “You look very lovely tonight, Faye.”

  Oh, brother.

  He put a hand over mine. I gave him a swift smile. I’d wanted this to happen, but now it didn’t seem like such a great idea. Still, I left my hand where it was.

  “William,” I said. “You gotta let things go the way they’re supposed to. The police and FBI shouldn’t be in on this, but the boat’s sailed on that one.”

  “What boat?”

  This was harder than I’d imagined.

  “Ya want Charlie back in one piece, don’tcha?”

  He nodded, his eyelids drooping like they had tiny barbells on em.

  “Then ya gotta let Claire do this, William.”

  “My son.”

  His head hit the table with a terrible crack.

  So much for my disguise as a femme fatale.

  The people at 21 had been very nice and helped me put William in a cab. I rode with him to the St. Moritz, and from there the doorman and bellboys took over. I kept the cab and went home.

  It was still hot and sticky and Dolores was on the steps with her fan. The window to her apartment was open, and from the radio on the sill Dick Haymes was singing “You’ll Never Know.” In my window Zach sat on his pillow observing.

  “Oh, a taxicab now. And look at you, bubele, dressed fit to kill.”

  “Nev
er say that to a detective, Dolores.”

  I could tell by how she looked at me that she didn’t get it. I wanted to get inside and have some food. The manhattans were swell at 21, but I hadn’t had a bite to eat.

  “Dolores, I’d love to gab, but I’ve had a terrible night. I gotta go in.”

  “Johnny didn’t do something bad, did he?”

  “I wasn’t with him.”

  “You was with another one?” Her eyebrows vanished under her wig, which was hanging low on her forehead.

  “Business.”

  “And yer all dolled up like that for business?”

  “I am. I gotta eat.”

  She started to get up. “Lemme feed ya, tootsie. I have leftover kasha and some nice blintzes, and . . .”

  It sounded great, but if I let her feed me, I’d have to talk to her, and I wasn’t in the mood.

  “I just wanna grab somethin. And I gotta be alone. Ya understand?”

  She sat back down. “Yup.”

  I knew she didn’t. She was hurt and I felt like hell, but there was nothing I could do about it now. Like Scarlett, I’d worry about it tomorrow. I gave her a halfhearted wave and went inside.

  Zach turned his head, but he didn’t jump down when I came through the door. He thought the street was much more interesting than I was. I agreed.

  I headed for the icebox. I was starving, tired, and feeling down and out. Not to mention my worry over Jeanne. I found some old lettuce and Velveeta. A perfect meal for a bungler like me. Dick Tracy woulda been ashamed of me cause William Ladd was gonna sober up, the brass were gonna take him to the drop, and they were all gonna put Charlie’s life at risk.

  There wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

  TWENTY

  I slept in dribs and drabs, then got up and smoked a butt or two, which was not my routine. It was seven A.M. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling and wishing there was someone in the kitchen to bring me a cup of java. Well, not just anyone. Johnny. Who else? I wondered if he was the kind of guy who’d make a gal a cup, or if he’d expect me to do all the deliveries. I put that on my mental list of things I wanted from a mate. It was getting pretty long. But not unreasonable to my way of thinking. Number one was a sense of humor. Johnny had that in spades. In fact, he’d been batting a thousand on my list. The addition of coffee in bed mighta upped even that stat.