by Amber Brock
“Good evening, Miss Tessler. Always good to see you,” the man said, opening a second door for them. The three walked inside, passing the long bar and heading to the circular booths nearest the stage. Booths ringed the outer edge of the room, each one covered in a screaming red leather that matched red paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Kitty had always thought of paper lanterns as more of a Chinese thing, but apparently to her father they gave the club a Spanish feel. About half of the tables filling the floor in the center of the room already had guests seated at them; by the end of the evening, there wouldn’t even be room between the tables to stand. A small dance floor just in front of the stage gleamed with a fresh coat of polish.
“Kitty! Hello.” Andre’s voice thundered behind Kitty. She flinched, then caught herself.
“Why, hello yourself,” she replied, turning to him. He was a bearded mountain, with a wide grin and friendly eyes. Not awful looking, Kitty had to admit, but not the kind of man she was looking for. He greeted the others, then focused his attention back on her.
“Your father told me you were dropping by. Said you wanted to have a drink?” He raised his thick brows.
“I thought…well, I know how busy you are.” She patted her hair, hoping she was giving the impression of being properly awed.
He took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his forehead. “I’m getting the act set up for the show tonight. The guys just got into town, and they arrived a little late. But afterward…sure.” He grinned at Hen and Charles. “Let’s get you all a table up front. You’re going to love these guys.”
Andre guided Kitty, Hen, and Charles to a booth at the corner, closest to the edge of the stage. Kitty slid around from one end of the bench to the other, Hen following her lead. Charles sat beside Hen, lifting the menu and studying it, though he never ordered anything more adventurous than a rare steak with a baked potato. Andre leaned over to light Kitty’s cigarette.
“I want you to meet someone,” he said. “Back in a second.”
Hen shot a quizzical look at Kitty, who shrugged. “Beats me,” she said under her breath. “Probably some crusty old investor type.”
A waiter in a red jacket approached the booth. “Miss Tessler, how nice to see you and your friends this evening.”
“Hello, Malcolm.” Kitty pouted, looking at him through lowered lids. “Will you be a darling and get me a sweet little drink? You know what I like. Oh, and make it a double. These jokers are already boring me to tears.”
Hen elbowed Kitty and turned to Malcolm. “She’s mean as a snake, isn’t she? Just a sherry for me, please.”
“Of course,” Malcolm said. He took Charles’s drink order and headed back through the growing crowd near the bar. Charles excused himself to go to the restroom, leaving the girls alone to gossip.
Kitty turned back to Hen. “Free drinks are not enough consolation for an evening with a Bolshevik.”
“He’s an attractive enough fellow, though,” Hen said, gazing at Andre as he talked to some men on the other side of the room.
“If you like lumberjacks.”
Hen shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a good lumberjack.”
“You wouldn’t touch a lumberjack on a dare,” Kitty said, laughing.
“Maybe dare me and see,” Hen said with a wicked smile. Her jaw slackened in an instant as something over Kitty’s shoulder caught Hen’s eye. “Oh, my word.”
Kitty swiveled to follow Hen’s gaze and saw Andre making his way back to the table. Then she saw what had knocked Hen’s train of thought off the rails. Two men followed close behind him. One was a wiry fellow in a white jacket with an unfashionably long fringe of wavy black hair. The other was the most gorgeous man Kitty had ever seen who wasn’t projected onto a movie screen. He had warm brown skin and a toothpaste-ad smile, which beamed at the girls as he walked toward them.
Andre stopped in front of the booth, smiling proudly. “Kitty, Hen—I’d like you to meet two of the members of the Miami club band. This is Max Zillman, the bandleader, and Sebastian Armenteros. He’s our singer.” He turned to the men. “Kitty is Mr. Tessler’s daughter. And her friend is Henrietta Bancroft.”
Sebastian leaned forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Tessler. We’ve heard a lot about you from your father. You are as beautiful as he says.”
Kitty offered Sebastian a hand, and a pleasant tingle ran up her arm when he gripped her fingers. “Please, it’s Kitty. Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice a little throatier than she might have liked.
Hen giggled beside her, and questions started rushing out. “You gentlemen are all the way from Miami? How do you like New York? Is it very different?” She raised a hand, and Kitty noted a tremble in Hen’s fingers.
“You’ll have to excuse my friend,” Kitty said, taking a drag off her cigarette. “She’s not used to meeting such handsome boys.”
Hen’s mouth twitched. Kitty knew she was fighting the urge to stick out her tongue in retaliation for the comment.
“Well, she’ll do just fine with me, then,” Max said, reaching out for Hen’s hand. “I’ve never been too good-looking for anyone.”
“Oh, please.” Kitty fluttered her lids, giving Max a demure smile. “No need to be so modest.”
He glanced at her, unmoved, then looked back at Hen. “Nice to meet you, Henrietta.”
“Call me Hen. Everyone does.” Hen’s cheeks were bright pink.
“Kitty? Hen? You two are just a couple of barnyard animals, aren’t you?” Max said with another quick glance at Kitty. Hen laughed hard. Kitty’s smile strained at the corners of her mouth. Max had his full attention on Hen, complimenting her dress. The dress she borrowed from me, Kitty thought. She focused on Sebastian.
“But you do like New York, don’t you? It’s the center of the world, after all,” she said.
“Oh, yes, we are enjoying New York,” Sebastian said, his words rolled smooth by his accent. “But you know, Miami has an advantage over your city.”
“What’s that?”
His eyes sparkled. “It’s so very…hot.”
Kitty was grateful Charles returned to the table at that moment. Sebastian’s suggestive smile and the purr of his accent had her ready to pour her ice water straight on her head. On seeing Sebastian, Charles jutted out his chin.
“Who’s this you’ve got with you, Andre?” he said, his own nasal tennis club accent a hint stronger than usual.
Another round of introductions distracted the four men, and Kitty leaned in to Hen. “Holy Toledo. Ricky Ricardo’s got nothing on him, huh?”
Hen shushed her. “I thought Max was very nice.”
“Hmph. Nice and dull.” Kitty slumped back into the cushion and stubbed out her cigarette.
Hen smirked. “You’re just mad that he didn’t fall all over you.”
“I am not. Besides, Sebastian seemed interested enough for both of them.”
“Yes, he did. But you’d better behave. I don’t think it counts as spending time with Andre if he’s in the room while you’re flirting with some other guy.”
“Who cares?” Kitty sniffed. “Men love a little competition.”
At last, the drinks arrived, and Max and Sebastian left to set up for the show. A crowd of about twenty other musicians had already taken the stage, pulling instruments from cases and taking their seats. Andre left to check that things were running smoothly in the kitchen and bar. Hen and Charles started up a conversation about one of Charles’s Harvard classmates, someone Kitty didn’t know, so she sulked and sipped the vodka and pineapple juice Malcolm had brought her. At least someone knew how to make her happy.
The houselights dimmed as the ones over the stage brightened, and Max took center stage. He spoke at a quick clip, like a radio presenter, and the words slid into each other. “Hello, and welcome all to the Alhambra Club, the hotte
st spot in the coolest city in the world.” For a split second, Kitty was convinced he looked right at her. There was a strange flutter in her chest that she did her best to ignore.
“I’m Max Zillman and we are the Zillionaires,” he continued. “Our home base is Miami, Florida, in the glorious Imperium Hotel and Ballroom, another fine Tessler Hotels property. It’s my pleasure to present to you our lead singer, straight from Havana, Mr. Sebastian Armenteros.”
Sebastian stepped beside him, his smile only made more brilliant by the glare of the lights. “Bienvenidos, damas y caballeros.”
Hen tittered again, and Kitty was afraid she was going to have to dump cold water on Hen instead of herself. Though she had to admit that the beautiful language rolling off Sebastian’s tongue was worthy of a little swooning.
“Whoa there, buddy.” Max grasped Sebastian’s shoulder. “They didn’t come here to hear you talk.” He faced the crowd. “How’d you like to hear a little music, folks?”
A cheer went up from the tables, and a drummer on stage tapped out a beat. Max lifted a trumpet to his lips and started to play. The sound was burning sunlight cutting through fog. The brassy notes were as bright and brilliant as the light bouncing off the golden surface of the trumpet’s horn. They filled the room with a shine Kitty could hear. She sat, fixed, unmoving as Max played. The wavy fringe she had dismissed earlier as a fashion faux pas now shook and gleamed as he leaned back, as if dragging the sounds from deep within himself instead of blowing them through the instrument. Sebastian’s low, silky voice caught her attention when he began to sing, but the distraction only lasted a moment. Max’s trumpet blared once more, grabbing hold of her. She had the strangest feeling that if she held up her hand toward the sound, her fingers would be singed. Her stomach swooped.
The longer she sat there watching him, the more the shimmering sounds became a buzz of hornets in her mind. She had to admit Hen was right, though she’d never say it out loud. Kitty wasn’t used to men ignoring her, especially not in favor of Hen. Hen’s better qualities took time to get to know. Kitty’s were all out on display; most men made that clear enough by tripping all over themselves to talk to her. How many times had Hen joked about being invisible when Kitty was around? This guy had reversed their roles, and Kitty had not liked the feeling.
Kitty jumped at Hen’s hand on her arm. Hen lifted her brows but only said, “Wow, they’re good, aren’t they?”
Kitty shrugged.
“Are you coming to Mother’s party tomorrow?” Hen continued, unfazed by Kitty’s disinterest.
“Hmm? Oh, sure. What time?”
“She said seven.”
“You staying with me tonight?” Kitty asked, swallowing the last of her vodka pineapple.
“Can’t. Mother wants me home early in the morning to help with last-minute party things.”
The band reached the end of the tune, and the people in the club applauded. Kitty looked up to see Andre weaving through the tables toward them.
“Maybe Bebe could make herself useful for once. But I know how your mother relies on you,” Kitty added quickly, not wanting to press the perpetually sore topic of Hen’s younger sister. “Anyway, it’s too bad. We could’ve put on some records. Maybe listen to some music that came after the dinosaurs.” She indicated the band with a nod.
“Oh, stop.” Hen swatted Kitty’s shoulder. “That song’s only a couple of years old. ‘Quizás, quizás, quizás…’ ” Hen leaned in with a knowing look. “Or is it the guy playing the song that’s bugging you?”
“You’re the one who needs to stop. I don’t care about that trumpet player,” Kitty said, even as another wave of annoyance went through her at the thought of Max’s slight.
Andre grinned at the two girls as he reached the table. “What’s mean ol’ Kitty saying now? Nothing bad about me, I hope.”
“No, no,” Hen rushed to assure him. “She was complaining about the song, though heaven knows why.”
“Because she likes to complain, don’tcha, Kitty?” He held out a hand and Kitty scooted over to make room in the booth.
Charles leaned over Hen. “She sure does.”
Kitty frowned. “Awful boys.”
“Now, don’t be that way. We’re only teasing,” Andre said.
“It’s a compliment, Kitty. Means you’ve got high standards,” Charles said, reaching past Hen to rub Kitty’s shoulder for a beat too long. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Kitty smiled, suppressing the desire to whack his hand. Instead, she leaned over to Andre, moving beyond Charles’s reach. “Any song that’s more than a year old doesn’t belong in a nightclub, in my opinion. And who has a big band in a club these days?”
“Your pop is about the only one. The Latin stuff they play seems to help, though,” Andre said. He turned to Charles. “I keep telling him, he needs to ditch the band and get some dancing girls. That’s what everyone else has these days, dancing girls. But Mr. Tessler, he says there are plenty of girls on the dance floor here. Girls a guy actually has a chance with.”
Charles nodded at the thickening crowd in the room. “You can’t argue with success.”
Andre looked at Kitty. “What about you? You want to dance?”
Kitty held up her glass, sloshing the remaining slivers of ice. “I want a drink.”
“Anything you want.” Andre stood and waved over a waiter.
Hen laid a hand on Charles’s arm. “I’d like to dance.”
“Sure thing, lovey.” Charles stood and Hen scooted out of the booth. Kitty nearly gagged at the pet name. She’d suggested to Hen that perhaps another name would be more dignified, but Hen always replied that it was the pet name Charles’s father used with Charles’s mother. Hen thought that was endearing. Kitty thought it was Oedipal.
After securing Kitty another vodka pineapple, Andre made his way back to his duties. He’d offered to keep her company while the other two danced, but Kitty wanted time to think.
“I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your work,” she said. “The whole place must be lost without you, even for a moment.”
Andre’s chest puffed out, and he strode through the club with renewed purpose. Kitty took a pack of matches from the bowl in the center of the table and lit another cigarette. The slow, aching sounds of “Sophisticated Lady” drifted from the stage, a song that really deserved a good cheek-to-cheek, but Charles and Hen danced like they were at a junior cotillion. Kitty noticed he kept one eye over Hen’s shoulder on a curvy redhead’s backside.
Kitty’s gaze wandered to the stage, and she found Max looking intently at her, deep in thought. She jerked her focus back to her drink. On any other evening, with any other man, she would have stared right back. She should have at least felt gratified that she’d won his attention. But all she felt was a prickle of heat in her cheeks. She couldn’t fathom what about him made her hide her eyes, nor could she understand why she couldn’t bring herself to look up at him again. Though the song was over, the trill of a trumpet lingered in the back of her mind.
Kitty endured another couple of songs—and turned down a few dance requests, so Andre wouldn’t feel slighted—before signaling to Hen that she was ready to go. Charles drove Hen home, and Kitty went upstairs to the empty suite. She awoke the next morning to a cold, wet nose sniffing under the blankets for her. Loco whined, and Kitty scratched the dog’s ear.
“You know anyone else who woke me up before nine would be dead, don’t you?” she murmured. “Come on, silly girl.”
Kitty had gone to bed in her slip, so she only had to pull on a dress and shoes. She went out to the living room, Loco padding behind her. She heard a soft snore and turned to see her father fast asleep sitting up in his leather armchair. The radio played at a low volume beside him.
“Papa.” She tapped his arm.
“Hmmm.” He blinked awake. “Goodness, what time is it?
”
She checked the clock. “About nine.”
“I’d better get down to the office.” He stood and stretched. “Did you have a nice time with Andre last night?”
“Oh, yes. But, you know, he was so busy…”
Her father rubbed his chin. “I should give him an evening off before he heads down to Miami. You kids can go to a nice restaurant or something.”
“What a good idea.” Kitty kissed his cheek, pleased to hear that Andre would be leaving town soon. She could easily avoid him when he was over a thousand miles away. “Ooh, I just remembered, I need a few things from the store. Do you have a few dollars to spare?”
“What things? You have everything.” He folded his arms across his chest, but his tone was teasing.
“Stockings. Little necessities.”
He smiled and pulled out his wallet. “Twenty dollars is probably too much, isn’t it?”
She held out a hand. “I’ll bring you the change.”
“You never do,” he said, shaking his head.
“Thanks, Papa.” She slipped the bill into her purse on her way to the foyer. She called a good-bye over her shoulder, shrugged into her coat, and grabbed Loco’s leash from its hook. The dog followed her out to the elevator, and they rode down to the ground floor. As they walked outside, Kitty was grateful she’d put on her heavy coat. Frost clung to the stair railing, and a blast of icy wind hit them as they stepped onto the sidewalk.
“All right, Miss Loco,” Kitty said under her breath. “Let’s do this quickly.” But she knew her request was futile. Loco followed a strict routine of walking about five feet, sniffing a spot on the sidewalk thoroughly, and then smiling up at Kitty, as if she’d achieved some great triumph. Kitty would tug the leash, and they would move forward another five feet, where Loco would repeat her sniffing and smiling.
Loco did not disappoint. Kitty thought of all the evil things she would do if a human ever dared string her along this way. Not even her father could get that level of indulgence out of Kitty. For Loco, however, she had infinite patience. After about a half hour, the dog finally relieved herself, and Kitty took her back up to the suite.