by Craig Rice
Alice was in tears already.
I tried to console her, but Dolly really did it. “Is it that beet-faced cop?” she asked.
Alice was so mad she stopped sniffling. “He’th not beet-fathed,” she said dramatically. “And he’th not a cop; he’th a politheman.
Jannine groaned. “My Gawd! One of my fellow workers marrying a Cossack!”
Chapter Sixteen
Instead of going out to dinner after the matinee, I had two hamburgers sent in. By the time I got around to eating them they were cold, but on my wardrobe-making days I always ate cold hamburgers, so the two sort of went together.
As soon as everybody had left the room Jake wheeled in Sarah Jane. She was my dressmaker’s dummy and I kept her in the prop room when she wasn’t needed. Jake helped me spread newspapers on the floor and attached the sewing machine for me. While I pinned the blue velvet on the model, he kept up a steady flow of conversation.
“Yes siree. Takes a thing like these murders to find out who your real friends are.”
I was too busy to pay much attention to him, but it did seem to me that there must be an easier way to test fidelity.
“Take that Dolly Baxter, now,” he said in an aggrieved tone. “Nice as I’ve been to her, she didn’t bat an eye when them police was arresting me.”
“There wasn’t much she could do,” I replied.
“Maybe not, but that wantin’ a bolt and makin’ a remark that she’d get the keys—that hurt me right to the quick, nice as I’ve been to her.”
He waited at the door a minute. He was so quiet I thought he’d left. Then he spoke again.
“Ya know something? I don’t think Louie was the guy that did the killings at all.”
I was so startled I stuck myself without realizing it. “Who do you think did, then?” I asked without looking at him. I was on my knees in front of Sarah Jane, and through her cagelike bottom I could see Jake’s feet. The shoe with the cutout for his bunion traced a design on the floor.
“Well, I got to thinking about it,” he said. “First of all, nobody yet has explained how he got the Princess in the Gazeeka Box, and it seems to me if Louie had been hanging around after killing La Verne, he’da been pretty dumb. And dumb he ain’t! Wasn’t, I mean. Nope, I think that once he got in that car of his he’da kept going. That is, if he killed her.
“What I think happened was he heard that radio alarm in his car and he came back to find the real murderer. What’s more, I think he found him. Maybe he didn’t have a strong enough case against him and at the last minute he knew how tough it’d be for him to convince the coppers, so he hid out. He never meant to kill himself, the way he did or any way. He was just trying to get away.”
“Yes, I know that,” I mumbled. While he had been talking I had pinned the hem of the skirt together. My mind wasn’t on my sewing, but then to have someone else say that they doubted Louie was the murderer was enough to make anyone pin up the wrong seams.
“I tell you, Gyp Lee, when people go around makin’ up excuses like crazy, you can bet your bottom nickel they got something to hide. I won’t mention no names, but there’s a certain woman in this theater that’s lied plenty. First she lied about not being married to a man. I won’t name him either. Then she lied about not seeing La Verne the night she was murdered, and then she lied about the Princess. Said she didn’t know where the Princess lived. Hurumph. She knew all right, all right.”
“Jake!” I stopped him. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Oh, don’t I?” He seemed to be torn between telling the facts as he knew them and keeping his mouth shut, but the chance to prove his point was too great a temptation.
“I knew she knew where the Princess lived because I followed her one night. She was following Russell, and Russell was arm-in-arming with the Princess. It was the night Lolita La Verne was killed, and first she went into Louie’s for a drink with the two girls. She was pretending to be drunk. As soon as she sees Russell, she acts like she passes out. Then the two girls leave the saloon, leave her sitting there in a booth. Soon as they get past the corner, she straightens up and high-tails it after Russell. He met the Princess at the Dutchman’s and they walked down the street together, Dolly behind him, and me behind her. Then they get in a cab and she gets in one, too. Me, I get in one, too.”
“Wait a minute,” I stopped him again. “What were you doing following the Princess?”
“I? Well, I was hoping to get something on her so I could get her to leave Moss alone. I heard her talking to Russell about him and I thought maybe if I caught the two of ’em together, I could …”
Jake shook his head and with a thin hand he rubbed his eyes, using the third finger and his thumb to press the corners tightly.
“I dunno what I was goin’ to do,” he said wearily. “Anyway, in this cab I follow the others and they stop a few feet apart at the Lincoln Hotel. The Princess and Russell get out. Dolly waits until they get in the lobby. I watch from outside and Russell goes right over to the elevators while the Princess gets the key at the desk. Then she joins him and they get in the elevator.
“Dolly scoots over to the bar in the lobby and gets a seat facing the elevators and orders a drink. She don’t take an eye off the elevators, though, and she sits there for the better part of an hour. By then I decide there ain’t nothing I can do but go. So I do.”
“So that’s what she was going to tell me the night she passed out in my room,” I said.
“Huh?” Jake cocked his head. He didn’t understand me and I was just as pleased. “Don’t get me wrong, though,” he said. “I didn’t mean that she’s the one that did the killings. I only mean that she’s pertecting the guy that did, pertecting him because she loves him.”
He didn’t give me a chance to answer. As he finished speaking he turned on his heel and left the room. I sat motionless until I heard the stage door slam. Then I jumped up quickly and closed my door. The latch was still broken, so I propped a chair under the knob—not because I was frightened or anything. I just felt better to have the door closed when I was alone in the theater. I was glad to see that the window was bolted, too.
It took me a few minutes to undo the mistakes I had made as I listened to Jake, so I worked fast. Sarah Jane creaked at every pin thrust. She wasn’t the newest dressmaker’s model. In fact, she dated back to the hobble-skirt era. Making a dress on her for Gee Gee took a lot of imagination. Where a head should be, she had a gold knob like a doorknob, and she was covered with black stocking material. Her bosom, and, believe me, that was what it was, went from her neck to her waist. But I was used to her; we got along beautifully together.
“I think I’ll give you two panels for a skirt; one in front and one in back. Then you can strip a petticoat from under them.” With my mouth full of pins I explained how the bolero top would work.
“You strip the brassière from under, too. Then you wear red shoes and a rose in your hair and you’re on.”
I patted her straw-filled bottom affectionately and unpinned the costume. After making chalk marks for my seams, I began sewing.
The whir of the machine increased. It was a nice, restful sound; the needle traveling over the material making little piercing noises. Like wallpaper, somehow, plain white, then a little design. Plain white, then a little design. Plain white, then a little design.
“Everybody’s got a different idea who the murderer is, Sarah Jane. Who do you think did them?”
The sound of my own voice startled me. I took my foot off the pedal and the machine stopped. Then I realized how silly it was.
“I’m getting as bad as La Verne and the Hermit,” I thought, “talking to a dressmaker’s dummy.” I stretched my back and looked around the room.
Sarah looked a little naked with her old stocking body bulging out in the wrong places, so I tossed a wardrobe sheet over her. Then she looked like a corpse, so I took it off quickly. Thinking of corpses wasn’t such a good idea considering that at that same time
yesterday the Princess was being murdered. I wanted to think of anything else, but somehow my mind kept going back to death and murder.
“Well, Sarah,” I said nervously, “one sure thing, they can’t strangle you.”
She groaned a little for an answer and. I reached for a cigarette. I managed to get it to my mouth, but lighting it was something else again. I had to decide quickly between my eyelashes and a smoke; the way my hand was shaking I couldn’t have both. The vanity in me won and I tossed the cigarette and match into a cold-cream jar that served as an ash tray.
It was heaped with butts, so I decided to empty it. Getting up and walking around will help my nerves, I thought, and I was right. By the time I had emptied the tray in a basket at the far side of the room, I was calm again. Calm, but just a little weak.
I sat down and readjusted the blue velvet under the needle of the machine. Before I had a chance to start the motor, I heard footsteps on the stairs. At first I thought it was my imagination. Then I saw the latch of the door move!
They say that when a person sneezes they are closer to death than at any other time. That is, of course, without actually dying. It may be true, but at that moment I still feel that I came closer than any sneezer could. I don’t care what anyone says, my heart stopped beating.
There was a voice yelling through the door, but I couldn’t answer.
“Hey! What’s with the barricade?” Then, “Open up!”
The latch jiggled and the pressure of someone pushing at the door made the chair under the knob creak.
“Open the door!” The voice was loud and agitated. It was Gee Gee.
“Just a moment,” I managed to reply and my rubber legs carried me to the door.
Gee Gee had a wild gleam in her eye when I finally managed to throw open the door. “Thank Gawd you’re all right,” she said with a heavy sigh. Then her mood changed.
“Why in hell didn’t you answer?” she demanded. “You scared me half to death.”
“I didn’t hear you at first,” I lied, “and the wind kept blowing the door, so I just put a chair under it.”
Gee Gee looked from the bolted window to my face. “Yeah, I know,” she said, “and you probably felt a cold coming on from the draft.”
Then she saw the blue velvet on the machine. “Oh, Gyppy darling, you did work on mine first!” She clapped her hands happily. “Oh, lemme try it on?”
If I do say so myself, it was a perfect fit. The blue was wonderful with her hair and the rose had just enough color for contrast. I was as pleased with it as she was.
“I love it, Gyp,” she said as she lifted the front panel. Then I explained how she could strip from the skin out.
“Yeah,” she agreed, “and these splits in the skirts are swell for my bumps.” She hummed Black and Tan Fantasy as she paraded around the room, and I cautioned her about the pins while she went through her routine.
First the underskirt came off, then the bolero. With long strides her legs darted in and out of the panels.
“You ought to wear a rose G string!” I exclaimed as the inspiration hit me, “and glue on two more for a brassière.”
“Wonderful! And for my last trailer, I’ll use Only a Rose.”
She was still rehearsing when Sandra and Jannine came in. I pushed Sarah Jane out of the way and started cleaning up the room. The ashes I kicked around so they wouldn’t be too noticeable, and I covered the sewing table with a sheet.
“You make such a mess when you sew,” Jannine complained. It was obvious that she was annoyed because I wasn’t making anything for her. Even before she took a good look at Gee Gee showing off in the new blue I knew that.
“Hmm, pretty,” she said when Gee Gee asked her if she liked it. Then she added, “A little like my green satin, isn’t it?”
Gee Gee went “miaow” and we settled down to the business of getting glamorous for the evening performance.
Dolly was the last one in. Alice asked if she had looked at the house.
“Yeah,” she said. “Stinks! Half full.” Then she flopped in her chair. She put on her powder base and under rouge before she spoke again. While she was still blending the rouge she turned around in her chair and said, “I guess it’s awful to say so, but I’m a little glad the notice is posted. I’m getting tired of working this far downtown.”
She started pounding her face with a huge powder puff. “And anyhow, I got a chance to open at the Eltinge the day I close.” Then, with elaborate unconcern, she added, “They want Russell, too.”
“How nice,” Jannine said laconically. “Nothing like a change of scenery when things get hot.”
“Whadda you mean by that crack?” Dolly snapped. Her eyes were the only feature that showed through the powder.
Jannine deliberately turned in her chair and faced the fury. “I wasn’t referring to the weather, if that’s what you’re in doubt about.” Then she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Skip it,” she said. “It’s none of my business, anyhow, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to take La Verne’s place as your sparring partner.”
It was enough of an apology to satisfy Dolly. She let the subject drop as though it were a red-hot stove. In a moment she meditated aloud about the virtues of playing in a Broadway production, “like the Ziegfeld Follies, for instance. I’d really like that better than the Eltinge.”
She lit a cigarette and let it hang from her mouth while she melted her cosmetic over the guttering candle. “One show a night, Sundays off. Boy, what a racket.”
Sandra stopped massaging her breasts long enough to snort, “Racket is right! You rehearse four weeks, spend four more weeks on the road, then come into New York and run four days.” She pushed her chair back and put her feet on the make-up shelf. “Nope, I’ll stay in burlesque.”
“Damn right you will,” Gee Gee giggled under her breath. Sandra wasn’t sure how Gee Gee meant that and before she had a chance to decide Biff came in.
He headed straight for the army cot and after moving the magazines, sheet music, crochet work, and extra street clothes, he made himself comfortable.
“Nice little place you got here,” he said, staring at the cracked ceiling.
Then I saw the envelope sticking out of his pocket. I recognized the address; it was from the Ringside Bar and Grill.
“The Ringside send you another bill?” I asked.
“Oh, this?” He took the envelope from his pocket and handed it to me.
It was an announcement for a beefsteak party they were having that night. I looked at the date on the envelope; it was several days old.
“Wanna go?” Biff asked. His eyes were still on the ceiling and I felt Gee Gee give a little start at the invitation.
“You mean me?” I asked.
He nodded, but very slowly. I knew he didn’t want me to say yes. For that very reason I was going to, when Gee Gee spoke.
“Gyp, you promised to finish my costume.” For a moment I thought she was going to cry. “If you go carrying on at the Ringside, you’ll have a hangover tomorrow and I won’t have a damn thing to wear.”
She would have protested more but I stopped her. I looked first at Biff, then at Gee Gee.
“All right, I’ll finish it tonight,” I said.
Biff didn’t say a word. He might have coaxed me a little with the whole dressing room listening in. Instead he got up from the cot and walked out of the room.
I looked from the door he had disappeared through to Gee Gee. She was so guilty she couldn’t face me. She bit her lip and tossed her head. That was all. It was enough, but if she thought I was going to give her the satisfaction of accusing her in front of all the girls, she had another guess coming.
I went right on with my make-up as though it was an everyday occurrence for my best girl friend to make a date for the Ringside with my boy friend.
I didn’t mention anything during the show either. When I played the two scenes with Biff, I kidded and clowned as I always did. In the finale I took Gee Gee’s hand and we
both closed the curtain in as usual. But as soon as the show was over, I made a dash for the new blue bathroom so I could cry. Not loud, just the kind of crying that makes your chest hurt.
In a few minutes I came out and started to take off my make-up.
“What’s the matter with your eyes?” Gee Gee asked. “You aren’t crying, are you?”
“I got cold cream in them,” I said stiffly, “and what would I be crying about?” I rubbed the Turkish towel across my face so hard it’s a wonder I didn’t take the skin off.
“I sent for a container of beer for you,” Gee Gee said in a small voice.
“Thank you,” I replied without glancing at her.
“And, Gyppy, there’s something I want to tell you. It’s about …”
“There’s nothing you can tell me, Gee Gee, that I don’t know already,” I said, but I’ve never been so mistaken in all my life.
Chapter Seventeen
Gee Gee was the last one to leave the dressing room. Through the corner of my eye I watched her put the finishing touches to her street costume.
Over her blue serge dress she wore a simple, tailored coat. A red, patent leather belt was the only hint that she wasn’t a stenographer or a shop girl out on a spree. Her carrot-colored hair was pushed under a blue felt vagabond hat. The small red feather stuck in the crown matched her belt.
She looked at me. “Sure you don’t mind sewing tonight, honey?” The freckles showed through the thin rice powder on her nose.
“Positive,” I said with one of those “don’t worry about me” martyred faces. Just to give her something to worry about, I added, “Tell Biff I’ll meet him there later, will you?”
Gee Gee stopped fumbling with her gloves and opened her mouth to speak. With a grim little face she changed her mind and threw her arms around me.
“We’ll always be friends, Gypper.” With an abrupt motion she turned and ran down the steps.
I followed her to the balcony and watched her go through the stage entrance. There was a sound of footsteps behind me, then heavy breathing. As I turned, my eyes met Russell’s.