by Michelle Cox
“Come on in!” Lucy said. “Fancy a drink?” she said, making her way toward the back where the booze was kept.
“All right,” Henrietta said, uncomfortably following her and attempting to unpin her cap as she went.
“Gin?”
“Beer’s good, if that’s all right,” she said, looking around as they squeezed their way between the women standing about, talking or dancing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a slight movement and, looking closer, saw that a couple was entwined on a couch partially hidden by a makeshift curtain. Henrietta could see that they were kissing passionately, and she quickly averted her eyes, wondering how they had snuck men in here. Perhaps it was one of the bouncers, she guessed, and shuddered to think what Jenks would say if she knew. As she stood waiting for Lucy to pour the drinks, laughing and talking with someone near her, Henrietta couldn’t help but steal another glance at the couple. They didn’t seem to notice her staring, she observed, nor did anyone else seem to be paying any attention, so she dared to look a bit longer, watching the man gently caress the woman’s breasts through her silky robe. Henrietta felt her breath come faster and herself grow warm and looked away accordingly. When she looked back, curiosity overcoming her again, the man had pulled back a little, and Henrietta, despite the dim light, was horrified to discover that it wasn’t a man at all, but another woman! Just then, Lucy turned back to her with the drinks and, seeing Henrietta’s shocked face, realized in an instant what was occurring.
“Right this way, gumdrop!” she said, handing her the beer and taking her by the elbow. “You shouldn’t be seeing such things; you’re much too innocent.” As Lucy led her to the front of the room, Henrietta now noticed many such couples entwined in the shadows.
“Are . . . are you all—” she struggled to find the right words—“like that?” she finally settled with.
Lucy laughed. “Some, not all. You’d be surprised, though. Sure you’re not?” she said, looking coyly at her over the rim of her glass.
“Oh, no! I’m . . . quite sure,” Henrietta said, looking away.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about us. We don’t mind what way you are. Just friends, then,” she said, holding up her glass of gin in salute.
Henrietta followed suit, but, not knowing what to say, looked distractedly around the room, searching for a diversion. The record had changed to Xavier Cugat’s “Lady in Red,” and several girls were swaying to the music. “How . . . how about you? Do you have any special . . . person?” Henrietta managed finally.
Lucy took a sip of her gin. “I’m between relationships, I guess you’d say, but I do like a special someone,” she admitted, glancing toward the girl she had been laughing with back by the drinks. “You won’t mention what happened before, will you? In the bathroom?” she asked nervously. “It’s important we girls stick together, you know.”
“Well,” Henrietta said, seeing her opportunity and leaning forward slightly with a smile. “That depends. What can you tell me about Jenks and this green door business?” she tried to ask in an innocent tone.
“Oh, that? You sure you want to go into all that just now? You just got here, and it’s not a very nice story. Not quite the thing, don’t you know, dahling,” she drawled, putting her hand on her hip and gesturing around the room with her other hand as if to pretend they were at a posh dinner party or an exquisite club.
Henrietta indulged her and smiled. “Please,” she urged. “You’ve got me intrigued now . . . is it something dangerous? Shouldn’t I know what to look out for?”
Lucy’s eye fell to the mended patch on the bustline of Henrietta’s dress and took another drink. “I suppose you’re right,” she said with a sigh, dropping the façade, and looked around furtively to make sure no one was listening. “Well, it’s just that we think something funny’s going on. We’re not sure, but we think Jenks is hiding something behind the green door.”
“What green door is that?” Henrietta asked, confused.
“You know . . . the one off to the right of the lobby? It looks like a closet?” she added, seeing Henrietta’s blank expression. “When you come into the theater,” Lucy used her hands now to help explain, “the crowd goes to the left to find their seats and we go to the right toward the dressing rooms and the backstage area? Well, did you notice a couple of doors in a little alcove about halfway down the hallway before ours veers off? One of them is a broom closet and the other one is a little green door. Ever notice it?”
“I think so,” Henrietta said, her brows furrowed as she tried to remember. “I thought that was a closet.”
“Well, it’s not. For one thing, Jenks is way too protective of it, and for another, it’s always locked. Believe me, we keep trying it.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Henrietta asked, taking a sip of her beer.
“Rose, here,” Lucy said, nodding at a graceful, long-legged woman standing with her back to them and talking to someone else. She reminded Henrietta of a greyhound. “And Gwen over there,” Lucy said, her eyes lighting up as the woman by the drinks caught her glance and smiled. She was a bit shorter than Lucy, with short black hair that turned up at the ends, and dark, almost sad eyes. She was very serious for an usherette, observed Henrietta. She must be a good actress when on duty.
“Maybe it’s something valuable she’s hiding in there,” Henrietta said, drawing Lucy’s attention back.
“That’s what we thought, till we saw people going in and out late one night.”
“People? In a closet?”
“That’s just it, it’s not a closet. We think it leads to another hallway with rooms off of that.”
“Why would you think that?”
“We—we went looking . . . after Libby went missing . . . ”
At the mention of Libby, the hair on the back of Henrietta’s neck stood up. “Go on,” she said eagerly.
“Well, actually, just Gwen went. We thought that, being shorter, she would be less noticed if she wasn’t on the floor for a bit. Rose and I covered her station. She hid in the lobby and watched. After one of the numbers, one of the dancers, Evelyn, appeared. She stood outside the green door by herself . . . Gwen almost called out to her, but just then Jenks appeared with a guy from the audience in tow. Just before they got to the door, Gwen saw the man slip Jenks something that Jenks put in her pocket. Cigarettes maybe, or cash, she thought it looked like.”
Henrietta’s mouth felt dry, and she drained her beer. “Then what?”
“Jenks unlocked the door and led the two of them inside, the man grabbing at Evelyn and laughing as they went in.”
“Was Gwen able to see inside?”
Lucy shook her head. “Not really. Just that it was another hallway. Jenks closed it as soon as she came back out. Gwen could see she was headed back to the floor, so as soon as Jenks was out of sight, she went the long way ‘round and got back to us before Jenks even knew she was gone.”
“So, you think it’s . . . prostitution, then?” Henrietta asked slowly.
“Seems like it.”
“But . . . what about this . . . this Libby?”
“That was a while ago now,” Lucy said, frowning. “She was a good friend . . . if you know what I mean . . . of Rose’s. She started out like us as an usherette, but Jenks moved her up to a dancer. Sometimes that happens, but not usually. One night she just disappeared. Jenks said she had quit, but that didn’t add up.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because she left all her stuff behind.”
“Do . . . do you still have it? Her stuff, I mean?” Henrietta tried not to let her voice sound too excited.
“Yeah, Rose’s got it. Why?”
“Just wondering. I . . . did she ever talk about what was behind the green door?”
“That’s just it. She only went the once. Well, that’s what we think anyway. Told Rose that she had a chance to make a lot of money but she wouldn’t say how. That’s the last we saw of her. Rose was crushed, poor thing. Jenks told us the nex
t day that Libby had quit, and Rose had the sense to grab her things. Sure enough, ol’ Larry appeared the next day looking for it, even asked us for it, but we lied and said she never kept anything here. Jenks must have sent him.”
“What do you think happened?” Henrietta said, peering at Lucy through partially closed eyes now, as the smoke floating above them was getting rather thick.
“I’m not sure,” Lucy sighed. “We’ve been trying to figure it out. We’ve tried talking to the dancers, to Evelyn, but no one’s talking. Evelyn told us to stay out of it, that it’s not worth looking into and would only bring us trouble. She looked really frightened. Said if we knew what’s good for us, we’d mind our own. Begged us not to ask her anymore or she’d get it.”
“Hmmm,” said Henrietta, trying to make sense of it.
“We can’t be too snoopy because if Jenks suspects we know anything, I’m sure we’d be fired, or maybe worse,” she said raising her eyebrows apprehensively. “We haven’t been able to find out much else, but now Iris has gone missing, too.”
Henrietta felt her throat slightly constrict. “Who’s Iris?”
Lucy looked at her worriedly before answering. “Iris was—is—an usherette, too. Disappeared just like Libby.” Lucy’s gaze dropped to Henrietta’s bosom, and, catching her attention, she peered at it closely. “I think that might be Libby’s dress you’re wearing,” she said uneasily.
Henrietta’s hand went to the mended patch. “So . . . no one knows where Iris is, either?” she asked quietly, ignoring Lucy’s comment.
“She hasn’t come in today, and no one’s heard from her. I know it’s only been a day, but it just seems oddly like what happened with Libby . . . ”
Just then Gwen appeared with a bottle of beer, which she thrust at Henrietta, and a half-empty bottle of gin, which she waved in front of Lucy. Lucy smiled in response and held up her glass while Gwen poured. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back for a refill, so I thought I’d help you out,” she said, looking at Lucy a tad longer than was perhaps necessary. “Who’s your friend?” she asked, looking Henrietta up and down.
“This is one of the new girls, Henrietta. She’s a bit green, if you know what I mean,” she said with a small smile. “She’s straight as an arrow, though. So she says,” Lucy said, looking playfully back at Henrietta.
“I was just asking about Iris,” Henrietta said, not wanting the conversation to be sidetracked.
“Do you think that wise?” Gwen asked Lucy quietly, as if they were alone.
Lucy shrugged. “She’s all right, Gwen.”
“I—I heard something yesterday. I . . . about Iris, that is . . . ,” Henrietta suggested. She wasn’t sure how much she should share with them, but she needed them to trust her.
“What was it?” Gwen asked quickly, giving her full attention now to Henrietta.
“It was after the auditions. All of the other girls had left, but I . . . I went back to get some silk thread to mend this dress . . . it was the only one left . . .”
“I think that was Libby’s—” Gwen began.
“Yes, I told her,” put in Lucy.
“Anyway,” Henrietta said, fingering the tear again, “I came back here, and then I heard Jenks and Esther in the hallway. Jenks told Esther that ‘he’ wanted Iris that night, and Esther said that she was young and something about blood being hard to clean up.”
“Jesus,” Gwen mumbled, looking away. “Who’s he?” she asked sourly.
“I . . . I guess I was hoping you could tell me . . . ,” Henrietta said, surprised.
“I have no idea,” Gwen answered. “You, Lucy?”
Lucy shook her head slowly.
“Who owns the Marlowe?” Henrietta asked, fresh from her experience at the Promenade and doing her best to imitate the inspector.
“I think it’s some guy by the name of Neptune,” Lucy responded absently.
Henrietta’s stomach lurched. “Is he . . . is he ever around?” she asked hesitantly.
“Not much. He gives me the creeps when he is, though. He’s a swine, like most men. Always staring,” Gwen said disgustedly.
“Oh, Gwen, do you think it could have been Neptune . . . with Iris, that is?” asked Lucy.
Gwen shrugged her shoulders.
“I think I might have seen him at the audition,” Henrietta put in. “Bushy eyebrows?”
“That would be him. He’s always whispering with Jenks at the auditions. Has the final say, of course.”
“What are we going to do? About Iris, I mean?” Lucy asked, looking at Gwen. “Libby might have gone of her own accord, but not Iris. She was afraid of her own shadow.”
“Maybe go to the police?” Henrietta suggested tentatively.
“No!” Gwen said with a force that took Henrietta aback. “They won’t do anything. It’ll just be like Libby all over again. We need real proof this time.”
Not the time to tell them she was working with the police, then, Henrietta decided.
“There’s a chance that she’s all right, you know,” put in Lucy pensively. “Maybe just home sick in bed.”
“Yes, but don’t you think it strange, come to think of it, that Jenks hasn’t blown her top over Iris not coming in today?”
“Maybe she knows something we don’t,” Lucy suggested. “Like the fact that she’s sick or something.”
“Maybe,” said Gwen disbelievingly. “But until we figure out what to do, everyone try to stick together. There’s definitely something very wrong going on around here,” she said gravely. “But mum’s the word for now,” she said, looking from Lucy to Henrietta, where her gaze remained. “Understood?”
Henrietta nodded her acquiescence and was about to speak when Rose came up with another girl, and after more introductions, the conversation turned to lighter subjects. While Rose and the other girl, whose name Henrietta had already forgotten, discussed the cheapest place to buy stockings, Gwen and Lucy managed to slip off to talk by themselves in a corner, Lucy giving Henrietta a little wink as she passed her. Henrietta made a guess as to why they were sequestering themselves and felt slightly sick to her stomach. Looking around uneasily, she realized that she wasn’t going to get any more information tonight, so she decided she should look for an escape as well.
Knowing what she did now about most of the women in the room being the “other way,” Henrietta felt uncomfortable changing in front of them, but there was nothing for it. She tried her best to slip discreetly out of her costume behind the ratty screen by the old armoire, though she could feel eyes on her as she did so. When she was finally arrayed back in her factory clothes, she draped her coat over her arm, and after looking around once more for Lucy and Gwen, who seemed to have well and truly disappeared, she hurried out, anxious to get away.
The hallway was dimly lit, but welcome after the distorted red glow in the dressing room. While her eyes were trying to adjust, she managed to trip over poor Larry hovering just outside the door.
“Oh!” she called out as she felt herself falling, but Larry gripped her arm to help catch her. She was surprised that his grip was so strong.
“Sorry, miss,” he said, his cigarette bobbing. Up close, Henrietta could see that his face was a mass of wrinkles and his back was slightly bent. He looked as though he had had a hard life. He looked too old to have been in the war, but perhaps he had done manual labor. He stood sheepishly rubbing his head.
“Are you hurt?” she said, suddenly feeling sorry for him.
“Not much, miss, no.”
“You startled me. I . . . I didn’t see you there.” Her eyes looked at him suspiciously. “You weren’t eavesdropping, were you, Larry?” She gave him a small smile to encourage the truth.
“No, miss! I wasn’t. Just that you can never be too careful round here,” he said, beginning to slightly move the broom back and forth in front of him as if it were a comforting habit to do so. He looked over his shoulder. “Can’t be too careful, that’s what I always say. Accidents have been know
n to happen.”
If he was trying to warn her of something, it wasn’t having the slightest effect, as all Henrietta felt as she listened to him was a deep sense of pity. She observed his rumpled, unwashed state and tried not to breathe in the peculiarly strong odor that surrounded him. She wondered where he lived.
“Don’t you ever go home, Larry?” she asked.
Larry swung his head to and fro like the broom.
“Do you sleep here somewhere?”
“Sometimes. That I do, miss. Mrs. Jenkins says it’s okay if I do. It’s better that way, I say, ‘cause then I can keep an eye on things better.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Henrietta said kindly. An idea suddenly occurred to her, then. “Say, Larry,” she said, using her dimpled smile on him, “you don’t happen to know what’s behind that green door, do you? You know? The one over by the hallway off the lobby . . . by the broom closet?”
She thought she saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly and his face remained a blank. “Don’t know nothin’ bout it,” he said quickly. “I don’t hafta clean over there. That’s Mrs. Jenkins’ special closet, that is.”
“Hmmm,” Henrietta said to herself, thinking it all over.
“Why you want to know?” he said, squinting up at her.
“Oh, just some of the girls were talking about it,” she said, inclining her head toward the door she had just come through. “No matter!” she tried to say lightly. “Forget I mentioned it. Well, I’ve got to be going now. Hope you get some sleep.”