by Michelle Cox
“Can I help you, Miss?” asked the officer behind the counter, almost knocking over his mug of coffee as he took in Henrietta’s radiant beauty, her auburn hair hanging down around her shoulders.
“I’m looking for Inspector Howard. Is he in?” she asked nervously, trying to see around him to the offices beyond.
“Inspector Howard? No, not him. Detective inspectors don’t have to work Sundays, see? ‘Cept if there’s an emergency, like. Something I can help you with?” he said, his eyes roaming over her.
Henrietta sighed. Now what? “No,” she said absently. “Thanks just the same. I . . . perhaps you could give him a message for me?”
“Sure thing,” the officer said, taking up a pen from the inkwell. “Go on, then,” he said, waiting for her to begin.
“Just tell him that I . . . that I wanted to speak to him. I’ve heard from Polly.”
“Polly. Got it,” the officer said, concentrating on his work. “Name?”
“Name?”
“Yeah, name. What’s your name?”
“Oh. Henrietta. Henrietta Von Harmon.”
“Telephone number?”
“I . . . I don’t have one.”
The officer arched his eyebrow. “Well, how’s he supposed to contact you?”
Henrietta shrugged.
“Look. Maybe I’d better ring him; I recognize the name,” he said, rubbing his chin. “You’re the one he’s got down at the Marlowe, ain’t you?” he said, sizing her up and reaching for the telephone.
“No! Please! Don’t disturb him at home . . . with his . . . family,” Henrietta suggested, hoping the officer would inadvertently shed some light on the inspector’s private life.
“Family? He ain’t got no family!” he guffawed, balancing the receiver on his shoulder.”
“Just his girl, Katie, in his bed at night,” snickered one of the officers standing nearby, obviously eavesdropping. The other officer with him laughed, too.
“Hey, Murphy!” the officer behind the counter said, shaking the telephone receiver at them. “There’ll be no more of that!” he said sternly. “Show some respect for your superiors, or you two’ll be on traffic duty on LaSalle.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” they said, though they were still smiling. “It’s true, though, ain’t it?” Murphy muttered.
“That’s none of your business how the inspector spends his time. Now beat it!” he shouted. The two offending officers accordingly disappeared deeper into the station, laughing as they went. “Now, Miss Von Harmon, where were we?” he said, peering back at her and resting the receiver back on his shoulder.
Henrietta barely heard what he said, so stunned was she. As she had stood listening to the quick banter between the officers, she had felt like a rock had been dropped in her stomach. Her thoughts were whirling, but she had to put them aside just now and stop him from making the call. She would be mortified to disturb him at home while he was with another woman. “No, please! Honestly! I’ll catch up with him later,” she said, taking a few steps backward.
The officer looked unconvinced. “You sure? Where you going?”
“I’m . . . I’m not sure . . . ”
“Well if he rings the station, he’ll want to know where to find you. At home, then?”
“No! Not at home! I . . . I’ll be at the Promenade, I think,” she found herself saying. She would have to look for Polly herself. “Thank you,” she said again, stepping further away from the desk.
“Well, if you’re sure, then. I’ll give him the message,” he called after her as she quickly slipped out the door.
Henrietta hurriedly walked back down Jackson. She was pretty sure she could catch the 151 back uptown toward the Promenade, swallowing hard as a wave of disappointment washed over her. So he had someone. But that made sense, didn’t it? Henrietta reasoned. A man such as the inspector was hard to find; surely he would have been snatched up long ago. But why, then, had the officer said that he had no family? He . . . he must not be married to this woman, this girl, as they had called her. This surprised her more than anything else. He had seemed like a decent man, good, not like all the rest, but now she saw that she had been wrong. This more than anything else made her want to cry, though she couldn’t exactly say why. The streetcar pulled up, then, and she numbly climbed on board, finding an empty seat in the back. Almost immediately, it lurched forward again, not many people having gotten on. Tears formed in the corner of her eye as she sat watching the buildings pass by, dark now with shadows, and she found herself thinking again about her father. She hadn’t thought of him in a long while, but she had discovered long ago that those painful memories were more than willing to come out and be remembered at even the slightest suggestion. They were part of a stale, ancient ache that never really went away.
She could understand why her father had done what he had done. Maybe it was a sin to even think that, but she supposed he just hadn’t been able to take it anymore, the job being the last straw. Ma crabbing at him constantly. She nearly hated Ma for how she had treated him. Shamed him, ground him down until he just couldn’t see his way clear anymore. Well! She had got what she deserved, Henrietta fumed. But the worst was that Henrietta hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to him. Not really. No one else knew that he had stopped by the apartment that afternoon, just briefly, after his pilgrimage on Mr. Schwinn’s lawn and before he had stumbled off to Poor Pete’s. Henrietta had seen him coming down the street from the front room window and had gone down to meet him. She had somehow sensed something was not right with him. She had tried to help him up the stairs, but he had refused, saying that he had to go out again. A little job he had to do.
“No, Pa, don’t go out tonight!” she had begged him.
“I’ve got to, Hen,” he had said, his eyes sad and weary. “It’s for the best. You’ll see.”
“Please,” she whispered.
Henrietta was surprised to see tears in his eyes as he came back toward her and hugged her. “I love you, Hen. Most of all. I always have. You take care of them, hear? I’ll be back later.”
“Pa, please!” Henrietta begged, tears blurring her vision. Her father had pulled her hands off his sleeves, trying to smile as he did so.
“Go on, now. I’ll be back. Go in! A grown girl like you shouldn’t be cryin’ like this,” he said sternly. He gave her a last look and then walked off down the street. Henrietta had been in two minds whether or not she should go after him, but she hadn’t, not wanting to upset him more. She cursed herself now for not following him. Instead, she had just stood there on Humboldt Avenue, crying, watching him until he turned the corner and was gone. In her darker moments, she sometimes wondered if the terrible thing that had happened had actually been her fault, though she barely dared to ask the question, even to herself.
Well, she speculated now, as she watched an old woman gather up her bags a few seats ahead of her, at least she knew now why her flirtations with the inspector had not sparked an interest, and though she tried to use this explanation to make herself feel better, it oddly wasn’t working.
She could see the Promenade, all lit up, looming ahead. Roughly she pulled the bell for her stop, wiping her tears as she did so. She needed to put all that behind her, she scolded herself. She had more important things to worry about. And if the inspector was too busy with certain others to check in with her regarding the case, she would just have to take things into her own hands. She wondered, too, if she might see Artie, and found herself hoping. She hadn’t thought about him in what seemed like a long time—so much had happened!—and she felt she owed him some attention, some effort toward their budding relationship.
She approached the ticket booth and saw that it was Edith on duty tonight. She was listlessly flipping through a copy of Look! magazine, smoking in the little lit-up booth.
“One, please!” Henrietta said, walking up quietly.
“Oh, God!” Edith jumped. “You scared me to death!” She broke into a big smile. “I wondered whe
n you would turn up. Didn’t ya know we reopened?”
“Well, I’d heard, but I’ve been busy with a few other things.”
“Well, ya haven’t missed much,” Edith explained eagerly. “The cops still don’t know who stabbed Mama. The place was crawlin’ with ‘em for a while. Gave up now, I guess,” she shrugged.
“Who’s the floor matron now?” Henrietta asked, shivering a bit in the night air.
“Some dame called Mrs. Katz,” Edith shrugged. “She’s all right. Runs a tighter ship than Mama, so if you’re looking for your job back, better mind your p’s and q’s.”
“I’ll remember that. Thanks,” Henrietta smiled. “Mind if I go in for a minute? I’m . . . I’m looking for someone . . . ”
“Oh, yeah? Who?”
“Polly? Or maybe Mickey?”
“Funny you should ask about Polly. She showed up outta the blue today, too. Sure it ain’t somethin’ you two planned?”
“She did? Is she still here?” Henrietta asked eagerly, glancing toward the big glass doors as if to see who might be inside.
“Don’ know. She came in earlier . . . didn’t see her leave, but then again, I mighta missed her when I was busy with tickets.”
“How about Mickey?”
“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since the whole thing happened. He shuffled outta here mighty quick.”
“Can I?” Henrietta asked, nodding her head toward the big doors.
“Sure, doll. Just don’t tell anyone, you know?”
“Thanks, Edith.”
As she approached the entrance, one of the doormen opened the door for her and the sound of Tommy Dorsey’s “On Treasure Island” came belting out. Henrietta thought she recognized the band, but she wasn’t sure. “Who’s on tonight, Reggie?” she asked as she stepped inside.
“Why, hello, Miss Henrietta! I wondren when you gonna come back. Don’ you rec’nize da Rhythm Section?” Reggie asked with a big smile, his white teeth almost glowing against his dark skin. “You haven’ ben gone all dat long, Miss!” he said, laughing.
Henrietta smiled at him and felt a buzz of excitement as she stepped in further and saw that it was Artie up on stage after all. She felt a surge of warmth watching him, and wondered why she had been so silly on the bus over. Who cared what the inspector did with his time and with whom? He was too old for her, anyway. She couldn’t help smiling as she watched Artie with his slicked-back hair and his big blue eyes, swaying with his clarinet on stage as he sang into the big silver microphone. She had missed this place, she realized, looking around. It was strange that just a short time ago, a place she perceived as being so risqué now seemed quaintly innocent compared to what went on at the Marlowe, and Henrietta found herself longing for the simpler days before any of this had happened. She glanced over to the corner where Mama Leone used to sit, obviously empty now, and felt a strange sort of sadness, though in truth she hadn’t really liked the woman. Still, it seemed business as usual at the Promenade, as if Mama Leone had never even existed. Was that the way it was for everyone? Did no one’s life make a difference? she mused glumly.
She shook herself from such depressing thoughts and made her way over to the bar. Jack, Mickey’s friend, was working, as well as some other bartender she didn’t recognize. He must be new. She smiled at Jack when he finally looked up at her.
“Hello, there,” he said, winking at her with a mischievous grin. “Must of missed the reunion invite. First Polly, now you. What’s a pretty dame like you doin’ in a place like this?” he teased.
“That depends,” she said batting her lashes and smiling back at him. It felt so easy, so natural to be flirtatious here, whereas at the Marlowe (and with the inspector, truth be told), she still felt nervous and second-guessed herself constantly. “Is Polly still here?” she asked casually.
“Nah,” Jack said, wiping the glass in his hand. “She was lookin’ for Mickey. Can’t find him, she says. Seemed upset.”
“Have you seen him?” she asked.
“Not since that day Mama Leone turned up dead. Scooted out of town would be my guess. Mickey has a record, you know.”
“Did Polly say where she was going?”
Jack thought for a moment. “Don’t think so.”
“What time did she leave?”
“Oh . . . ” Jack looked up at the clock behind the bar. “Few hours ago now, I think. Can’t be sure, though.”
Henrietta sighed, looking around as if she would suddenly spot her in the crowd of couples out on the floor.
“You want a drink?” Jack asked. “On the house?” he said, smiling suggestively.
“Not just yet,” she said, returning his smile. She could hear the band winding down, and she didn’t want to miss Artie on his break. “Catch you later, okay, Jack?” she said giving him a little wink.
“I hope so,” he said, watching her walk seductively away.
“We’ll be right back, ladies and gents! Just a short break!” announced Al’s high tenor voice. Henrietta gave a little wave to Artie as he set his instrument down, but he didn’t see her. She had been up on that stage before, once even sitting on Artie’s lap when Mama Leone had been distracted backstage, and she knew how hard it was to see very much from up there because of the lights. Never mind, she assured herself happily, she would slip around back and surprise him!
Henrietta had known the brash crooner from the South Side for almost six months now, and his boyish grin had always melted her heart. He always had a way of making Henrietta laugh, and while she had always played it cool with him, not wanting him to get the wrong idea, as she hurried through the maze of hallways to the backstage area now, she felt her resolve crumbling a little. She felt as though she needed to be held in someone’s arms after all that had happened. She needed something normal and safe, thinking again about Lucy and her gang of usherettes fondling each other, not to mention the inspector and his girl.
Henrietta quickened her step, finally turning the corner to where the performers sat amongst a hodgepodge of makeshift furniture backstage, usually drinking between sets. She stopped suddenly, though, when she came upon a couple entwined in the shadows. Her first thought was to back away, but as she began to do so, she looked twice and realized with a gasp that it was Artie! She was mortified, unable to move. He had his hand inside the woman’s blouse while he arduously kissed her neck. He stood between her slightly parted legs, though she was still mostly clothed as she sat on a crate. The woman was the first to notice her, but rather than stop Artie from continuing, she attempted to shoo Henrietta away with a wave of her hand indicating that they didn’t wish to be disturbed.
Henrietta wasn’t sure whom to be more shocked by. “Artie!” she said loudly and turned away so that she would not see him adjust his trousers, which seemed to be loosened.
“Henrietta!” he said, turning toward her, pulling his jacket back down into place and smoothing his hair. “Watchew doin’ here, doll? Thought you flew the coop with dizzy Polly.”
Henrietta just stared at him, dumbfounded.
The woman, smiling at her like a cat that had caught the canary, ran her hand through Artie’s hair and said to him, loud enough for Henrietta to hear, “I’ll let you handle this one, Artie Tartie.” She eased herself off the crate, then, and slowly sauntered away. Henrietta watched her go as if in a daze. She didn’t recognize her.
“What do you mean ‘what am I doing here’?” she finally asked, looking back at Artie, her face burning. “What are you doing with her?”
Artie had recovered his composure now and grinned at her sheepishly. “Men have urges, Henrietta. They gotta be answered. All I can say,” he shrugged. “‘Sides, I didn’t think you was that int’rested, if you know what I mean . . . ” he stopped to light a cigarette.
Henrietta looked away. Oh, yes, she knew all about men’s urges all right! “Women who give in to men’s urges aren’t the ones they end up marrying, Henrietta,” Ma’s voice rang in her ears. What would she know about
it, though! Henrietta had testily speculated more than once.
“I see,” she said, humiliated. Grasping for something to say, she suddenly remembered what the inspector had told her. “Why did you tell the police you were with your mother? You know, the night Mama Leone was stabbed?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” he sputtered.
“Just that you lied, and I defended you!”
Before he could answer, however, she had figured it out. “Oh, I see,” she said glancing in the direction in which the woman had disappeared, “you were with her. But why didn’t you just tell the cops that?”
Artie shrugged. “Don’t sound as good, does it?”
“It will sound even worse when they figure out you lied!” she said, disgusted. “Oh, what does it matter?” Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to get away. She felt like such a fool. “Goodbye, then, Artie. Good luck.”
“Hey, no hard feelings, eh?” he asked hesitantly, as if unsure which woman to pursue at this point. Henrietta weakly waved a hand at him and turned away.
“Hey, Henrietta!” he called after her. “We had some good times, didn’t we? You were swell, doll! Come back some time!”
Henrietta barely heard him, though, as she hurried back to the main floor, her cheeks burning with shame. Polly had been right about him all along! How could she have been so stupid! She made her way along the edge of the dance floor, avoiding the bar. She had no desire to talk to anyone; she needed to get out of here. She managed to make it back to the main doors without anyone stopping her.
“Dat was fast!” Reggie said smiling at her as he held the door open for her.
Henrietta gave him a false smile. “Thanks, Reggie.” She approached the ticket booth for just a moment where Edith was still perusing Look! magazine.