by Michelle Cox
Henrietta tried to think of something witty to say in return, but nothing came out. She seemed to have no choice but to reluctantly go back to her station near the bar and wait, thinking as she did so. It was strange to her that in Ma’s world, she was little more than a floozy, taking on risqué jobs and getting ahead in the world by her looks and supposedly allowing certain liberties, but in this world, she was seen as little more than an innocent child, a ‘gumdrop,’ as Lucy called her. She couldn’t seem to win either way.
After her years at Poor Pete’s and her brief time as a taxi dancer, there wasn’t much she hadn’t seen. She was definitely no innocent, and yet, if truth be told, she had not been prepared for what she witnessed on stage or in the usherettes’ dressing room at the after-show parties. Lucy had become her protector of sorts, fending off advances from other girls at the parties and attempting to playfully shield Henrietta’s eyes when any couple became too engrossed in a dark corner. Henrietta usually laughed and told Lucy she wasn’t so naive, but, in truth, what she saw out of the corner of her eye shocked her. Women touching each other in places she hadn’t realized were part of sex, both of them seeming to find so much pleasure from it.
She had never told anyone, even Elsie, but as a child back in their old apartment, she had often heard her parents late in the night when they still had one of the bedrooms to themselves and all the kids had been packed into the other two or scattered about on the floor. There had been a lot of grunting coming from her father as the thin mattress springs squeaked, but she had never heard any moans of pleasure coming from her mother as she did now at these after-show parties. She had always known that men enjoyed sex, but not women, and the sight of them now stirred something in her, piqued an interest she didn’t have before. Dozens of men had ogled and even touched her, but she had never felt anything in return. She didn’t know she should feel anything or that it was even possible.
But now, however, something was being awoken within her, though she was in part ashamed of it. She couldn’t at times help thinking about the inspector—Clive, as she secretly sometimes called him in her mind. But she knew that was wrong, too. Not only was he involved—possibly in love—with someone else, but he was much too old for her. Hadn’t she herself rejected Stan because of a few years’ difference in their ages? How hypocritical she was being! But was she really? she countered. Was it really age that made her reject Stan? No, it wasn’t just years, she knew, it was the fact that he seemed so young and immature, so hovering, so blindly devoted. Somehow, it didn’t appeal to her.
He had definitely slacked off in his sleuth maneuvers (that or he was becoming better at not being detected) since the church festival, after she had lied about being in love (was it a lie?) with the inspector and foisted Stan off onto Elsie, who seemed delighted by his new attentions. He had kept his word and taken Elsie to the library, but he hadn’t come around as much lately, at least according to Ma and Elsie. Well, what did she expect? She had told him she didn’t care for him in that way, but she had hoped he would have transferred his affections onto Elsie. She realized now that that had been merely wishful thinking. People couldn’t just turn their emotions on and off. Of course Stan wasn’t going to love Elsie! Elsie did not see it that way, however, and had related their library date to Henrietta in the greatest detail. Stanley, she said, had been most attentive, and they had thoroughly enjoyed discussing Great Expectations, though they had to reluctantly stop at a certain breathless point, of course, because Elsie had not yet gotten to the end. She wondered if Stan had come away from their “date” with the same rapturous opinion of it as Elsie had.
Henrietta’s musings drifted back to the inspector. He was different from most men—certainly Stan, anyway—strong and commanding, but gentle, too. His eyes were kind. She still remembered how it had felt to be held by him as they danced for the first time at the Promenade, before she had found out that he was a cop and a phony, she added bitterly. For a little while, it had been real, though. She tried to imagine what type of girl—woman—he went for. Who was it that he invited into his bed at night? He was obviously not interested in a girl like her, not in that way, anyway, she told herself again. Still, she couldn’t bear the thought, now that she knew him, of not being near him, of not seeing him from time to time. She was afraid to lose him—in any capacity. A part of her realized that this was childish, but she couldn’t help it. She had deduced that the only way to be a part of his life was to be what he needed her to be. After all, he had enlisted her help on the case because he assumed she was more experienced than she was, so she needed to continue to play that part, no matter how scared she really was by the knowledge of a prostitution ring just on the other side of the theater, not to mention talk of screams and blood. She had become good at pretending to be something she wasn’t over the years, and if she didn’t want the inspector to lose interest—as she suspected he might already have, as she had strangely not seen him in several weeks—she would have to continue to try to play her part well.
“Miss? Oh, miss!”
Henrietta snapped out of her ponderings and turned to see Larry standing beside her. That was odd. Larry, or Lazy Larry, as most of the girls called him, usually did not appear on the floor to begin his perpetual sweeping until after the house lights were turned up at the end of the night. Occasionally he could be seen behind the bar wiping glasses if the bartenders were falling behind. He looked at her now, his yellowing, watery eyes peering at her. She gasped when he held up a tiny white feather in front of her face, grinning to show his gray, crooked teeth as he did so. “This yours, miss?”
Henrietta searched his face for any deeper meaning but she found none. “No, it’s not mine,” she said finally, taken aback by what he held in front of her. “But I wouldn’t mind having one . . . if you . . . ” She waited for him to pick up the hint, but his face remained blank.
“Musta come off somethin’ is all,” he said, putting it into his tiny vest pocket and shuffling away. “Mrs. Jenkins’ll know what to do with it, I reckon,” he mumbled as he went.
Henrietta breathed out slowly. What an odd coincidence, she mused, as she hurried to get more drink orders, unaware of how long she had been standing there thinking. Perhaps it was a sign, she thought hopefully, as she squeezed down the rows of men, more determined than ever to find a way beyond the green door.
As it happened, she got her chance rather unexpectedly a few days later. She had arrived at the Marlowe early, having stopped off at Keirschbaum’s bakery to get a couple of day-old rolls for Larry, whom she had become increasingly sorry for. She didn’t dare stop at Lutz’s in their neighborhood in case it somehow got back to Ma, who would surely disapprove of her spending wages on charity cases. “Charity begins at home,” she had said often enough, though to Henrietta this had always seemed horribly hypocritical, as Ma seemed anything but charitable in any given way. No, she had to stop at a place closer to the theater.
The line at Keirschbaum’s was unexpectedly short this morning, however, and she made it to the Marlowe faster than she had expected. Conveniently, Larry was there, outside, tacking up posters near the marquee, listing which band was playing that night—as if the choice of band had the slightest influence on whether men came in or not. He seemed genuinely stunned when she handed him the bag of rolls.
“Ta, miss,” he said slowly, after opening the bag and examining the contents.
Henrietta winced as a long ash from his dangling cigarette dropped off onto his battered jacket. Though Larry repulsed her, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for this poor, dimwitted man who seemed broken beyond repair. At one point she imagined Larry might be an avenue into Jenks’s inner circle, but after watching how Jenks bullied and shouted at him, she gave up this idea altogether and was kind to him because no one else seemed to be. He was like a stray dog that everyone got enjoyment from kicking. She had given him a brief smile and gone in, then, leaving him wordlessly standing there, staring after her.
No on
e seemed to be around yet as she wandered down the crooked hallways toward the dressing rooms. She slowed as she approached the dancers’ dressing room, however, as she always did now, and was surprised to find that it was closed. She wondered if perhaps Esther was inside; it was difficult to know when and where she would somehow pop up. She waited, listening, but she didn’t hear anything. This might be her chance!
Looking up and down the hallway, she gently pushed open the door and stepped gingerly inside, hoping to find some clue regarding the White Feather Club, though she couldn’t imagine what that would be. She lingered for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness, her breath sounding loud in her ears. She suddenly held it, though, when she heard what sounded like a moan coming from the back of the room.
“Esther?” she called out, tiptoeing forward, her heart fluttering. “Is that you?”
The moaning had stopped now as she made her way toward the back of the room, which had been sectioned off with large screens with oriental scenes painted on them.
“Who’s there?” came a man’s voice that Henrietta thought she recognized, but couldn’t quite place. She heard a shuffling and then the man’s voice again, this time directed to whomever he was with behind the screen. “I thought you said we wouldn’t be bothered!” he said angrily.
“Sorry!” called Henrietta, realizing that she had walked into a romantic tryst. She tried to quickly retreat, but as she did so, she backed right into one of the chairs sitting by the dressing table, causing it to make a loud scraping noise across the floor. “Don’t mind me! I’m just leaving!” she called out again.
She could hear the angry zip of trousers, then, and before she could get away, Carlo, one of the bouncers, stepped from behind the screen. “Who is it?” he demanded, peering into the darkness while he fastened his belt.
Henrietta stared at his bare chest for a few seconds before she managed to turn her eyes away. “I’m terribly sorry,” she said. “I . . . I was just looking for . . . Esther . . . ,” she fibbed.
“Well she obviously ain’t here.”
“Who is it, Carlo?” came a woman’s voice from behind the screen.
“It’s one of the new girls,” he said, irritated, as he pulled on his shirt.
Henrietta thought she recognized the woman’s voice, too, but was still surprised when she saw Agnes come from around the screen, buttoning her dress.
“Oh, Agnes! I’m sorry! I just . . . ” Henrietta said, averting her eyes and stepping back, wanting horribly to get away from there.
Carlo strode past her, giving her a scowl as he did so. “Nosy bitch,” he said under his breath.
“Carlo, you don’t have to go!” called out Agnes with a hint of desperation. He ignored her, however, and hurried from the room, banging the door closed as he went.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Agnes said, furiously, turning to her as she finished buttoning.
“Agnes, I . . . I didn’t mean to . . . ”
“Now I suppose you’ll go and tell Jenks, won’t you?” Agnes said, her irritated tone belying a hint of anxiety.
“Well, I . . . ” Henrietta waivered, realizing that she might be able to use this opportunity, though she hated doing it this way. “I’m not sure,” she said deliberately. She tried to appear as if she had the upper hand, but her chest was tight with nervousness. “It is against the rules, you know.”
“All right, be that way. What do you want?” Agnes asked, assuming she was defeated and reaching for a cigarette from an open box on the nearby dressing table. Henrietta watched as she lit it and took a long drag on it as if to steady her nerves. She indicated with a nod of her head that Henrietta could take one, too, but Henrietta declined.
“I . . . I want to get a white feather. You know, from Jenks,” she tried to say with confidence.
Agnes’s eyes fluttered a bit before she recovered her smooth exterior. “What would you know about that?” she asked, nervously blowing out a tower of smoke from the corner of her mouth.
“Let me just say I need some extra money.”
“No chance.”
“All right, then. I’ll have to ask Mrs. Jenkins myself. I hope I don’t forget to keep your little secret.”
“Listen, kid,” Agnes said eagerly, “the green door’s not for you. It’s pretty hard-core.”
“I can handle myself!”
Agnes let out a snort.
“I’ve done this before, you know,” Henrietta said, trying not to sound false. “Lots of times.”
Agnes studied her for a few moments before she shrugged and blew out another cloud of smoke. “Whatever you say, kid.” She stood up now and looked in the mirror, brushing her hair back into place. “Fine. I’ll put in a good word with Jenks for you. But no promises.”
“When?”
“When, what?”
“When will you talk to Jenks?”
“Tonight if I can. It’s not always up to her, though. Neptune’s got the final say, though I daresay he’d like you,” she said, turning from the mirror to look Henrietta up and down. “Funny he hasn’t picked you already.”
At the mention of Neptune, goose bumps broke out on Henrietta’s neck and arms, and she was grateful for the dim light to hide them. “I’ve . . . I’ve heard of him,” Henrietta said, clearing her throat. “That’s Jenks’s boss, right? The owner?”
“That’s right,” Agnes said, looking at her with new admiration. “You don’t miss much, do you, kid?”
“But I never see him around,” Henrietta went on, ignoring the offhand compliment. “How does he know which girls to pick?”
“Oh, he’s around all right,” she said with a grin. “Unlike Jenks, he prefers them young, virginal. So you might stand a chance,” she said, applying lipstick. “God help you, though.” She stood up straight now and extinguished her cigarette in one of the ashtrays on the dressing table. “He likes to take a ride first, you see, before putting girls in the stable.” A dark shadow passed briefly across her face. “And he’s a very rough rider.” She put the lipstick in her handbag and snapped it shut.
Henrietta swallowed hard, trying to control her rapid breathing.
“Anyway, I’ve got to go. See you ‘round,” Agnes said, giving her a false smile and waving briefly to her as she made her way past Henrietta toward the door.
“Thanks, Agnes. Sorry about Carlo,” she called after her.
“Oh, he’ll come around,” she said, pausing before going out. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she added solemnly. And with that she disappeared, leaving Henrietta to think back through the conversation as she stood alone in the dark, her heart pounding.
CHAPTER 12
All that evening, Henrietta was on edge. She was watching for some sort of signal or acknowledgement from Jenks, and several times attempted, unsuccessfully, to make eye contact with her. Despite Henrietta’s increased watchfulness, however, Jenks ignored her as much as usual, preoccupied, it would seem, with the evening’s activities. Henrietta also tried to single out Agnes, who also proved to be very deft at avoiding her, and shortly after the show began, disappeared with what appeared to be a client. It was almost as if the whole episode between her and Agnes had never happened, except that Henrietta was a bundle of nerves now, waiting for some sort of intimation regarding her admission into the White Feather Club. Even Lucy and the gang noticed her restlessness and questioned her about it, Henrietta replying that she was simply tired. This was not too far from the truth, actually, as she had been awake half the night with Ma and a crying Jimmy, who had had a toothache.
Lucy’s remedy for tiredness, or nerves, for that matter, was whiskey, which she urged Henrietta to drink down after the show. Henrietta obeyed, attempting to calm herself while she waited for a chance to slip out of the party once everyone became preoccupied. When the moment finally came, she aimlessly wandered the hallways, hoping Jenks, or someone, would approach her, but to no avail. Perhaps Agnes hadn’t had a chance to talk to Jenks? Henrietta won
dered. Or had Agnes just lied to get rid of her earlier that day? That did not seem likely, however, since Henrietta could still tell Jenks at any moment what she had witnessed between Agnes and Carlo.
In the end she decided to go home, though she was in two minds about whether or not she should stop by the station to tell the inspector everything that had been happening. She had not seen him since that night at the Lodge when he had warned her not to do anything foolish. She was pretty sure that trying to get into the White Feather Club would count as foolish in his opinion, so in the end, she thought better of stopping to confer with him. She reassured herself that he would be happy with the results she hoped to eventually be able to deliver, though he would probably not approve of the means. It was odd, though, that he had not been in touch. Had something happened? she worried anxiously. She considered stopping somewhere to use the telephone, but she was reluctant to speak to Clancy or to leave a message with him, as, like last time, he was sure to call the inspector and disturb him. No, Henrietta sighed, she would simply go home and give Ma some relief if Jimmy was still acting up. She had so many thoughts running through her head, she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a long time, anyway, she reasoned.
The next day at the Marlowe proved to be just as uneventful as the previous one—at first. Henrietta wasn’t as skittish tonight and spent most of the evening trying to attract Jenks’s attention, but again with little success. After weighing it all up endlessly, she decided that if nothing happened by the end of the night, she would approach Jenks to report Agnes. She wasn’t sure what that would gain her and considered it might even put her in a decidedly more negative light with Jenks, but she felt she had to call Agnes’s bluff. She had seen Ruby coldly staring at her at various points in the night and felt sure Agnes had confided in her. Well, if Agnes wasn’t around to witness her reporting to Jenks, Ruby would be, and Henrietta thought she saw a glimmer of anxiety in Ruby’s otherwise calculating eyes.