by Michelle Cox
Henrietta recognized the band’s final set of the night and disappointedly made her way to the bar to count her tips thus far, a favorite pastime among the usherettes when not busy or when bored. Henrietta did not own a writstwatch, but she guessed there was probably less than a half hour left of the show. Lucy passed by in a hurry, saying, “See you in a bit, right?”
Henrietta nodded, still counting.
“I don’ think so, not just yet,” came a voice uncomfortably close to her ear, accompanied by hot breath on her neck. Henrietta hunched her shoulders in response and jerked away, turning as she did so to see Larry standing beside her, wringing his hands. His repugnant odor was overwhelming at such close quarters.
“Larry! Don’t scare me like that!” she said, exasperated, scooping her coins and even some bills off the bar and slipping them into her pocket. She had lost count now and would have to start over later. She wiped the back of her neck to be rid of any traces of Larry’s breath, his eyes closely following her movements.
“Mrs. Jenkins wan’s to see you,” he said, grinning. “I’m to fetch you.”
At first Henrietta was inclined to dismiss him, but then she suddenly wondered if this could be the summons she had been waiting for. “Mrs. Jenkins wants to see me?” she asked, looking around the crowded theater as if to locate her, but she was not in her usual spot by the curtains, stage right.
“This way, miss,” Larry mumbled, not really answering her question. “Hafta go to her office, like,” he said almost to himself as he shuffled behind the bar to where a dilapidated little door was located along the back wall. Henrietta had not necessarily noticed it before, and if she had, she would have guessed that it was merely a liquor cabinet of sorts. She was utterly surprised, then, when she saw Larry pull it open and then bend and creep through. It was some type of doorway, not a cabinet! Mystified, Henrietta watched as he turned and gestured with his hand that she should follow, further confusing her. She glanced at Sam to gauge his reaction, but he had his back coincidentally turned to them.
“Larry!” she called to him as she reluctantly followed him behind the bar. “Wait! Why are we going this way? Surely this isn’t the way to Mrs. Jenkins’ office!” she said, wondering if he was even more backward than she first suspected. She peered in after him, having reached the open door now. Larry was already halfway down a set of stone stairs that led into what looked like a cellar.
“Short cut!” he called up. “Come on! She’s waitin’. Not much time till the end of the show! Too busy then.”
Henrietta looked around again, but there was no one anywhere near the bar just at the moment. She tried to see if she could spot Lucy or any of the gang, but they were not in sight. Even Sam seemed busy now at the other end of the bar. She glanced down the dark stairs again to where Larry stood, urging her with his hands to follow. She inherently sensed that she should not follow him, but what choice did she have? She had wanted to be in the White Feather Club, and now she had to go through with it. Perhaps this was some kind of initiation?
Shuddering, she stepped across the threshold and was surprised by the cold air emanating from below. She felt her way with her hand on the damp stone wall beside her. As she got closer to where Larry stood at the bottom of the stairs, the dank smell of the cellar combined with Larry’s stale, smoky body odor nearly took her breath away. At the bottom, Larry was waiting with an old flashlight that looked like a remnant from the war. All she could make out was a long, low, narrow stone hallway that stretched out indefinitely before them.
“Where are we?” she asked nervously, her voice echoing slightly against the stone. “Is this some kind of a joke, Larry?” she asked, trying to make her voice sound commanding, though in actuality, it shook with fear.
“Don’ know any jokes,” Larry said, leading the way down the hallway.
Henrietta followed as closely as she dared, not wanting to be far from the tiny stream of light coming from the flashlight that regrettably only illuminated the immediate patch in front of them. “Do you . . . do you think there’s any spiders?” Henrietta asked nervously, peering at the wall but unable to see in the blackness.
“Ain’t no spiders. Snakes eat ‘em all.”
Upon hearing this Henrietta almost screamed but clamped her hand over her mouth to prevent it and hurried closer to Larry despite his foul odor.
“Where . . . where are we going?” Henrietta asked nervously as the hallway arched to the left. She could still see nothing but darkness ahead. Every so often they passed large, closed, warehouse-style doorways, as if this had once been some sort of storage facility or receiving dock.
“Told you. Mrs. Jenkins wan’s to see you in her office.”
“Her office?”
Larry didn’t answer.
“Surely her office isn’t down here!” she pressed.
“Short cut. Lots o’ short cuts all aroun’ here.” He let out a strange little cough that Henrietta perceived to be a sort of laugh. “Lots of tunnels under the city, lots of tunnels above ground, too,” he mumbled to himself. He halted briefly outside one of the doors, looking back at her, hesitating, as if he were going to enter but then seemed to change his mind before he continued on down the passageway. Henrietta, terrified, could think of nothing else to say. Her teeth were chattering now either from the cold or from fear, and they continued on in silence until the hallway abruptly ended with a wooden staircase. Henrietta wondered if they had walked under the entire theater and where they would now surface. She followed Larry up the creaking stairs and waited as he gave the door at the top a shove. Noiselessly it opened, and they stepped into another long, low hallway, painted a dull rose color and dimly lit with sconces along the wall. Henrietta peered down it and noticed many doors coming off of it, all of them closed, though she was pretty sure she could hear voices behind them.
“This way, miss,” Larry said, gesturing with his hand to the left. This part of the hallway ended with a small green door and just before it was a partially open door from which a crooked rectangle of light spilled out. “This’s Mrs. Jenkins’s office. This one here,” he said quietly, grinning. “Gotta be quiet, like,” he said, nodding his head toward the other end of the hallway. “Can’t disturb anyone, see? Betcha don’ know where you are, do you, now?”
In truth, Henrietta had lost all sense of direction. She had never been to this part of the Marlowe, never even knew it existed. As they walked toward the green door at the end of the hallway, however, it suddenly dawned on her that they must in fact be on the other side of the green door. She had done it! She had breached the inner sanctum, but now what? she worried as she looked quickly around, trying to take it all in. What if Jenks wanted her to start tonight before she had even gotten a feather? Could that be what had happened with Iris? she speculated frantically. Suddenly she felt a wave of nausea. She should have told someone where she was going, but how could she have? She wondered if perhaps Sam had at least seen her leave.
“Go on!” Larry said, not waiting for an answer to his previous question and giving her a little push forward. It was so uncharacteristic of him that Henrietta turned to look back at him. He just stood, there, however, grinning slightly with his crooked gray teeth. “Can’t keep Mrs. Jenkins waitin’,” he whispered.
“Larry!” Jenks hissed from inside the room. “Is that you? Did you get her?”
“Yes, ma’am!” he answered, urging Henrietta with a frantic bobbing of his head and shooing motions with his hands to go in. “Comin’, ma’am.”
Henrietta took a deep breath and stepped into the room, Larry following her, suddenly becoming obsequious in front of his master and rubbing his hands nervously. “Here she is, Mrs. Jenkins. I brought ‘er, just like you wanted. All ready for work, she is,” he said, as if proudly turning over a captive and waiting for the expected praise.
“I can see that, Larry,” she drawled, not looking at him. “Come in, come in,” she said to Henrietta, slightly piqued.
Henrietta step
ped further in, taking in the contents of the room as she did so, though she tried not to make it obvious. She couldn’t have been more surprised. Whereas Mama Leone’s tiny closet fitted her gruff personality in its spartan, slipshod décor, Jenks’s office was decorated in a particularly soft, feminine style, the very opposite of how Henrietta perceived Jenks. There was an ornately carved cherry desk, upon which various ledgers and account books were stacked, as well as a somewhat worn, paisley armchair and loveseat nearby in what seemed to be a makeshift sitting room with a fringed floor lamp and doilies neatly placed. In the back was a tiny sink above which were several shelves that held, among other tings, a chintz teapot and cups as well as canisters of what were presumably sweet treats. Henrietta was also surprised to see a window against the back wall, framed in lace curtains, out of which Henrietta could see the lights of several boats flickering on what must be the Chicago River beyond, though it was impossible to see at this time of night. It was the only window she had ever seen in the Marlowe, and she realized by the view that they must be at the back of the building. Henrietta finally gathered up the courage to look directly at Jenks, though she needn’t have worried, as Jenks and Larry were staring at each other in an odd way. Henrietta couldn’t read what was in Jenks’s face at that moment. Perhaps disgust at having to rely on such an imbecilic creature? Jenks, seated behind the desk, nodded at him ever so slightly, then, as if they understood one another, before she barked out, “That’s all, Larry. Get back to work!”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, raising his shoulders in what seemed a strange sort of bow and rubbing his hands together nervously. “I’ll leave you to it then, Mrs. Jenkins,” he said with a grin, and left the room. Henrietta listened to him make his way down the hallway and back down into the cellar passageway. She was glad to be rid of him, but terrified to be alone with Jenks. Henrietta stood uncomfortably in front of Jenks, hoping she wouldn’t notice her trembling as she surveyed her through her half-closed lids.
“There’s something about you I don’t like,” Jenks said finally. “Something doesn’t sit right with me. I can’t figure it out, though.”
“I . . . what do you mean?” Henrietta tried to ask innocently. “I . . . I just heard a girl could make some extra money. Let’s just say I’m interested,” she faltered, feeling her face redden as she did so.
“Shut your trap,” Jenks said. “I can tell a phony from a mile away. Agnes tells me you’re on the level, but Agnes will say anything if she’s cornered.”
Henrietta opened her mouth to speak, but then thought better of it.
“Still, it seems you’ve caught Neptune’s fancy, so I’m overruled, as usual. He’s wanted you in from the very beginning.” Henrietta shuddered at the remembrance of him from the audition, the way he stared at her with his beady eyes.
“Agnes says you’ve done this type of work before, but I doubt it. Still, what should I care? It’ll just be more mess for Esther to clean up. I just don’t want no tears and no hysterics, got it? You want in, then you do as you’re told.”
“Of course,” Henrietta tried to say smoothly, wondering why her lack of “experience” was so obvious to everyone. She had always managed to bluff her way any other time. She had even convinced Inspector Howard, and he was a detective with the police! “You shouldn’t worry about me,” she said with a toss of her hair. “I’ve worked in other places, you know.”
“Something tells me you’re lying,” Jenks said, looking her up and down again.
Henrietta tried hard to control her breathing. “Well, I’m not!” she said, putting her hand on her hip, but feeling foolish as she did so. “Anyway, as you said, what do you care? Am I in or not?”
Jenks surveyed her coolly. “All right. You can start tomorrow night, though I’m sure it’s a mistake. Neptune’s eager to get you in the stable, though.”
Henrietta swallowed. “How will I know who’s mine for the night?” she tried to ask casually.
Jenks laughed. “Oh, there’ll be more than one, my little chick, don’t you worry.”
“Yes, obviously,” Henrietta said quickly. “It wouldn’t be worth it otherwise, would it?” Henrietta met her eyes, reading the distrust there but trying to evade it. “How’s it work, then?” she asked steadily.
Jenks studied her for a moment and then explained, “I’ll put you in a front section. Interested customers slip me cash as they walk in. First come, first dibs. It’s mostly the dancers they get a choice of, but there’s a few of you, as you know by now. Sometimes the bouncers help spot interested ‘patrons,’ should we say, and point them out to me.”
“I see. Simple enough. I just wait for a signal from you, then?”
“That’s right. On my signal, you come down to the front side curtain. I’ll show you where to go from there. You can’t both leave together or it would look suspicious. One at a time. Nice and easy, like.”
“Got it. Want me to wear anything special? I mean . . . once I’m back here?”
Jenks laughed. “Chick, you ain’t gonna be wearin’ anything, unless they want something kinky. You’ll figure it out. There’s clothes in the room. You do what you’re told and there won’t be any trouble, understand?”
“Yeah, sure. Easy enough.”
Mrs. Jenkins surveyed her again before shaking her head slightly as if trying to accept what she knew to be a careless decision. She reached down and opened the bottom drawer of the desk and drew out a tiny wooden box, which she set roughly on the top of the desk, almost spilling what appeared to be a glass of wine sitting there. Carefully opening it, she reached in and unceremoniously pulled out a white feather and handed it to Henrietta. “I’m assuming you know what to do with this.”
“Yes. Thanks, Mrs. Jenkins,” she said, thinking she should exhibit some sort of gratitude as she took it from her.
“You won’t be thanking me later when this is all over, I dare say, but . . . there it is.” She got up from behind the desk and walked out into the hallway toward the green door. “Out you go. This way. I’ve got customers waiting, I’m sure.” She grasped at a gold chain around her neck until she found an attached key and then bent to unlock the green door. Henrietta, standing behind her, glanced over her shoulder down the long hallway.
“Which room will I be in?” she asked, hoping she could give the information to the inspector.
“What difference does it make?” Jenks asked, annoyed, standing in the doorway now, nearly filling it, her hand on the knob behind her. “You’ll go where you’re told.”
She made no attempt to get out of the way, however, so Henrietta had to squeeze past her. As she did so, Jenks deftly reached out her free hand and held Henrietta’s cheeks between her thumb and fingers, squeezing them as she did so. “Not a word of this gets out, hear, my little chick?”
Henrietta tried to nod.
“Not a word to those lesbos.” She smiled when she saw a flicker of fear in Henrietta’s eye, telling her that her barb had hit its mark. “Oh, yes. I’ve got my eye on them, don’t you worry. Nothing gets past me. I’ve got eyes everywhere. And don’t forget, I can take what I want whenever I want it,” she said and kissed Henrietta roughly on the mouth. She let her go then, and, utterly stunned, Henrietta had to use all of her effort not to wipe it off. “Get out, now! No funny business!” she hissed and gave Henrietta a little shove through the green door, closing it behind her. She heard the scrape of the lock, and, shaking, Henrietta took several minutes to collect herself, looking desperately around as if to solicit help, but the hallway leading from the lobby was deserted.
Tightly she gripped the little white feather, no longer than the width of her hand, and hurriedly put it in her pocket, her mind racing as she tried to take in what had just happened. She had done it, finally gotten beyond the green door, and she felt both elated and terrified at the same time. She was in the White Feather Club, but now what? She was afraid to tell Lucy and the gang, sure that they would be upset, angry even, but they were sure to notice the f
eather tomorrow regardless. She wanted awfully to leave, feeling as though if she didn’t get some fresh air she would die, but, looking down at her flounced red satin dress, she knew she couldn’t walk out just yet. She knew she had to make an appearance in the usherettes’ room to at least get changed. She would have to pretend to be ill, which wasn’t so far from the truth, as she walked with shaking legs toward the other side of the theater.
CHAPTER 13
Clive sat at the bar of the Lodge nursing his scotch. He couldn’t help looking up at the doorway every so often to see if she were coming. He had sent Kelly undercover to wait outside the Marlowe with a message for Henrietta that she should meet him here. He had important news for her. Mickey had turned up dead, and he was pulling her from the operation. He knew the chief would be upset if they didn’t come away with a conviction soon, but his conscience would no longer allow him to endanger Miss Von Harmon . . . Henrietta . . . any farther. He would have to think up something convincing to tell the chief later.
He ran his hand through his hair as he went over the facts of the case one more time in his mind, trying to figure out what he had missed. He had been working on busting Neptune’s ring for almost a year now, convinced that he was somehow connected to the mob. Various characters had come within their grasp, little players like Mickey or even Sneebly, though Henrietta didn’t know that. They had always melted away, though, or provided little enough information if they were briefly held, even when pressed in what some might call an illegal way. Someone had screwed up, though, with Mama Leone’s death, and it had left a tiny crack for Clive to wriggle through.
His men had been casing the Promenade on and off for a long time, convinced that Mama Leone was a supplier of girls for Neptune’s prostitution ring. Finally Clive had decided to go in himself to sniff around, and he had most certainly not expected to meet the likes of Henrietta. She was perhaps the most beautiful girl—woman—he had ever seen, even, he had to admit, more so than Catherine. He had been intrigued with her as they had danced; she was both innocent and beguiling at the same time, as if she weren’t fully aware of all of her charms and was still experimenting with the unusual box of gifts she had been born with. He had gotten the information he wanted from her easily enough, but he had not been prepared for Mama Leone’s death the next day and wondered if his presence had been noticed and Mama Leone killed before they could move in. Or was it merely a coincidence? Just in case, he had been careful not to get too close to the Marlowe from that point on. If he were recognized, the whole operation might go up in smoke. Keeping a safe distance seemed to be working, but it made it difficult to communicate with Henrietta, who, he was pretty sure, no doubt imagined herself abandoned by him.