Boom Time

by Michelle E Lowe

  Frank snorted. “Thought so. Now, listen up. There’s a lot I’z needs to tells youze.”

  “About sex? Sorry, mate. I need no advice in that area.”

  “Youze gots a lotta lip. No, I ain’t tawkin’ ’bout that.”

  “Then what?” Pierce demanded as they rolled slowly to a stop in front of a red light.

  “Rum Row.”

  Pierce accepted a cigarette from Frank’s pack when he offered and cracked the window. “What about it?”

  “I’z knows youze fought in the war an’ all, but going out on these runs is dangerous stuff.”

  Frank handed him the brass lighter with the tiny compass embedded in it.

  “Nice lighter,” Pierce complimented him before using it to light up his smoke.

  “Keep it,” Frank offered. “I’z gots better ones. Anyways, bootlegging is deadly business ’cause it’s highly profitable. There’s the Coast Guard with boats called cutters that’ll blow up other vessels. Rival gangs are ready to fill youze full of lead for what you’re smuggling in. And then dere’s de pirates.”

  “Pirates,” Pierce recalled. “Right.”

  The light turned green and the car moved on. “Yep. Hungry little thugs hired by crime bosses to knock off booze shipments from the competition.”

  Pierce considered everything Frank was telling him. Although he had been in plenty of dangerous situations in the past, it was refreshing to know what he was getting into.

  “If I’m not mistaken, I’d say that you’re worried about me,” Pierce quipped.

  Frank chuckled, then coughed. “Guess youze grown on me, youze little prick.”

  He pulled into a parking lot in front of the diner and parked.

  “Cheers again for the lift,” Pierce said, opening the door.

  “Make sure youze here ’round midnight. Boss won’t be too happy if we gotta come lookin’ for ya.”

  “I’ll be here, you lummox,” he promised, getting out. “I have nowhere else to be, remember?”

  “Unless youze get some tail tonight, dat is,” Frank threw in.

  Pierce closed the car door with a frustrated sigh. He headed for the diner, eyeing the inside through the windows. On the outside, the diner resembled a train carriage without wheels. There were two front entrances one on either end with a few steps leading up to them both. The name Jerry’s Diner was painted in large letters across the top half.

  A gust of chilly wind prompted him to hurry his arse up. A bell dinged overhead when he entered. The place felt cozy. A heater, located at the end of the diner, rumbled lowly and glowed bright red from within. A cigarette vending machine sat on the other end. There were plenty of scents in the air—meats and eggs cooking, meshed with cigarette smoke, and a whiff of coffee and freshly baked biscuits. There were booths on one side beside the windows and a long counter across the way where a couple of brass tea and coffee makers sat near a glass dome, covering slices of cake and pie. Black cushioned stools on copper columns lined the counter. Cups, mugs, and other dishes were stacked on steel shelves behind the counter near the open window where the kitchen was visible beyond. The dirty floor was a black-and-white checkered pattern. Railroad lanterns hung from the ceiling in a straight line down the center of the diner.

  A woman dressed in a salmon dress, her brown hair done up nicely, came through the swinging doors, carrying a tray of sandwiches.

  “Well, hello there, cutie,” she greeted Pierce with a welcoming smile. “Take a seat and I’ll be right with you.”

  She was about to hurry off to the only two customers seated at a booth at the far end of the diner when Pierce asked, “Are you Ashley, by any chance, love?”

  She stopped short and turned to him. She was chewing something. “You must be the British fella, Isaac Chaplin. Lucy told me you might be coming by. Give me a sec.”

  Well, that was easy enough.

  After she delivered her customer’s order, Ashley led Pierce through the doors and into the kitchen. He couldn’t help but admire her figure as he followed. She brought him into a small back office area where a cluster of papers, two over-stuffed ashtrays, and dozens of pens, were scattered over a single desk that faced the wall.

  Ashley pointed to something on the messy surface. “There’s the phone. Do you have her number?”

  Pierce suddenly realized he had no number. He never thought to ask Lucy for it.

  He bit his bottom lip.

  A pink bubble blew out from Ashley’s mouth, then burst. Did that come from what she was chewing?

  She snorted. “I guess not. I’ll phone her up for you.”

  “Cheers.”

  She grabbed the bell-shaped receiver off its brass fork and then looked up at him. “Chaplin. Are you related to Charlie Chaplin? He’s from England too, isn’t he?”

  Pierce had no idea where the actor was from.

  “S’pose. But there’s no relation, darling. Only a coincidence.”

  The waitress shrugged and turned the rotary with a single finger. She put the receiver against her ear and waited. Pierce watched her do so, studying how to properly use a telephone.

  “Hello? Lucy? It’s Ashley . . . yep, he’s here, all right. Good lookin’ feller, too.” She listened. “Yeah.” She handed the phone over to Pierce. “Here you go, baby.”

  Pierce stepped in and took it from her. Following what she’d done, he placed the receiver to his ear and spoke into the mouthpiece. It felt awkward.

  “He-hello?”

  “Mr. Chaplin?” came Lucy’s voice.

  The sound was much clearer than he’d expected, and the surprise caused him to quickly pull the receiver away. He realized what a fool he must have looked, but fortunately, Ashley was outside the threshold, counting her tip money.

  “Are you there, Mr. Chaplin?” Lucy asked from the other end.

  He pressed the phone to his ear. “Er. Aye. I’m here.”

  “Oh, um, did you still want to out tonight?”

  “Absolutely, love. Where should we meet . . . ?”

  “I’ll be at the diner in a half hour.” She then hung up.

  He jumped at the loud and sudden click. “Erm, all right.”

  Pierce ordered himself a hot cup of tea and bought himself a pack of cigarettes from the vending machine with the money Frank had lent him. He settled at a booth in the center of the diner and with a lit cigarette in hand, and casually read through the menu. There were all sorts of foods that he’d never heard of before such as hamburgers, hash browns, and grits. Although foreign to him, it all seemed appealing and his stomach grumbled.

  To keep his mind off his hunger pangs, he thought about what Frank had told him about Rum Row and the pirates. He sniggered.

  Pirates, yeah, right—or get out of here, as the saying went. After the Golden Age of Piracy during King George’s reign, there hadn’t been many Freebooters to fret about in the open ocean. The closest Pierce had ever been to meeting any pirate had been the Sea Warriors, which really wasn’t quite the same thing, in his opinion, considering that they looted for Africans stolen from their homeland, rescuing them from a lifetime of misery by bringing them to a country where they could live free. Pierce missed the Sea Warriors, especially Sees Beyond.

  The bell dinged from behind him. He twisted around and his longing instantly faded the second he saw her.

  He got to his feet. “’Ello, Lucy.”

  He made a point not to bow.

  Lucy eyed him, and he swore that her face brightened. Perhaps it was only the heat rushing to her cheeks after stepping in from the cold. She smiled, but it was minimal. She wore a long coat made of wool—the same material as his jacket, but hers was violet, not plaid. Snowflakes rested on top of her hat and shoulders.

  “Hello, Mr. Chaplin,” she said as she approached.

  He immediately stepped in to help her with her coat. “Call me Isaac or this is going to feel more like a job interview than a date, eh?”

  She laughed as she slipped her arms out of the c
oat sleeves. It made him grin.

  They sat at the booth, her coat neatly folded beside her as she sat across from him. Lucy produced a pack of cigarettes from her pocketbook and put one in her mouth.

  “Let me,” he offered, snatching his new lighter from the table and quickly flicking a flame to life.

  Calm down, boyo.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “Hey, Lucy,” greeted Ashley, carrying over a coffee mug and a pot. “I see that you’ve decided to come.” She looked at Pierce with a half grin. “Can’t say I blame you. He’s certainly the cat’s meow.”

  “Yeah,” Lucy agreed, her cheeks turning another shade of scarlet. “Thanks for letting him use the phone.”

  “Sure thing, doll. Are you eating here?”

  “Actually,” Pierce chimed in. “I found us a little Chinese place on Fifteenth Street.”

  Frank had driven him by the restaurant earlier. It’s so fuckin’ good, youze be willin’ to slap your mama around ta eat there, he’d raved in his own jaded sort of way.

  “Oh,” Lucy said, gazing out the window. “The Wong Restaurant? It’s a bit of a hike in this.”

  It was. About eight blocks. Pierce caught the apprehension in her voice. She hadn’t stopped shivering after her apparent walk to the diner. Christ, could she even feel her toes?

  “Oi! We don’t need to go so far,” he quickly said, reaching over the table and touching her dreadfully cold hand.

  “We got some clam chowder in the kitchen,” Ashley offered. “Jerry bought fresh calms from the market this morning.”

  Those dark eyes of her sparkled with delight.

  “Sounds fantastic,” Pierce said. “We’ll take two.”

  Ashley poured Lucy a cup of coffee and promised to return with their order.

  Pierce turned his attention on his date. She was simply a pleasure to look at—a goddamn fairytale creature with bright red hair and black eyes. Her mannerisms were sleek and flawless despite her apparent nervousness. She carried herself with grace, which intrigued him.

  Lucy removed her hat and a lock of her brilliant cherry-colored hair fell over her face. She tucked it carefully behind her ear.

  “You don’t mind eating here?” she asked, flicking ashes into the ashtray.

  “Not in the least, darling. I’m bloody famished and this establishment is as good as any.”

  As hungry as he was, Pierce was almost willing to eat from the rubbish bins.

  “But, er, I do rather hope you’ll accompany me to the cinema.”

  She laughed and dabbed out her cigarette.

  “What?” he demanded with a slight grin of his own.

  “You have a very classic way of speaking. The kind of language you use, it seems . . . um, old-world-like.”

  Pierce had no doubt it did.

  Lucy rubbed her hands, and when he caught her doing so, he reached into his inner pocket.

  “I have something for you.” He brought out a slender rectangular box and placed it on the table. “I thought you could use a pair.”

  She studied the box a moment before lifting the lid.

  “Oh, Isaac,” she cooed, taking out the dark brown, leather gloves.

  Pierce had bought them shortly after Frank picked him up at the library.

  “They’re manufactured in France,” he noted, tapping the company’s stamped logo on the box lid. “Cashmere lining. They ought to keep your hands perfectly warm. Try them on.”

  Lucy slipped her lovely hands into the gloves and to his relief, they were a good fit.

  “They’re wonderful. Thank you, Isaac.”

  They chatted until their food arrived. The clam chowder tasted more like warm slop than soup. Unable to finish it, he ordered a hamburger, which had a dry taste to it. Apparently, the chef—if Pierce could call the bloke that—had no flair for the art of cooking. He said nothing about it.

  He and Lucy chatted some more, and Pierce inquired about her. She was American born, but her father was from Poland and her mother had been born in Mayo, Ireland. Both of her folks lived upstate on some farm, raising emus and chickens. Her grandfather had been a traveling photographer in the 1860’s and 70’s. He had died before Lucy was born, but her mother had kept all his photographs. Lucy discovered them and saw the photos he had taken in France.

  “There was a photograph I kept,” she said. “It was taken in La Ciotat. There was a cottage by the sea surrounded by palm trees, with a little cobblestone walkway leading to the front porch. I thought of how I wanted to live there someday. I began studying France and became intrigued enough to want to go live there even if it’s not in some little cottage by the ocean.”

  “And you moved to the city to save up?”

  “Yes. New York has a lot of decent paying jobs, especially with the economic boom after the war. People call this the Boom Time of the century. I work as a phone operator for Bell, and I have a side job, taking in laundry.”

  “How much have you saved so far?” he asked, lighting his own cigarette.

  “Not nearly enough. Perhaps for a ticket, but nothing to keep me sustained until I find a suitable job. Plus, my French isn’t nearly as fluent as I’d like.”

  He was about to ask her more questions when she cut in with, “What about you?”

  Pierce already had his cover story prepared. He kept it simple, just as he’d done when telling it to Kelly Quinn.

  “Nothing much to say about me, love. I come from a poor family in Blackwater. I volunteered in Kitchener’s Army. After the war ended, money got real tight ’cause of the war cost the country suffered. Eventually, I came here.”

  She gave him an inquisitive look before studying her fancy gloves.

  “That’s right. You did mention you had just gotten here.”

  Pierce didn’t particularly enjoy lying to her, but how could he ever tell her the truth?

  “Should we head out to the show, darling?”

  He hoped that she still wanted to go. After seeing Peter Pan, he was on pins and needles to see another film.

  “Yes,” she said—thankfully.

  With bellies full of subpar food, but something in their stomachs nonetheless, and blood warmed by many cups of tea and coffee, the two set out for the movie house.

  They were cold, but the theater was only four blocks from the diner. Pierce did his best to hold in his excitement as he bought the tickets, treats, and popcorn at the concessions stand. He was so utterly giddy about the show that he hardly noticed Lucy eyeing the amount of cash inside his wallet. When the lights dimmed, he gasped.

  “Are you all right?” Lucy asked.

  Pierce was acting a little too energized. “Aye. Right as rain, darling.” He quickly held out a box of caramel corn. “Cracker Jack?”

  She accepted the candy. “Don’t they have cinemas in England?”

  He honestly hadn’t the foggiest notion.

  Thankfully, the film projector had been fired up and the screen was now brightening with a countdown. After the news and a few advertisements, the movie began. During the show, Lucy unexpectedly offered him a hip flask.

  “Let no one see,” she whispered in his ear.

  Her warm breath caused a delightful shudder to run down his spine. Even so, he heeded her warning. Her willingness to risk being caught breaking the law surprised him.

  Prohibition. What a ludicrous law. Something that had been attempted many times in the past, dating all the way back to ancient China.

  They watched the film, ate their treats, and drank the flask dry. The brandy was soothing. After the show ended, he offered to walk her home while helping her to put her coat on inside the theater lobby.

  “I . . . I’m not sure about that,” she said nervously. “I don’t want people to know where I live.”

  Being the type who had fallen out of favor with the law, Pierce completely understood. However, he didn’t fancy the idea of her walking alone.

  “Only to the diner then, eh? I’m meeting my ride there, an
yway.”

  She buttoned up her coat and tucked the same lock of hair behind her ear before putting on her hat.

  “The diner is fine.” Then she added with surprising force, “But only to the diner.”

  Pierce couldn’t decide what to make of it. Either she was ashamed of where she lived, didn’t trust him, or thought his intentions towards her were anything but innocent. The shite Frank had said about him wanting to get under her skirt wasn’t true, and it wasn’t what Pierce was after, even though he wouldn’t have turned her down if she’d offered. Maybe she hadn’t had such a good time after all and could do without seeing the likes of him again. That assumption stole away the thrill of courting a woman who was technically a hundred and eight years younger than him.

  He kept his charming composure and said with another outdated, formal bow, “Certainly, milady.”

  He offered her his arm. She wrapped hers around it and together they headed out.

  He’d sometimes steal a glance at how well the gloves fit her perfect hands. He hoped she fancied them regardless of what she thought of him.

  They passed by an entranceway with a sign reading “Subway.” It was lit by electricity. The entire city glowed. A land in lights. Never in all of Pierce’s years had he seen a metropolis so bright, not even London. Bulbs, surrounding a few signs, blinked and appeared to move in circles around the text in a coordinated fashion. Cars drove over slushy snow.

  “You’re awfully quiet, love. Something on your mind?”

  “Pardon?” she said, sounding as though he had interrupted her thoughts. “Um, I was thinking.”

  “About us?” he wondered aloud and then held his breath.

  “Kind of. I was thinking about what you said earlier about arriving recently.”

  “Aye.”

  “And the reason why you left was because of money. Were you broke when you got here?”

  Pierce realized his error. He had claimed he barely had a pot to piss in and yet here he was, buying her expensive gloves and paying for the entire date. He decided to tell her about where he’d gotten the loot and see how she would process it. Besides, he didn’t want to make laying to her a habit.

  They stopped under the light of a streetlamp.