The Bootlegger's Wife: A Love Story

by Terri Lee

  “That’s what you want isn’t it?” Frankie turned to look at her “To slam the door on me and return to your little privileged life dripping with diamonds?”

  “Yes of course, that’s what I want …to be dripping with diamonds. That’s why I married you!” She bit her tongue as soon as the sarcastic words escaped her lips.

  “I’m sorry you chose so poorly,” Frankie returned her sarcasm. He looked at her as if she had lost some of her glimmer as he walked out the door.

  “Me too,” Frances shouted, intent on having the last word.

  THIRTY FOUR

  She slammed the door with enough force for Frankie to hear it clearly over the sound of his heels striking the stairs as he raced down the three flights to the street below. She didn’t care if the neighbors heard or not. She had certainly witnessed her fair share of family dramas over the last several months. It was inevitable. Nerves were drawn in tandem with the tightening of the purse strings. The tighter they were pulled, the harder it was to breathe. This was certainly not their first fight, but Frances worried now that they might be sucked into the spiral of decay as this impossible situation seemed to claim more and more families.

  She surveyed the scene at the table. “Talk about a waste of money,” she said to the room as she began clearing the plates. This was not at all how she envisioned the evening playing out. Yes, she knew Frankie would be upset at first, but damn him and his pride, anyway.

  Robert’s cries from the bedroom interrupted the argument she was still carrying on in her head.

  “Coming, Sweet Pea.”

  She picked up her son and nuzzled his neck, drinking in the smell of him, and her anger fell away.

  “What’s the matter, Robert? Did Daddy wake you up with his yelling and slamming the door?” She cooed in his ear, conveniently forgetting that it was she who had done the slamming. Sitting in the rocking chair, she soothed her son and the rhythmic movements soothed her ire. She looked down into big brown eyes with eyelids that fluttered in the nightly battle against sleep. But sleep would win, as always. Frances could sit and hold him, rocking for hours with the warmth of him in her arms, and her love for this child wrapped around her heart.

  He was growing so fast, almost a year old now, and she already missed the early months when he would wake in the wee hours and the two of them would sit in the stillness, their two heartbeats and the creak of the wooden rocker the only sounds in the night.

  She gently laid him in his crib, smoothing the dark hair from his forehead, and slowly began to seethe as the hours dragged on with no sign of Frankie. How dare he walk out like that? But as the hours ticked by, she alternated between fury and worry.

  Finally, she lay down to sleep, making sure to lock the bedroom door before doing so. Whenever he had the good sense to crawl home, he could spend what was left of the night on the uncomfortable sofa. A loose spring or two jabbing him in the back might do him some good, she mused.

  It was after two o’clock when she heard him fumbling at the front door. She had half a mind to storm out there and give him what was left of her anger, but thought better of it. Better to let sleeping dogs lie for now.

  ***

  When the morning sun streamed through her window, she almost forgot what had happened last night. But then she looked at the empty pillow and remembered with dread what most likely would be waiting for her this morning.

  She tiptoed from her room, making sure not to disturb Robert. Quietly closing the door behind her, she turned to find the living room empty, but there were sounds coming from the kitchen.

  As she followed the noise, she stopped by the dining table and smiled at the single red rose strategically placed in the center. She plucked it from its glass vase and buried her nose in the crimson sweetness. For all their married life, the red rose had been their special symbol. Through times of plenty and times of want, it had always been the flower of choice for her. The dried petals from that very first rose from long ago were still safely tucked between the pages of her journal. They were there to remind her to never give up on love.

  She made her way to the kitchen doorway and stood there in her nightgown with the rose dangling from her fingertips. Frankie turned from the stove.

  “I see you found my peace offering.”

  “Yes.”

  He walked over to her and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “I’m sorry too.” She rose up on her tiptoes and threw her arms around his neck.

  “I don’t know why you put up with me.”

  “Because I like your cowlick.” She tugged on his wayward lock.

  “I made a pledge years ago that I would never allow my pride to get in between you and me again,” Frankie said. “I forgot that for a time.”

  Frances said, “Yes, I remember. It’s alright, I was here to remind you.”

  “So you are,” Frankie grinned. “So you are.”

  He took her in his arms and the long list of things she had intended to say melted away with his kiss. She knew his pride had been wounded, pride that had suffered greatly and had been hanging by a delicate thread all of these months. With all that he’d been dealing with lately she would easily forgive him. Besides, she was sure he would come to his senses eventually.

  “Do you forgive me?” He pleaded, reading her thoughts.

  “Only if you forgive me for going behind your back.”

  “No,” he sheepishly pointed out, “I’m sorry I put you into a position where you felt I left you no other choice.”

  “I would never want to hurt you. I was only trying to help.”

  “I know that. The old male pride got in the way.”

  Frances changed the subject with a sly grin. “How did you sleep last night?”

  “I didn’t,” he replied with a grimace as he rubbed his lower back.

  “Good,” Frances grinned and Frankie playfully swatted her on the behind before gathering her up in another hug.

  Frances peaked around Frankie’s shoulder. “What’s going on in here?”

  “I’m busy with the other part of my peace offering.”

  “Really? What’s that?”

  “Pancakes, of course.”

  “I love it,” Frances laughed. “And I love you.”

  “I know you do and I don’t deserve you.”

  “We deserve each other,” she corrected him.

  “I hope so,” Frankie smiled. “Now take your rose and go sit down.” He playfully scooted her out of the kitchen. “I am about to serve Madam her breakfast.”

  Frances shuffled out of the kitchen with her nose buried in the sweetness of her rose, happy that last night’s contention was put behind them. They didn’t fight very often, and when they did, it was usually her doing the yelling. She was sorry for the words she threw in his face, more sorry for the way he looked at her afterwards. But they were no longer newlyweds, and she had the experience to comfort her that love was full of ups and downs. They had weathered much, and would face more in the future, of that she had no doubt.

  THIRTY FIVE

  “I have a job,” shouted Frankie as he burst through the door.

  “A job?” Frances sat up straight on the sofa as she tossed the newspaper aside. She quickly rose to meet him with a congratulatory hug. “A job,” she whispered again. The words were almost magical. So many hopes and dreams came riding in on the tail of that word as it swept into the room.

  “Come sit down and tell me all about it.” Frances led him back to the sofa.

  Frankie was beaming and her heart went out to him. God love him, she thought. He was the sweetest thing she had ever seen. The relief on his face was enough to melt the ice outside on the January sidewalks.

  “Well, don’t get too excited.” He tried to dampen her expectations.

  “Okay…”

  “It’s a job managing a club.”

  “A club?” she questioned.

  “Yeah, a nightclub.”

  “A speakeasy.” She sat
back on the couch.

  “I hope you’ll be okay with that.” Frankie looked worried.

  “I guess so…” She fumbled for a minute. “I mean, it’s not like we haven’t gone to plenty of nightclubs ourselves. But…”

  “I know.” Frankie nodded, well aware of the reservations attached to this under-the-table employment.

  “And it’s not as if the alcohol didn’t flow like water at the house parties my parents gave.” She said remembering. “So it’s not about being ashamed or anything. I just don’t want you to be putting yourself in harm’s way.” She had visions of a police raid where all the workers were rounded up and their photos plastered on the front page of The New York Times.

  “It’s a job.” Frankie shrugged.

  “You’re right. It’s a job,” she nodded uneasily. “But aren’t you a little bit worried?”

  “Of course. But hopefully it’s just a temporary bridge until I can find something more appropriate. And since I’ll be working nights, I still have my days free for job searches.”

  Frances decided to sweep her reservations under the rug for now. “So what will you be doing? How did you find out about it?”

  “Whoa, girl.” Frankie laughed. “Well, I knew someone, who knew someone. You know how it goes. They said the place needed a manager. Someone with a head for business. I met with the guy doing the hiring and he seemed to like what I had to say.”

  “Of course he did.” Frances was unabashedly in Frankie’s corner.

  “Anyway…” Frankie waved away her biased praise. “I start right away. The place is called ‘Chubby’s.’ It’s not too far from here.”

  “Have you ever heard of it?” she asked him.

  “Nope. Of course you wouldn’t know it from the street. The front business is a garage. But it seemed like a decent enough place.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful nightclub manager,” Frances beamed.

  “Until something better comes along, don’t worry.” Frankie reassured her. But in the meantime, it was an answer to a prayer. It meant rent, food on the table, and the howling wolf at the door would be sent somewhere else to huff and puff.

  ***

  Things were finally looking up. The long year of unemployment had certainly taken its toll on the small family. Dollars had been stretched to the breaking point, along with nerves. Both had been strained almost past the point of hope. But hope won out. This past Christmas and Robert’s first birthday had been quiet, subdued affairs. But they had muddled through the worst of it and they had come out the other side intact.

  So yes, Frankie would take the less than desirable job. He would work hard and save his money again. They would begin their slow climb out of the black hole they had fallen into a year ago. After many months of darkness, there was finally some light to reach for. And they would grab it, holding on tightly until the light would once again be coming from inside them.

  Frankie was proud to dress for work the next night. Frances brushed an imaginary bit of lint from his shoulders and gave him a satisfied nod. He left early, anxious to make a good impression on his first night. Kissing his wife and baby good-night at the door, he hurried out into the evening knowing he wouldn’t be home until the wee hours of the morning.

  “Bye bye, Daddy.” Frances and Robert waved from the doorway as Frankie skipped down the stairs. Frances closed the door and hugged her boy tightly. “We’re going to be alright, Robert. We’re going to be alright.”

  ***

  And they were alright. Frankie excelled at his job. Lou Lattimore, the owner of the club, was very happy with the results. Frankie never actually met Lou, but he heard through the grapevine that Lou was happy. And if Lou was happy, then everyone else was happy.

  Frances went to the club a couple of times to see what it was like, to visit with Frankie, and to meet his co-workers. The staff seemed to genuinely like and respect Frankie and everything ran like clockwork. The clientele was a little rougher than Frances was used to so her visits were scarce.

  Frankie was meticulous with the books. After several months, the small club was exceeding its profit expectations. All kudos went to Frankie. People were taking notice, which, in this new world, could be both a good and a bad thing.

  By the end of the summer, Frankie had moved his family into a two bedroom apartment in the same building. The money was good, though he would never really trust it again. Money was like a bewitching woman, enticing you with the sultry shake of her hips, and when she was sure she had you panting for more, she dumped you for someone better. All in the blink of an eye.

  It had been a hard lesson learned, but he would never fall in love with money again. Like most people who were struggling through this depression, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  But he knew that they had more than enough income to afford the reasonable two-bedroom apartment, and to Frances it was luxury indeed to have the extra space and for the baby to have a room of his own.

  As life slowly returned to normal, Frances once again spent lazy summer afternoons in the park in the shade of ancient elms. Sitting there one day with her elbow on the back of the bench, head resting in her palm, she had a flashback of memory. She could clearly see her younger self sitting on this very bench, watching all of her neighbor’s children and aching for a child of her own. Now, little Robert played beside her on a blanket and her heart was full.

  He grabbed his toy dog in his fat little fist and began chewing on his ears and she was reminded that life can turn on a dime, in either direction. When she had expended almost all hope of bearing a child, that was the moment when Robert made his appearance. And Frances knew that some prayers took longer than others to be answered.

  “He is such a good boy.” Sophia stated as if privy to Frances’s thoughts.

  “He’s an angel,” Frances concurred. “He was worth the wait.”

  “Love is always worth the wait,” Sophia nodded.

  Frances smiled, as the words could have come directly from Marguerite’s lips. She lifted her face to the warm afternoon light filtering through the trees.

  “How is Frankie doing with his new job?”

  “He’s doing fine. They love him, of course. Working nights is hard with the baby…but we’re managing.”

  “I’m so glad he is working again.”

  “You and me both.” Frances nodded knowingly. She would not take for granted the reprieve they had been gifted. She still knew too many people who had to worry if they had enough food to get through the week or where the rent money would come from by the first of the month.

  ***

  “Is everything alright, Frankie?” Frances asked after dinner. “You seem awfully quiet tonight.”

  “Nah, everything’s fine.”

  “I don’t think so.” Frances challenged him as she snuggled close in the large leather chair. She traced the frown lines around his mouth. “I can tell something’s bothering you.”

  “They want me to go on a buying trip to Canada.” Frankie looked down at her.

  “A buying trip? What’s that about?”

  “Well what do you think I would be buying in Canada?” Frankie raised his eyebrows.

  “Liquor?”

  “Nothing but.”

  “A bootleg run?” Frances was aghast.

  “Precisely. You can dress it up and call it a buying trip if you like but it’s still a bootleg run.” He laid his head on the back of the chair and she could see the struggle going on inside him.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What will happen if you say no?” She was afraid she knew the answer.

  “I’ve already talked to Sam about it. He says what’s the difference between selling it from behind the bar and picking up the load myself? I guess he has a point. But somehow it feels different to me.”

  “Why you? Why now?”

  “Because they trust me. At least that’s the excuse they gave me. Supposedly i
t’s a special delivery for Lou. It’s not just our usual order of whiskey for Chubby’s. But this is the really good stuff for the big wigs at Lou’s other club.”

  “I see,” Frances’s thoughts were turning. “Well, I’m just going to have to go with you.”

  “You most certainly will not.” Frankie exploded, almost dumping Frances from his lap.

  But Frances knew immediately upon hearing the plan that she must. She had to save him from himself. Frankie was a terrible liar. If he was stopped and asked an innocent question, she knew he would panic. He would stumble and fumble and before you knew it he would be in leg irons. Not that she prided herself on being some kind of a great con artist, but she knew she could play the part that would be necessary to have this little scheme run as smoothly as possible. She could do it and she would do it for Frankie.

  “You’ll need me at the border. With my French, I can get us in and out in without any suspicion.” Her hand on his chest, she leaned back to get a good look at Frankie’s face. She could see that he hesitated for just a second and that was all she needed to plant the seed.

  “I won’t have it, Frances.” He shook his head against her attempts.

  “You will have it. Because I won’t have you going up there alone.”

  As usual, Frances would have the last word on the subject.

  Against his better judgment and common sense, he agreed, or at the very least, he wilted under her relentlessness. Her French might come in handy. He couldn’t believe what he was saying when he told Sam to set up the trip. Sam slapped him on the back and said the boss would be happy to hear it. He might be happy to hear it, but Frankie wasn’t happy to say it.

  THIRTY SIX

  Frances said it would be an adventure. Frankie wasn’t so sure. An adventure alright, one that just might land them both in the Big House. But for now, he would try to keep his mind off of prison and on the task at hand.

  The car he was to drive was delivered and he listened carefully as he was instructed on how the vehicle had been outfitted for its special purpose. The expensive leather seat protected the false bottom that would soon be filled with cases of the best liquor money could buy. Frankie was worried that the shiny red Duesenberg would attract too much attention, but he was persuaded that the luxury vehicle was just what he needed to pull off this caper. The car looked and smelled like money, and money spoke volumes in any language and across any border.