Dollface

by Renée Rosen

  “Yes, sir!” I glanced down at my hands.

  “Okay, now, Dollface, you’re on your own.”

  I grabbed a piece of chicken and got it halfway to my mouth before it slipped from my chopsticks, making us both burst out laughing.

  “Okay,” he said, trying to compose himself, “there’s only one way to handle this.” Shep picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a piece of chicken subgum and fed it to me.

  As we were leaving the restaurant he said he had a surprise for me. We went back to the Meridian and there he introduced me to a woman wearing a red fox stole wrapped about her shoulders, its beady eyes staring at me, its paws resting on her chest and its bushy tail draped down the side of her arm.

  “Vera,” he said, “I’d like you to meet America’s sweetheart.”

  “Oh my goodness.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say as my cheeks burned red. Others had gathered around, trying for a closer look at Mary Pickford.

  Shep gave her a kiss on the cheek, said it was good to see her again, said to give his best to Douglas. It was like they were old chums. I stared at Miss Pickford’s glorious blond curls, wanting to tell her that I’d seen all her pictures, that I’d sometimes sat through the same one twice in a single afternoon, and that she was even more beautiful in person, that her husband, Douglas Fairbanks, was the handsomest actor in the world. . . . But I was too starstruck to say anything. I looked into her blue eyes and I so wanted to rise up, to be Mary Pickford’s equal, but there were no words that could bridge the distance between us. So instead I stood and stared.

  After she had moved on, Shep and I met up with Izzy and Evelyn. It must have been two, three in the morning, and the four of us were upstairs in Shep’s office. I couldn’t get over the fact that I’d just met Mary Pickford. The party downstairs was still going strong and we heard the faint sounds of music and laughter rising up from the dance floor beneath us. An empty bourbon bottle sat on the table next to a candle dripping wax. The air was thick with cigarette and cigar smoke, while Satchmo played on the Victrola in the corner, carrying us along. Izzy had his arm draped over Evelyn’s shoulder, his fingertips dangling just inches away from her strapped-down breast. I was on Shep’s lap, my arm thrown easy-like over his shoulder.

  At that hour, after drinking so much, everything was funny to us. Shep was in the middle of a story that he’d been telling forever. Couldn’t get through more than a line or two before we’d all bust out laughing.

  “...so this guy comes up to me, and he’s a big guy—”

  “Oh, wait till you hear this!” Izzy laughed, rocking back and forth, pulling Evelyn with him. Izzy must have heard this story a zillion times before.

  “...and so,” Shep pressed on, “the big lug starts crying! Just bawling.”

  Izzy cracked up. “Tell ’em what you said. Go on, tell ’em!”

  Shep could barely get the words out. “So I tell the poor sap to quit pishing from his eyes!”

  “‘Pishing from his eyes!’” Izzy went wild, holding his gut like it was going to burst. He must have repeated that eye-pishing line another two or three times.

  We carried on as if this was the funniest thing we’d ever heard. And then the laughter dropped down a notch and then another and another, until the hilarity faded and the room fell silent. We found ourselves in a lull, happy and content. I rested my head on Shep’s shoulder and nuzzled in close to his neck, taking in the soft, spicy scent of his shaving soap. I could have stayed right there forever.

  THE BACKFIRE

  The following Saturday night I worked another girl’s shift on the switchboard. She’d come down with a bug and I’d gotten myself into a financial bind on account of calling in sick the week before, and then splurging on a two-dollar bottle of perfume and a fifty-cent pair of stockings. Besides, Shep had some business to tend to that evening but he had invited me to a Sunday matinee the next day. He said to bring Evelyn along. Izzy was going, too.

  It was a tiny theater with stained carpeting. The wallpaper was peeling in the corners. There were only about a hundred seats and we were in the front row. My chair had a bad spring that jabbed me in the bottom every time I sat the wrong way.

  Their friend, Vincent Drucci, had a small part—just a handful of lines. They had nicknamed him Schemer, said he was a real prankster. Halfway through the first act he flubbed his line and broke out of character. “Aw, fuck.” He cuffed himself on the forehead. “Fuck, I’m gonna do it again.”

  I wasn’t convinced that he could act, but, boy, he was something to look at: tall, with thick dark hair and dark eyes so intense his pupils were as black as his irises.

  By the time Drucci took his curtain bow and we left the theater it had started to snow. We strolled two by two down a white-covered sidewalk while motorcars puttered along, rolling through the slush and fresh piles of horse manure. I looped my arm through Shep’s as we walked, letting him steady me each time I felt myself slipping on the ice. It reminded me of how he’d held on to me the day we’d gone skating.

  “What do you feel like doing now, fellas?” Evelyn asked, reaching for Izzy’s arm.

  Izzy nudged Shep. “I’d say Schemer’s acting days are over.”

  Shep laughed. “You try telling him that.”

  “Hey”—Evelyn gave Izzy’s arm a tug—“what do you say we go get a drink someplace, huh?”

  “I’m not afraid of Drucci. I’ll tell him right to his face. He can’t act for shit.”

  “Izz.” Evelyn tugged at his arm again.

  “What!” He spun around and glared at her. “Can’t you see I’m talking here!”

  Evelyn pulled her hand away and began walking by herself, keeping her head down, snowflakes collecting on top of her hat. I dropped back and walked with her.

  “No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” I whispered, trying to comfort her. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

  Eventually Shep came and joined me while Izzy packed snowballs in his bare hands.

  As we made our way up State Street, the church bells rang out from Holy Name Cathedral. We passed a newspaper boy on the corner, sitting on a stack of Chicago Daily Gazettes.

  “Any good news in there today, kid?” Shep flipped the boy a nickel for a two-penny paper. The boy looked at the coin resting in his palm and said, “Hey, mister—wait! What about your paper? Don’tcha want your newspaper, mister?”

  “Nah.” Shep gave the kid a wink. “You read it for me, pal.”

  “That was nice of you,” I said, looking back at the paperboy still staring at the nickel in his hand.

  “Sometimes I can be a nice guy. Oh, wait.” He stopped. “Being nice means you’re dull, right?”

  I gave him a playful poke with my elbow.

  “Hey, look who’s here.” Izzy pointed to two men leaving Holy Name Cathedral. The one had a big, full face, and though he walked with a limp, he had a bounce to his step. The other was younger, with a smaller build, but he moved like a man twice his size.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Just a couple of buddies. The one guy owns this shop right here.”

  “The flower shop?” I looked up at the green-and-white-striped awning with the name Schofield’s scripted across the front.

  As we stood beneath the snow-topped awning, the introductions were made. The man with the limp was Dion O’Banion, owner of Schofield’s Flower Shop, and his somber-looking friend was Hymie Weiss. I couldn’t understand what a Jew was doing at Holy Name Cathedral, but it didn’t seem like an appropriate opening question, so I let it pass. We were still standing outside the flower shop, talking about the matinee, as the snow tapered off to flurries, letting the sun break through the thinning clouds.

  “You should have seen Drucci up there on that stage,” Izzy said, laughing again.

  “That bad, was he?” Dion chuckled.

  Shep shook his head. “Yeah, well, let’s just say—”

  A loud bang rang out. It gave me a jolt so intense,
it reverberated inside my chest. Everyone froze, eyes shifting back and forth.

  “Hymie—no!” Shep called out as Hymie reached into his pocket, pulled out a gun and—Oh my God—fired off three wild shots.

  “Jesus shit!” I clutched my heart, squeezed Evelyn’s wrist and dropped to the ground, pulling her with me. I couldn’t breathe, and I was holding on to Evelyn so tight, my nails were digging into her skin. The sidewalk was a blur of people screaming and running for cover, while Hymie stood stoic, his rosary beads hanging from his front pocket as smoke drifted from the mouth of his revolver.

  “Aw, hold your horses, will ya?” Dion said to Hymie in his thick Irish brogue. “It was just an automobile backfiring is all.” He pointed to the black touring car turning onto Huron. “Everybody calm down. Coast is clear. Nothing to worry about.”

  Just as we began to recover, we heard an anguished cry coming from a man on the sidewalk, clutching his shoulder as blood gushed out from between his fingers. The snow beneath him was already stained scarlet. I shrieked, making Hymie spin around, pointing his gun in our direction. I clasped a hand over my mouth, holding my breath, feeling each heartbeat pounding inside my head. After Hymie turned back around, Evelyn helped me up off the pavement. My knee was bleeding, scraped raw, and my new stockings were torn.

  I glanced at the wounded man on the sidewalk, unable to take my eyes off him. He was pale and clenching his teeth as his eyes flashed open in alarm and he winced in pain. The blood kept coming and I could see steam from its heat rising up from the snow.

  “Now look what you’ve gone and done,” said Izzy, slapping Hymie on the back.

  Dion hobbled inside the flower shop and called from the doorway to one of his clerks, “Somebody telephone for an ambulance, will ya? We’ve got us a man down out here.”

  Shep went over to the injured man and, after a quick inspection, gave his good shoulder a pat. “Don’t you worry. Help is on the way. You’re going to be fine,” Shep assured him. “You just hang in there and you’ll be fine.”

  The man grasped his wound, writhing in pain. The blood was soaking into his clothes fast now and he didn’t seem reassured. But I could tell from the look on Shep’s face that he wasn’t worried. And that worried me. How could Shep be so nonchalant about a man being shot? It ran a chill down my body.

  Shep walked back over to Hymie and said, “Feeling a little jumpy there?”

  “Shut it.” Hymie shoved his gun toward Shep.

  Even with a revolver pointed in his face, Shep didn’t flinch—but I did.

  I wanted to get the hell out of there, and was reaching for Evelyn to leave when Dion came out of the shop wearing a big grin and holding two American Beauties. “Lovely roses for lovely ladies.” He gave one to Evelyn and the other to me. By the way I was trembling he might as well have handed me a dead bird.

  Dion went over to the man on the sidewalk. “It’s okay there, swell fella. Just take her easy now.” He crouched down over the man. “We’re gonna get you fixed up in no time.”

  Evelyn squeezed my hand and pointed toward a cop coming up the sidewalk.

  The cop twirled his billy club, sunlight glinting off his badge and the brass buttons on his uniform. “You causing trouble again, Dion?” he asked.

  “Aw, just a little accident, that’s all.”

  “Hey, Hymie,” the cop said, “how many times do I gotta tell you to keep that piece of yours in your pocket?”

  “C’mon,” I said to Evelyn, under my breath. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We had just turned around when Shep called after me, “Hey, where are you going, Dollface?”

  It was hard for me to turn away from him when he called me that, but I froze in place, my back toward him, my shoulders up to my ears. “It’s getting late,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

  “It’s not late. C’mon, we’ll go get something to eat.”

  Eat! How could he eat after this? “I’m sorry, Shep. I-I don’t feel well. Evelyn’s going to take me home.”

  Shep took a few steps closer just as Evelyn called to Izzy, saying she had to leave.

  “Are you sure?” asked Shep. “What’s wrong? Your head? Your stomach? Let me at least drive you home.”

  “No. No, really. Female stuff, you know. I’ll be fine. Evelyn’ll take me. You stay here.” I realized I didn’t feel so well. I may have been hyperventilating.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said, “just to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Yeah, sure. That’ll be swell.”

  Evelyn and I turned the corner and broke into a run.

  THE CHASE

  My legs weren’t going fast enough. I was trying to run but I couldn’t move forward. A scream was collecting but each cry for help was trapped inside my chest. They were after me, coming closer and closer, until I heard myself gasp and bolted up in bed, still not convinced that I was safe.

  “Huh! What!” Evelyn woke with a start. The outline of her face and shoulders was silhouetted by the streetlamp outside our window.

  “I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.” I was bathed in a cold sweat, and my heart continued to hammer.

  “Another nightmare?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. It was the second night in a row that I’d woken her up like that.

  She pulled back her covers and scooted over to the far edge of her mattress. “C’mon,” she said, patting the sheets.

  I grabbed my pillow and climbed in beside her, easing down under the warmth of the blankets. “I’m sorry.”

  “Shhh.” She pulled the covers up over my shoulders. Her hair smelled of lavender from her Little Dot perfume.

  Ever since the fiasco outside the flower shop two days before, I’d been having nightmares—that was if I could sleep at all. During the daytime I was on edge. Loud noises—the door slamming, the radiator clanking—made me jump.

  “You want to talk about it?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

  I sighed and rolled onto my side, facing her. “What’s there to talk about? It’s over with Shep.”

  “You’d better tell him that. He’s been calling here since Sunday.”

  “I know, but I don’t know how to tell him I can’t see him anymore. And I can’t. Not after what happened the other day.”

  “But you’re crazy about him.”

  I swallowed hard. My heart had stopped racing, but now it felt pinched and heavy in my chest. “But he’s really a gangster, Ev.”

  “C’mon, you knew that already.”

  “But I didn’t get it. I didn’t really understand. Yes, I knew he was a gangster but not the kind of gangster who went around shooting people. None of it seemed real to me until his friend shot that guy. My God, they could have killed him. How can you keep seeing Izzy after that?”

  “It’s not like Izzy shot the guy. Neither did Shep, for that matter. Like you said, it was their friend.” She yawned again. “Our guys had nothing to do with it.”

  I flopped onto my back, wishing I could justify it the way she had. My eyes were tearing up. “The funny thing is, I felt safe with Shep. Protected. Now I’m scared of him. I don’t know who he is, what he’s capable of. And to think I finally thought I met someone I really liked. I’ve never known anyone like Shep before. I knew things would never be dull with him, but I wasn’t expecting guns to be going off, you know?” I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “But still, I miss him. I wish I didn’t, but I really do miss him, Ev.”

  Evelyn didn’t say anything.

  “Ev?”

  I looked over at her, watching the covers rhythmically rise up, then ease back down. She was already asleep again.

  • • •

  The next day, when Izzy telephoned, Evelyn hesitated for a moment or two, but in the end she couldn’t say no to him. And though she wouldn’t admit it, I knew Izzy’s being a real gangster only made her like him more. It was all part of her getting a taste of the world her parents had wanted to shield her from.

  Later that af
ternoon I was in the front parlor playing a hand of gin rummy with some of the other girls when the telephone rang. Barbara Lewis poked her head inside and said, “Vera, it’s for you. It’s Shep calling.”

  I looked up, and my heart began beating fast. God, how I wanted to hear his voice, know that he was okay, but all I did was shake my head. As hard as it was, I’d made up my mind not to see him again. The stakes were too high, the risks too great.

  “You sure? It’s the second time he’s called for you today.”

  “I’m sure.” I fanned out my cards and then set them facedown. “Do you girls mind if we don’t finish this hand? I’m not feeling too well.”

  I went upstairs, flung myself on my bed and had a good cry, leaving smudges of mascara and eyeliner streaked across my pillowcase. Later that night Barbara brought me some soup from the luncheonette around the corner but I couldn’t bring myself to eat it.

  Shep called two more times that night. The next day I still wouldn’t take his calls, and that’s when the flowers started. Bouquets of long-stemmed roses from Schofield’s showed up at the rooming house. More turned up at my job, and each arrangement was more lavish than the one before. I would have bet good money that it was the first time two dozen American Beauties had ever been delivered to the insurance offices of Schlemmer Weiss & Unger. Mr. Schlemmer himself told me to put them in the back—they were obstructing his view of the typewriter pool.

  I couldn’t concentrate at my desk and instead shuffled through the cards that had arrived with each delivery: I miss you, Dollface. I need to see you, Dollface. Each one tugged a little harder at my heart.

  In spite of how I felt about him being a gangster, I couldn’t deny how much I missed him. And I was touched. Nobody had ever pursued me like this before. Shep Green almost had me believing I was worth the chase.

  • • •

  About a week later, having ignored several more of Shep’s telephone calls, I found myself alone again on a Saturday night. Evelyn was on another date with Izzy. The other girls on the floor had gotten dolled up in their best outfits and had stopped by our room to have their makeup done before they disappeared for the evening. After everyone had left I called into the switchboard office, hoping they needed me to fill in. I would rather have gone into work than sit home alone. But instead I listened to The Eveready Hour on the radio. The Waldorf-Astoria Dance Orchestra was playing, and it made me wish I were dancing with Shep.