Dollface

by Renée Rosen

  “What about a pitchfork,” said Basha. “You think one of those would do the job?” Basha was back to plotting Mrs. Squeak’s demise. “I was thinking about a chainsaw but it’s too messy.” She let out a giggle that I could only hope meant this was said in jest.

  “Hey, c’mon already.” Dora leaned back in her chair, calling to Evelyn. “Are we gonna play cards here or not?”

  Evelyn held up her just-a-minute finger and kept talking to Cecelia. “...But when it’s just the two of us alone, it’s different. . . . Yeah, he’s real sweet then. . . .”

  Dora shuffled the cards. “Why in the hell does she put up with him?”

  “It’s not like he’s even got her in that nice of a place,” said Basha, scooting the tip of her nail through a bowl of mixed nuts, hunting for cashews.

  “Oh, I think it’s nice,” said Dora. “She’s got that view, don’t forget.”

  “Yeah, but she’s got no doorman,” said Basha.

  “There’s a doorman at night,” Evelyn called over, then went back to her conversation with Cecelia.

  “I’ve got a twenty-four-hour doorman,” Basha said, sorting through more nuts, knocking a pecan or two overboard. “And I got a real nice lobby, don’tcha think?” Basha looked at Dora and me and popped a cashew into her mouth.

  “I tried to warn her about Izzy,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s the type who’ll go for a different girl every night.”

  “He’s Humpty-Dumpty,” said Basha, snorting. “First he humps ’em and then he dumps ’em.”

  Dora and Basha burst out laughing. They even got me giggling on that one, and we were still cackling away when Evelyn finally got off the phone.

  “Very funny!” She pulled out a chair and plopped down. “You know, he’s not always like that. When it’s just the two of us—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, we know, we know—he’s real sweet when it’s just the two of you.” Basha howled.

  Dora chuckled as she dealt the cards. I couldn’t stop laughing, either.

  Evelyn fanned out her cards and slapped them down on the table. “What do you expect me to do, Basha? Leave him? Give up my apartment? You expect me to go back to a rooming house and get some crummy job? Would you do that? Would any of you do that? I know I put up with a lot of baloney. I know it. And I know you all think I’m a fool, but I’m getting something out of this, too. I don’t go around judging the rest of you, so just back off!”

  There it was. Evelyn had just stated our truth. I wasn’t laughing anymore.

  “Aw, Ev, don’t be upset.” Basha got up and put her arms around Evelyn, giving her shoulders a squeeze from behind. “We’re just worried about you, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, honey, that’s all it is.” Dora reached over and gave Evelyn’s hand a pat.

  “And I do so have a doorman at night,” Evelyn sniveled. “I do!”

  “Oh, sweetie, we all know Izzy’s got you in a swell place,” said Basha, still hovering over Evelyn. “And you do have a great view—we all think so, don’t we?” Basha looked to me for backup.

  And then, out of nowhere, Izzy himself charged through the front door with a wild look in his eyes.

  “Jesus,” I said, “don’t you people ever knock?”

  “Where’s Shep? Is Hymie still here?”

  Evelyn jumped up and ran to his side. “Izzy, where have you been? I was worried sick about you.”

  “Where are they?” he asked again. “Hey, Shep—”

  Shep and Hymie came out of the study.

  “We found him!” Izzy said. “We found Capone. He’s down at the Hawthorne Arms. They just spotted him in the restaurant.”

  Hymie was already heading for the front door.

  “They said I just missed you guys at Schofield’s,” said Izzy. “I kept calling you here at the house but the line was busy.”

  Shep grabbed his hat and squared it on his head. Watching him bolt outside with Hymie and Izzy, I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer: God, please forgive him and keep him safe. When I opened my eyes, I saw Evelyn still standing at the door long after they’d left. Izzy hadn’t said one word to her.

  Basha went over and put her arm around Evelyn. “Aw, Ev, you know how the guys get about Capone. Izzy didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Dora joined in. “You should see how Knuckles ignores me whenever they start talking about Capone.”

  Evelyn nodded and looked at me, waiting.

  “Ev, what do you want me to say, huh? I’m not going to lie to you. You know what I think of Izzy. He’s no good for you.”

  Evelyn stood there, crying.

  “Aw, Jesus . . . I’m sorry, Ev.” I worked my way out of my chair and went to her side. “Don’t you know, it’s just because I love you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “It’s too late for that.” She sobbed into my shoulder.

  After we’d calmed Evelyn down, we tried to get back to our gin game, but we were all preoccupied.

  Dora leaned forward and pressed the tips of her fingers to her temples. “I really hope they kill that son of a bitch this time so we can get on with our lives. I can’t take it anymore.”

  Basha nodded. “Revenge is all they care about these days.”

  I looked at the others and wondered how they could live with it—knowing what their men had done. I thought I’d found a way to justify it. I told myself that Shep was different from other gangsters, that he would never hurt anyone unless it was in self-defense, that underneath it all, he was a kindhearted, loving man. But what was I supposed to tell myself now that he’d been arrested and was out hunting down Capone? I wanted to ask Dora and Basha how much bigger the lies could get.

  • • •

  Over my coffee the next morning, while Shep was getting dressed for his hearing, I read about the attack on Capone in the newspaper.

  Alfonse Capone, the Target of Hawthorne Arms Shooting

  Gangster Alphonse Capone was dining yesterday afternoon at the Hawthorne Arms in Cicero when witnesses said they spotted a motorcade of ten black touring cars with Thompson submachine guns visible from the rear windows. Gunshots rang out for two minutes without interruption. Chaos erupted as people on the street ran for cover. By the time the caravan had passed by the Hawthorne Arms, they had razed the first floor of the hotel and restaurant. “Everything was destroyed in under two minutes,” said an unidentified witness. Despite the destruction, Alphonse Capone was able to walk out of the Hawthorne Arms unharmed.

  Shep came downstairs and I folded the newspaper in half and tucked it under my plate. He had said earlier that he didn’t want me at the courthouse that day. He didn’t want me to be subjected to a bunch of lies and false accusations.

  “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” I asked as I got up to pour his coffee. “Dora said she’d watch Hannah for me. Please, Shep, let me be there for you.”

  “I can’t. I can’t let you sit there and listen to them attack me. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you as soon as it’s over.”

  I placed the coffee down before him and leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

  I spent the day waiting by the phone, sipping bourbon and smoking cigarettes. While listening to the radio, I rocked Hannah in my arms, whispering, “It’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” She looked up at me with those big brown eyes and reached out with her hand. I grasped those precious fingers and kissed each one. I swear, she understood what I was saying.

  Despite my hopes and prayers, when Shep came home later that night, I learned that something had gone terribly wrong. The judge turned on them. The case was going on trial.

  “Trial!” I became light-headed, the room going dizzy on me. “You’re going to be on trial? What are you going on trial for?”

  Shep poured a glass of whiskey and took a long pull. “It’s nothing but a bunch of trumped-up charges. They’ll never hold up.”

  He didn’t have to say it. Trumped up or not, I knew Hymie and th
e boys would do whatever they had to do to the judge and the jury to get Shep off. I don’t care! Whatever it takes, God, I don’t care. Let them do what they have to. Just let Shep be cleared.

  “Hey, c’mon now.” He reached for his handkerchief and dabbed the tears streaming down my cheeks. “Everything’s going to be okay, Dollface. Sometimes these things happen. But I’m not worried, so don’t you be worried.”

  FOR EVELYN’S SAKE

  Evelyn was in bad shape by the time I got to her apartment. It was almost noon when I got there and she was still in her bathrobe. Her hair was up in a net except for a few escaped strands hanging down in front. The apartment smelled sour, like milk turning bad, and the drapes were drawn, making the place dark and dreary inside. It was the end of August and hot as a coffin inside her place. I went and opened the windows, pulled back the drapes.

  “I know you can’t stand Izzy,” she said, squinting at the sunlight, “and I didn’t want to bother you with Shep’s trial starting, but I’m terrified. Izzy’s never been gone this long. I keep thinking he’s either with that woman or else something’s happened to him.”

  “Aw, Ev . . .” I tossed my pocketbook onto the coffee table and held out my arms to her. I felt her tears bleeding through the sheer fabric on my shoulder as I held her.

  “He’s never stayed away this long. It’s been two days.” She stepped into the middle of the room and paced before the bay window, tugging on the belt of her bathrobe.

  I moved a pile of newspapers and magazines from the divan to a spare chair and sat down. I sucked in a deep breath, reached for my pocketbook and took out a smoke, tapping the cigarette on the coffee table. “When was the last time you ate anything?”

  “Who can eat?”

  “Well,” I said, getting off the divan, “I’m going to fix you something anyway. You need to put something in your stomach—even if you don’t feel like it.” I lit my cigarette and tossed the box of matches onto the table.

  “I keep thinking I’m going to end up like Basha. He’ll never marry me and I tell you, it would kill me—just kill me—if he turned around and married someone else. It would just kill me. . . .”

  Her kitchen was a mess. Dirty plates were stacked in the sink. Damp dish towels were bunched up on the counter, garbage overflowing from the trash. With my cigarette propped between my lips, I scouted through her icebox and found some cheese, a chunk of salami and a loaf of moldy bread. “Where are your knives?”

  “What if he’s with her now? What if he loves her? What if Capone got him?”

  “You can’t think like that.” I opened the top drawer and found one knife, a carving knife with a dried-out wooden handle.

  “I can’t take the pressure anymore. I’m so tired and all I do is sleep all day.”

  I was sawing through the salami when I heard the front door open. I walked into the other room just as Izzy stumbled inside and slammed the door behind him.

  “Oh God, where have you been?” Evelyn ran to his side. “You had me worried sick.”

  I knew Izzy was drunk. His hair was a mess. His shirttails were hanging out. His suit coat looked like he’d slept in it and he smelled of cigar smoke and whiskey.

  She put her arms around him but he shrugged her off.

  “Izzy—don’t be like that. I’ve been up for days worrying about you!”

  “Well, I’m home now, aren’t I?”

  “I thought you were dead somewhere.”

  “Aw, not again. Shut up with that shit already. Why do you think I stay out all night? I can’t listen to your whining anymore.”

  I looked at the expression on Evelyn’s face. “Hey, Izzy,” I said, “lay off her.”

  “Shut it, Vera. This is between me and her.”

  I spun around and went back into the kitchen to finish slicing the cheese and salami.

  “Look at this place,” I heard him say. “Look at you. You’re not even dressed yet. You’re a goddamn mess and this place is a goddamn pigsty.”

  “I was so worried about you, Izzy.” Evelyn sobbed. “That’s why I didn’t get dressed today. That’s why I didn’t clean up. I couldn’t.”

  “Well, I’m back now, so why don’t you fuckin’ start cleaning this place up.”

  “Izzy—no! C’mon . . .”

  “I said, clean this place up! Now!”

  “Izzy, you’re hurting me. Stop it!”

  Evelyn screamed and I raced into the living room. Izzy was standing over her, holding her down, pushing her head against the floor. She struggled to stand up and that’s when he struck her in the face with his fist. When I saw him winding up for a second time, I snapped.

  “Stop it!” I screamed as I grabbed his arm.

  “Stay out of it, Vera.” He shrugged me off and struck her again.

  I still had the carving knife in my hand and like a reflex, I charged toward him and plunged the knife into his rear end. It all happened so fast and the blade went in so easily. It cut through his trousers and skin like it was nothing. The salami had been harder to slice up than Izzy’s ass.

  Izzy let out a scream and I yanked the blade out as he whipped around. “You fuckin’ bitch!” He drew back his hand, fingers balled in a fist, ready to let me have it.

  I looked him in the eye. “C’mon, Izzy, hit me. Hit me and Shep’ll kill you. Go ahead, Izzy. I dare you to.” I taunted him, dancing the knife before him in a lazy airward crazy-eight. “C’mon—”

  “Vera, no!” Evelyn got up off the floor. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth.

  Izzy held his ass, staring at me, speechless. I had him and he knew it. He knew he couldn’t touch me.

  “Now, I want you to apologize to me and then you’re going to apologize to Evelyn. And I swear, if you ever say another disrespectful word to her—if you ever lay another hand on her—I’ll come back and slice your balls off.” I stopped the knife’s slow dance. I looked at it for a second. It was already tinged with his blood and I inched it closer to him. I don’t think I ever blinked.

  “Vera, don’t!” Evelyn was at my side, begging.

  Without taking my eyes off Izzy, I shouted, “Say it! Say you’re sorry.”

  He studied the knife and rolled his eyes.

  “Say it, goddammit!” I moved the blade in closer.

  He mumbled something. Could have been an apology or, knowing Izzy, an obscenity.

  “I didn’t hear that.” I touched the blade to his shirt collar.

  “I said I’m sorry. Okay?”

  “Now tell her.”

  “It’s okay, Vera,” Evelyn cried. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “No, Evelyn! It’s not okay!” I grabbed a vase—the first thing I could find—and slammed it to the ground. “It’s not okay at all. Now, Izzy, tell her. Tell her you’re sorry.”

  His eyes moved from mine to the blade before he jerked his chin away. “Sorry.”

  “Louder!” I swooped in with the tip of the knife under his chin. One move and I’d pierce his throat.

  “I fuckin’ said I’m sorry.”

  “Now tell her you’re a piece of shit. And you don’t deserve her.” I raised the knife higher, nicking him so that a pinprick of blood sprouted on his chin. “Say it!”

  “I’m-a-piece-of-shit-and-I-don’t-deserve-her.”

  “Evelyn, c’mon.” I threw the knife onto the table, reached for her hand, and pulled her close. “You’re coming home with me.”

  GUN MOLLS ON PARADE

  The trial got under way right after Labor Day, and just like with the hearing, Shep had asked me not to come down to the courthouse. It was agonizing to stay away, but again he said he didn’t want me subjected to the prosecution’s lies. All day I’d wait for news, for updates of any kind, but by the time Shep came home at night, he said he didn’t want to talk about it.

  During the first days of the trial, we sat silently through dinners—pickled tongue with green beans, beef croquettes with creamed corn, a rack of lamb with scalloped potatoes—recipes
that I’d spent the day preparing in hopes of distracting myself. When we did talk, it was nonsense.

  “I heard the Farmer’s Almanac is predicting the worst winter in over a decade,” I said one night, leaning over to wipe the creamed yams off Hannah’s fingers. “Isn’t that something?”

  Shep nodded, pushing a clump of meat around with his fork. “I guess we should brace ourselves for a rough couple of months.”

  I leaned back in my chair and glanced at my plate. “Yeah, it’s going to be a bad one.” I stabbed a piece of brisket but couldn’t bring myself to eat it. Instead, I set my fork down with a loud clank. Hannah let out a quick shriek and went back to sticking her fingers in her yams.

  Shep tossed his napkin onto the table and scooped up Hannah, sucking the creamed yams off her fingers one at a time, making her giggle so that her belly shook.

  I pushed my plate away and cradled my head in my hands. I couldn’t look at the two of them just then.

  “Remind me,” Shep said, “I need to ask the neighbors to trim their hedges back.”

  I looked up. “Dammit, Shep! I don’t want to talk about the neighbors’ hedges! You have to let me in. You have to tell me what’s happening.”

  “Relax.” He set Hannah back down even as she continued to grope for him, her fingers outstretched and straining. She wanted more of him. So did I.

  “Everything’s under control,” he said, reaching for his wineglass, draining it with one gulp. “We’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  But all I did was worry. In the days that followed, time passed in slow motion. The ticking of the kitchen clock pounded into my skull like a hammer; the shrill of the telephone made my heart stop.

  Not knowing that my husband was on trial, committee members called nonstop with details for the luncheon that was coming up at the end of the month. I tried to focus but I couldn’t concentrate. Meanwhile Barbara and some of the others from the JWC invited me to play bridge or else join them for coffee. I made excuses, took rain checks, and feigned sore throats and headaches. I couldn’t pretend that all was fine and I wouldn’t dare speak about Shep’s trial outside our circle. The boys had managed to keep it out of the newspapers and even my own mother didn’t know what was going on. The only ones I turned to were the women who knew me best.