Echo Moon

by Laura Spinella

  “It’s not what he’s after, Oscar.”

  “Has the rich rascal been anything but a gentleman?”

  Esmerelda shrank back into the wagon. That much she couldn’t argue. Since Benjamin Hupp had discovered Esmerelda at Luna Park, he’d been mesmerized. After only two Coney Island visits, he’d offered Esmerelda late billing at Hupp’s Manhattan establishment. Oscar had parlayed the invitation to include Barney and Bill’s soft shoe, and Jimmie’s playlet oration. In the cutthroat world of vaudeville, slots at the supper club were a coup, and she couldn’t deny them the chance.

  Since then, onstage and off, Esmerelda felt as if she were putting on a performance. Naturally, none of this mattered one iota to Oscar, who was going on about Cora. She was the other girl in Oscar Bodette’s Traveling Extravaganza—a juggler—and by default Esmerelda’s friend. “So you see the potential,” Oscar said. “Hupp’s even mentioned putting Cora in on speculation.”

  “And she comes away with fifty cents,” Esmerelda countered. “It won’t make or break us.”

  Oscar looked over his shoulder. “That’s assuming she doesn’t drop a cup, saucer, or the cat.”

  Cora poked out her head, narrow face and ears like wings peeking around Esmerelda’s gold-covered frame. “I beg your pardon, Oscar, but I’ve only dropped two cups and a saucer in the past month, and Licorice not once.” In her arm was a long-haired black cat. “His claws are like razors. I’m mindful, believe me.”

  “Then I’d do well to install razors on your china cups, Miss Cora, if that’s what it takes to keep me from replacing them.” He looked harder over his shoulder at both girls. “The two of you don’t look a lick alike, but posed like that, I could pass you off for a Siamese twin act. Do you have any idea what folks pay for that sort of sight?”

  Esmerelda pushed on Cora’s shoulder, forcing her inside. “Back to the point, Oscar. You can’t expect me to sing after—”

  “I know what you’re doing, Esmerelda. You’re not so easily shaken by an ornery crowd. You want to avoid Hupp.” He paused. “You’re a smart girl. Smarter than most.” Oscar glanced into the dark hole where Cora had gone. “I’ve no idea why you’re being such a fool about this. Hupp’s put you at third billing. Do you know what that means?”

  A screen door slapped open and a young man appeared in the alley. “It means my father will see to it that she’s handsomely rewarded for her efforts tonight! I’m sure of it.”

  “Just what I was gettin’ to,” Oscar mumbled.

  Benjamin beamed at Esmerelda. While only her head was visible, she felt exposed. “And naturally, I will be enchanted to hear her sing.” His voice was deep and well educated; no one would argue he was anything less than dashing. Benjamin looked like money might. As if his parents’ wealth could purchase fine features. In one hand, he held a champagne bottle, in the other, a glass.

  He placed the glass on a stack of crates and approached the wagon. He wore boots in the summer heat, and she was surprised to see him slog through dishwater mud in the fine footwear. Benjamin reached up and shook her keeper’s hand. Oscar’s arm crossed in front of Esmerelda. She wanted it to be a symbolic shield, but his silence was the more obvious cue.

  “Benjamin,” she said brightly. “How lovely to see you.” She made no effort to move out of the wagon. “If I am performing, I need to change my dress.” She waved her arm, the gold sleeve swaying and glinting off lantern lights.

  He stepped back. “My heavens, you’ve come dressed as an angel!”

  “That’s a damned perceptive conclusion, Mr. Hupp.” Oscar said this, and Esmerelda shoved her elbow into his wide back. Benjamin was unaware of their medium act, which wouldn’t be suitable for Hupp’s upscale revue.

  “Miss Moon . . .” Benjamin appeared to suck in all the alley air. “She clears my mind, and strangely enough, at the same time I only have eyes for her. She is a rare prize, indeed.”

  Esmerelda inched back, feeling like a trophy in her gold gown.

  He pointed the champagne bottle at her. “Come down here and let me see you in your angel gown!” He granted Oscar a grin. “Tell me, did you finally purchase her a proper frock in which to perform? Because—”

  “No,” she answered. “It’s from a show we did earlier. I don’t think it’s right for the supper club. The gown is a bit big, gaudy, and—”

  “And perfect on you, I’m sure. But I did notice you were shy on costuming. I asked our stage mistress to gather a few things from which you can choose.” He smiled wider and wagged a finger at her. “Keep any you like, Esmerelda. But I most certainly want to see you in that one.”

  “You’ll still be wantin’ the rest of my troupe?” Oscar said.

  Benjamin’s gaze clung to Esmerelda. He blinked and retreated a step, as if a large wagon, sweating horses, and the rest of Oscar’s menagerie had just appeared in front of him. “Yes . . . yes, of course. You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Bodette. But yes, your entire group, as long as Esmerelda sings.” His gaze returned to hers. “My father may be so impressed he’ll want to steal her as a permanent featured performer.”

  Oscar grunted. “So long as her agent gets his share, we could likely work something out.”

  “Oscar,” Esmerelda hissed in his ear, “I’m not a prize heifer, available to the highest bidder.”

  Benjamin swung the bottle toward the back entrance. “All of you, come in. Mrs. Downey will escort you to the dressing rooms. Esmerelda, I’ll see you and that gown inside.” He pivoted, gracefully plucking his glass from the crates and raising it in her direction before disappearing into the club.

  The others followed, leaving Oscar bent over his horses and Esmerelda breathing down his neck. “So you’ve nothing more to say.”

  He peered over his sweaty team. “Do Mr. Hupp the courtesy of singing on key, would ya? The young man is more anxious than usual.” She stuck her tongue out at the back of his head, and Oscar pointed to the rear entrance. “Now get moving.” He turned. “This is just another act, Esmerelda.”

  “Really? I suppose it’s fine as long as Benjamin Hupp hasn’t taken a shine to you.”

  “If he’d had, I’d be pushing Barney or Bill on him—they’d be his type. As it is, so what? So the son of a filthy rich man is smitten.” Oscar pointed to a city she could smell, the poor and rank tenement dwellings blocks away. The things other girls did to get paid. “Play along and we all get fed.”

  “At what cost to me, Oscar?” She ducked back into the wagon.

  “The high price of singin’ in one of Manhattan’s finest halls.” He shook his head. “Lordy, girl. It bothered you less to do the devil’s bidding little more than an hour ago, at least according to one woman.”

  “I chose to do the devil’s bidding!” Esmerelda squeezed her eyes shut and murmured, “Saints, forgive me.” When she opened them, Marigold stared back. She closed the doll’s paper-weight eyes and shouted at the wagon’s opening, “You know what I meant, Oscar!” He laughed at her upset. Esmerelda reached for one of the two black dresses she owned, the wool stockings that also hung over a hook.

  “No you don’t.” Oscar glanced back. “Young Hupp wants to see the gown. Wear it.”

  “But it’s not a singing gown. It’s a costume—and a gaudy one at that.”

  “It’s a prop, Esmerelda. One your current employer would like to see. Let’s not disappoint him, eh? You’re still well to the right of respectable.”

  “Oh, for . . .” She threw one black dress to the side and reached for a rag.

  “The rouge stays too. Without it, you’re pale as one of your would-be ghosts. A little color will lend some drama when hitting those high notes in ‘Love Will Find a Way.’”

  “You want me to sing that?” She pointed at the upscale club. “With Benjamin Hupp watching?”

  “No, I want you to sing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’” Oscar’s voice turned gruffer; he was done negotiating. “Seems a girl who’s got me between herself and those streets can’t be too choosy. And
he’s not asking a thing that isn’t proper. Now leave the gown and the rouge. We’re done. If these horses don’t get some water, we’ll be carrying your throne on our backs.”

  In a small act of defiance, Esmerelda grabbed one of Cora’s ribbons and gathered her long hair into a topsy-turvy knot. Taking another, she belted the gown to rein in its angel-like angles. Esmerelda collected the heavy skirt and lowered herself out of the wagon’s rear. She came around to stand by a snorting Go, avoiding Oscar’s watchful eye. “I’ll see you inside.”

  “I’ll be watching.” He looked past the horses and back at Esmerelda. “Did you learn that new song yet, ‘Over There’? I paid two cents to get you the sheet music.”

  “Yes. But I don’t care for it. Crowds want to hear ballads, or popular songs like ‘Old Kentucky Home’ and ‘Spanish Dance.’ I don’t understand why you want me to learn that one.”

  “I’m stayin’ ahead is all. Songs like ‘Over There’ is a sign of times to come.” Oscar didn’t clarify and slapped the reins, grunting a forward motion noise at Go and Fish.

  They pulled away and Esmerelda sighed. Oscar Bodette was her employer, not her friend like Cora. Nor was he a man like her father—useless. Mercifully, he wasn’t anything like her brother-in-law, Lowell—Hazel’s husband and the man at the core of Esmerelda’s very circumstance.

  Yet, most of what Oscar did ensured survival, the hard-to-find security in a vaudevillian life. Despite this evening’s squabble, she trusted him. Oscar might not wear kindness on his sleeve, but he was a good man. It was the first thing she gauged: the margin between a good and evil man.

  ACT I, SCENE III

  Esmerelda bit down on a thumbnail and stared at the back entrance to the supper club. Oscar was right; she was being a fool—and a selfish one, at that. She headed for the door. At the same time, a pack of young men rolled around the corner on a wave of intoxication. She’d seen enough liquor to spot a drunk—several, in this case. The rowdy male voices skewered her attention; they weren’t from this part of the city. The gown rustled as she held the heavy bottom bunched above her knees and hurried for the door. The largest boy was quicker, darting in her path, grasping her arm.

  “What have we here, boys?” He was muscular, with shoulders wider than the hall’s alley entrance. “A pretty slip of a thing.” His gaze drew down her as he threw his cigarette into the mud. “Dressed for a date with a prince, are you?”

  “So definitely not you,” she said, and the other boys laughed. He smelled like her father and felt as threatening as Lowell. Esmerelda tugged her arm, but his grip was stronger. It tightened. He was a heavy breather, reeking like a vat of whiskey and intention. Esmerelda kept a cool head. “Let go of me. I’m performing here tonight. Mr. Benjamin Hupp will be looking for me straightaway.”

  One young man elbowed another. “Mr. Benjamin Hupp. Do you hear that?” This time they laughed at her. “She’s a quick liar.”

  “Give her some credit,” another boy said. “Hupp’s as close to a prince as you’ll find around here.”

  The boy holding on to her tightened his grip and his expression went flat. “I thought we’d struck out in this part of town—uppity, snooty cunts. But at least we’ve found where they keep the sure ones.”

  “And finer looking than the average strumpet.” The second boy stepped in, and his dirty fingers skimmed the neckline of the gown. “’Course, I never had one dress for the occasion.”

  “I told you,” she said through gritted teeth, “I’m working here.”

  “That I believe.” The boy holding on to her leered, sniffing her hair. “I’d also bet that sort of work isn’t something Hupp’s likes to advertise.”

  “Won’t find it on the bill, for sure,” said the fourth boy.

  “I’m a singer,” Esmerelda insisted.

  “You’re alone,” said her captor. “But that’ll work, since your trade is obvious and we’ve got no money. Surely you won’t mind passin’ the tin for free.”

  The second boy took hold of her other arm and the first one grabbed at her breasts. She felt gold beads and his fingers bruise her skin. When she tried to scream, the largest boy covered her mouth with his hand. He shoved her hard against the brick exterior. Esmerelda was pinned there, and her eyes moved right and left, seeing only a narrow alley of mud.

  “And to think, a belly full of whiskey was all we thought tonight’s invite would get us.” He shuffled his hand under the heavy fabric. She wore no proper corset, too restricting for a fast costume change. His hand eagerly groped her bare thigh. “Keepin’ the whores out back, there’s a rich businessman’s scheme for you.”

  A boy with a sudden anxious look grinned. “Keeps the rooms cleaner, I bet.”

  Esmerelda mentally begged for Benjamin’s presence. She’d be screaming for him if she could. Then she recalled part of the reason Oscar had earned the mark of protector. She employed a hard thrust of her knee—something Oscar had made her practice before playing rowdier venues. Her captor cried out like a kicked dog. He let go of Esmerelda and stumbled back. Then he came forward even faster, striking her across the face.

  “You fucking bitch.” He had her by the hair, his fingers winding through it and the ribbon. “And here I thought we’d be nice and say thank you after taking a turn.”

  “What the . . . Archie, Ralph, what the hell are you doing?” A voice drew their attention, and they turned, a collective twisting of heads from a salivating pack.

  The boy’s hold was fierce, and Esmerelda felt as if her head were impaled on a pike. She could only see from the corner of her eye. But fast as the boys had seized her, they let go. She scraped her body farther down the wall, knees buckling, beads popping as she went. With a clearer look, she saw two more boys. One rushed forward.

  “You stupid, drunk bastards. I let you come all the way uptown, and this is what you do?”

  “We was just messin’ with her, Phin. No harm done.”

  Esmerelda heaved heavy breaths, her gaze darting between boys.

  “I think she’d beg to differ.” The two newcomers were outnumbered and outsized, but clearly the one who spoke had a hold over them. A silent boy with long braided hair stood by his side, though his mouth gaped, his expression fairly appalled. “Just get the fuck out of here before the local dick catches the lot of you.” They scattered like pigeons from a coop.

  Esmerelda’s head drooped and she caught her breath. When she looked up, the boy who’d done the talking was coming closer. “Follow them, Hassan,” he said. “Make sure they get on the trolley, get the hell out of here.” He now spoke in a language Esmerelda could not place. The boy with braids grunted a reply. But he obeyed too, vanishing into the dark from which they’d all come.

  It was a standoff. Maybe this boy wanted what his friends did, but just for himself. She sized him up. He was tall but reedy, not nearly as bulky as the largest boy. Untangling her gaze from his, she looked to her left. The door was steps away. Wait. What was she thinking? “Benjamin!” Esmerelda screamed in her loudest stage voice. The boy lunged, placing his hand right where Ralph’s or Archie’s had been.

  “What the hell are you doing? I just saved you from a gang of boys with ideas that’d make nuns faint! Even if it’s how you earn your livin’ . . .” With one hand gripped over her mouth, his other settled firm on her waist. “Nobody deserves that.”

  Esmerelda blinked. Nobody did. She hadn’t expected to find them in agreement. Pressed tight to him, she felt his heart pound. Perhaps it was fear that Benjamin would come to her rescue. She imagined the resources at the young heir’s disposal—club overseers, surely the police. But the swell of patron noise said Benjamin wasn’t within earshot.

  He broke the stalemate. “If I take my hand away, you’ll be quiet?”

  She nodded. Yet it could be he thought being raped by one man, instead of a mob, was a favor. She could assure him it was not. He removed his palm, but in the same motion braced his other arm above her knees.

  “And we w
on’t be havin’ none of that either. I don’t want anything from you—particularly a kick to the groin.”

  Esmerelda brushed the back of her hand through the hot tears on her cheeks. “I told them I’m working here tonight.”

  He backed up, a fair sign that his presence wasn’t a threat. “And I’d think a girl like you had learned a trick or two of your trade. You don’t go offering services to four drunk idiots in an alley.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “Actually, I’m surprised.” His strange eyes, blue sea melding with gray sky, perused the gown. “I didn’t know Hupp’s . . . menu went dicier than Blue Point Oysters and French champagne.”

  “What is it you think I’m doing here, working here as?” She willed herself forward, in the moment as in life. The boy backpedaled.

  Maybe he wasn’t quite a boy. She was unsure.

  He stopped and boldly leaned in, whispering, “No offense, but there’s only so many trades that call for a getup like that one. And the Hupps do own both buildings.” He pointed to the hotel under construction next door.

  “I’m a singer. I’m performing here tonight.”

  “In that? Sorry—but I’ve seen Hupp’s revue. I sometimes photograph his guests and talent.” The way he said it, clearly it included bragging rights. In the mud, she spied a weighty canvas bag. “People like to be seen here. Or at least they did.” He shook his head. “I’ve never known a singer to come dressed like a . . . well, a . . .”

  “A what?”

  He hitched up his breath. “A prostitute, if you’re gonna make me say it.”

  She wasn’t about to be accused twice in one night. Esmerelda came at him swinging, scratching, wishing she’d hung on to Licorice and his razor claws. “You’re all filthy, stupid boys! I’m the third-billed act. I’m Esmerelda Moon!” she said as if this should mean something to him.

  He ducked and darted; he was quick, and now he was laughing. Managing to get behind her, he fastened his arm around her waist and the gold gown. “You are feisty, Esmer . . .” He tried again. “Esm . . . Miss Moon. I’ll give you that!” She thrashed about, but it was futile. “So we’re back to this. If I let go, will you quit trying to remove my body parts?”