Gathering Storm

by Sherilyn Decter

  “No water? No food? How long have they been on board?”

  The smuggler shrugs. “Eighteen days. We gave ‘em water. I guess they drunk it. I get paid at the front end. No skin off my nose if they get thirsty.”

  “Some have died.”

  “Like I said. I get my monies up front. Somebody shoulda said something about the stiff. We woulda dumped it. Woulda made more space down there for them still kicking.”

  “Mr. Hardy. Please secure these men and load them on the last picket. I want them in front of a judge as soon as possible.” Saunders turns to the smuggler. “We’ll see if we can’t take a bit more skin off that nose of yours.”

  Later, on the deck of the Mojave, Lt. Commander Saunders watches the pickets head back toward base. “It’s a foul thing.” He drives his fist into his hand. “I may not be able to control the weather or the sea, but on my oath as a member of the United States Coast Guard, for those who travel through the tempest, I will protect them, I will defend them, I will save them. I am their shield. For I am an officer of the United States Coast Guard. Semper Paratus, eh, Hardy?”

  Bosun Hardy salutes. “Aye, sir. Always ready. Semper Paratus.”

  Chapter 9

  T he brilliant sunshine, lush vegetation, turquoise oceans, and the focus on holiday fun, give Florida fashions a flare of their own. Mae and Edith stroll along the avenue, stopping to admire the displays in the shop windows. The store mannequins wear a jewel-box collection of sportswear.

  “Esta’s right. I can’t get over how bright the colors are,” Edith says. “And all this active-wear: tennis, golf, swimming, walking, cycling. They all need their own outfit. Do you have these kinds of clothes in your closet?”

  Mae laughs. “Well, women are only allowed to play golf on public courses certain days of the week, you’ve seen my swimsuits, and I don’t own a bicycle. But with all this great weather, people are outside more. Fresh air, sunshine, fresh orange juice, exercise. Florida is a very healthy place to live.”

  “It may be healthy, but I’ve only been here two weeks, and already I’m bored silly. I don’t want to be one of those well-oiled wives on beach chairs, the only excitement of the day the manicurist’s gossip.”

  “You shouldn’t be so critical of Esta and Anna. They’re living the life they’ve always dreamed about.”

  “My dreams are different, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, Mae. I’ve been where they are. But after Mickey died, I took a good long look behind me and another look ahead. I didn’t like what I saw in either direction, so I got off that path and came here. Or at least I thought I got off. Turns out to be the same path only with better weather. I’ll die before shopping and manicures are all I’ve got to look forward to.”

  In the reflection of the glass, Mae sees the tightness of Edith’s face. She takes her arm, turning away from the shop.

  “Something I’m looking forward to is lunch. Why don’t we head over to the Biltmore? They have a lovely afternoon tea in the lobby,” Mae says, flagging down a taxi.

  The cool marble lobby of the Biltmore Hotel, with its magnificent vaulted ceiling, is the ideal place to cool off after an afternoon of window shopping. A woman playing a golden harp entertains patrons, while tiered trays of small sandwiches and dainty baking rest on linen-draped tables. Tourism has created a nice little bubble of prosperity around Miami for some businesses.

  Mae accompanies her order for ‘sparkling water’ with a wink, then waits for the champagne to arrive. “I’ll be glad when Prohibition is over, and I can order what I want in a restaurant without playing these silly games. Al says that it’s coming soon.”

  “Not soon enough for me. Although it will put the bootleggers and rum runners out of business.”

  “Which is why we’ve diversified, although I’m not too sure what Al has diversified us into besides Meyer’s casinos. Real estate, I guess. It’s a real buyer’s market these days. And of course, there’s always going to be tourism for Florida. You can’t beat this weather.”

  The waiter arrives and fills the flutes with icy cold bubbles.

  “Now we’re sitting, let’s get serious, Edith. How are things, really? You don’t seem yourself these days.”

  Edith sips. She shrugs. She sips again. “What can I say, Mae. I’m at loose ends. I know what you said about Esta and Anna, but I’m not like them. I can’t live that life anymore. I have the time and money to do anything I want.”

  Edith gazes intently at her friend. “Seriously, Mae. What does a gal with options do these days?”

  “The other night at Tobacco Road, it sounded like you wanted to buy a club.”

  “That Reggie.” Edith chuckles. She takes another sip of champagne. “And Meyer. Can you believe he said women shouldn’t be in business?”

  Mae laughs. “Exactly when did you ever listen to a man tell you what you couldn’t do? But seriously, I know a few women who have been extremely successful in business. I think they enjoyed building a firm foundation with the bricks others threw at them.”

  “I am so excited by the idea of a club or speakeasy, Mae. I think it’s exactly what I need to do.”

  “I love your enthusiasm, doll. I don’t doubt you can do it. But are you sure you’re ready for something like that? Starting a business takes a ton of commitment and energy. Is now the right time?”

  “Absolutely. I can do this, Mae.”

  “Just look before you leap. Meyer won’t be the only nay-sayer. Bankers aren’t keen to loan money to women.”

  “I’ve got what I need. I can fund it myself.”

  “And then there’s the risk.”

  “No risk. No reward.”

  “Seriously, Edith. Speakeasies are, by their nature, risky business. Smugglers, crooked cops, righteous cops. The economy. That’s a lot of risk to put on a plate.”

  “I understand the business model, Mae. I’ve lived with it since Prohibition started. Although, if I’m being honest, all those years with Mickey I was rewarded plenty for giving up risk. As our bootleg business grew, I was happy to step into the background, into a comfortable life in a comfortable house in a comfortable neighborhood. I lived a life all bought and paid for by illegal liquor. I guess Mickey took on the risk for both of us.”

  “We all do, sweetie. Just look at Anna and Esta. And me, for that matter.”

  “Thinking about it now, especially side-by-side with the idea of buying a club, I see things clearer. The risk back in Philly wasn’t the threat of losing your life, but something softer, more dangerous. Of losing yourself. I think I’m more than ready to take on reluctant bankers—not that I will be dealing with them—and crooked cops.” Edith chuckles. “Them I’m sure I’ll be dealing with.”

  “It sounds like you’ve got your hands on enough dough to get started.”

  “There’s the cash Mickey kept on hand and, eventually, the sale of the hotel in Atlanta, all the clubs, and the house. The government will likely take the proceeds from the commercial properties for back-taxes, although the lawyers say I get to keep the house. And there’s still a lot of cash they don’t know about. I’ll be okay. I’m letting the lawyers fight it out.”

  “Okay. It sounds like your mind’s made up. I have one more question. What about actually running a club? Would you run it or hire a manager? There’s a lot of day to day drudgery running a place like that. It’s not all sequins and glamor.”

  “Hiring a manager would kind of defeat the point, wouldn’t it? Don’t worry, Mae, I got that covered, too. I used to be good at it. My first jobs were working in saloons and bars. I helped Mickey get started in the business and, for the first few years, was right there beside him, making decisions. I think I can do it, Mae. I really do.”

  “Why just thinking, doll? Like I said, why the hesitation? Is it the law?”

  Edith leans in. It’s an important question. Why did I say thinking? “No, working outside the law has never been a problem. The biggest risk for me is failure. And it’s not just losing money, like po
or Donnie at Tobacco Road. I’m afraid of screwing up. I figure I’ve got one second chance, Mae, and I don’t want to blow it.”

  Mae pats her arm. “Edith, you are a driven person. You always have been. I’m sure you’ll come to the right decision.” She puts another ribbon sandwich on her plate. “I love these things. They’re so tiny I could eat a hundred.”

  A well-dressed, older woman entering the restaurant spies their table and walks over. “Mae, darling. How wonderful to see you.”

  “Enid, what brings you to Miami? Are Ida and William here, too?”

  “No, just me on my lonesome. I needed to get away from that slush and snow in New York.”

  “Edith, this is my good friend Enid Bissett. Enid, you’re the perfect person to answer some questions Edith has about business. Can you join us?”

  Enid nods to the maître d’ who pulls out a chair. “And I’ll need a glass of that, please,” Enid says, nodding toward the champagne.

  “You’re a businesswoman, Mrs. Bissett?” Edith asks.

  Mae chuckles. “Enid’s not just a businesswoman; she has an extremely successful business. One that you are intimately acquainted with.”

  Edith gives Mae a puzzled smile.

  “Enid and her partners, the Rosenthal’s, founded Maidenform bras. I imagine you’re wearing one right now.”

  “Oh my goodness, I am. How remarkable. What got you started in a business like that, Enid?”

  “I always wanted to be in business, and I love fashion, so Ida and I opened a dress shop in New York. Of course, the fashion of the day wasn’t right for a curvy gal like me. Gals had to look like Edith here, stick and bones, to carry off that flapper look. I played around with foundation garments, designing a vest with two cups. Ida’s husband, William, is a dress designer, and he made the contraption pretty. We started by giving away a brassiere with every dress, but soon the bras were more popular than the dresses. We wound up closing the dress shop, opening a factory, and voilà, Maidenform Brassiere Company was born.”

  “Now, don’t be modest, Enid. Not only did you figure out an undergarment that women actually wanted to wear—not like those horrible corsets—but you also figured out a way to meet that demand by starting up a production line, the first of its kind.”

  “You mean like Henry Ford did with his cars?” Edith asks.

  “Exactly. One seamstress sews backs, another sews straps, and a third sews in the cups. And it isn’t just the production line that makes us successful, Edith. Maidenform was also the first to advertise intimate apparel in magazines and newspapers, which created an amazing demand. Before you could snap one of our bra straps, there wasn’t a woman in America that wasn’t wearing one of our brassieres.”

  Enid’s inner light and confidence draws Edith like a moth to a flame. “You are everything I aspire to be,” she says, sighing.

  “Never settle for playing small, settling for less than what you are capable of. But you know that, being a businesswoman yourself.”

  Mae pats Edith’s arm. “A friend of ours made the comment the other night that there isn’t a role for women in business.”

  Enid throws back her head and laughs. “That old chestnut. Well, just don’t tell Coco Chanel or Liz Arden that. They’d eat him for lunch. There are many successful women in business, Edith. More all the time.”

  “What’s your secret to success, Enid? Any advice for a fellow lady businessman?” Edith asks. Her eyes are shining as she steps across the threshold of her decision.

  “Start small, dream big. Keep costs down. Delegate, but stay in control,” she says, nodding. “And most important of all, when another woman asks about business, be as supportive as possible. It’s a sisterhood, right Mae?”

  Mae nods. “When women support each other, incredible things happen.”

  Edith looks from one woman to the other. “Mae? You’re in business?”

  “A silent partner. I help fund some smaller initiatives. I put a bit of money into Mary Pickford’s movie business.”

  “You helped Mary start United Artists?”

  “No one else believed in her.”

  Enid nods. “I guess that’s another characteristic of success. Stick with what you know. Me and fashion, Mary and movies, Liz Arden and science. Speaking of which, I hear Olive Beech is starting up an aircraft company.”

  Mae sits back in her chair. “Really? Now there’s a success story, Edith. Olive started out as a secretary-bookkeeper working with her husband, Walter, at TravelAir.”

  “Walter’s busy designing a staggerwing bi-plane for Beech Aircraft Company. The company’s going places and she’s looking for investors. Are you interested, Mae?”

  “I might be. Let’s talk further.”

  Edith grins. “Okay, there’s no doubt about it now. I’m going to do it. I’m actually going to start my own business.”

  Mae and Enid clink their glasses against Edith’s.

  “Good for you, doll. Smuggling? Rum Running? A club?” Mae asks.

  Enid laughs. “Ah, so you’re in the risky business, Edith.”

  Edith nods, winking at Enid. “Like you said, I’m going to stick with what I know, selling liquor and showing people a good time. It’s what I used to be good at, a long time ago.”

  Mae waves a waiter over, asking for a pencil and paper. “This is exciting. We should go looking at clubs here in the city. Remember, I said that it’s a real buyer’s market these days, with the crash of the Land Boom. You can pick up some good property for a song compared to a few years ago.”

  “This is a side of you I’ve never seen, Mae.”

  “With so much time on my hands, I need something to keep busy. Just don’t tell Anna. She’d never approve, and I don’t think I could stomach any more of her disapproval.” With pen poised, Mae asks, “So what kind of place are we looking for?”

  “No offense, but if I’m going to open a speakeasy. I think I want to stay away from Miami Beach and the police attention that Capone, Lansky, and Siegel generate. At least until Prohibition is over.”

  “What about Tobacco Road? I’m sure you could pick it up for a song in the bankruptcy.”

  “I thought about it but decided against it. I’ve done the club scene. Mickey had the Cadix in Philly and properties in Atlantic City, and I want to do something different. I want to put some emotional distance between my old life and my new one and put my own stamp on it.”

  “Tampa? Fort Lauderdale?” Enid asks.

  “No. None of those places really strikes a chord.”

  “Why don’t we look around? Location is very important for a speakeasy,” Mae says. “You need something discrete, tucked away.”

  “If you don’t want something in a bigger city, then how rural do you want to go?” Enid says and turns to Mae. “Why not take her to Cap’s Place?”

  Mae nods. “We’re going there next week. Although it may be a bit too rural. But it’s not to be missed if you’re doing a tour of successful speakeasies in Florida. And, Edith, you’re going to love Lola.”

  “Lola? A woman owns Cap’s Place?”

  “Lola and her husband. She’s the barefoot contessa of the Florida coast.”

  Chapter 10

  I f the Devil ever decides to grow a garden, he’ll look to the Everglades for inspiration. Hot, steaming, rotten, decaying. Home to silent, slithering snakes and hungry, sinister alligators. Layers of secrets lie submerged in the swamp, below waves of saw grass and brown, torpid water. Layers of secrets, and the ‘Glades ain’t giving up any of ‘em.

  Shuffling across the chickee, Cassie fans her tarot cards face down. She closes her eyes and becomes still, taking a deep, cleansing breath. Leaning forward, focusing, she draws a card, opens her eyes to the image of a hand reaching out from a cloud and holding a sprouting staff or wand.

  “Well, well, well. I see you’re still in Mr. Preacher-Man’s cards, ah-ma-chamee. The Ace of Wands is sure not for that evil beast. For the life of me, I don’t know why you’re here, bu
t I figure you must be worth waiting for. Finally, maybe he gets some comeuppance? Maybe this gal’s got what it takes to knock you down a peg or two, Preacher-Man? Well, Miss Newcomer, let’s get you outta his cards and do a reading all of your own, or at least pull a few cards all for your own self.”

  Cassie gathers the cards, holds them close to her heart, and closes her eyes again. She shuffles and, from the deck, lays a single card face up. She looks at the empty chair across from her and smiles. “Again with the Ace of Wands. You’ve got a powerful story, ah-ma-chamee.”

  “Let me see. The Ace of Wands is inspiration, new opportunities, growth, potential. You’re plotting something, ain’t ya?

  “Ideas are flowing to you, motivating and inspiring you to pursue a new path. A whole world of possibility is available to you.”

  Tapping the card, Cassie says, “See here, the sprouting wand, the blue river, the lush forest; they’re all positive indications that your idea has the potential to turn into something fulfilling and energizing.”

  Cassie looks past the empty chair and across the clearing into the mangrove swamp beyond. “I envy you. Getting chased out of town, stuck here in the ‘Glades. I never got a chance to carve out a bit of something for myself. A sign over the door. A school for Leroy with other young ‘uns to play with.” Absently, she slaps at a mosquito and grimaces. “Living in town might also mean screens on the windows. That would be nice.”

  Gathering up the cards, she continues to address the empty chair. “But don’t forget, aces only represent potential. They’re not guaranteed results. It is a seed that has yet to grow into something. Your idea shows great promise, ah-ma-chamee, but it will be up to you to nurture it along and make it grow.”

  Cassie sits quietly, eyes closed, listening to the frogs and the insects that are her daily chorus.

  Leroy, sneaking up behind her chair, jumps out. “Boo!”

  “Leroy. What the heck. You scared me half to death. I’m just going to start Mrs. Saunders’ reading before we go visit her next week. Do you want to watch?”