Love Easy

by Roe Valentine

  With lush softness, she pulled the dark material to the light. From her fingertips hung a gorgeous in-vogue drop-waist chiffon dress that was the color of coffee beans with chevron paneled cream colored lace on the bodice. She gasped. Gorgeous didn’t begin to describe the dress. Carefully, she placed the garment over her desk and pulled out a black skirt and white satin blouse, similar to what Ingrid wore.

  Norma reached in again and found another blouse and a second jersey dress. They felt so luxurious in her hands, must have cost a fortune. She had a rasp in her voice when she spoke. “Why are you giving these to me?” The tears welling in her eyes made her feel like a loon.

  Ingrid’s face dropped ten feet. “Do you not like them?”

  “I adore them!” Norma held the white blouse to her chest and hugged it. “But it’s not my birthday and Christmas has passed.”

  “They are from my collection. I over ordered and thought you’d like something new. Borrowing from your cousin hasn’t exactly worked out.” Ingrid winked again. The dress disaster from a week ago came to mind.

  “Can I at least pay you for these? They must have cost a fortune...” Who was she kidding? She didn’t have money to pay for such clothes.

  Ingrid shrugged. “Come with me tonight and consider the debt paid.”

  Norma’s right eyebrow arched high into her forehead.

  “The Jazzy Cat is purring your name.” Ingrid chuckled, her wrist rotated down to imitate cat paws.

  Yes, it was. Norma intended to go to the Jazzy Cat. The only difference is she would wear a couture dress—perfect for her undercover work. She would be one of them tonight. She would fit in like all the other Shebas carrying on like lunatics—minus the lunatic part…or not.

  She nodded an ecstatic yes, and Ingrid squealed with glee.

  ****

  Amazing. That’s how Norma felt wearing the coffee bean dress. She never had such a luxurious dress—well, not since she was on her own. She’d had many custom made dresses growing up, but none could compare to the fabric art she donned. She felt like a film actress. The dress made her walk differently. It made her feel powerful, like Mary Pickford.

  But it wasn’t just her dress that made her feel like a million bucks, her styled bob pinned with a jeweled and feather headband tied everything together. Honestly, she liked being light-headed without the wild-like, heavy curls springing in every direction and weighing her down—not just physically, mentally as well. Ready and willing, she’d show those men at the Daily how a real reporter breaks a story.

  She squealed when a hard knock on the door reverberated through her drafty apartment. I should have started a fire. Darn. She didn’t have time to think about how cold she’d be when she returned. Putting herself properly together took much more time than she anticipated. Maybe her constant glances in the mirror doubled the time.

  She lunged to the door, feet not hurting for once, fully expecting Ingrid to be on the other side, but she wasn’t.

  George, Ingrid’s older brother standing tall and wide in the doorframe, filled it completely. Had he always been that big? Is it possible for a thirty-year-old man to still grow? She hadn’t seen him in at least a year. His bright gray-blue eyes contrasted against his dark coat and hat. Norma didn’t realize how attractive George was until then. But why was he there and not Ingrid?

  “George…” She looked between the sliver of empty space between him and the doorframe. Perhaps Ingrid’s petite body stood behind him. “Where’s Ingrid?”

  “S-s-she c-c-can’t make i-it tonight. S-s-she’s got a h-h-h-eadache.” Norma forgot George had a speech impediment.

  “Oh dear…”

  He tapped at his chest. “I-I will t-t-take you.”

  She nervously nibbled on her lip, considering his offer. He was a doll to offer his company in Ingrid’s place. She hesitated, her gaze dropped to her shoes. Her intentions for the night had not changed, and she still needed to go to the Jazzy Cat one way or another. “Okay,” she said after a beat of silence.

  She turned on her heels to retrieve her coat and satin purse, the door kept open by George’s thick hand. As she approached with her items in hand, he stepped back from the brownstone, and she stepped into the cold night to lock the door behind her. The two made their way lethargically toward George’s common motorcar. It must have been because she was unsure about going with George that made her drag her feet. He opened the door for her, and another girl sat bundled in a wool coat. Norma nodded a hello as she slunk into the back seat.

  “Hello.” The girl was polite enough, though her eyes flickered with something. Annoyance? Norma wasn’t sure. Her fiery red hair curled at the nape of her neck, and brown freckles covered every inch of her visible skin.

  “I’m Norma, Ingrid’s friend.” Norma extended a gloved hand to shake hands with the redhead.

  “I’m Mary, George’s date,” the redhead said bitterly, emphasizing the word date, and quickly accepted Norma’s hand then pushed it away. Yes, definitely annoyed. Perhaps she didn’t know Norma would be along for the fun.

  “Wonderful!” Yes, wonderful indeed. With that nugget of information, Norma was relieved; she could move about the Jazzy Cat at will. She didn’t have anyone to entertain or answer to. It was perfect.

  George’s car rolled quietly along the dark alley behind the Jazzy Cat, crushing the snow beneath its tires. No signs announced the club’s location, of course, and no one loitered in the deserted alley—it was like a ghost town. The air between the passengers had been painfully silent the whole ride. No one spoke, not even for mindless banter. Just breathing. Mary’s breathing may have been the loudest, though. Clearly she was peeved about another girl crashing her date. Mary pressed against the door as far away from George as she could get, and she refused to look his way, especially when he glanced at her, and she just turned away. Norma felt bad for the man, and a little responsible for the hot water he was in. But, she couldn’t worry about their situation.

  Find Elsie McNey.

  As if she needed it, the butterflies in her stomach went haywire, dancing chaotic as if they were on a toot. Nausea came up, then her chest pounded. How could she feel those things at the same time? She pressed the bodice of her dress to calm herself and make sure her handwritten list was still in its place under her bosom. Still there. Who knew bubs would be useful outside of nursing a baby?

  Being the true gentleman, George came around and opened the car door. A wide smile on his face eased her nerves, gave her assurance. Her fingers stopped shaking with that smile and the gentleness that accompanied it. He was introverted and had a calmness to him that Ingrid didn’t. Ingrid, was a burning fuse of excitement. See and be seen was her motto.

  Mary lunged from the car, weaving her arm through George’s. Oh dear. She was staking her claim.

  Norma smiled politely. She didn’t blame the redhead one bit. Why did women seem to lose their composure when they sensed competition? Had Norma ever acted that way with Jarrod Banks? She doubted it. In fact, she was glad when another woman took the sap off her hands.

  Norma stepped back at least four feet and waited until George led the way to the door. She hoped he knew the secret knock. The good Lord knew she didn’t have the slightest clue.

  Knock. Knock. Pause. Knock. Knock. Knock. Pause. Pause. Knock. The same burly doorman from last week poked his head out from the tiniest crack of the door. His gaze darted about the alley. To say he was uncomfortable and suspicious was an understatement. He gave each of them the up down.

  “Who do you know?” His voice gruff.

  The three of them glanced at each other. Darn. Norma didn’t know anyone except the two she was with, and she didn’t really know them.

  “I-I-Ing-g-g-rid…” George was nervous.

  “Ingrid? What’s wrong with you? You on a sleigh ride?” The doorman’s face twisted up to his receding hairline.

  “Henry Chapel,” Norma spit out.

  Why did I say that?

  Her body tens
ed. She had no idea why she mentioned her boss and wished she would have said some other name. Any other name would have been better—even Ralph Heinz.

  The doorman’s face softened a little, not too much. “You know the paper man, huh?”

  “I am his associate.” Norma lied. She wasn’t his associate. She was the farthest thing from his associate; she was his subordinate, and not a very good one. But for all intents and purposes, it seemed to get her in to the Jazzy Cat.

  “Well, any friend of the paper man is a friend of the J.C.” He stepped aside, and the three entered the dark, short hallway.

  Norma slowly put one foot in front of the other until she reached a door with light bordering it. The beat of the orchestra instruments vibrated the floor under her feet, notes of the trumpets pulsing her belly. The gay voices of the partygoers inside penetrated the thick door. Norma could hear the crazed laughter of patrons on a toot and the clicking of shoes on the dance floor. Her feet skipped. She was anxious to get inside and join in the gay time, which was a first. Tonight she didn’t feel like a fish out of water. Tonight she was a legitimate flapper.

  Anticipation ate at her as she practically kicked the door open. The sounds, sights, and smells assaulted her senses when the door flew open, and the light filled her eyes. Debonair men in dark suits and hats puffed on cigarettes or cigars, and the girls were just as lovely with their fringe dresses and feather headbands dressed with pearls and crystal jewelry. Her dress could compete with any one of the Shebas in the room. Let the games begin.

  Norma scanned the room, taking in what she considered normal Jazzy Cat behavior. Her guts jerked as she glanced inside the petting room nearby and saw a lithe women straddling a man as his hand rode up the back of her thigh. Norma turned away, the image, fresh in her mind, reminded her of Mr. Chapel—she didn’t want to be reminded. Norma continued to survey the club, taking it all in. Two unsavory characters stood in the darkest corner, deep in conversation. They could be discussing some sticky illegal business or the boring weather, either way she wanted to know.

  “I’m going to mingle,” she called over her shoulder to George and his date. She didn’t give them a chance to respond before she’d put at least twenty of her T-strap clad steps between them.

  Weaving through the crowd, she greeted strangers as if she knew them. Found it funny that they greeted her back the same way. As she passed a group of dancing women, they recruited her to do a few seconds of the Charleston. Norma wiggled her body, crossing her foot behind the other, and then kicked it high to the front before repeating the motion with the other leg. Her hands waved back and forth with wide spread fingers. Darn the Charleston is tiring.

  “Your dress is the berries, doll!” one of the debs shouted. She still danced, feather headband swaying back and forth. “Who are you?”

  Norma fanned herself. The heat crept up in an instant. She was no one. But if she wanted to get a lead on the story, she’d have to be someone stat. “I’m Norma, doll face.” The girl squealed with glee.

  “I’ve never seen you before! You must come dance with us more!”

  “Ab-so-lute-ly!” Norma shouted over the final notes of the song.

  The band stopped for a break, and the crowd dispersed to the tables covered with white linen. Some of the band members fanned themselves while others wiped their foreheads with handkerchiefs. The band was quite large for the small establishment. Norma didn’t notice the string section last time. How was it impossible to hear the booming sound outside in the alley?

  “Come sit with us!” A different girl tugged Norma’s arm until they reached a table near the dance floor. Two seated men talked between themselves. Who were they, and what were they talking about? Norma’s gaze drank them in, taking note of their demeanor, deciding they seemed innocent enough.

  “I’m Julia Heinz…”

  Heinz? Norma’s eyebrows perked up. Could there be a relation to Ralph Heinz, the brute from last Friday?

  “That is Bertha and Headdy.” Julia pointed to the girls. Julia, an absolute doll, had silky golden hair, which was tucked into a feathered headband, and black kohl lined her piercing blue eyes. Her lips were probably painted hours ago, but there was nothing left but a faint stain of red lipstick. The cigarette she casually placed between her lips probably rubbed off the lipstick.

  “We are usually four, but our friend Elsie is…absent at the moment,” the brunette identified as Headdy said. Her eyes widened and darted to her friends, who failed to make eye contact.

  Norma’s heart jumped in her throat.

  “Elsie?” Norma’s voice was small.

  “Come, sit! Don’t just stand there.” Julie kicked a chair out from under the table.

  Norma tried to reel in her emotions. She had to stay calm and collected. Where was Mr. Chapel with some lessons in composure when she needed it? She frowned at her thoughts. Not supposed to be thinking about him. Sucking in a deep breath, she sat and crossed her legs, inadvertently kneeing the sheik sitting next her.

  He broke away from his conversation. His pupils twinkled when he made eye contact with her.

  Oh no, not again. She’d seen that look before, and it was on the face of a womanizing sap.

  “Excuse me,” Norma squeaked.

  “You are excused, doll.” A grin parted his face ear to ear. “I haven’t seen you around. What’s your name, sweet patootie?”

  “Leave her alone, Harold!” Julia slapped the table, the drinks clinked, and one spilled a little.

  “The ladies were talking about Elsie.” She had to find a way to get back to Elsie. Could it be the same Elsie? Could these girls know who Elsie was with before the assault in the alley? There were too many questions; it exhilarated her.

  Harold frowned. “Where is that bird? She was supposed to get me something.”

  “Well, I thought she was going to see a man about a dog,” the other man said. His voice didn’t match his brawny façade; his high-pitched timbre reminded Norma of her aunt Lillian.

  “Yes, I also heard she was supposed to see a man about a dog,” the other blonde, Bertha said. She laughed a bit. “I guess she must have found a pit bull!”

  “A pit bull…” Norma’s voice was low enough that time so no one heard her.

  Her mind ran at full speed. Did Elsie get wrapped up in the mob? After all, that’s the only way someone could get alcohol. Perhaps Elsie got tangled up with the wrong mobster and got the bad end of the deal. Calm down. Norma’s heart palpitated; she had to stay calm, collected, and composed—much like Mr. Chapel. Not now, Norma. She kicked all thoughts of Mr. Chapel to the back of her mind.

  “You know, her uncle is the governor,” Julia said matter-of-factly.

  Norma perked up again, and a smile involuntarily bent her lips. She had the right girl and was talking to the right friends. Bingo. The list under her bubs poked at her skin, but she didn’t need it anymore. She’d found her “in.”

  “And not a very good one.” Harold continued to eye Norma.

  “I think you should join me on the dance floor.” Harold trailed a long finger down her forearm, which sent chills up her spine. Though they weren’t the threatening kind.

  “I…I…”

  “Come.” He rose from his seat, practically lifting her off the chair. He was strong, although not as tall as Henry. She couldn’t resist him, while the girls laughed and pointed. She simply let him take her to the dance floor where the orchestra played again, and the crowd broke out into the Black Bottom.

  Norma stomped each foot and then did a double step. She was impressed with Harold’s dancing abilities, although his salacious smile made her feel he had something else in mind. She did a box step and flailed her arms about. Who would have thought a dance would be made after some cows stuck in the mud? Her choreography continued, but then Harold pulled her close, too close. She smelled the gin on his breath as he held her and continued to dance. She pushed away, putting some distance between them.

  “Sorry, Harold, the b
ank’s closed.” The confidence in her voice was palpable.

  His eyes twinkled, his mouth curved into a playful smirk. “I didn’t ask for a kiss, darling.”

  Norma face grew hot.

  “But that’s good to know.” He chuckled.

  Norma softened a bit. Perhaps she misread his signals. She looked away, glancing at the table of girls who cheered her on.

  Harold continued to stare, making her more nervous.

  “You still haven’t told me your name, sweet patootie.” The warm air from his mouth hit her face.

  “Norma…Norma Hill…” She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to know her name.

  Darn.

  Maybe she should have come up with an alias? She could have been Claire Bonet or Elizabeth Asher. She could have been anyone else.

  “The weather reporter Norma Hill?” His eyes lit with interest.

  “Uh… yes. I’m a weather reporter.”

  No one had ever acknowledged her as a reporter before.

  “The Daily! Nice work. I especially liked your report from last week. It read ‘Much like Hades when Persephone is present, Chicago residents should expect a brutal winter day’—”

  “‘…therefore, should wear the heaviest coats they own’,” Norma finished. She was floored. Her bottom lip nearly dropped to the floor to hear someone, especially a man, recite her weather report. Even more astounding was Mr. Chapel had allowed the report to run.

  Harold laughed, a sweet laugh. Though not as sexy as Henry Chapel’s, a smirk curved his lips.

  Stop thinking about Mr. Chapel.

  “You like that, did you?” Norma became breathless, too—she hadn’t missed a step yet.

  Harold still smiled. “I think it was the best weather report I’ve ever read.” His eyes softened, then he became pensive. “You know, I believe I have seen you.”

  Norma’s sweaty eyebrow rose. Where had he seen her?

  “You were here last week. I saw you leave with Chapel,” he said.