Such a Dance (11 page)

They were all silent for a few moments while Eddie gathered his thoughts. His head was swimming, it seemed like.

Julian let out a breath and seemed to deflate on the counter. He grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it up to his chin.

Lane tilted his head back and forth a few times, considering Julian, and then said, “You need a job?”

This clearly shocked Julian as much as it did Eddie, because Julian’s whole body tensed, though he recovered quickly. “Sorry, darling, I don’t do multiples. Not unless you’re willing to pay triple.” Something in his old manner came back, which was a relief to Eddie.

“No, not that,” Lane said. “Do you want to know where you are? You’re in the kitchen of the Marigold. Have you heard of it?”

“Heard of it?” Julian’s eyes went wide. He looked around as if he was noticing his surroundings for the first time. “It’s the talk of the town, darling! How slick of you to make a club for fairies and queers and keep it open this long. Except of course you didn’t. Everyone knows it’s owned by the Mob.”

Lane raised an eyebrow.

That mostly served to remind Eddie that he had been having sex with a gangster. Not that he hadn’t known that, but suddenly everything seemed more dangerous.

“Well, Edward!” said Julian, his old self trickling back in with every word. “I never pictured you as the type to get a
mafioso
sugar daddy!”

“What? No. Hey, no. He’s not my—”

But Julian waved his hand. “What sort of job are we talking?”

Lane grinned. “I was thinking we could use a few pretty boys to walk around the floor. It’s a waiter job, basically, except more than that, too. You’d bring customers drinks but also keep them happy, make jokes, encourage them to dance, that sort of thing.”

“Interesting,” Julian said, looking around again.

“I assure you that the club itself is far more glamorous than the kitchen. And there’s a steady paycheck in this, obviously.”

“Mob money,” Julian said.

“No. I pay my employees with money earned at the club,” Lane said, though Eddie doubted this was completely true. “Besides, I hardly think you’re the type to wonder where a dollar came from.”

Julian laughed softly. Then he winced in pain. “Well. You’ve got me pegged, darling.”

Lane held out a hand. “Do we have a deal? You can start as soon as you like. After you recover, obviously.”

Julian hesitated, but then reached out and took Lane’s hand. They shook on it. Lane rattled off some of the particulars, while Julian nodded.

“And you can sleep here tonight if you need to. I’ve got an office. There’s not a lot of space, but the carpeted floor will be softer than this counter.”

Still worried about Julian’s welfare, Eddie said, “Or you can come back to my place.”

Julian shook his head. “I’m sure that I don’t want to be the extra wheel in whatever you’ve got going with the
bel homme
. I’ll manage here on the floor. Thank you for the offer, though, darling. I do appreciate it. If nothing else, you’ve always been good to me.” His smile was a little strained, but Eddie felt like there might be some real affection there.

“Will you be all right here by yourself if I leave to get a few hours of shut-eye?” Lane asked. “Everyone is gone for the night. Only me and my assistant Raul have keys to this place.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Eddie and Lane worked together to help Julian off the counter—it was a struggle, and Julian groaned in pain—and into the office. Lane rummaged around and produced another blanket. He put the blankets together on the floor and pulled a pillow off his desk chair. “It’s not great,” Lane said, “but it’s the best we can do.”

“It’s just one night. And I’m so very tired, darling. I’ll be all right here for a few hours.”

“We probably shouldn’t leave him alone,” Eddie said. “What if he has a more serious injury? A concussion or some bleeding the doctor missed?”

“All right. We can all bunk here if you want to.”

Eddie did. He fretted suddenly that Julian was more seriously injured than the doctor could see. That happened all the time, didn’t it? Some boxer got hit in the head and seemed fine, but then six hours later, he was dead as a doornail. Come to think of it, maybe Julian shouldn’t sleep if he had a concussion.

“Calm down, Eddie,” Lane said softly, running a hand down Eddie’s back. “It will be all right. We’ll stay here with Julian and keep an eye on him.”

“Okay.”

Lane turned to Julian. “I’ll get you squared away with the job tomorrow.”

Julian nodded and settled into his spot on the floor.

A half hour later, Eddie and Lane stood outside the office. Julian seemed to be dozing and so far had not shown any further evidence that his injuries were severe.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie said. “Help out Julian, I mean.”

Lane shrugged. “It was the right thing to do. He needed our help, and I was in a unique position to help him. Besides, he’s a handsome fella. I think he’d fit right in at the Marigold. Don’t you?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“I understand, Eddie. I know what went on here, what Julian was to you. Consider this an unrelated business transaction.”

Eddie frowned.

“Besides, this is what you want, right? You’re worried about him. I can tell you are. So I’m setting him up. I’m giving him a way out of a bad situation. It’s a step toward legitimacy and away from the violence he saw today. That’s good.”

Eddie stared at Lane. He was still reeling from this night and everything that had happened, what he’d seen, what he’d done. He wasn’t sure what to make of any of it, but it felt like he’d turned a corner, that they’d turned a corner together.

Lane reached over and smoothed the hair away from Eddie’s face. “I wish that I had the foggiest notion of what goes on in that head of yours.”

“Was offering the job about making me happy or doing something for Julian?” asked Eddie.

Lane shrugged. ”Maybe a little of both. Call me crazy, but I want to do things that make you happy.”

Eddie gave Lane a hard look.

“I’ll go out on a limb,” Lane went on, “and wager that you would do the same for me, even if you don’t want me to think so.”

Eddie let out a huff but, when he thought about it, couldn’t deny it.

“Thank you,” Eddie said softly.

Lane smiled. “Come on, I’ve got a few more blankets in the closet. Let’s camp out here and get a few hours of shut-eye together before we have to face the world again.”

“My Man”

E
ddie stood in the middle of Times Square. He liked the chaos of it sometimes, of the flashing lights and the people skittering by. It was an especially busy afternoon for no discernible reason, people everywhere moving like bees.

He stood near the
Times
building, and looked up at the news ticker.
Lindbergh Lands in Paris!
the ticker announced. Eddie laughed and considered how absurd that seemed. He’d seen photos in the paper of
The Spirit of St. Louis
and thought now how bizarre a quest it was for a man to pilot a rickety little plane like that across the ocean.

He shook his head and considered whether he should walk to the Marigold and see if Lane was there or just go to the theater. Eddie wasn’t sure he had any business dropping in on Lane at his place of business in the middle of the day, but on the other hand, a tiny part of Eddie just wanted to see him.

He laughed and shook his head. It was a strange turn his life had taken. He opted to walk to the theater to get some extra practice in, reasoning that Lane was probably not even at the Marigold this early in the day. Still, thoughts of Lane brought a smile to his face, enough so that he didn’t mind so much when a group of drunk carousers collided with him, or when a busker started belting out “Swanee” badly, or when a newsboy practically assaulted him while trying to sell him a paper. No, none of it mattered, because Lane had put a swing in his step, so he walked to the theater in a celebratory mood.

It didn’t last.

Blanchard had decided to change the show much earlier than expected. As soon as Marian was able to sing the song, he ordered Cotton and France to add it to their act over Eddie’s protests that they weren’t quite ready. Still, toward the end of May, they debuted “My Heart Is Full” at
Le Tumulte de Broadway
to a packed house.

Eddie and Marian did their usual routine, dancing, joking, singing a few bawdier numbers. Then Eddie pulled out a chair from stage left and sat in it while Marian stepped forward. She was ostensibly singing the song to him, her stage-husband, but she faced the audience as she sang. All of her usual tricks were gone. She wasn’t brash. She didn’t honk like a goose. Marian sang the way that few knew she could sing, plaintive and rich and lovely, her voice soaring over the orchestra, over the audience. She nailed the song, infusing it with longing and emotion, as if she were singing to a man she loved dearly.

It brought the house down.

Eddie had never seen anything like it. Marian sang the song, and before Eddie even stood to dance her off the stage, the audience was on its feet, cheering and hooting.

After their act, they rushed backstage together. They stood in the hallway that led to the dressing rooms for a moment, catching their breath. Marian laughed. “Wow!” she said. “I didn’t think I could do it. That was amazing. Have you ever seen anything like that?”

Eddie laughed with her. “No, I was just thinking the same thing. That was incredible. You were incredible. But I knew you had it in you.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” She jumped up on her toes and gave him a hug. “Thank you for everything. The act is great, isn’t it? We’ve really arrived now.”

Eddie found it hard not to get caught up in Marian’s enthusiasm, but at the same time, something nagged him at the back of his mind. Had anything really changed? Blanchard hadn’t let Eddie add his new dance. The routine was good, probably one of the best Eddie had ever choreographed, but Blanchard had flatly refused. Cotton and France were doing the same routine they’d done all season except they’d swapped out a comedic number for the new song for Marian, with nothing new for Eddie. Marian was getting all the attention, and Eddie felt pushed into being her sidekick. But he wasn’t supposed to be the sidekick, he was supposed to be her equal. Her partner. Not second banana.

But he congratulated Marian and hugged her. Then Blanchard appeared. He walked over to them. He shook Eddie’s hand and then gave Marian a rather tender kiss. That surprised Eddie. He’d had his suspicions for a long time that Blanchard was sweet on Marian, but he hadn’t known their relationship had progressed to the point where they would kiss like this.

Suddenly the whole situation became a lot clearer.

“You were wonderful, my dear,” said Blanchard. “That was fantastic. This will really bring ’em to the theater. We’ll fill this place up every night!” He laughed.

Eddie’s good mood soured. The show, his future, was playing out in front of him in a way he hadn’t expected. Marian was having an affair with Blanchard—something she hadn’t told him even though they were supposedly friends—and Blanchard had chosen a song for her as a tribute. Probably so that he could continue a good thing. Eddie would have blamed Marian, but he knew Blanchard wasn’t so much interested in her as he was interested in making his show a huge hit. He wanted to overtake George White, he wanted to overtake Flo Ziegfeld, and Eddie knew perfectly well that Blanchard didn’t have the talent or vision to make either of those things happen. He had put together a perfectly respectable vaudeville revue, but it wasn’t as flashy as the
Scandals
or as over-the-top as the
Follies
. Regardless, though, the song was really just a ploy to put more people in those seats in the theater. Which meant, ultimately, that Blanchard would get his small victory, at the cost of Marian’s heart.

And where did that leave Eddie?

He excused himself and went to his dressing room. He sat at his dressing table for a long time, staring at the mirror, looking at the way his makeup had smeared after he’d sweated while dancing under the stage lights. He sighed and grabbed a cloth and started to wipe it off. And as he cleaned the makeup away, his panic mounted. Something about this situation had suddenly, irrevocably turned, and not for the good.

He cleaned his face and changed into his street clothes. He was trying to decide what to do with the rest of the evening—did he want to just go back to his room and wallow, did he want to try to find Lane?—when there was a soft knock at the door.

Eddie answered it. Marian stood there, still in her costume, still all smiles. “Mr. Blanchard wants to take everyone out tonight to celebrate. Maybe to the Waldorf. What do you think?”

“Sounds nice.”

“Come with us, Eddie. This is as much your show as it is mine.”

He loved Marian, he did. He reached over and pulled her into his arms and gave her a tight hug. He thought about things he’d overheard while eavesdropping. He knew she really believed what she said, that she hadn’t figured out yet that this was all part of Blanchard’s scheme. She was too naïve to see how Blanchard was manipulating her. And who knew, maybe things would work out for her and he was being unduly cynical. In the end, he didn’t blame her for his new plight. But that didn’t make him feel any better about his fate.

“I’m not feeling that well,” he said.

“Oh, Eddie, come on. You can have a drink with us, a nice meal, celebrate the show! For me?”

“I . . . Is the kitchen there even still open?”

She gave him the pouty face that she knew perfectly well was Eddie’s downfall.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll go for a little while.”

She cheered. “Thanks, Eddie! I’ll just change. Meet me and Jimmy by the stage door in ten minutes.”

Eddie went back to the mirror after she disappeared and stared at himself some more. He looked tired, he thought.

He wondered—and he didn’t like this line of thinking but he let it run rampant anyway—what Lane saw in him. Did Lane think him handsome, or did he keep coming back because Eddie was easy sex? Not that the sex wasn’t good, at least from Eddie’s perspective. Lane attracted him, that was for sure, and surprised him and made him laugh. It was Lane whom Eddie’s thoughts turned toward lately more often than not, Lane whom he thought of when he was having a rough day, Lane whom he thought of now that everything was going wrong.

Well, not explicitly so. But Eddie felt uneasy just the same.

He adjusted his tie and found his lucky fedora. He walked out of the dressing room and toward the stage door. A half dozen people stood there, among them a few of the other dancers, one of the chorus girls, Walter Rhodes, and Blanchard. Marian came bustling over a moment later, and everyone applauded her. There were murmurs of “Great!” and “Brava!” Marian smiled and bowed.

“Thank you all so much,” she said. “It really means a lot to me.”

“It’s a great song,” Eddie said.

Marian grinned. Eddie held his arm out for her. She tucked her hand into his elbow. Blanchard shot Eddie a disapproving glare, but Eddie didn’t care. He wanted some of Marian’s giddiness to infect him. He wanted to feel something other than the distress he’d felt back in his dressing room. He wanted to feel for just a few minutes like this might really work out, like everything might really be okay.

Apparently a fancy late-night dinner at the Waldorf was not to be. Instead, they wound up at Lenny’s, a restaurant that was only one step up from the Automat or a cafeteria, but Eddie knew Blanchard couldn’t really afford to feed all these people at a more expensive joint. Still, the food was good. Eddie and Marian split a steak and a number of buttery side dishes while Blanchard regaled the assembled crowd with tales of the theater, most of which seemed too embellished to be true. It didn’t escape Eddie’s notice that there was also a small group of men in dark suits sitting in another corner. He overheard one of the stagehands say that the large man at the corner table was David Epstein.

That, of course, made Eddie think of Lane. He wondered if Lane was required to put in an appearance at Lenny’s on nights when Epstein was holding court. He’d heard that the Mafia bosses had regularly scheduled meetings in this place, though it had never occurred to him to pay attention until he’d met Lane. Suddenly, the Mob had become real in a way it had never been before.

And then, as if he’d been summoned, Lane himself waltzed in through the door.

Eddie put some effort into ignoring him. He tried to pay attention to the conversation around him. Blanchard was going on about something, probably raving about Marian’s performance some more. Lane looked over and made eye contact, but he did not otherwise acknowledge Eddie. Instead, he slid into the chair across from Epstein. Eddie tried not to look, but it didn’t escape his notice that Lane and Epstein were huddled close together.

The evening became impossible. He drifted in and out of the conversation with Marian and Blanchard and he kept an eye on Lane. Marian kept having to repeat things she said.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, finally. “I guess my mind is elsewhere.”

Marian smiled at him.

Blanchard said, “You got a sweetheart, Eddie? I know what puts a look like that in a man’s eye.”

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. Marian looked at him askance.

“No, sir,” Eddie said. “No sweetheart. Just a little distracted. Thinking about the show.”

“Of course. You agree that Marian’s performance was spectacular, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.” Eddie gave Marian a little nudge with his elbow. “She was great.”

And Eddie felt awful.

Dinner wrapped up much faster than Eddie expected, which was all to the good because he wasn’t sure how much more he could take. Marian and Blanchard left together—Eddie supposed they no longer felt the need to keep their affair a secret, although he wondered now how long that had been going on—and then everyone else wandered away. Eddie lingered near the front entrance, and then he went outside for some air. It was a nice night, it was hard to deny that, warm and smelling of summer.

Lane walked outside a few minutes later. “Hello,” he said.

Eddie felt like he might collapse suddenly. “I’m a terrible person.”

Lane smirked. “I disagree, but I’m curious about why you think so.”

Eddie pointed down Broadway, toward the Knickerbocker. Lane nodded and fell into step with him. Eddie explained about the new act, and then said, “You know, Marian and I have known each other for years. She’s probably one of the closest friends I’ve ever had. I wish all the best for her. Really, I do.”

Lane nodded. “But?”

“I think the producer is playing her, first of all, and I don’t know how to tell her. But more than that, I feel pushed aside. Shouldn’t I be happy for her? Shouldn’t I want her to do well?”

“Sure, but Eddie, you’re half of the best act of that whole production. You’re hardly being pushed aside.”

Eddie appreciated that Lane was trying to console him, but he knew better. “I don’t have the right parts to hold Blanchard’s attention. Blanchard’s the producer.”

“Ah,” said Lane.

Eddie shook his head. “I’m being ridiculous.”

Lane slung an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Come on, I’ll help you take your mind off things.”