Such a Dance (21 page)

“Hardy? Do you know him?”

Julian nodded. He started to shake violently in a way he couldn’t control.

“Oh, Jesus. All right. Come with me.”

Lane steered Julian to the office. He nudged Julian into the chair. “Deep breaths,” he said. “Slow down, try not to gasp.”

It took a seemingly interminable amount of time, but Julian managed to get his breathing mostly under control. Lane leaned against his desk and waited patiently.

Lane said, “Client of yours?”

Julian nodded. “He’s the one who . . .” He gestured toward his face, which had once been so badly bruised he’d used heavy makeup to cover it up.

Lane cursed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I had him pegged as a self-hating queer weeks ago.” He sighed. “He’s a self-appointed Volstead Act enforcement agent. He makes a fortune in this neighborhood from people who don’t want to get raided.”

Julian took another deep breath. “Hardy, you said his name is?” he asked shakily.

Lane nodded. “Yes.”

“He called himself Harry when I met him,” said Julian as he realized this man had been part of the fabric of the neighborhood for longer than he’d suspected. Memories suddenly surfaced of Bryant Park raids and friends getting arrested or beaten. There had been an officer named Hardy behind more than one of those incidents, hadn’t there? “He’s been prowling around Times Square for a while, yes? The last year or so?”

“Yes. He’s a thorn in my side but a powerful one. At his word, all of this ends.” Lane gestured around him. “He threatens to shut down the Marigold once a week and he could do it, too. His cronies would be in here at the snap of his fingers, and then it’s over. I think if it were just the bootlegging, he’d leave us alone, but he’s particularly hung up on the clientele.”

“So you pay him off not to raid you.”

Lane nodded. “He demands more money every week. But there’s nothing I can do. He’s a darling of the department because he has so many arrests under his belt. He’s friendly with Mayor Walker and a number of other city officials. So I pay him and he leaves me alone.”

“He’s a violent man.”

Lane nodded. “I was afraid that might be the case.”

What a mess. Just when Julian thought he might be on the way to escaping his past, it came back to haunt him. He shook his head as he stood up.

“Are you all right?” Lane asked.

“Yes, darling. I’d like to get back to work now.”

“Yes, of course.”

Frank was flirting pretty heavily with a customer as Julian arrived back out on the floor. He smiled at himself, more amused by the kid’s antics than he would have admitted aloud. At least it was a distraction from the very real danger Julian still found himself in.

“Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground”

T
he Marigold was having an especially good night. The alcohol was flowing plentifully—Lane had gotten a case of decent hooch at a good discount from Mook, who had responded well to Lane’s threats to go to other distributors. The fact that Julian knew a guy who could get them a couple of cases in a pinch had helped, too, reinforcing that Mook was not the only act in town.

Eddie was out on the floor teaching the crowd a few steps. He got a bunch of the men at the club doing the Charleston, which was pretty funny to watch from Lane’s perspective off to the side. And the club was packed, on top of it. He wasn’t sure there had ever been a night this crowded in the entire time the club had been open. It was a lucrative enough night that Lane felt pretty confident he’d be able to come up with enough money to pay off Hardy and whoever else came to call.

Eddie came off the dance floor laughing. Lane caught him and put his arms around Eddie’s waist. “Hey, baby,” he said. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes,” Eddie said. “What a great crowd you’ve got.” He sighed and leaned into Lane a little. “I thought it was a silly idea, but I’m really glad that you talked me into dancing here. It keeps me warmed up, if nothing else. I have another audition next week, did I tell you that?”

“No. That’s marvelous.” All of it was. Lane had asked Eddie if he’d be willing to entertain some of the guests at the club, had offered to pay him even, but Eddie was doing it free of charge. It seemed to make him happy, which had been Lane’s main goal, although the fact that Eddie attracted repeat customers was nothing to sneeze at. And now he had an audition? That was the gravy on top.

Eddie smiled. He put his arms more firmly around Lane and hugged him close. “Dance with me.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh,
yes
. Come on, Lane.” He dragged Lane toward the floor, Lane protesting and fighting him the whole way, but he let himself be led over to the crowd of men. Eddie seemed to stop traffic as he moved through the floor. Everyone applauded him.

“Well, gentlemen,” Eddie said, taking a deep bow. “This here is my man, okay?” Everyone in the crowd hooted and cheered. Lane, who much preferred to be on the sidelines, felt the blush rise to his face. He did not want all this attention on him. Eddie continued, “He thinks he’s not a great dancer, but I think he just needs a little practice. Am I right?”

A few of the men clapped. Eddie bowed again to the crowd, and then he bowed to Lane. “Okay, here’s what you do.” He took a step forward. Then he put his foot back where it had been. Then he took a step backward. Then he put his foot back the way it was. “Can you do that?” Eddie asked.

Lane felt paralyzed by all the eyes on him. It was one thing to dance with Eddie when they were just one more couple in the crowd. To be at the center of the spotlight was something else entirely. Still, he took a deep breath and tried the steps. Forward, back. Backward, back. But he tripped and almost fell. Eddie caught him.

“Okay, baby,” Eddie said. He was grinning, enjoying the audience. Lane thought again about how much of a shame it was that Eddie was still unemployed. He was really born to do this, and he fed off the energy of the crowd. It bolstered him, made him smile, made Lane happy to watch. But then this was why Eddie was a performer and Lane preferred to do things behind the scenes.

Eddie had been auditioning regularly for the last few weeks but still hadn’t gotten a job that lasted longer than a night or two. Watching Eddie now, it was impossible to see the sense in that. This man should have been entertaining a crowd many times larger than the small one assembled on the dance floor of an off-the-beaten-path club for queers.

“Right foot forward, right foot back, left foot back, left foot forward. Now, pay attention.” Eddie lifted his arms and bent his elbows. “You get your arms in on this, too, so it looks like you’re a bird.”

Eddie moved so gracefully that Lane thought he looked like a lovely, beautiful bird, maybe a swan, something that moved majestically. Lane tried to mimic his movements and felt more like a chicken. Someone in the audience reinforced that by squawking. Eddie laughed and got into it. He got everyone on the floor doing the steps with him. Then it started to get wild, with men throwing their arms and feet around, moving in time with some raucous tune from the band, all trumpet bleats and saxophone melodies.

“It’s jazz, baby,” Eddie said to Lane as he danced. Lane tried again, feeling awkward and clumsy. Eddie took his hand and danced alongside him. Lane wasn’t sure what was going on anymore, and he was sure he looked like a fool, but it was hard to deny that it felt good to be doing whatever he was doing with Eddie, and it felt great to be called Eddie’s man to an audience full of other men.

The tempo changed slightly, and Lane found himself swept up in Eddie’s arms. He was still awkward, but Eddie led him around the dance floor, and he found it was easy enough to follow what Eddie was doing. He stepped on Eddie’s feet a few times, but Eddie just laughed.

When they were in the throes of laughing, tangled up together, Lane said, “You amaze me.”

Eddie grinned. “You’re not so bad, you know. I think if you danced a little more often, you’d be able to hold your own.”

“Maybe I only like dancing with you. I’ll practice all you want, if it’s with you.”

Eddie leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Lane.”

“Right back at ya, baby.”

They danced around the floor and Lane couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so happy, or when he’d been able to just let go and have fun.

Which was why everything came crashing down the next moment.

One minute he was dancing, and the next, a swarm of cops was moving into the club, shouting and rounding up people. “This is a raid,” one of them announced. He held up a piece of paper.

Lane’s first reaction was pure, unadulterated panic. All the blood drained out of his extremities, his stomach churned, and a cold sweat broke out all over his body. He glanced at Eddie, who just stared, dumbstruck.

This could not be happening. Not on a night like tonight.

Lane gathered himself and pushed through the crowd of men. He was angry now. No, angry wasn’t the word. Livid. Furious. Officer Hardy stood in the middle of the horde of cops, a smirk on his face, cool as a cucumber.

“Bang it, Hardy, what the hell?” Lane asked. “You told me—”

“That was before I knew about the nature of this club, Mr. Carillo.” Lane knew they both knew that was complete horseshit, but Hardy said it loudly, more for the benefit of his audience than for Lane. His expression was placid, and he held out his hands, palms up, as if he couldn’t be expected to do otherwise. “You have men here who are cavorting with other men. It’s disgusting. I was willing to look the other way when I thought you were just selling cheap rotgut to drunkards like every other club in Times Square, but this is beyond the pale. This is sickening. So I’m shutting this place down.”

Lane wanted to protest more, especially since Hardy’s tone was so matter-of-fact, but the damage was done. Most of the men in the place were scrambling to leave in a hurry, running for the exits or the bathrooms. He caught sight of Etta running into the kitchen and he wondered if she would have time to change before she ran out of the club. Leaving still dressed as a woman was a good way to end up in jail for the night.

In the midst of the chaos, Lane was separated from Eddie. Somehow, not being able to see him made Lane panic even more than the raid itself did. Because if mere rumors about where Eddie spent time were enough to keep him unemployed, then surely getting caught and arrested in this raid would end his career for good.

Hardy walked up to Lane and grabbed his arm. Lane expected to get arrested now, and that was a tangible fear, too. A cold sweat broke out on his back as he pictured spending the night in jail and all of the horrific things his cellmates might do to the man who ran a notorious club for queer men and fairies. More to the point, it was bad enough to get arrested for selling alcohol; Hardy might also charge him with sodomy. Then his life would be over.

“I don’t want to arrest you, Carillo,” said Hardy. Lane met his eyes and saw pain and remorse there, or he imagined he did.

“Then don’t.” Lane used his free hand to reach into his pocket for his billfold, hoping maybe he had enough cash in it to persuade Hardy to go away. His hand closed around it and he managed to pull a few bills out. He slipped them into Hardy’s hand.

Hardy closed his eyes briefly. He let out a soft breath. Time stood still a moment as Hardy and Lane assessed each other.

Lane knew it was too late to stop the raid, but he hoped he could use money and what he knew of Hardy to escape. “Listen,” he said softly, “I know a man who was once employed by you. Says you beat him hard enough to kill him, but help stumbled upon him and he lived.”

Hardy’s eyes widened. “And you’d believe the word of a fairy prostitute before you believed me?”

“You basically just confirmed his story. I never said he was a prostitute. So yes, I believe him.”

“No one else will.”

“Perhaps not, but I have enough information to make a lot of trouble for you. Wouldn’t your boss love to hear what you do in your off hours?”

Hardy took a step back. “This club is done,” he said, “but maybe you slipped out the back before I could arrest you.”

He moved away and started shouting. The kitchen staff was hauled out in cuffs, and Lane wondered if a raided club was a little like a sinking ship, if he was supposed to go down with it, but he also really needed to find Eddie. He snuck into the kitchen and then down the hall to his office, where he found Eddie hiding behind the door. Lane leaned over and kissed Eddie, because the situation seemed to call for it. Eddie kissed him back.

“What the hell is happening?” Eddie asked.

“I guess I didn’t pay Hardy enough.” He didn’t want to get into the entirety of the situation, not yet. They needed to get out of the club and then Lane would explain.

“I can’t get arrested, Lane. I cannot.”

“He’s going to leave us alone, but we need to leave right now.”

Eddie nodded. Lane quickly gathered what he could from his desk, including his gun and his ledgers and shoved it all into a bag he kept in the coat closet. He grabbed Eddie’s hand and pulled him through the kitchen and then out onto the street. Once they were outside, they ran down 48th Street.

“Now what?” Eddie asked.

“Let’s go to your place.”

Once they were in the heart of Times Square, it was easy enough to slip into the chaos of the crowds pouring out of the theaters. Eddie led the way, which was necessary because Lane’s head was spinning so fast he didn’t know which way was south. He focused on the back of Eddie’s head as they walked and he tried not to think about what would happen next. The Marigold could potentially recover and reopen. But Hardy had said it was done. He wanted more than Lane could pay. Profits had been up recently, but probably not enough to make keeping the place worth Hardy’s price, which Lane imagined would just continue to balloon given what Hardy could threaten Lane with. And at the end of the day, Epstein didn’t care about what Lane had been building on 48th Street, about the safe space and the community and the dancing; he cared about money.

If the Marigold was really done, where did that leave Lane? He followed Eddie down Broadway and wondered what task Epstein would have for him next, or if he’d be penalized for letting the Marigold get raided. He feared both outcomes.

But they arrived at the Knickerbocker and Eddie led Lane through the side entrance.

“Are you all right?” Eddie asked.

Lane didn’t—couldn’t—answer. In the elevator, he hung his head, unwilling to look at Eddie, feeling like a failure, feeling doomed. Hard to believe that the place he had invested so much time in could be taken from him in an instant. He had never dreamed of running a club, and yet the Marigold had become his dream, his greatest accomplishment. It was a haven for men like him, a place he could just be. And now it was gone.

Eddie ran his knuckles along Lane’s cheek. “There’s nothing you can do tonight. Put it aside for now. We’ll worry tomorrow.”

“We?”

“I’m in this with you.” Eddie slid his fingers under Lane’s chin and lifted it. “Put it aside. I’ll take you to my room and help you forget. All right?”

Lane nodded. “Bang it, Eddie. Just . . . bang it all.”

“I know.”

The elevator dinged. Eddie took Lane’s hand and led him down the hall. He fished his key out of his pocket, but Lane stopped him before he opened the door.

“Thank you,” Lane said quietly.

“What for?”

“You . . . tonight, you saved me.”

Eddie shrugged. “If you’ll recall, you saved me first. I figure I’m just returning the favor.”