Such a Dance (23 page)

Jimmy shook his head. “I will not have that flaming faggot on my stage.”

Marian rolled her eyes. She felt ready for a fight now. She was tired of just agreeing to everything Jimmy said, especially now that she could see his mistakes so clearly. “That’s ridiculous. Do you know how many queer men there are in the theater community? If you think for one moment that you could in any way keep your stage clean of them, then you’ve got—”

“Shut up, Marian!” Jimmy shouted. He took a step closer to her and brandished his fist. “Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re a stupid woman. Get out of my office and leave me to make the decisions. Have you ever produced a stage show? No? I’ve been doing it for a decade. I’ll get those people back in those seats. The summer is waning now, though, so people are busy with other things. But come the fall, we’re back in business. I’ll get a big act that will knock everyone’s socks off.” He grunted. “Stop trying to run my show. I’m the producer here, not you.”

“Jimmy, be realistic.”

“No. I’m done. I will find the best act on Broadway, and it won’t involve Eddie fucking Cotton.”

Marian winced, put off by Jimmy’s language.

Jimmy must not have seen it, because he kept talking. “Maybe it’ll be like the Hippodrome and I’ll get a few live animals in here. Maybe I’ll get some better chorus girls. I’ll figure something out, and whatever it will be, it will be magical. But you are
mine
, Marian. I control
you
. You don’t get a say in what happens on my stage.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Jimmy.”

Jimmy reached forward and grabbed the collar of Marian’s blouse. “No, you listen to me.
You’re
being ridiculous. I’m in charge here.”

The look in Jimmy’s eyes terrified Marian. She thought he might hit her. She put up her hands.

“You’re being unreasonable,” she said.

“Am I, Marian? Seems to me you think you know better than me.”

“I don’t. I just want my dance partner back.”

“He’ll never love you, you know. Not the way I do.”

“Jimmy.”

She tried to get away, but he grabbed her arm hard enough to leave a bruise. She pulled back, but his grip was unrelenting. The look in his eyes was terrifying. She’d never seen him angry like this.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not trying to run your show. You do a good job, Jimmy. I just think that—”

Jimmy shook her, hard enough that she gasped.

Suddenly he let go and took a step back. She took a stumbling step backward.

“I’m sorry, Marian. You know I don’t mean it. I just got so angry.”

He didn’t look especially penitent. In fact, he still had that wild, furious look in his eyes.

Marian took a step back. “I know, but Jimmy—”

“Get out,” he spat.

“Yes,” she said. She turned on her heel and walked out of the office.

As she ran down to her dressing room, adrenaline kicked in and her heart started racing. She slammed the door and burst into tears.

“What Can I Say After I Say I’m Sorry”

I
t surprised Lane that no one came. He spent a week at the Knickerbocker after the raid, but no one found him. He went home one afternoon, and no one had been there, either. He warned himself not to get too comfortable, but things began to seem less dire as the days progressed.

Then the summons came.

He came home with Eddie after a night out in Greenwich Village and found a note had been slipped under the door. His presence was requested at Lenny’s the next afternoon.

Lane glanced at Eddie.

“Epstein?” Eddie asked after reading over Lane’s shoulder.

“Must be.” Lane let out a breath, feeling like his holiday had just ended. “I figured it would come to this.”

But when Lane walked into Lenny’s at the appointed time the next day, Epstein was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Callahan and Legs Aurelio were sitting at a table eating sandwiches.

“Did you fellas summon me?” Lane asked as he stood over their table.

Callahan kicked out a chair, so Lane sat in it.

“Epstein has made himself scarce,” Legs said. “So have you, actually. We just want to know what the hell to do now.”

Lane looked back and forth between Legs and Callahan. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not terribly comforting,” Callahan said.

“What do you want me to say? The Marigold is done. It’s over. We could reopen somewhere else, but it would only be a matter of time before Hardy found us and blackmailed us again.”

“Maybe we should take care of Hardy,” said Legs.

Callahan leaned back and leveled his gaze at Legs. “Not a cop, Legs. That’s not how we do business.”

“Besides,” Lane said, “there are other Hardys. Prohibition has turned police officers into entrepreneurs. Eliminating one does not eliminate the problem.”

Legs and Callahan debated this point for a moment while Lane contemplated the situation. The catch here, of course, was that Lane knew Hardy’s secret and could probably have exploited it if he were to reestablish the Marigold or something like it in a new location. The prospect interested him, though continuing to work with Epstein did not. And the greater point still stood that even if Hardy could be neutralized, there were plenty of others who patrolled the area around Times Square. As an obstacle, this situation was not insurmountable, but Lane was tired.

“And,” Callahan was saying when Lane resumed listening, “our next venture should be less, er . . .”

Lane sighed. “Less queer.”

“Well, yes. It would certainly decrease the odds of our getting raided again.”

“Then what’s your gimmick? What gets people in the door? Why should anyone come to your joint when there are a hundred other speakeasies in the neighborhood?” Lane asked.

Legs and Callahan looked at each other. Callahan then turned to Lane and said, “We’re not entirely sure yet. But are you in if we think of something?”

“I should check in with Epstein. I haven’t spoken to him since the raid.”

“Of course,” said Callahan. “But if he has nothing in particular for you to do, maybe we should consider going into business together.”

Lane liked Callahan and Legs both but he wasn’t completely sure this was the best course of action, especially not now that Eddie was in the picture. “Let me think on it.”

Legs took a big bite out of his sandwich. With his mouth full, he said, “I want to take out Hardy.”

Lane considered his options. He decided he’d leave without eating and he’d take some time to figure out what to do. But he could also plant a few seeds.

“Hardy’s queer,” Lane said quietly as he stood. “Do with that information what you will.” Then he walked out of the restaurant.

He went back home and was dozing in his bedroom when Eddie came back from an audition. Lane sat up and asked, “How did it go?”

“Hard to say. I performed well, but each of these auditions seems to go the same. I think I do well but then I don’t get a call-back. So I don’t know.” Eddie took his hat off and tossed it on a side table. “This is kind of interesting.” He held up a copy of a newspaper.

“Oh?” Lane hadn’t bothered to look at a paper while he was out. Maybe it was foolish, but he had little interest in what was happening outside of his apartment.

“Apparently the police are stepping up enforcement of the Volstead Act. Nine clubs in Times Square alone have been raided in the last week. In this article in the
Times
, they interviewed a judge in Brooklyn who is irritated because he has to hear four times as many cases as he did before, nearly all of them offenses involving intoxicating beverages.” Eddie handed Lane the paper. “It’s not just you, I guess. I’m pretty sure three of the clubs named in the article are also owned by Epstein.”

Lane looked at the article. Four of them were Epstein establishments, actually. And two of the others were owned by Lane’s Mafia family, the Giambinos. He thought the other three were probably also Mob-controlled. “No mention of the Marigold,” Lane pointed out. “Perhaps the fairy club is beyond the pale.”

“Maybe for the best.” Eddie started to change out of his audition outfit. There was a strange domesticity in the act, in the two of them chatting while Eddie went about his business. “You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, right?”

“Epstein doesn’t seem that determined to find me.” Lane found that troublesome. Clearly, Epstein had problems of his own.

“Sure, but if not Epstein, then that cop. He
could
still arrest you if you crossed his path, right?”

“I don’t think he will.” Still, Lane felt grim. He dropped the paper in a wastepaper basket and went back to lying on the bed.

Eddie, down to his shirtsleeves, sat on the bed and ran a hand over Lane’s hair. “I’m sorry, Lane. In my addled brain, I thought this was almost good news. Maybe Epstein will stay away if he’s got this much of a mess on his hands.”

“I don’t see that he would go away permanently.”

“No, but maybe we’ll have a real plan by the time he does try to find you.”

Lane wasn’t any closer to knowing how to handle the hand he’d been dealt. He still wanted out, that was for certain, and he wanted to figure out how to make a life with Eddie that did not involve the Mafia or nightclubs or bootlegging or any of it. He sighed.

“Well. I hear California is nice this time of year.”

Eddie laughed. “Ah, that would be the day, wouldn’t it? Eddie Cotton takes his act to Los Angeles! Can you imagine? Me in a moving picture?”

“It’s not too bad an idea.”

Eddie shook his head and leaned down to kiss Lane’s forehead. “Let me conquer Broadway first.”

Lane didn’t want to move, either. A fleeting thought passed through his head: his Anglophile friend Clarence had mentioned that his sugar daddy George knew people uptown. Maybe all he and Eddie really needed to do was get out of Times Square. If there was a way to get out of his problems without leaving the city, then that was what Lane wanted.

 

Marian pulled on the silk robe she kept in Jimmy’s bedroom and walked down the hall, looking for him. She found him in his office, hunched over his desk. At first, she thought he was talking on the phone, but then she saw the receiver resting in its cradle. He must have been talking to himself. Marian figured he was looking at the numbers for the Doozies again. They couldn’t have been good.

He’d come to her the night before full of apologies. Marian hadn’t been inclined to forgive him for his violence the previous afternoon, but he’d brought her flowers and a gorgeous diamond necklace and he swore he’d find a way to keep the show going. She knew it was foolish, but she’d forgiven him and let him romance her back to his house after dinner, let him talk her into bed. This morning she regretted that somewhat, but she was willing to give Jimmy the benefit of the doubt, willing to accept his apology and let him make amends. Perhaps the Doozies would be better for it.

She knocked on the door frame. Jimmy jerked around and looked at her. “What are you doing here, Marian?”

“I just woke up. I thought you might like some breakfast. I can go downstairs and make something, if you want.”

He grunted. “Yes, all right. I’m not sure what you will find there. There might be some eggs.”

“I can work with eggs.” She cracked her knuckles and smiled.

He didn’t seem to be in an especially good mood. He nodded and went back to his ledger.

So Marian went downstairs. She found eggs and milk and bacon, so she went about cooking a fine breakfast. The eggs were light and fluffy, the bacon was cooked crispy, the way Jimmy liked it. She put everything on a plate and found a wooden tray. She carried the breakfast up the stairs and placed it carefully on the side of his desk.

“Eat up,” she said.

Jimmy grunted again. He looked at the plate of food, and then he looked back at what he’d been working on—balancing the ledgers again, definitely—and he tossed his pen on the floor. “There’s just no way to make this work.” He shook his head. “I had a meeting with this fella who works for the Ringling Brothers, about possibly getting an animal for the show. A dancing horse, maybe. Wouldn’t that be keen? That’s the kind of thing that puts people in seats.”

“You’re not the circus, Jimmy. It’s Broadway! Singing and dancing. Not big, smelly animals.”

“What do you know about it?” he snapped.

Marian took a step back and held up her hands to show she didn’t mean him any ill will. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just thought that you were serious about finding another song-and-dance act. That’s what would really sell tickets, I think.”

Jimmy put his hand under the tray and flipped it, sending food flying everywhere. Marian was hit in the face with a bit of egg. She took a step back from the desk. “Now, Jimmy. I made that nice breakfast for you. What are you going to eat now?”

“What are you even doing here, Marian? Why are you making me breakfast? You ain’t my wife.”

She grunted, realizing how false his apologies had been. Nothing had changed. “No, I’m not your wife.” Not for lack of wanting. Jimmy had said he loved her, that she was his darling, his muse, the star of his show. The words had felt real. She’d been thinking for some time, therefore, that it was only a matter of days before Jimmy proposed. However, no proposal had been forthcoming, and as the Doozies’ fortunes nosedived, it seemed like such a proposal was moving further and further away.

She steeled herself and said, “I thought that you cared about me, though. That you loved me. You’ve never objected to my spending the night before.”

His face softened. “Aw, Marian. I do love you. That’s why I made you the star of the show. And what thanks do I get? You can’t even get people in the seats.”

That made her angry enough to spit. Hadn’t she told him getting Eddie back would be the trick? “That’s not my fault. I told you, I’m better as part of a duo. You’re the one who thought I could carry the whole show.”

“I see now how terribly mistaken I was. Why did I make you the star? What was I thinking?”

He stood and he was menacing, as Marian knew he could be. He’d gotten where he was through arrogance and perseverance, traits that were good in a producer but not always so great in a lover. Marian took a few steps away, worried he might grab her and yell at her again. She said, “I’m not the person in the wrong here. I didn’t mean to question you, I just think that—”

“I know what you think. That I should never have fired Eddie goddamn Cotton. I’m sick of hearing about Eddie Cotton. He’s the one who caused my ruin!” He took a step closer to Marian, his face red with anger.

“Eddie did nothing. The Doozies were doing just fine before you fired him. Firing him was your decision!”

Marian felt the sting before she even realized what had happened. She put her hand to her face and felt the burn where Jimmy’s palm had connected with her cheek. Shocked, she took another step back.

“Shut up, Marian! Why do you insist on continuing to babble about this nonsense? Eddie was a disaster. You know how I know that? No one else in this town will hire him. He’s auditioned for Ziegfeld and every other producer in New York, and none of them has given him a job for more than a week or two at a time. You know what else I heard? That he’s involved in the Mob now.”

Marian stumbled, confused and disoriented by the slap and Jimmy’s shouting. She shook her head and took another step back, trying to focus on Jimmy. Anger overtook her confusion. She couldn’t believe Jimmy had slapped her. She couldn’t believe Eddie would be dumb enough to get involved with the Mob. “That can’t be true,” she said.

“It is true! And I can’t believe that you would defend that faggot.” Jimmy yelled something incoherent. He stomped his feet a few times, reminding Marian of a bull about to charge. Then he took a deep breath and, more calmly, said, “Get the hell out of here, Marian. I don’t have time for you today.”

She moved to leave, figuring it was best to let Jimmy cool off and to put some distance between them. But on her way out the door, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “No, wait a minute,” he said. Then he pressed his lips against her.

There was nothing sexy or romantic about the kiss. It was angry and a little violent, and Jimmy’s fingers dug into her arm. She cried out in pain, which caused him to bite down on her lower lip. She felt his teeth break the skin. She shrieked and tried to push him away. Jimmy just held on tighter and used his free hand to yank on her hair. She shouted for him to stop when he moved to pull her robe off. She scrambled and moved and finally was able to raise her knee high enough to connect with his balls. He howled in pain and backed off of her.

“How dare you!” she shouted. “Stay the hell away from me!”

But Jimmy wasn’t done. He lunged forward and swung his fist. The punch connected with the side of her face and the pain was so brilliant that she couldn’t see for a long moment. When her vision returned, all she saw was an angry Jimmy standing there with his fists at his side. She pulled her robe closed and ran down the hall.