Ingenue Part 6

She looked up as Spark walked into the barroom. He wore his customary straw boater, suspenders, and a purple and green polka-dotted bow tie. You could say this for the manas taste: It was entirely his own.

He grinned at Lorraine. aI see you noticed the new mirror.a aWhat mirror?a Spark gestured toward a new mirror behind the bar. It took up the entire area between the shelves of bottles, and THE OPERA HOUSE was written in cursive across it. aThat way thereas no more confusion about the new name. Looks nice, right?a Lorraine glanced at it again. She almost didnat recognize the girl staring back at her. Sure, the girl in the mirror had the same dark bob, the same milky complexion, smooth cheeks, and made-up lips as she did, but this girlas eyes looked scared and weary. She was a bit too thin, too jittery, and there was something about her a something like guilt. That girl in the mirror wasnat a person who would fire an old man to spend time with a cute new guy, who would betray her (former) friends to a bunch of mobsters.

Lorraine blinked. The girl in the mirror was still there.

But then she turned around, focusing her gaze elsewherea"on the crimson mural, on the hardwood dance floora"and thankfully, the girl in the mirror was gone.

Finally Lorraine was alone in the back office. She had only just begun to experiment with her new set of false eyelashes when someone knocked on the door. She groaned and put the eyelashes aside.

It was the new waitress, Ruby, holding a layout for a glossy poster.

aSorry to bother you, Raine,a Ruby said, abut Puccinias son brought this mockup from the printer and said it needs to be approved as quickly as possible.a Lorraine took the poster. It showed a beautiful redheaded woman in a red dress singing on a stage under the white cone of a spotlight.

It read: 10:00 P.M.

JULY 12TH.

A beautiful songbird debuts: Zuleika Rose GIRLS! DANCING! MORE GIRLS! MORE DANCING!.

Catch Spark for the Locale and Pa.s.sword Lorraine handed the poster back to Ruby. aThis looks finea"consider my approval given. Oh, and Ruby? Send in Spark, would you?a A few minutes later, Spark walked in. aYou asked to see me?a aMmm-hmm.a Lorraine removed a tube of lipstick and a compact from her purse and touched herself up in the mirror. aWe need a new piano player.a Spark sat across from her, frowning. aWhatas wrong with the one weave already got?a aYou saw how he played during that girlas audition.a aYeah, but Felix a heas a good kid.a aAnd the man smiles too much. And he has too many teeth, I think. Itas unnatural.a Spark stared at her in silence for a few seconds, then burst out laughing.

aAnd that goes for you, too,a she snapped, slapping her hand against the desktop. aWhy the smiles all the time? What is everyone so d.a.m.n happy about?a aAll right, Raine, Felix is gone.a Spark pulled a pad and pencil off the desk. aHow do you want the ad for a new one to read?a aWe want somebody with experience, of course, and handsome. Young, nineteen or twenty. Dark hair, big brown eyes, and he shouldnat be too tall. Five-ten or five-eleven should do it,a Lorraine said, thinking of Jerome. aOh, and he needs to be black.a Spark looked up from his pad. aWith a white band?a aYeah. People like seeing blacks and whites onstage together.a Spark blinked slowly. aWhich people?a aShut it,a Lorraine replied. aWhat about that joint uptown, the Cotton Club? Itas all the way up in Harlem, and our customers are flocking up there in droves. We need a little of that jumpina jive down here. A black pianist with a white singer will give us a line around the block, trust me.a Spark shrugged. aIf you say so. Iall put the ad in the paper tomorrow. Does it need to be so specific?a Lorraine put her hand up to stop him as he started to stand. aActually, an ad might not be necessary. How about you ask that new singer we hireda"whatas her name? Iam sure she knows tons of musicians.a aBlack ones?a aShe does live awfully close to Harlem.a Spark stood up and stretched. aIall ask her. Any other requests, my liege?a aMy lady, you mean.a She drummed her fingers on the desk. aI put Rod on cleaning duty.a aYeah, I noticed him yelling at the mop.a Spark paused, seeming to wonder whether he should ask the next question. aSo whoas gonna be tending bar tonight?a aA man named Hank is coming in for an interview in about twenty minutes. And youare going to hire him.a It was only after Spark had left that Lorraine allowed herself to grin.

Being powerful felt good.

CLARA.

Clara waited as patiently as she could outside Parker Richardsas officea"which wasnat quite as glamorous as she had expected.

In her mindas eye, the place had been a series of gla.s.s-walled private offices with a secretary stationed at a desk in front of each door, typing. Clara loved the noise of a typewriter. It sounded to her like hard work, and joy, and a little bit of magic.

But it wasnat like that at all. When shead dropped off her first article a few days earlier, shead gotten an eyeful. Instead of a line of smartly dressed secretaries and gla.s.s doors, Clara saw only two older women at the front of the office, garbed in drab dresses. Most of the writers worked in a bull pen, and there were only a few offices at the back of the common area. Worse, nearly all the men in the office were bald, bespectacled, a tad overweight, or all three. You donat have to look good to write well, she told herself.

aClara?a Parker gestured for her to come inside his office. Clara followed him and perched on the edge of the cushioned chair across from his desk. Now, this was more like it.

Parkeras office was stylish and professionala"with floor-to-ceiling windows, and framed articles and magazine covers on the ivory walls. The oak desk was flanked by matching bookcases, filled with newspapers, issues of Vogue and Vanity Fair, and books. Behind Parkeras leather office chair, Clara could see a gorgeous view of midtown Manhattan.

Parker didnat look too bad himself. He was casually devastating in a dark green blazer that brought out his eyes, and a white dress shirt, his wavy hair slicked back and fixed with a bit of pomade. She immediately thought of Marcus and felt slightly guilty that shead been admiring Parker, but there was nothing wrong with looking, was there?

And there was something unique about Parker. More than his good looks, it was his energy that made him attractive. Intelligence shone like a light behind his eyes, and his presence, or charisma, or whatever it was that he radiated, made the s.p.a.cious office seem too small to contain him. She waited for the smile that would finish off the effect.

It didnat come.

Though Parker undoubtedly looked good, Claraas editor did not look happy. He held up Claraas first column. The pages were so marked up with red ink, she wondered if anyone would even be able to read the words shead typed.

aYou want to tell me what you were thinking?a Parker asked. aBecause this flat tire of a story could have been written by any of the stiffs in the city morgue.a Flat tire of a story? Shead obsessed for hours over her columna"over the metaphors she chose, over the way she described the dresses, over her clever jokes.

It was about an evening shead spent at the Spotted Hen. Shead never been to this particular speakeasy in her flapper days, but shead needed to go to a bar where no one would recognize her. There shead been free to sit on a wooden stool at the bar with her seltzer and observe the drunken antics all around hera"the slurry shenanigans of the flappers and their beaux.

Shead written a fine portrait of three rookie flappers trying to dance the latest dances, and how awkward theyad looked. And shead made what she thought were some very witty comments about two men who had argued with the dealer during a game of poker, eventually revealing that they didnat understand how to play the game at all.

aWhatas so wrong with it?a Clara asked, a defensive edge in her voice.

aWhat isnat wrong with it would be the better question.a Parker tossed the article into his wastebasket. aManhattanite readers want to read about the sw.a.n.ky palaces they wish they could go to but canata"not the two-bit gin joints that any dumb Dora can waltz right into. Youare supposed to have the inside track.a Worse than having her writing torn apart was the realization that Parker wanted the old, wild child Clara.

aListen, you are an excellent writera"I was completely right about that,a Parker said in a softer tone. aBut you canat watch the party from the shadows. You need to get into the thick of it! You have to hobn.o.b with the best and the brightest, the drunk and the dumbest. You have to dance in the middle of the flapper-packed dance floor and lead all those dizzy girls in a toast with your flute of champagne.a He shook his head. aIf I just wanted someone to sit on the sidelines and take notes, I wouldave saved myself some trouble and hired my mother. And sheas dead.a aAnd what if I canat do what youare asking?a Parker huffed. aIf you canat give me that insider scoop on the scene, then Iall need to find someone else. It would be a shame, though. I thought it was fate, you know, when I saw you at the Pink Potato. The kind of mischief you used to get up to aa He grinned at a memory, and for a brief, burning moment Clara was reminded of just how dynamic and handsome he was. aI remember you once convinced a party at the Ritz to steal a bunch of mattresses anda"a aRide them down the grand staircase!a she finished for him, laughing despite herself.

He laughed, too. aHow did you manage to get away with that?a aBellboys can be very agreeable if you treat them kindly,a she replied, comically fluttering her lashes a few times. aAnd if youare a girl.a aThatas where I always fouled up.a aWe only got through a few runs before they kicked us out. They never did get those silk sheets back, though. My friends and I wore those as dresses for the rest of the evening.a Parker stood up. aSee, thatas what Iam talking about.a He stepped around the desk so he was standing directly in front of her. aThereas a big to-do going on at the Plaza tonight. Itas Maxie Gabelas eighteenth birthday party. You come out of there with a story like the one you just told me, and weall be in business.a aReally?a Clara was excited that Parker was giving her a second chance, but part of her was filled with dread. It was one thing to write about other people having a grand time and getting sloppy, but it was another thing entirely to join in and lead the charge.

But she wouldnat really be joining. She would be pretending until she could go home and write about it.

Perhaps she could do both: be a reporter and be the girl she wanted to bea"for Marcus, and for herself.

aWill you be going to this party?a Parker laughed. aAre you kidding? Theyad never invite mea"Iam a journalist. This partyas meant for beautiful flappers like yourself, so be sure to wear your glad rags.a aSo, are you excited about seeing Try It with Alice?a Marcus asked over the phone. aPaul said he practically died laughing when he saw it. And you know Paula"heas only ever laughed twice before in his life, and both of those times were just so he could fit in.a Clara gasped. Shead completely forgotten: she and Marcus were supposed to see a Broadway show that evening!

After leaving Parkeras office, shead dropped by Leelee and Cocoas. Getting into a party without an invitation had never been a problem before. But now Clara couldnat count on her reputation to open doors, while Leelee and Cocoas should be more than enough to get them all in.

And then shead stopped in at a barbershop to have her hair transformed back into its old bob. She walked out and relished the feel of the summer breeze on her neck. She barely had enough time to purchase a shimmering Chanel masterpiece overflowing with gorgeous beadwork before rushing home to get ready. Shead used most of the cash she had to buy the dress, but as long as she kept the tags on, she could return it the next day.

She sighed and sat down on the bed, holding the black telephone receiver to her mouth. aMarcus, Iam sorry, but I think I have to cancel.a aWhat?a he said. aIt sounded like you just said acancel,a but that canat be.a Clara had resisted the telephone that Marcus had insisted she let him install in her apartment. He wanted an easy way to talk to her when she was aall the way out in Siberia.a But right now she was thankful: Marcus couldnat see her half-made-up face and her apartment strewn with shoes, stockings, and headbands. She was lying to him. Just as she had when theyad first met. Only, now she felt terrible about it.

aIam so sorry, Marcus, I shouldave called earlier, but Iave just felt so awful. Iave had thisa"cough, cougha"horrible cough since the afternoon. I think I may even have a fever.a aOh, darling,a Marcus replied, all annoyance gone. aI guess Iall try to get tickets for another night. How about I bring you some chicken soup?a aNo, no, you donat have to brave that subway ride for my sake,a she said quickly. aI think I just need to get some rest.a Marcus was silent for a moment. aAre you sure? I really donat mind. You know Iam kidding around when I whine about trekking out there to visit you.a Clara checked the clock. She still had to finish getting ready, spend an hour on the subway, and meet up with Leelee and Coco. aIam honestly falling asleep over here. Go out and enjoy the night with your friends.a aPaul did say Charles Drakeman just got into town,a Marcus said hesitantly. aTheyare going to play pool. And not the billiards sort, apparently, but something to do with big blue pools of chlorinated water and bathing beauties in floats. It sounds stupid and decadent.a aYes, do that!a Clara said with too much enthusiasm. She tried to cover with another cough. aI mean, that sounds like fun.a aIt wonat be fun without you.a Marcus exhaled. aAll right, I will play pool. Rest well, and we can meet up for lunch tomorrow if youare better by then. I love you.a aI love you, too.a Clara hung up. Shead done the right thing. Marcus wouldnat understand what she was doing for the Manhattanitea"head worry that she would fall back into her old ways.

But Clara would keep hold of her new values, and she would go to this party purely to work. She would prove to Parker and to everyone else that she wasnat a stylish but brainless floozy. She would prove that she could be something on her own.

Clara twirled her martini gla.s.s and watched the olive spin around.

When theyad reached the Pulitzer Fountain and seen the crowd of photographers and reporters swarming around the Plazaas entrance, the party had looked promising. And once theyad pushed through the people and gotten inside, it had looked more promising still: The ballroom upstairs had recently been renovated, and even Coco had to admit it was beautiful. The city at night was visible through the grand arched windows, and delicate chandeliers bright with light hung from the coffered ceilings.

At the far end of the room, across the vast polished parquet floor, Clara saw Joseph C. Smithas band on a bandstand, and a bar discreetly tucked into the corner behind an explosion of palm fronds. That was where the partygoers were thickest, where the guests could drink booze served by waiters in tuxedos. Maybe it was just the blaze of the chandeliers overhead, or the soft jazz that pulsed in the room, or the two drinks shead already had, but from this distance, for a brief moment, it seemed to Clara that all the young men here were terribly handsome and the women were elegant G.o.ddesses in sequins and gold lam.

The illusion was quickly dispelled.

While these girls looked like flappers, they certainly didnat act like them. Where were the wild toasts and vamps dancing on tables? Could the New York social scene have changed so much in her absence?

aTo think we all got so dolled up for such a yawn of a party,a Clara said. But her old roommates did look fantastic. Leeleeas feathered headband coordinated beautifully with her sheer, netted dress. Coco was a shock of silver fringe, and a glittering headdress covered most of her dark bob, accentuating her sharp features.

aOh no, darling,a Leelee said with a hand on Claraas arm, aif anyone is a waste of beauty tonight, itas you. You should move back in with us only so I can steal that dress from your closet.a Clara looked down to admire her bronze Chanel. The two tiers of delicately beaded cotton tulle fell gracefully just past her knees. It was a perfect match for her bronze headdress, a complicated number inlaid with pearls, with even more pearls hung off the sides in elegant loops.

aWhat do you girls say to cutting a rug?a she asked. Teddy Brown was up on the stage playing his heart out on xylophone with Smithas band, but no one even seemed to notice. aWe need to show these kids how to appreciate good jazz.a aWe probably need to show them how to dance, too.a Coco lifted her shoulders, then dropped them. aI doubt these palookas know anything other than the foxtrot.a Clara clung to the golden banister as she and the girls made their way down the steps. She was a little tipsier than shead thought. She, Coco, and Leelee wandered through the crowd, searching for suitable partners. Clara stopped and tapped the shoulder of a blond boy with pretty brown eyes.

He turned to her and raised his eyebrows. aWell, h.e.l.lo there,a he said with a grin. aWhatas your name?a aMy nameas not important, sweetheart.a She said a silent apology to Marcus. aWhatas important is that hardly anyone is on that dance floor. Itas practically scandalous.a aWe canat have that, can we?a aAbsolutely not!a He took her hand and led her out onto the floor.

Clara allowed herself a moment to savor the Charleston. Her body found the rhythm, and before she knew it she was bobbing and swaying to the song, forgetting herself and her worriesa"Marcus, her uncertain futurea"and just glorying in the dance. It was impossible not to be happy when she was dancing. And everyone could see it: People turned to watch as she and her girlfriends allowed the jazz to seep into their bones.

Sadly, after a few minutes, the boyas eyes widened and his hand flew to his mouth. He made it to an empty champagne bucket just in time and was loudly and violently sick.

aThis shindig is all wet,a Leelee said.

Clara sighed. aThis is a bust. Letas skedaddle.a A clock began to chime as they made their way to the exit. So Clara wasnat a journalist. She still had a wonderful boyfriend who loved her, and a prestigious education waiting for hera"

aEveryone pipe down!a a man yelled. Instantly everyone in the room held still, fixed by the voice. It was what theyad been waiting for: someone to command them.

Clara looked up and saw a young man at the top of the staircase, addressing the entire room. He was tall, sharply attired, and handsome, with dark hair slicked away from his face. aAs you all know, our good friend Maxie is now a man.a At this, the teenage crowd exploded into applause, and a few whistled.

aBut wait!a the boy said. aIf you know Maxie anywhere near as well as I do, you know he has spent his first eighteen years indulging in some very questionable behavior.a Several guests laughed. aAnd I donat think the sophisticated ladies at Yale will be impressed. So we have decided that Maxie needs to wash away his sins in the pond in Central Park. A baptism into his new life, as it were. And I invite all of you to witness the ceremony!a The young man stepped aside, and Clara could finally see what had been going on: The group of teenagers was working to pull a white dress shirt off a young man with dirty-blond hair. They succeeded, leaving him in only his undershirt and trousers.

This had to be Maxie Gabel, the birthday boy. Maxie was obviously drunk but was trying his hardest to escape his friendsa clutches. Once head lost his pants as well, he managed to slip away from the group and bounded down the staircase.

aGet him!a Maxieas friend yelled, running after the guest of honor.

The crowd roared in excitement and turned as one to chase Maxie and his friends out of the ballroom. Scores of sparkling teenagers tumbled down the stairs and through the hotelas restaurant.

aStop that man!a they yelled, laughing hysterically as they b.u.mped and sprawled across the late-night dinersa tables and knocked into waiters carrying trays of food. Then they were out the other side, through the lobby, and into the summer night.

Clara was exhilarated by the chase. As they moved through the Central Park trees, the party guests fanned out and cornered Maxie along the sh.o.r.e of the pond. He stood ankle-deep in water, panting and looking desperate, staring daggers at the boy whoad made the speech on the staircase. aArthur, please donat make me do this,a he said.

aIad really rather not, dear friend. But you are a dirty, dirty boy. And this is for your own good.a Maxie glanced at the boys on either side of him, who stood ready to push him into the pond.

aThe cleansing will work far better if you submit to it willingly!a Then Maxie gave a defeated shrug. aOh, may as well!a With that, he stripped off most of the rest of his clothing and belly flopped into the water.

aAttaboy!a Arthur exclaimed. The partygoers cheered.

Maxie disappeared under the water and resurfaced some distance out. aYou all should join mea"the wateras fine!a Clara had no idea where Coco and Leelee had gone off to. She glanced around at the smiling facesa"there was the mayoras son, making out with a girl she recognized as the daughter of Terri Pottington, a famous New York socialite, and there was Frankie Marlborough, heir to the cigarette throne, puking in a bush. She made a few quick mental notes for the column she was going to write as soon as she got home.

aThatas the spirit!a the boy called Arthur said, and he charged into the water with his tux still on.

The other boys whoad chased Maxie jumped in as well. The sound of splashing water and laughter filled the warm summer air. After a moment of hesitation, during which they were probably worrying about ruining their dresses, the girls followed in a shrieking, giggling tide, flashes of red and green and yellow disappearing into the ink-black water, illuminated only by the amber light of a handful of street-lamps.

Clara stared down at her own dressa"her beautiful, expensive Chanel work of art. But she knew that what she would get by diving into the pond would be worth much more than any old dress. Shead have to ask Parker for an advance on her next paychecka"theread be no returning this dress once it got soaked.

She kicked off her shoes and jumped in, gasping at the cold. She wiggled her arms and legs, trying to warm herself up, and splashed over to Arthur, nudging his arm. aThat was quite a speech,a she said.

aWhy, thank you,a Arthur said. He was even handsomer up close, but in a more imperfect way than shead thought from a distance. His wet brown hair looked almost black in the darkness and stuck out in every possible direction, the pomade that had been taming it washed away. His large hazel eyes crinkled when he showed off his slightly crooked but adorable grin. aDo I know you?a Clara shrugged, using a wet hand to remove her ruined headdress. aI donat know. Youall definitely know me if you introduce yourself.a He stuck out his hand. aIam Arthur Spence.a aSpence a as in Julia Spence?a aSheas my older sister.a He gave a full-throated laugh. aOh, youare Clara Knowles! Julia adores you.a aAnd I adore her!a With her flaming red hair and practically violet eyes, Julia would have put every would-be flapper at this party to shame.

aArthur, my headas starting to hurt,a Maxie called from the other side of the pond.

aOh no!a Arthur said. aWell, I know a remedy for that. It starts with a g and ends with in.a He raised a finger into the air. aBack to the Plaza, everyone!a As he waded out of the water, he extended his hand toward Clara. aCome along now, Clara Knowles, youave got to tell me everything youave been up to so I can report back to my sister. Sheall never believe I ran into the Queen of Sheba herself.a Clara took his hand and enjoyed the warmth of the evening air. aPos-i-lute-ly.a She stepped into her shoes, felt mud squish against the toe straps. aYou seem like exactly the sort of depraved fellow a girl should know.a As she mingled with Arthur, Maxie, and their friends, she mentally filed away a dozen new leads for articles. The Cotton Club was up in Harlem, and a new Greenwich Village speakeasy called the Opera House had just opened.

When Clara at last stumbled into her Brooklyn apartment, it was already getting light outside. But rather than sleep, she sat down in her desk chair without even taking off her wrinkled dress and stockings. She rolled a piece of paper into her Royal 10 typewriter and began to write: GLITTERING FOOLS: WET & WILD.

Maxie Gabel may have started Friday evening as a meek young schoolboy, but at the stroke of midnight, he arose from the waters of the Central Park pond a new man.

She typed furiously through the early morning until the column was finished. As she read through the pages, a smile spread across her face. She didnat need Parkeras stamp of approval or anyone elseas. She knew this column was good.

After a load of mistakes and self-doubt, Clara had finally figured out who she really was.

She was a writer.

FOOLaS GOLD

n.o.body has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.

a"Zelda Fitzgerald VERA.

Vera studied her reflection in the mirror.

After two weeks of running all over the city looking for Jerome, she was exhausted. Shead checked practically every club in Harlem that had a piano. A few musicians had heard of her brother, but none could give her any help in locating him. And shead waited under the clock in Grand Central, but if he had picked up the note shead mailed, he never showed up.

Now she was back at the Harlem boardinghouse where she and Evan were staying. Her room offered only the absolute basicsa"a cotlike bed, a dresser, and a flimsy table with a mirror hanging over it. But it was cheap, there were regular meals, and the room was right below Evanas.

The boardinghouse was only a few blocks away from the Cotton Club. It hadnat been all that long since gangsters had seized the Club De Luxe and transformed it into the Cotton Club, but the joint had already built a reputation for staging one of the glitziest revues in town.

Vera was planning to make her first visit to the club that very evening to see Evan play. aEthel Waters is making her Cotton Club debut,a he told her, aand I think you should be there.a aEthel Waters?a Ethel Waters had taken Harlem by storm when shead come to New York a few years earlier, and she had quickly become one of the most famous blues singers in the country. A poster showing Waters hung on Veraas wall back in Chicago.

aThe very one. So gussy yourself up and take a night off,a Evan told her.

At least Vera still had the glitzy clothes shead brought with her from Chicago.

She shimmied into a silver beaded dress and pinned an Egyptian-inspired silver headdress to her hair. She clasped on her T-strap heels, added a spritz of perfume, and was ready at last.

At the foot of the boardinghouse stairs, a few men were shooting the breeze. One hard-boiled character with a scratchy beard whistled as she walked to the door. aHey, beautiful, you off to the Cotton Club?a aI am!a she said.

aYou better be in the chorus, then, doll face,a the man said. aEven a beaut like you wonat be able to get in the front door.a aI guess weall see!a She waved goodbye and set off.

If Vera got her way, a chorus girl was exactly what she would be by the end of the evening. She wasnat an idiot. She knew she wouldnat be able to get in through the front door of a whites-only joint like the Cotton Club. Even the name of the club was racista"it was supposed to bring to mind a cotton plantation. Blacks worked themselves to the bone onstage while the whites lounged in the audience and enjoyed themselves.

A few minutesa walk, and Vera could see the bright lights spelling out COTTON CLUB on the awning above the clubas entrance. Cadillacs, Lincolns, and Rolls-Royces were parked out fronta"fat cars for fat men with fat rolls of dough. Some wore pin-striped suits and fedoras, while others were decked out in tuxedos. The sequined dresses, beaded handbags, and feathered boas on the women were some of the finest Vera had ever seen.

When she reached the edge of the crowd, she turned and made her way down the dark, trash-strewn alley alongside the building. At the back of the Cotton Club, she found another linea"one of black singers, chorus girls, musicians, and workers unloading instruments.

Vera slinked through the group and tried to pa.s.s two men in tuxedos.

aHey there,a a young man with a mustache called as he lifted a tuba case. aWhere do you think youare goina?a aWho, me?a Vera asked, making her best doe eyes. aIam here about a job.a aOh, really?a Mustache put down the tuba case and walked over. aSad to say, weave got more than enough girls right now.a aAre you sure theyare the right girls, though?a Vera asked slyly.

Mustache chuckled and shook his head. aWhatas your name, darlina?a She extended her hand. aVera, Vera Johnson.a Another man looked up from the trunk he was unloading. aOh, donat you worry none about her, Ralph, thatas Evanas girla"the one heas always flappina his gums about.a Evan had called her his girl? aYep, thatas me.a Ralph shook her hand. aRalph Escudero. Nice to meet you.a The man whoad identified Vera came over. He had darker skin than Ralph and a face that looked as if it never stopped smiling. aIam Charlie Green. Sorry to cut this short, Vera, but Ralph and me better get onstage or Big Frenchyall have our heads. Just follow us in. n.o.bodyall give you any lip.a True to Charlieas word, the bouncer at the door barely gave Vera a second glance. Ralph and Charlie led the way through the winding halls and dim backstage. They pa.s.sed beautiful women dressed much like Veraa"probably other musiciansa girlfriendsa"and she spied the feathered costumes of the chorus girls.

Charlie and Ralph both shook her hand again before strutting onstage. The other men in the orchestra were already there, setting up their instruments. Vera leaned past the edge of the stage curtains and saw Evan looking very dapper in his tux, trumpet at his side. He looked up and caught her eye. She grinned widely, and he grinned back.

Vera looked out at the audience. A few scattered white couples were dancing to the Gramophone record that was playing between sets. The bright lights from the stage glinted off the jewelry the women were wearinga"princess-cut diamond necklaces and rich emerald earrings and sapphire brooches as blue as the ocean.