Sweet Liar Part 18

Here, Maxie thought. Doc was here under the same roof with her after all these years.

33.

A fter spending the morning in the bathroom relieving herself of her dinner from the night before, Samantha spent the rest of the day of the performance with the other women in a brownstone hair salon in the East Eighties getting her hair set in a Marcel wave and a lesson in 1920s cosmetic application. Vicky had arranged everything. The women, who were to play gangstersa girlfriends, cigarette girls, and waitresses were happy and giggly and excited. Only Sam was subdued as she sat under a dryer and flipped through the latest issue of New York Woman.

Back at Mikeas house there was no peace to be found, no quiet corner where she could sit and think about the approaching evening, for the house was the headquarters for everything that had to be done. It had come about naturally that Pat Taggert would become the crew boss, as she called herself. aYou raise a dozen kids and see if you ever think anything else in life is difficult,a she said to Sam.

One bedroom was a last-minute fitting room, another the makeup room, where Vicky had a couple of experts helping the women apply the cosmetics. Two other rooms were briefing rooms, one headed by Mikeas father as he informed his players what they were to do. When Ian saw Sam standing in the doorway, without a smile, he shut the door in her face.

In the late afternoon, Samantha escaped to a corner of the garden to try to be by herself. She couldnat explain how she felt: calm but agitated, excited but tranquil. She wished Mike were with her, but he was away from the house, doing things he wouldnat tell her about.

When Kaneas boys suddenly appeared before her, storybooks in their hands, she looked up and smiled at their father in grat.i.tude. Pulling the heavy boys onto her lap, she began to read to them about Curious George.

It was evening when Vicky told her it was time to go to Jubileeas Place and get ready for the show. Kissing the boys goodnight, wishing she didnat have to leave them, Samantha went outside to the waiting car and started the drive north to Harlem.

In the previous weeks when everyone had been working, while Sam had been rehearsing with Ornette, no one had allowed her to see the renovation of Jubileeas club. Now, slipping in the back door of the stage entrance, she silently moved away from Vicky and walked to the front, where she stepped into a shadow, hidden from view so she could watch what was going on.

Jeanne had done a breathtaking job on the club. It looked like something straight out of the Art Deco period, which was the hottest, latest way of decorating in 1928. Everything was turquoise and silver, the dance floor in front of the band looking as though it had been appliqued with silver leaf. Behind the dance floor were tiny tables, what looked to be a hundred of them, each covered with long turquoise cloths and a little lamp in the center of each table.

On a dais was the band, with Ornette looking fiercely handsome in his tuxedo as he talked to his musicians, his beloved trumpet in his hand, and the sight of him made Sam smile. Under Ornetteas faade of anger, he was a sweetheart, a perfectionist who loved music more than life, but a man who was afraid to show his soft inner parts. Now he was warming up his orchestra with a jazzy little number, and Sam knew head soon start on the blues. In 1928, during the very happy, rich time before the stock market crash, the country was wild for the blues, but after the crash, people only wanted cheerful songs, such as aHappy Days Are Here Again.a As a result, singers such as Bessie Smith went out of favor.

As Samantha watched from her shadowy hiding place, she saw people begin to enter the club, laughing, the women beautifully, exquisitely dressed in long gowns. The 1920s fashions today might look shapeless, but there was so little to them that they showed off everything a woman had. When a woman walked, the draping fabrics swayed and clung to her in a very s.e.xy way.

Two pretty young women came in together, their gangster men behind them, the men looking tough and complacent, smug even.

Watching them, Samantha moved farther back into the shadows so they wouldnat see her, for she was beginning to feel as though she were an anachronism in her slacks and casual blouse. Gradually, the club was beginning to fill up, and the more people who entered, the more Samantha felt as though she had stumbled into a time warp, for all the people and their surroundings were part of 1928.

When Mike entered the room, Sam pressed herself back against the wall as she watched him move about the club, obviously very familiar with it. Maybe she should have been jealous, for Mike flirted with every female in the place, but she wasnat, because this man didnat seem like her Mike; this man was Michael Ransome. This Mike walked differently in his beautifully cut tuxedo, and he used his good looks to advantage.

Samantha watched Mike go to one tootsiea"the name perfectly suited the woman: too much makeup, movements too silly, a giggle that could be heard in Peoria, and, frankly, to Samanthaas eye, too much breasta"and ask her to dance. With a squeal of delight, the woman stood, actually, she wiggled into an upright stance, managing to make all the excessive parts of her jiggle. Before Mike took the hand she was offering to him, he looked to the man sitting across the little table for permission. The man had a fat belly that head encased in a spectacularly tasteless vest of black and yellow plaid. Looking over his belly, he gave a superior nod to Mike, as though he were a king granting a request to a subject. It always amazed Samantha that a person could feel superior because he or she was a criminal, as though the person had accomplished something that had meaning in life.

Escorting the woman to the silver dance floor, under lights so soft they would make the Wicked Witch look good, Mike took the woman in his arms and led her in a tango. Startled, for a moment Samantha held her breath, for shead just discovered another of Mikeas lies. Head said he wasnat any good on a dance floor, at least not for anything except holding a girl tight and rubbing together, but as Sam watched him, she saw that he was a dream of a dancer. With as much muscle as he had at his disposal, he could lead a woman who was a less than perfect dancer in a dip; he could turn her when she was supposed to turn. Mike was even able to make the bimbo in his arms look as though she could dance.

When the tango was over, Mike led the floozy back to her gangster. After looking at him for permission, Mike kissed the back of the womanas hand.

aHey, kid!a the gangster said as he imperiously motioned for Mike to come to him.

With no sign of what he must be feeling at such an autocratic command, Mike went to the man who then stuffed a ten-dollar bill in Mikeas jacket pocket.

Samantha had to catch herself, for she was about to step forward into the light. How dare that two-bit n.o.body whose only claim to fame was that head engaged in illegal activities treat Mike like that!

aAre you ready?a Startled, Samantha turned to see Vicky, who was wearing a lovely, slinky dress of blue satin, white feathers sticking up at the back of her head, a triple band of what Samantha had no doubt were real diamonds about her forehead. aYes, Iam ready,a Sam answered softly.

Following Vicky back to the dressing room, Samantha knew that with each pa.s.sing minute, she was beginning to lose touch with reality. When Vicky opened the door, Sam was sure she was no longer in the nineties. Daphne and the other women were in various stages of undress; there were clothes strewn everywhere in front of a long, garishly lit, mirror-backed counter that held countless dirty bottles and pots of makeup.

aLila?a Samantha whispered.

aYeah, honey?a Daphne/Lila said, then turned to look Sam up and down. aYou better get ready. Youare on in no time flat.a Bending forward, Lila whispered. aWouldnat want to disappoint Mike on the last night.a As though shead been kicked in the stomach, Samantha drew in her breath. Lila wasnat supposed to know that this was Maxieas last night to sing in Jubileeas club.

Looking over her shoulder at the other girls, Lila whispered, aDonat worry, not one of them is going to tell.a Maxiea"no, Samanthaa"nodded.

aYour dress,a Vicky said, and when Sam turned, across Vickyas arms was Maxieas dress. It wasnat a reproduction as first planned, but the original dress. Mike had explained that it would have cost too much to reproduce the dress, so Jilly had contacted the Costume Society of America and through them had found a conservator who could clean the dress properly.

Samanthaas hands were shaking as she took the dress from Vicky.

aThe jewelry is on the table, and underwear is behind you.a aBreak a leg,a Lila called as she and the others trooped out of the dressing room, followed by Vicky.

Standing in the middle of the dressing room, the once-b.l.o.o.d.y red gown across her arms, alone in the long, narrow room, Samantha felt a chill go through her. Turning, she saw the couch, as always, covered with the discards of the women: torn hose, soiled blouses, heelless shoes. In the corner was another pile of clothes and Samantha knew without a doubt that buried under the heap was Maxieas little traveling purse that contained the life savings of both her and Mike, about five thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills.

Still trembling, Samantha draped the dress over the back of a chair and began to take her clothes off, then put on Maxieas underwear. As before when shead put on Maxieas clothes, she began to feel as though she were a different person. It was almost as though the clothes had magical properties that transformed the wearer into someone else. And no wonder, Samantha thought as she pulled the silk gown over her head. What the dress had witnessed that night was enough to leave an impression on fabric.

A few days ago her grandmother had told her what had actually happened that night that had changed so many peopleas lives. Maxie had told Sam everything up until she had walked out the stage door carrying her purse and Half Handas bag.

Samantha had listened to her grandmother, had even felt some of what she was telling her, but sometimes it seemed to Sam as though she were almost numb. Just days before she heard Maxieas story she had been told that her mother had been tortured before she had been cold-bloodedly murdered. Wasnat there a limit to how much a person could feel? How much a person could even comprehend?

With the dress on, she sat down at the counter to check her makeup.

aTen minutes, Maxie,a came a manas voice from outside the door.

In ten minutes she was going to have to go in front of these people and sing for them; she was going to have to do what Maxie did that night.

Abruptly, she looked at the closed door of the dressing room. It was dirty looking, but there were no lacerations on it. No one had tried to claw her way out of this dressing room.

Making herself turn back around, Sam looked in the mirror. She had to remember that this was just a play; she was acting and she was trying to help Mike. He said he was going to have pictures taken to use in his book and he wasa"

Bowing her head, she put her head in her hands. Ornette was playing outside now, and she was having difficulty remembering that this was just an act. She was having a very hard time not thinking about her mother and her granddad Calas loneliness after his wife had left him. Everything that she knew seemed to be screaming in her head, not being quiet as she usually managed to keep it.

It had all started on this night, everything that had happened began on this one long harrowing night: lives ruined, lives extinguished, hatreds kindled.

aI canat do this,a Samantha whispered and started to get up, but then she saw a box of powder on the counter. It was an ordinary box, blue and white, with a big lambswool puff with a pink ribbon on top; the box was full of ordinary dusting powder.

Picking up the puff, she looked at it. Maybe it had started with the powder Maxie dumped over Michael Ransomeas head. For a few moments Samantha put her head on her arms on the counter, releasing her mind to all that she had been told, not fighting it, but letting herself go, allowing herself to remember everything.

aYouare on,a Vicky said as she opened the door.

When Miss Samantha Elliot stood up, smoothing her blonde hair back in its perfect waves, she was Maxie, and she was ready.

34.

Midwestern America

1921.

M ary Abigail Dexter shot her fourth stepfather when she was fourteen years old, but by that time head been raping her since she was twelve. Her only regret was that she didnat kill him. Shead meant to, but she was crying and hurting and angry, and her aim was off. Rather stupidly, she had aimed for his very small head and not his enormous gut, so the bullet had grazed the top of his hairy shoulder instead of landing in his mouth that was once again laughing at her.

But the shot and the sight of his own blood had startled the b.a.s.t.a.r.d long enough for Abby to get out of the shack of a house and run, something shead repeatedly tried to do in the past without success.

She walked for two days, going without food, but that was nothing unusual for Abby because her mother was usually too drunk or too busy with men to feed her only child. When she was far enough away from her ahomea town (a place that fully believed in condemning the child for the parentas sins), she traded the gun for a one-way bus ticket to New York, a place where she hoped she could find anonymity.

When she got to New York, having spent as little as possible on food, she used what little money she had left on a cheap rayon dress, a pair of high heels, and a tube of lipstick, trying to make herself look as old as possible. Picking up a day-old newspaper from a park bench, she began to look for a job.

The only goal Abby had was to never live like her mother, who depended on the s.e.xual desires of men for her livelihood. To men, Abbyas mother seemed to be a good-hearted wh.o.r.e, someone who was always good for a laugh, who would do anything at all in bed with them. But Abby had seen her motheras desperation, for her mother had always dreamed of some man loving her and taking care of her forever. As Abby grew up, she learned that if a woman didnat take care of herself, no one else was going to do it for her. She vowed that she was not going to be forty-seven years old and living in the squalor her mother did.

There werenat many high-paying jobs for women listed in the New York paper and certainly none for an untrained, runaway fourteen-year-old. On her fourth day in New York, gathering her courage, Abby went to a bar in Greenwich Village and asked to see the owner to apply for a job as a c.o.c.ktail waitress. The man took one look at her and said no, but Abby, by now nearly desperate, for she hadnat eaten in two days, had slept on park benches, and had raw and b.l.o.o.d.y feet from walking for miles in the cheap high heels, began to beg. Begging was something shead never done before, not even with all that her motheras boyfriends and brief husbandsa"she often remarried but never bothered with a divorcea"had done to her, but now Abby was begging.

aHow old are you, kid?a the man asked, knowing that he had children older than this girl.

aTwenty-one,a Abby answered quickly.

aYeah and Iam Rudolph Valentino.a Willie knew he was asking for trouble if he hired this kid who, if he guessed right, was in her early teens, but he could see under the hair that hadnat been washed in a long time and the cheap lipstick that was caking on her mouth that she had cla.s.sa"and she had brains. She didnat have that dull-eyed rabbit look of most of the girls who were c.o.c.ktail waitresses at sixteen and would be at sixty if they hadnat died of some venereal disease before then.

aOkay, kid, you got the job,a he said. aBut if anybody complains, youare out.a The grat.i.tude that was in her eyes made Willie shift nervously on his seat. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a twenty. aHereas an advance. Get yourself some decent clothes and get something to eat.a What Abby felt couldnat be expressed in words, so she just looked at the man and the bill in her hands.

aGo on, get out of here. Come back tomorrow night at seven.a When Abby returned the next day, Willie knew that head had the best of the deal, for the girl had taste. She was dressed as simply and elegantly as something out of a ladyas magazinea"and the moment Willie saw her he knew that his life was going to change.

Within two years, his business changed from being a two-bit bar/wh.o.r.ehouse to being a place where respectable ladies and gentlemen could come. Abby, who had been starving for respectability and responsibility, had been allowed to take over the place. She redecorated the bar, redressed the waitresses, made a code of conduct for all employees, and took over Willieas bookkeeping. By the end of three years, Willie was wearing custom-made suits with a three-carat diamond holding his tie in place.

It was in 1924, when Abby was seventeen years old, that she met the up-and-coming young gangster known simply as Doc. Right away, Abby recognized someone as ambitious as she was.

Doc was small and underdeveloped in a way that could only have been caused by malnutrition as a kid. There was a long scar across his neck that told of some old and life-threatening injury, and his eyes were never still. In fact, none of him was ever still, but always moving about, looking behind him, fidgeting with a bullet on a chain attached to his vest, and when he walked, one leg was a bit stiff.

Shadowing the little man was a tall, hulking, rather stupid-looking man with only half of a left hand called, appropriately enough, Half Hand Joe. Joe went everywhere that Doc went, to the restroom, wherever; he even tasted Docas food before Doc took a bite.

After the first night that Doc came to the club, Abby took care of him herself, which she didnat usually do since she had become the hostess/manager, but there was something about Docas halting walk and his nervous eyes that made Abby feel they were kindred souls. The two of them had been through a lot in their short lives, and somewhere along the way they had lost the ability to feel as other people seemed able to do.

For six months Doc came to the club and during that time he never spoke a word to Abby, but at the end of the six months, Half Hand came to her and said that Doc wanted to speak to her in his car.

Abby took her time deciding whether to go or not, because she had an idea of what Doc wanted to ask her: He wanted her to be his mistress. On the one hand, Abby liked having the protection of a gangster. They usually gave their women expensive presents that Abby could cash in and use to someday buy her own place. Also, gangsters didnat seem to have very long life expectancies, which to her, when it came to men, was a good point. What she didnat like was the thought of s.e.x with any man. Her motheras life and her motheras husbands had made her never want to have anything to do with s.e.x again.

After a while, she decided to see what Doc had to say, so she went to the car, a long black limousine, and sat with him, only the ever-present Half Hand in the car with them. Abby had been surprised by Docas request: He wanted her for his mistress, but he wanted her for show only. The rules were, no s.e.x between the two of them and no other men for her. In return for her being his showpiece, head take care of her financially, even if she wanted to stop working at Willieas and do nothing all day but take care of her hair and nails. But Abby felt a great deal of loyalty to Willie, and even though he underpaid her and never said thanks for what shead done for him, she wanted to stay with him; he needed her. Doc couldnat have cared less, and Abby breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he wasnat the demanding sort.

Sitting in the back of the limo, Abby agreed to Docas terms and he presented her with the first of many presents: a diamond necklace. Over the next year Abby received a furnished apartment, the deed in her name, furs, jewels, and beautiful clothes. For her part, when she wasnat working she went with Doc wherever he felt he needed to go and she always looked her best, for that was what mattered most to Doc: He wanted to show the world that he could have the cla.s.siest of women on his arm.

It was in 1926, when Abby was nineteen years old, that she left Willieas. By that time, Abby had hired entertainment for the bar. One night the singer had strep throat and couldnat sing, so Abby was left with no one to entertain the customers. After spending hours trying to find a last-minute replacement, she decided to give singing a try herself.

From the moment she stepped on the stage, she knew she had come home. Everyone, including Doc and Willie, thought that Abby was a cool customer, that she was as cold inside as she appeared to be outside. No one had any idea of the pa.s.sions that raged within her, for those pa.s.sions came out only when she sang. Abby couldnat tell people what she felt, but she could sing what she felt. Every word of the blues songs she sang dripped with her misery.

Afterward, the audience came to its feet in thunderous applause, and hearing it, Abby knew what she wanted to do with her life.

The only person who didnat want her to sing was Willie, for he looked to the future and saw Abby leaving him and knew that he couldnat run his club without her, so he told Abby she was no good. With only his own needs in mind, Willie said that the applause had been for her looks, not her voice. With those words he lost Abbyas loyalty. Abby had been willing to forgive him for not paying her well and for all the other slights, but she hated his lying.

She went to Doc and told him that she wanted to sing in a nice place, that she wanted to leave Willieas, so Doc installed her in Jubileeas Place in Harlem, a place where the women glittered with diamonds and the men were surrounded by auras of power. It was when she was signing a two-year contract with Jubilee that her name was changed to Maxie.

Maxie had trouble adjusting to the new place, for the other women didnat like her. At Willieas the women had been scared of their own shadows, and they had been in awe of Maxie. At Jubileeas, the girls in the chorus were also mistresses of gangsters, some of them working for Scalpini, who was a great deal more powerful than scrawny little Doc.

As though Maxie didnat have enough trouble, what with hours of rehearsals every day, co-workers who were cool to her at best and hostile at worst, and the growing annoyance of always having to look utterly perfect for Doc, there was Michael Ransome. He had been hired by Jubilee to dance with the girlfriends of the gangsters who were too fat or too lazy or just plain too tired to dance with them themselves.

Michael Ransome was indeed a problem to Maxie, for all the girls were in love with him. It wasnat just that he was handsome, nor was it just that he had eyes that only opened halfwaya"bedroom eyes the girls called them. Nor was it his cleft chin and eyes the color of a stormy sea, somewhere between blue and gray, or his thick, wavy dark blond hair or his lips, full and sensual. No, what made all the girls love Michael Ransome was his manner, which was honey. Hot honey. Hot, liquid, sweet honey. All Michael had to do was look at a woman and he could sense what she neededa"then he gave it to her. He could be gentle and seductive or rough and demanding. He was whatever any woman had dreamed of in a man, and he had been known to seduce a woman without so much as uttering a word. All he had to do was look at her over a chilled gla.s.s of champagne with those slow, lazy eyes and women began to feel warma"so warm that they often felt the need to remove pieces of clothing. Sometimes the women whispered to each other that if a woman could somehow resist Mikeas eyes she would never be able to resist his voice. It was deep and smooth and languid. Head touch a womanas hand, lift it by her fingertips to his lips, all the while looking at her with that special, shaded gaze, then bring her palm to his lips, those full, sculptured lips, and head whisper, aI love you.a Never once had Michael failed with a woman. He got what he wanted from any woman and afterward she said, aThank you.a But then Michael Ransome met Maxie.

The first time Mike came into the dressing rooma"what did it matter if he saw them without their clothes on since head been to bed with each of thema"after Maxie started singing at the club, he gave her his second-best come-on. After all, why waste his energy when anyone who could sing with the l.u.s.t that Maxie did had to be one hot number?

Instead of the easy conquest he expected, to his consternation, without uttering one word to him, Maxie dumped a full box of face powder over his head. At first neither Mike nor the girls could believe what had happened. n.o.body turned Mike down. Going to bed with Mike was a sort of initiation to the club.

When they finally did realize what Maxie had done, it would be hard to decide who was more angry, the girls or Mike. For months after the powder-dumping incident, Maxie had to endure spiteful little things perpetrated by the women: makeup missing, one shoe not where shead left it, a smudge on her dress. Maxie endured it all, never complained, never said anything to any of the women, but was always cordial and polite.

Harder to endure than the womenas spitefulness were the snips that Michael Ransome took at her. He was truly angry that shead turned him down and done it so publicly. After trying two more times to seduce her, he let the whole club know that she was frigid, calling her names like Ice Princess and telling people she thought she was too good to be in a nightclub. He hara.s.sed her without end.

It was Lila, the lead dancer, who told Mike to lay off and that she was getting sick of hearing his bellyaching and she was beginning to admire Maxieas fort.i.tude and the way she carried herself. And it was Lila who first invited Maxie to go shopping with her and the girls, asking Maxie if shead help them choose dresses that werenat so gaudy. Maxie was a little leery of what the women had planned for her, but she went and she had a wonderful time. When the women found out that Maxie wasnat so much aloof as she was shy, Lila guessed that the poor kid had never had a chance to learn how to make friends.

After that the women began to accept Maxie into their group, inviting her places and accepting Maxieas invitations.

But Mike kept badgering Maxie, still so angry at her that he intensified his efforts to get a reaction out of hera"but he didnat succeed. When Lila told him to lay off and slammed the dressing room door in his face, Mike was angry enough to kill.

Then one night Michaelas life changed forever. An hour after he left the club he realized head forgotten his wallet, having left it in his tux at the club. Annoyed with himself, he went back to the club to find it locked and dark. Knowing that a second-story bathroom windowas lock was broken, he piled garbage cans on top of each other in a precarious stack and climbed in the window.

After he had his wallet, as he was leaving the club, he thought he heard something. Walking down a corridor, he saw a dim light shining from under the womenas dressing room door. Silently pushing the door open, he looked in to see Maxie sitting at the table crying, but she was crying in that way that he and the other kids in the orphanage had cried: silently, as though, if they were discovered, they would be punished.

Without a conscious thought, he did what head always wished someone had done for him: He went to her, knelt beside her, and took her in his arms. After an initial moment of Maxieas fighting him, she calmed down and clung to hima"and Mike clung to her. Had someone told him that the reason he bedded all the women was because he wanted to be close to them, that he wanted them to love him, he would have laughed, for he liked to think of himself as utterly independent, needing no one. He liked to think he was a love aem and leave aem guy, and he knew thatas what the women thought of him. Not one of them was ever serious about a too-handsome dancer in a bar.

When Maxie couldnat seem to stop crying, Mike carried her to the beat-up old couch along one wall, moving a jumble of sequined and rhinestoned garments and torn netting, to sit with her and hold her.

It was the most natural thing in the world when they started kissing. Months of anger at each other quickly turned to pa.s.sion as they began fumbling with each otheras clothes, then tearing at them. They made love on the couch once, twice, three times, not talking to each other, afraid that words would break the spell, afraid that each would become what they didnat want. Mike was afraid Maxie would turn into all the other women, afraid shead say, aThat was swell, Mike, but I need to get back to my old man now.a Maxie was afraid that she was just another one of Mikeas girls.

It was nearly daylight when Maxie first spoke. Tired, sated, she lay in Mikeas arms and knew she never wanted to leave this place where she felt safe for the first time in her life. aIf Doc finds out, heall kill both of us.a It took Mike a few minutes to calm his racing heart, for her words indicated that she intended to continue seeing him. aWe will keep it a secret,a he said, and Maxie nodded, for she sensed that he knew about secrets as well as she did.