Dollface: A Novel of the Roaring Twenties (12 page)

He didn’t say the words, but he knew what I was thinking. If he was as involved in the North Side Gang like Dora and Basha said, then Shep could be just like the members of the Black Hand.

“You have to trust me, Vera,” he said again.

I looked into his eyes. They were warm brown and clear, with seemingly nothing to hide. How could I look into those eyes and doubt what he was saying?

He got up, went to a cabinet and came back with a small velvet box. “I was going to wait and give this to you later,” he said, handing it to me.

I held the box and looked at him.

“Go on, open it.”

When I lifted the lid, I saw a diamond drop necklace almost as big as the one Dora had. I traced my fingers over the smooth edges of the stone. For the longest time I just stared at it. No one had ever bought me jewelry before. I wanted the necklace, but I knew I didn’t deserve it. I’d cheated on him, and with his enemy. But what could I do, refuse it?

“Well, turn around. Let me put it on you.”

I hesitated for a moment and then held my hair up off my neck while he fastened the hook. Reaching up, I touched my new necklace and turned back to face him. “I don’t know what to say.”

He fingered the diamond at the base of my neck. “I’m always going to make sure you have nice things. But you have to trust me. You have to trust who I am. I have a complicated life. If you don’t want to be part of it, you have to tell me. I’ll understand, don’t worry. And even though it would break my heart, I have to tell you that if you can’t handle it, you should walk away now.”

Something had caught in my chest when he said that. I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t want to walk away. Shep loved me. He would look out for me, make sure I never wanted for anything. I wasn’t convinced I could say the same for Tony. I knew then that I had to end it with Tony. I reached up and stroked Shep’s face. He sat down beside me, covered my hand with his and kissed my palm.

“But if you stay, no more questions. You understand?”

I leaned over and wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. With his lips still touching mine, I said, “I understand.”

•   •   •

“W
hat are you thinking about?” Tony asked, grinding out his cigarette.

His voice brought me back to the present. I reached for my necklace, remembering I had come here to end it with Tony once and for all. So what the hell was I still doing with him now? Was I that weak? That attached to him? Or was this my way of saying good-bye? “My head’s all over the place. I’m confused.”

“It’s like I said, nothing’s changed. You and me have a good thing going. You see what happens when we’re together. What we have is special.”

“But I can’t keep doing this. Not now.”

“Then dump him. Get rid of him.” Tony gave the ashtray a shove, knocking cigarette butts across the floor.

“I can’t. He’s falling in love with me.”

“And what about you? Are you falling in love with him?”

When I didn’t answer, Tony got up and hoisted his trousers up on his slim hips. With his back toward me he said, “I don’t suppose my feelings enter into this at all. It doesn’t matter that I love you.”

I looked up at him, stunned. I had no idea he felt that way. What was I supposed to do now? I thought this was just fun and games for him. I didn’t know it was love. Tony had shown me a side of myself I never knew existed. He had freed something in me and I discovered I was bold and sensual and powerful enough to render a man like him helpless.

“Don’t you get it? I’ve never felt this way about a woman before.” He looked at me. “But that doesn’t matter, does it?”

“That’s not fair, Tony.”

“Fair?” He turned around with fire in his eyes. “You want to talk about what’s fair? I’m the one in the shadows here. I’m the one who’s second best.”

“That’s not true.” I got up and looped my arms about his waist, kissing his chest and neck. “I didn’t know how you felt. I didn’t know you loved me.”

“Then you need to figure this out. I do love you, but I’m getting tired of playing this game.”

I kissed him full on the mouth and slipped his unbuttoned trousers down off his hips. I knew I was complicating matters but he loved me and that blurred everything.

An hour later, as I started to get out of bed, Tony said, “No, not yet.”

“Five more minutes,” I said, lying back down with him, surrendering.

He leaned over and grabbed a cigarette, reaching for his lighter on the nightstand. “Just stay here with me.”

“It’s tempting,” I said, reaching for his cigarette and taking a deep drag. I glanced at the clock and passed the cigarette back to him before resting my head on his chest. I could hear his heart beating, his skin smooth beneath my cheek.

I couldn’t have found two men more different and their true natures came out when they made love to me. Tony was a ravenous lover, like he couldn’t get enough of me. He took charge of me. He took me and turned me weak, whereas Shep was soft, tender and full of feeling. He would kiss and touch me like I was fragile, breakable. I couldn’t make Shep see that I wanted to be broken, and broken by him. While I’d thrash and buck beneath him, he would only cup my face in his hands, hushing me, saying, “Just relax. It’s okay. Relax. . . .”

It was clear to me. Tony Liolli was my lover. Shep was my protector, my keeper.

I rolled onto my side and looked again at the clock on the nightstand. It was a quarter to four. I should have been home an hour ago. Tony ran his fingers from my hip up to my neck and I squeezed my eyes shut. All I could think about then was Shep.

“Tony, I have to go.”

“No, c’mon.” There were his fingertips again, grazing down the length of my body. Those same fingers that had thrilled me moments before now felt like razors on my skin. All pleasure was replaced with confusion and guilt. I couldn’t breathe.

“I have to.” I shrugged off the covers and sat up in bed, scanning the room for my clothes. “I have to go now.”

He reached for my arm but I pulled away, grabbed my dress off the floor and hurried into the bathroom. Over the sound of the running tap, I heard Tony talking about some horse race and some beef he had going with Capone, but I wasn’t listening. With one foot planted on the edge of the sink, I soaped up a washcloth and wiped away the traces of Tony between my legs. I glanced again at the clock in the outer room. If I left in the next few minutes, I’d have time to bathe properly before I had to meet Shep.

I came out of the bathroom and scampered around the room looking for my stockings as I smoothed the wrinkles from my dress. Tony was still going on about Capone. I didn’t say a word. I just wanted to get home. I reached for my earrings on the dresser and as I stared at my reflection in the mirror, fixing my hair and applying my makeup, I couldn’t bring myself to look at Tony. I could hardly look at myself.

•   •   •

A
s soon as I left Tony’s hotel room, I rushed home, grabbed the bottle of Lysol and the coiled syringe from my bottom drawer and sneaked into the bathroom down the hall. After I had used the douche, I had just enough time to bathe before Shep picked me up.

When he held the car door open for me, I barely offered him a peck on the cheek before I slid into the passenger’s seat.

My head was spinning while he told me about a new act he’d booked for the club. I didn’t even know where we were going. I didn’t care.

“You’ll love this band,” he said.

“Sounds great,” I said, staring out the window as we turned onto Harrison Street, distracted by how I’d left things with Tony. I’d gone to his hotel room furious, ready to end it with him. Now I felt like I’d just gotten myself in deeper.

Yes, Tony loved me, but now that I wasn’t in his arms and could think clearly again, I could see that he wasn’t good for me. Not for the long haul. He was restless and impulsive—two traits that didn’t bode well for a gambler. There was no reasoning with the risk taker in him. He was drawn to the excitement, and at times I wondered if that explained his attraction to me. Was I just another wager, a pretty prize wrapped up in dangerous stakes?

So I knew he wasn’t good for me but that didn’t make me want him any less.

“They’ve got this one song,” Shep said, “and as soon as I heard it, I thought to myself, ‘I can’t wait to get Dollface on the dance floor for this.’” Shep reached over and placed his hand on mine. I flinched at his touch, as if he had acid on his fingertips. I couldn’t stand the feel of him so fresh on my skin after Tony had just been there.

Shep frowned, pulled his hand away and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

I stared out the window, the silence between us growing. I knew that someone would get hurt in all this, but I always assumed it would be me. I never realized that I had the ability to hurt Shep or Tony, or both of them. These two virile, powerful men—gangsters, no less—were now at my mercy. It was an unexpected shift of power, and one that I hadn’t asked for. Or had I? Whatever the case, I didn’t want it. I was going to have to end it with one of them, maybe both of them. It was too much responsibility, holding someone’s heart in your hands.

We pulled onto South Federal Street and up to Fontaine’s, a new restaurant Shep had been wanting to take me to. You could tell from the uniformed doormen, the velvet rope out front, the men with their top hats and walking sticks and women in their gowns and fur stoles that it was an elegant place to dine. I looked over at Shep and the thought of giving him up made me want to cling to him all the more.

Before he opened his car door, I scooted closer to him. “Wait!” I leaned over and looked into his eyes. “I do crazy, stupid things sometimes,” I said, reaching up to touch the diamond necklace he’d given me. I kissed him first on the cheek and then on the lips. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

“What’s there to forgive, Dollface?” He kissed me back. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

THE INDOCTRINATION

B
y the time spring arrived, Basha and Dora had taken it upon themselves to indoctrinate me into their gun moll club. I had introduced them to Evelyn right away. They thought she was swell, though they couldn’t understand what she was doing with Izzy Seltzer.

“He’s plenty handsome to look at, but honey, keep your eye on him, ’cause he’s watching every skirt that walks by,” said Basha one afternoon, when we were on our way to meet Dion O’Banion’s wife, Viola, and Vincent Drucci’s wife, Cecelia. Both were regarded as something of gangster gal royalty.

Viola O’Banion was not what I was expecting. “Pleasure to meet you both,” she said, in a soft, quiet voice. “I’m so glad you could join us for lunch.” She was petite like Basha, but had mousy brown hair and unremarkable eyes that seemed all but lost on her face. The whole time we spoke, she never once looked me in the eye.

“And this, of course, is Cecelia Drucci,” said Basha.

Cecelia was a stunning flapper, tall and very blond. She and Dora could have passed for sisters. The two of them towered over Basha and Viola.

Cecelia reached out and shook my hand with a grip as firm as any man’s. “Heard a lot about you two,” she said with a nod.

Evelyn and I had heard a lot about her, too. According to Basha, one night in the middle of a crowded restaurant, Cecelia pulled a steak knife on a woman who was “making eyes at her Vinny.”

“You were right, toots.” Cecelia winked at Dora. “They’re just precious.” Then she snapped her fingers to get the waiter’s attention.

During lunch the rest of us had doctored our soda waters with gin, but not Viola. Like her husband, she never touched a drop of liquor.

Instead, Viola talked about that Sunday’s sermon at Holy Name. She spoke in a low murmur, forcing me to lean forward just so I could hear. “It was so moving,” she said, shaking her head, still marveling over it.

Cecelia changed the subject, told us that Vinny had gotten a new acting role. “He landed a part in a blue movie. It’s called
Bob’s Hot Story.
And guess who’s going to play Bob . . . ?” She seemed as happy about her husband being in a dirty movie as Viola had been about the church sermon. Cecelia went on talking. She had something on her lip but I didn’t feel comfortable enough with her to say anything. Apparently no one else did either.

Evelyn and I had nothing in common with these women, but following our lunch with Viola and Cecelia it seemed that Basha and Dora had decided to take us on like you would a craft project or special assignment.

The next day, they took Evelyn and me to a beauty parlor in the Loop. It was a frilly place with lace curtains and pink floral wallpaper set against a black-and-white checkered floor. A sign above the cash register listed the prices:
Shampoo 15¢, Haircut 75¢, Permanent Wave $1.50, Manicure 50¢.
The air smelled of hair tonic, talcum powder and borax.

A woman was hooked up to a curling machine whose wires reached from her scalp to an apparatus suspended from the ceiling. Another woman was getting a marcel wave, sitting patiently while her hairdresser carefully wrapped a small section of hair about a hot metal rod the length of a ruler. After each section, she stopped to reheat the rod over a burner.

Evelyn and I were seated side by side in chairs that swiveled this way and that. Our freshly shampooed hair dripped onto the capes that the beauty operators had draped over our shoulders.

Dora contemplated the nail polish colors. “What do you think would be better? This red or one of the orange shades?”

“Oh, red. Absolutely.” Basha admired her perfectly coiffed brown waves in the mirror as she called to the shop owner, “We’re gonna need the works today, Stella. We gotta give these two gals updated looks.” Basha went on to instruct our beauticians as if Evelyn and I were merely mannequin heads. Circling around Evelyn, she said, “This one’s gonna be the biggest challenge.”

Evelyn looked at me and frowned.

“And this one”—she turned her focus to me—“needs to get those eyebrows of hers plucked before you do anything else.”

Up until that moment, I’d never given my eyebrows a second thought, especially since they were hidden by my bangs. Now I felt ashamed of them.