Jezebel (5 page)

Of course,
he
didn’t
need his memory to comprehend
the
jolt he received when he’d made her acquaintance. U
ndeniably
beautiful
,
Shane found himself instantly attracted to her. Her exotic coloring
and looks wouldn’t be considered the standard of beauty by an
otherwise shortsighted society. Still, Shane found her stunning. Her
heart-shaped face graced with gentle arching eye brows, a pert nose
and soft, full lips was exquisite.

The rest of her was nicely
put together as well. A touch over average height, she had a lithe
figure blessed with mouthwatering curves. Even though her dress
stopped short of being provocative, there wasn’t any denying
her high, full breasts, small waist and round hips that begged for a
man’s hands.

It just
wasn’t just her looks that had him barging in on their girl’s
night out. She possessed a sexual magnetism that made him feel both
primal and
territorial. The compulsion to be near her was inescapable
,
overwhelming.

Shane cursed
the
wrong head he’d been thinking with.

He
should have paid his respects and walked away. Not pretend he was
hanging around out of some sense of duty or absolve his conscience
.

Only one thing could
do
that
and he
was too selfish
or
too cowardly
to
even
consider it.

During his introspection,
they’d
c
eased their
bickering and flagged down a taxi. Obviously the forgive and forget
sort, they talked animatedly as they climbed into the back of the
hired cab. About what, Shane didn’t have a clue
.
He didn’t really care. T
heir
intimate camaraderie and Celeste’s about face
lightened his
mood. And like a hound dog sniffing out a bitch in heat, he climbed
in behind them.

He’d barely settled
against the leather seats when the cabbie whipped around. His dark
gaze travelled over them one by one then stopped on Shane.

“
I carry whites and
negroes, but not both at the same time.
And I’m
not moving til either you ladies or the gent here gets out of my
cab.”

Hot under
the collar
,
Shane leaned forward, causing the material of his jacket to strain
against his arms and chest. “I don’t
believe
we have a
problem.”

“
Yeah, we do,”
the
driver
retorted
.
“They’re colored and you’re not
.
”

“
Well, that’s my
cue.” Celeste reached for the door handle.

“
Sit back. I got
this.” She glared at him for a split second then with a loud
huff fell back into the seat. Shane glanced at Trudy. While her
cousin wanted to make tracks, she sat back with a mischievous grin.

“
Who says I’m
not colored?” Shane asked, turning his attention back to the
driver.

The
cabbie’s
eyes narrowed as if he could discern Shane’s family tree by
simply looking at him. “You look
pretty
legit
to me.”

Shane
opened
and closed his fists.
“My
father
was Irish
and
my
mother
’
s
half Muskogee.”

The cabbie’s lips
curled and
Shane
wondered which of his parents the other man found the least
desirable.

“
Close enough,”
the cabbie finally acquiesced. He then turned around and
shifted
the car into
gear
.

***

“
One Sheridan Square.”
The driver flipped the meter. “That’ll be a dollar and
two bits.”

After alighting, both
Celeste and Trudy fished into their purses for the fare, but Shane
beat them to it by handing the guy a five.

While the cabbie made
change, Trudy placed her elbows on the driver side door and leaned
down so their faces were mere inches from each other.

“
I’m
performing tonight—Trudy Leroux, a pretty popular act if I say
so myself.” Trudy purred
,
enunciating each syllable. “Wanna come with
us
?”

P
alming
his money, the driver inched backward.

“
Not
on your life, sister,” he said then hit the gas. Not hurt in
the least by the man’s rudeness,
Trudy’s
laughter could be barely heard over the screeching tires.

“
Come on.”
Celeste grabbed Trudy’s arm, and pulled her across the street
with Shane close on their heels. “You ought to be ashamed of
yourself for frightening him like that.”

“
That buster will be
fine and just as bigoted tomorrow,” Trudy sniffed as they
cl
imbed
the curb.

Only half past nine the line
into Cafe Society already snaked halfway down the block. The first
of its kind, the nightclub
was
modeled
after
the cafes in Paris where
any
and everyone
rubbed elbows over quality libations, two dollar steaks and
intellectual
conversation
.

“
A
r
en’t
you a sight for sore eyes, Miss Celeste?” Marvin Rudolph, a
former doorman from the Plantation Inn
greeted
her.

Celeste allowed him to
enfold her into a big bear hug. Although he wasn’t a
performer, Marvin was just as much a part of the family from The
Plantation as anyone else. “Has Trudy talked you into joining
on like the rest of the gang? I sure loved the way you danced.”

“
She hasn’t made
up her mind where her feet are going to land,” Trudy replied.
“So don’t go starting
rumors
.
She needs to find herself a manager first.”

Marvin smiled as Trudy
straightened his black bow tie. “You plan on knocking them
dead?”

“
Don’t I always.
Why bother performing if you’re not going to give the crowd one
hundred and ten percent. If you get a break you should see my set. I
cooked up a new number.”

“
Wish I could, but
look at this line and it’s not even ten o’clock,”
he lamented
,
open
ing
one of the
club’s
double doors. “I have a long night on my feet. You all have a
good ni
ght.”

Shane
followed them, but Marvin held up
a
gloved hand. “W
hoa,
wait a minute there, bub. Where do you think you’re going?
The line starts back there.”

Before
Trudy
could intercede, Shane wrapped his arm around Celeste’s waist
and pulled her close. The point of contact made her catch her breath.
“I’m with them,” he said clarifying, their
acquaintance.

Marvin
didn’t
bat a lash. Considering he helmed the door for New York’s
first integrated nightclub,
he’d
probably seen and heard everything.
And
whether or not he had an opinion
regarding
the
company
they kept,
Marvin
kept it to himself and allowed all of them to pass.

Once inside, Celeste brushed
his hand away.

“
Ah,
silky...silky…sounds like the band is just getting started.”
Trudy shouted over the plaintive wail of a cornet. Oblivious to
Celeste’s mounting anxiety, her cousin shimmied out of her
over
coat.

“
A-are you going to
hang around a little before you
head
backstage?”

Trudy flipped her wrist.
“Sure, thing, sugar,” she said glancing at the watch on
her wrist. “I have enough time for at least two drinks.”
She
held
out her hand
.
“
G
ive
me your coats, and I’ll check them in with Margie.”

Left alone with Shane,
Celeste suddenly felt on edge. Even in a crowded nightclub, all she
could focus on was the man standing to her left. And in spite of
what he probably thought about her, she still found herself
irrevocably drawn to him.

Needing space, Celeste
wandered down the hallway. As she drew closer to the nightclub’s
dining area.

The soft clang of colliding
glasses
and
silverware
mixed
with the
heady
buzz of
voices
,
laughter
and music
.
People poured in and out. Some looked wilted from too much dancing,
others too drunk on booze.

The
uniform
ed
chaos soothed Celeste’s rattled nerves. This was where reality
ended and fantasy began. In here, she didn’t have to prove
anything to anyone. The
Depression
was
simply
a figment of everyone’s imagination
,
trials and tribulations
could
be
left at the
door and
the
only requirement was
having
a good time.

Trudy stepped out of the
press of people and handed Celeste their coat check tickets. “Come
on let’s find a table.”

They ascended the stairs to
the second tier
.
T
ables topped
with snow-white tablecloths hugged brass railings or w
ere
wedged into
half
-moon
shaped booths.
All
of them
had an
excellent view of the dance floor and the elevated stage.

Celeste tried walking ahead
of him, but Shane’s long-legged stride kept pace with hers. And
he walked so close, his arm brushing hers anyone could easily mistake
them for a couple. Celeste peeked up at him. What would it be like
belonging to? Probably be a dizzying ride, Celeste mused, just
looking at him made her head spin.

It would be like pennies
from heaven, Celeste mused.

Well, until her demons came
between them.
And
they
always
did
at the first inkling of emotion.
So,
she stopped caring altogether.

Celeste tried remembering
the last time she’d dredged up real affection for anyone. All
she came up with were a dozen nameless faces
which
blended into a disposable blob.

What about Ralph?

Surely she’d been in
love with him. They’d
been
engaged.
After
one of her performance, he’d gotten down on one knee and
proposed. Celeste frowned. Ralph was
the
only
man
she’d ever come close to feeling love for.
He’d
also been the one who’d robbed her of the useless emotion.

Celeste’s steps
slowed.

“
Telegram for a
Miss Celeste Newsome?”

A young boy of no more
than sixteen
stood
outside her and Trudy’s flat.

“
That’s her,”
Trudy
drawled with a sultry timbre that
could only belong to a
seasoned
singer.
“I’m
just her humble servant.”

Celeste
walked over as best as she could. Dressed in full bridal regalia,
the going was rather difficult.
The
fitted sheath cover
ed
her in an expanse of
unforgiving
creamy
satin from the high-laced collar to the edges of the poplin sleeves.

If she
gained an ounce before the wedding, she’d find herself in b
ig
trouble and out of a dress. Good thing she was headlining at the
Plantation House five nights a week.