Ladies In The Parlor (15 page)

And so Leora dreamed.

Doris had come to Mother Rosenbloom in an unusual way. She had been at the house for more than a year. She had run away from a reform school two hundred and seventy miles away. It was bitter cold weather when the maid told Mother Rosenbloom that a young girl wished to speak to her.

The mighty woman was in an evil mood. Walking swiftly and heavily she came into the parlor.

The girl stood before her, hands and cheeks bitten raw with the cold.

Timidly she stepped before the empress of sex and said quietly,

“Mother Rosenbloom?”

“Yes, I’m Mother Rosenbloom.”

“I’m Doris Mahone —my mother went to the convent with you.”

Mother Rosenbloom’s eyes moved quickly in her immense moon face.

“And what was her name?”

“Bridget Shugrue.”

Mother’s eyes closed and opened quickly.

“You’re Bridget’s daughter, really?” she asked. “Yes. Mother died four years ago. I got into trouble after that and was sent to a reform school. I ran away last week—I came right here, and I’m all tired out.” The tears welled to the hurt child’s eyes. A ray of kindness passed over the face of Mother Rosenbloom. “Goodness, goodness!” she said quickly.

The girl began to sob. Mother Rosenbloom held her against her huge breasts.

“Now, now,” she soothed, “don’t cry, don’t cry—suppose some one sees you. Why, you’re Biddy Shugrue’s daughter. Dry your eyes, dry your eyes,” commanded Mother.

She held the girl from her with both hands. “Sh’h’h—you must never let anyone see you cry—such things are between you and God, and keep all you can from Him.”

She seated the girl on the davenport and rang for the maid.

“Will you have a nice warm meal prepared?”

The maid started away. “And bring brandy and warm water with sugar right away,” she called.

“Now tell me about your mother—what a dear girl she was—I know she married that drunken vagabond.” “Yes,” said Doris, “he’s dead, too.”

“Well, he should be,” added Mother grimly. “To cumber the earth with himself was a sin against the Holy Ghost. But to take Biddy and tear her heart out—that’s another matter.”

The maid came with brandy and water. The imperious woman took the liquid and handed it to Doris, saying, “Here—drink this—swallow it quick.”

She literally threw the empty glass to the maid. “Now tell me about yourself,” she said to Doris. “I got in trouble twice—my father the first time.”

“God damn his soul,” snapped Mother.

“The second time with a boy—I couldn’t help it—they sent me away—I nearly died there—two years—I hurt myself getting over the wall—but I got to a straw-stack along the Lincoln Highway and dug in. I stayed there till I was so hungry I made up my mind I’d have to take a chance one way or the other—so, long before the sun came up the next morning I walked along the highway, and pretty soon a truck came along with a big canvas top over it.

“I waved at the driver and he stopped and yelled at me, ‘Pile on.’

“He didn’t ask me any questions, and he must have driven an hour, then he said, ‘It’s getting too light now—you better get back inside.’ There was a lot of old canvas back there and it smelled of beef—but I stretched out and slept.

“When I woke up the truck was standing still. In a few minutes the driver came. He had a bottle of coffee and two sandwiches. ‘Here kid,’ he said to me, ‘you ain’t eat yet,’ and he put everything on the canvas.

“When he got me here he gave me fifty cents and he said, ‘Now beat it—I don’t want to know your name nor nothing about you. So if they pick you up it won’t be me that turned copper. I’m on.’ “

“And you didn’t get his name?” asked Mother Rosenbloom.

“No, he just said, ‘Over there’s the street-car. It’ll get you down town,’ and before I could say ‘Boo’ he was gone.”

“Well, what did he look like?” asked Mother.

“One of the pictures of a pirate Mother used to read to me about—he had a long black mustache, and his hat was all crumpled and set on his head every which way. Two of his fingers were off, I noticed, and he was big and strong as an ox. There was a white streak clear across his right eye like a knife had cut it and his cheeks were sunk away in like he was suckin’ wind.”

“My God!” Mother Rosenbloom’s head shook in consternation, “and a man like that had a heart like him.”

The maid announced that the meal was ready.

Still lost in thought, Mother Rosenbloom nodded.

“Do you know, dear,” the giant woman rubbed the diamonds on her left hand with her right thumb, “I’ll bet he’s some poor devil who served a term in jail.”

She led the girl to the dining-room. “You stay right here,” she said. “I’ll telephone Judge Slattery. He’ll fix everything— They’ll never look for you in a ten-dollar house.”

Drunk on champagne, they came to Mother Rosenbloom’s, laughing and singing,

We’re wild and woolly and full of fleas—

We’ve never been curried below the knees!

We’re little boys in big men’s britches—

Two no-good all-around sons-of-bitches.

Larry Wirt was nearly thirty; Sammy Klein, the younger, about twenty-six. Wirt was the leader of an underworld gang that collected across the nation. There were six in the gang. The tribute amounted to a million dollars a year.

Sammy was his bodyguard. He had large round eyes, and the expression of a bewildered violinist. Though Sammy had the mild manner of a poet, his soft eyes were tiger-quick. His hand was always near an automatic.

Wirt could not speak one word correctly. His mind was coarse as the gutter from which he came. He had been everything, the manager of a pugilist who could not get out of the preliminary class, a pimp for a whore who fell in love with a traveling salesman, a deserter from the navy, and at last a hijacker who became so unerring in thievery that firms smuggling liquor made him a partner, and long afterward lamented that they had not killed him; for he became all-powerful and made them slaves.

A young man of tremendous resourcefulness and cunning, he might have been the greatest detective in the nation had he chosen the side of the law.

Larry was a braggart, with contempt for all things. He would have disputed the right of way with a cyclone. His courage was tigerish, remorseless, his brain lightning in emergencies.

When war was declared in the gang, he and Sammy Klein stood against the other four.

Sammy’s earnings were enormous each year merely because Larry liked him. Larry, being a loquacious fellow from the time he was a gutter-snipe, needed a buffer about him. He had met Sammy as a boy. Sammy had taken Larry to his home. He had a twin sister, who was beautiful and more dreamy-looking than her brother. Sammy’s father and mother were orthodox Jews. The father had worked humbly as a tailor for nearly thirty years.

Larry liked Sammy’s sister. He was not of Sammy’s creed. His parents made no obvious objection to their daughter caring for Larry. But though they said nothing, the daughter understood. She remained loyal to Larry, but did not marry him.

How such men as Wirt come to the surface, ruthless as death, and with less pity than a tornado, is a problem for the future. He was a great organizer. His ancestors were all mediocre. None were murderers.

They spent five nights and hundreds of dollars in Mother Rosenbloom’s house. Wirt picked Selma, and Sammy chose Leora.

The girls were excellent company. Selma was just the reckless type that appealed to Larry, while Sammy became fond of Leora.

Mother’s shrewd eyes read the young men. She made no comment. On the sixth day, Judge Slattery telephoned. “Be careful, Mother,” he warned, “they’re hot young men.”

Mother understood. It was dangerous to be seen too much in the company of “hot young men.”

Mother Rosenbloom appreciated Judge Slattery’s warning. She decided to ask them not to come to her house until the war was over.

Debating further, she concluded that she would say nothing to the hot young men. “How could I explain where I found out?” she asked herself.

While a sailor, Larry had loitered about Singapore for many weeks. He left with a mania for Chinese cooking.

Larry was what the house doctor called a male nymphomaniac. While Sammy remained close to Leora, his companion sampled every girl in the house. The house doctor tried to explain Larry to Selma and Mary Ellen on the fourth day. Mary Ellen listened attentively. Selma said abruptly, “He’s a wild man.”

“But it’s his glands, Selma,” said the house doctor.

“The hell it is,” returned Selma, “I know different. I’ve slept with him and you haven’t.”

Larry put Mother Rosenbloom’s discipline to a severe test. Though four of her girls were infatuated with him, he made his selections to suit his mood. He would explain it by saying, “I’d have you all in the room if I could.”

“Go ahead,” Mother would laugh, “it’s all the same to me.”

None of the girls showed the least jealousy. The last night in the house Larry asked Sammy to change girls with him. “I want to please ‘em all before I die,” he laughed boisterously.

He stayed the night with Leora, and walked about her room and gazed at the different objects. He ran his hand over the lace bedspread. “Nice, eh, Kid,” he said, “I can think of worse places to be tonight… You know,” he explained, “I didn’t pick you at first—you kinda scared me.”

He came to a picture of Judge Slattery. “You know him, huh?—He’s a guy—I like men who do things with themselves like he did. He’s like me—he used to be a newsboy—and he’s dead right too—right as a lump of gold.”

He looked admiringly at the girl whose reddish-brown hair fell over her shoulders. “How’d you ever happen to be here?” he asked.

Her red lips parted in a slow smile. “I came to meet you,” she answered.

“You’re a beautiful damn liar,” he returned. “We’re different—I don’t know why—you act to me like you know my number.”

A tire exploded in the street. He jumped up quickly and looked about. Leora stood perfectly still.

Laughing, he said, “they might as well kill a fellow as scare him to death.”

Leora seated herself at her dressing-table.

“Tell me, Kid, how’d you happen to be here?” “I heard you were coming,” she smiled.

He watched her face in the mirror, and motioned to her, saying, “Come over here—you’re as cold as the captain’s dummy.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Didn’t you ever hear of the captain’s dummy?” “No,” replied Leora.

“Well,” said Larry, “when I was a sailor in the navy, my Captain fell in love with a little Jap girl in Tokio. He couldn’t take her with him on the ship; so he had a statue made of her out of rubber and velvet, and all the stuffin’s. He used to sleep with her every night while we were on the cruise. One night, while the Captain was away, playin’ golf or somethin’, the admiral sneaked into his cabin, and took a rap at the dummy. Well, as sure as I’m tellin’ you, in nine days he had a dose.” Larry laughed outright.

“I don’t think that’s so funny,” said Leora.

“Neither did the admiral,” and Larry laughed louder than before.

When he left the next morning, he said to Leora, “You’re some girl, but I was right the first time—we’re different—we’re not cut out for each other—you get what I mean, don’t you? I’m not the guy for you, but I wish I was. Well, so long, Leora, they ain’t nobody kin please ‘em all. I’ve tried.”

He gave Leora more money than he had given the other girls. “I’m goin’ to give you fair warnin’, Kid, you’re goin’ to go for me before you die, an’ when you do, I’ll walk all over you.”

“When I do,” smiled Leora, “I’ll let you.”

“All right, that’s a go, Kid—I never wanted anything bad yet that I didn’t git.” He felt her firm breast and exclaimed, “Hot dog—God damn.”

It was Wednesday. Leora and Selma had their “day off.”

They had a dinner date with Larry and Sammy at a Chinese restaurant.

The girls were ten minutes late.

Larry and Sammy waited for some minutes in the restaurant when Eddie, the waiter, a young man from their own section, came to wait on them.

Through prudence, or wisdom, he had given up the underworld, much to the amusement of his two friends.

“What are you kickin’ outta the job now, Eddie?” Larry asked with a smile.

“Oh, about fifty a week and my cakes,” answered Eddie.

“My God,” exclaimed Larry— ”that wouldn’t keep a sparrow.”

“I know—it ain’t much,” returned Eddie, “but I feel better—I don’t need to run every time I see a cop now, and I can sleep better nights.”

Larry smiled again. “Well, that’s up to you, Eddie—you always was a funny guy.”

“That’s all right, Larry,” put in Sammy, “everybody has his own life to live—maybe Eddie feels better. If he’s not gettin’ such big money, he’s not takin’ such big chances either.”

“What do you mean, chances?” asked Larry.

Two men, wearing caps, entered the restaurant. They walked quietly to the end booth, which contained the hot young men. The first man pointed to Larry and Sammy, and then stepped aside quickly. The other stepped forward. Four bullets were fired.

Two went through their hearts. Two pierced their heads.

The murderers disappeared in the excitement. Leora and Selma, just arriving, saw them enter a powerful automobile. They next watched Larry and Sammy being carried from the restaurant.

Next morning their pictures were on the front pages of all the newspapers.

Mother Rosenbloom, glancing at the pictures, said to Leora and Selma, “I was afraid you girls might join those boys yesterday. I heard they were hot.”

Leora and Selma looked at each other, but said nothing.

“They were nice boys too,” sighed Mother Rosenbloom, “it’s too bad.”

The girls talked all week of Leora’s meeting with Judge Slattery. She was the first girl he had ever invited to his home. Ruled by a heavy Chinese servant he called “John Wesley,” his house overlooked Lake Michigan at a lonely point near Evanston.

It was now Thursday morning, and Leora’s heart sang as she early drew back the curtains.

Selma met her in the hallway and said with mock seriousness, “when you’re Mrs. Judge Slattery, Leora, won’t you use your influence to have me appointed a janitress in the State House?”