Queen of the Underworld (32 page)

“Even the Realtor tried to discourage Stella. The last tenants of the building had run a rumba studio fronting for a bookie joint, and when they did their midnight flit they took all the moldings and fixtures with them. The place would need major work, and he’d hate to see a lady like herself go to a lot of expense and then have the owner, who was pretty disgusted with Espanola Way, sell it out from under her to the first
shlemiel
buyer who made a reasonable offer. He said he’d show her better rental properties on better streets, some with ocean views, places she could move right into. How much was she willing to spend? ‘No, you don’t understand,’ she tells him, ‘
I
am your
shlemiel
buyer—if your disgusted owner is willing to accept my reasonable offer in cash.’ ”

“But where did she get the cash?”

“She kept it in a false-bottomed scent case she had had made for her, right after Paris fell—the one your manager’s mother called her ‘adorable little cabinet.’ When Hitler passed the law forbidding Jews to own property, her father sold the family store in Leipzig. He divided the proceeds, wired half to us in Miami and half to Stella in Paris, then shot himself.”

“Stella never told me that part. She said he expected her to take over the store when she’d had her fill of Paris.”

“That’s Stella for you, always emphasizing the positive and leaving out the negative. After the nonownership law was passed, some Jews would let a Gentile buy the business on paper and they’d wait it out till things got better. My grandfather obviously didn’t think things were going to get better. My mother bought a house with her share; we took the top floor and rented out the downstairs. Stella lived on hers in Paris and rescued what was left from the bank as soon as France fell. She left the case with a friend when she had to go to the internment camp. Here comes our food. It’s about time. Lucky for her, the case was still intact when we sent the affidavit that freed her to come here. Waiter, we need refills on our tea. I guess the busboy didn’t deliver my message.”

“So you get your beverages
and
refills on us. Be right back, sir, with the drinks. You and the lady enjoy your food.”

“What score do we give him?”asked Paul.

“Five out of ten?”

“If he hadn’t thrown in the free beverages. Refills are always free. Plus he’s been hustling a loaded station, five full tables and our booth.”

“So, what do you think?” I was impressed that all during the time he’d been reminiscing about Aunt Stella, Paul’s managerial eye had never stopped keeping watch.

“How about six out of ten and a decent tip?”

As we strolled down Collins, Paul to his barber and me to case the fancy shops on Lincoln Road, he said, “Walk on ahead of me.”

“Why?”

“Go on. Just for a minute.”

I obeyed, swinging into my conscious Bev-walk.

“Okay, that’ll do.”

“What was that about?”

“Bev made me promise to check out your shoes. She said, ‘If they’re her same ones she had at Christmas, they’ll be getting run-down at the heels.’ ” He pulled out his wallet. “This is from her. Go into Saks and get yourself a new pair.”

“That’s way too much.”

“It’s what she specified. And if anybody should know what shoes cost, it’s Bev. There’s the Raleigh, it’s supposed to have the most beautifully designed swimming pool in the country. We’ll go for a drink some evening. And that’s the Delano, interesting story there. Just after the war, the city council passed an ordinance prohibiting construction work from November to April within fifty feet of any existing hotel. To protect the seasonal guests, you know. All we had was the winter season back then. Well, as soon as the Delano broke ground, the hotel next door set up a howl and the police swept in and arrested all the Delano construction workers. So the Delano developer sues not only the city but the individual council members. The council calls an emergency session and amends the ordinance to read fifty
yards
instead of feet. But that wasn’t good enough for the developer, he didn’t withdraw the suits. A month later the council decided to lift all bans on construction, whatever the season, and the postwar boom was on with a vengeance.”

“The hotel next door must have been furious.”

“It was demolished soon after. True to Miami Beach jungle law. Some always going up, others always coming down. Speaking of jungles, here’s Lincoln Road, a mangrove jungle less than fifty years ago. According to Bev, Saks has the widest choice of shoes. I’ll come looking for you after I get shorn. Forty-five minutes give you enough time?”

Warily entering the perfumed chill of Saks, I paused beside a counter heaped with delectable silk scarves and made sure my moat of reserve against fashion intimidation was intact before continuing on. I’d been in Saks with Bev at Christmastime, when she had sprung her shopping trip on me, almost catching Paul and me in bed at the Kenilworth, but on that day she had marched me in and out of stores with a specific purchase in mind, the black dress we subsequently found at Lily Rubin’s for which she had insisted on paying half. Now, however, there was no well-disposed guide to shield me from the competition.

You’ll be fine, if you’ll just remember you can’t be everyone at once.
Loney’s advice.

Okay: not that rich spoiled teenage goddess trying on belts over her sexy tennis dress; not those two glamorous matrons spritzing themselves with cologne testers and then solemnly sniffing each other’s wrists; not the regal old girl in black picture hat and elbow-length gloves being shown the inside of an alligator handbag by a reverent saleslady.

Just Emma, with her lover’s wife’s cash gift in her purse, headed for Shoes.

Ginevra from her Palm Island days dropped down and strode along beside me, the Mafia uncle’s roll of bills zipped into her purse. (“Here, get what you need in Saks for the party tonight. And better pick up some stockings and costume jewelry for the girls. Forty-five minutes enough?”)

Two salesladies were tracking me; they were probably on commission here. Lídia would simply whirl around and fasten her talons on the nearest one.

“Yes, can you help me? What I am looking for is a good-quality dress pump. Three-inch heel, in black leather. And it must of course be satisfactory for walking.”

“Certainly. What size does madam take?”

“Well, you see, my heels are an eight
narrow
but my toes sometimes require an eight
medium.
I also have an
ess-TREME-ly
high instep. So I may want an eight
and a half,
depending on the brand of the shoe.” Bombarding her with my idiosyncratic requirements from the start so she can come staggering out with a double load of narrows and mediums in two different sizes.

Impersonating Lídia—or a toned-down version of her—turned out to be a practical move. It streamlined the transaction and left me with time to spare. I stopped off at Costume Jewelry, my Saks bag dangling like a prize from my arm, and browsed the offerings under glass. Returning to my fantasy of Ginevra in Saks, I now pretended to be the young madam choosing baubles for my Palm Island girls. Maybe the pearl drop earrings for Dolores, whose lobes were pierced; the rhinestone hair clip for Mona’s thick dark locks; the dinner ring for Celeste’s tapered fingers. Was that the sort of thing Uncle had in mind? Or would his taste be too gaudy for someone trained to Biscayne Academy standards? Avoid ostentation, Miss Edith—like Loney—would surely have preached. Make classic simplicity your Royal Road; though, with costume jewelry, you can allow leeway for wit and humor.

“See something you like?” asked Paul, who had stolen up beside me.

“Oh! You look—”

“Is it too short? We got to talking about one thing and another. And he knew Stella.”

“No, it’s—” It’s beautiful, you are beautiful to me, was what I was actually thinking. “It brings out the noble shape of your head,” I said. It did, he looked like the immaculately groomed prince of some small kingdom tucked away in another hemisphere.

“As long as you like it, I’m satisfied.”

We stood there in a sort of rapt contemplation of each other until he broke the spell by nodding toward the shopping bag on my arm. “I take it you had success?”

“I’m afraid so. I spent all Bev’s money.”

“I told you she knew what shoes cost.”

B
ACK IN
Collins Avenue sidewalk traffic, we threaded our way between beach-attired bodies ranging from the reproachfully perfect to the obscenely gross.

“Your Carolina mountains have declimatized me,” Paul said. “I never used to notice the Florida heat in summer. I’m going to propose a change in plans. Instead of rushing down to Espanola Way to deal with Stella’s stuff, let’s get the car and drive up to Bal Harbour and see if the ambassador is upstairs in his bedroom at the club. What would you say to that?”

“I’d say it’s a five-star plan.”

We switched directions and crossed to the shadier side of the avenue. “Here, let me carry that,” said Paul, relieving me of the bag inside which the costly shoes snuggled head to toe in the tissue of their I. Miller box.

A feisty little beige dog with a pink bow in its topknot lurched toward us on its taut leash, dragging a beefy, perspiring man. The man saw Paul and stopped in his tracks, all but garroting the little dog, who let out an aggrieved yelp.

“Paulie the Stern!”

Paul squinted hard at the man. “Irving Katz,” he said neutrally. “You’ve filled out some since we last met.”

“All that starchy Cuban food. And the sugar in the drinks—disgusting! I’m a lot trimmer now than I was back in January. Been on a strict steak and J&B regime since Manny brought us back home to the Beach. You’ve stayed your same old stern skinny self, Paulie. You look swanky as a peacock. Or I guess I better say nightingale now, ha, ha.”

“Emma, this is Irving Katz. We went to high school together.”

“Yeah, I taught him everything he knows, ha, ha. A pleasure, Emma. You a local girl?”

“Emma is a reporter for the
Miami Star,
” said Paul, whose demeanor was growing frostier by the second. He had neither presented me to Irving Katz nor supplied my surname.

“Oy! I better mind my p’s and q’s, hadn’t I? Don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with the
Star.
You should write about his club, Emma, or maybe you are. Everyone’s talking about Nightingale’s up in Bal Harbour. I hear the artwork upstairs is exceptional, the paintings and decor and so on. Putting in another kitchen, too, Paulie? For late-night schmoozing? But listen, enough. None of us wants to fry on the sidewalk. Plus I got to get Trixie back to the hotel. Manny’s a strict observer of the Sabbath, so it falls to an infidel like me to open and close his refrigerator and turn on his lights and walk his pup. He’s gonna be tickled pink when I tell him I ran into you, Paulie. You know, we need to talk sometime very soon. Because I’m thinking we could provide some additional services for your expanding operation.”

“I’m not looking for additional services, Irving. I plan to stay small.”

“Ah, still the same old Paulie the Stern. The bird moniker hasn’t lightened you up, has it? Well, don’t rule it out, Paulie; I just seriously would not rule it out if I were you. Manny was saying just this morning that with all these refugees from Castro pouring in, the sons of Abraham are gonna need to close ranks against the Cuban Mafia. You know the funny part about all the spics flooding in, I said. Now it’s gonna be someone else’s turn to ‘ruin the beach.’ We get to be the old settlers for a change, ha, ha. We can put up our own signs: ‘Restricted to Members Only. If your grandparents didn’t come over on the Yiddish
Mayflower
before Prohibition, don’t bother to apply!’ ”

19.

“I
T’S NOT YOU,
”
SAID
P
AUL,
wrapping himself around me under the sheet. “It’s nothing to do with you.”

“It’s not important.”

“It is important. We’re two fine-tuned individuals who can’t shut off our minds from our bodies. It’s always been more than just the act for us.”

“What I meant was, it’s not important to me as long as I know I haven’t turned you off in some way.”

“I repeat, it’s nothing to do with you. I’m just sorry I had to introduce you to that bum.”

“But you didn’t introduce me. You never said my last name. You just told him where I worked.”

“I was of two minds about that. But people in his racket cultivate a healthy fear of the press. And I didn’t want him making any impertinent assumptions about you.”

She is his mistress and they’ve been shopping at Saks.

“What
is
his racket?”

“Does the name Manny Lanning mean anything to you?”

“He’s some kind of gangster, isn’t he?”

“A charter member of our Miami Beach Shady Hall of Fame. When Kefauver killed local gambling, Manny packed his roulette wheels and took off for Cuba. Batista welcomed him to the table—he skimmed off his own juicy cut, naturally. They shared a profitable coexistence until Castro took over and they both fled Cuba on New Year’s Eve. Now he’s relocated back here on the Beach. Gambling’s always been Manny’s first love. He thinks he owns the sport.”

“But what do they want from you?”

“It’s called protection. They want to guarantee protection for my ‘expanding operation.’ ”

“Oh, God, even I know about that from the movies. But he called you ‘Paulie.’ Was that your high school name?”

“My
friends
called me Paulie. Every time I heard it out of Irving’s smarty mouth, I wanted to mash his face in. He was an insufferable tagalong, a would-be punk. He was always trying to do something showy and dangerous to impress us. He stuck to me like chewing gum on a shoe because I was halfway decent to him. My mother told me I had to be, because his mother cleaned hotel rooms, but it wasn’t easy. When he turned sixteen and started running betting slips and money for the S&G syndicate, he became truly insufferable.”

“The S&G syndicate?” Foreseeing more homework for myself in the
Star
’s morgue.