Sugar House (9780991192519) (36 page)

Another spotlight appeared, stage right, and
Gary Cooper walked across the stage to join her as the applause
roared again. Cooper handed her a massive bouquet of flowers and
was rewarded with a big kiss right on the lips. A few rows back,
Joe heard a gasp from a woman shocked at such brazen behavior in
public. Joe rolled his eyes. What did she expect at a Clara Bow
movie? Clara leaned down and said something to the orchestra
conductor. He turned to his musicians and waved his baton. They
began to play "Gimme a Little Kiss, Will Ya, Huh?" Whispering Jack
Smith had recorded the song the year prior, and it had topped the
music charts.

A bright light illuminated the aisle, and Joe
saw a quartet in candy cane-striped seersucker jackets standing
abreast, straw boaters in hand, facing the stage. They harmonized
the famous lyrics as they made their way toward the stage.

Gimme a little kiss, will ya, huh?

What are you gonna miss, will ya, huh?

Gosh, oh gee, why do you refuse

I can't see what you've got to lose.

Oh, gimme a little squeeze, will ya, huh?

Why do you wanna make me blue?

I wouldn't say a word if I were asking for the
world

But what's a little kiss between a fellow and his
girl?

Oh, gimme a little kiss, will ya, huh?

And I'll give
it right back to you!"
^[2]

Clara Bow danced lightly to the serenade. She
grabbed Gary Cooper's hand and twirled herself around his towering
body. Flashes of skin and beads reflected in the stage lighting,
and the crowd applauded loudly, approving of Clara's overpowering
sex appeal and lighthearted teasing. Sultry and elegantly feminine,
Clara sang a quick verse back to the singing suitors. Joe looked to
see where the voice was coming from, for it certainly could not be
Clara. In the cab, her Brooklynese had been rough and tough like
the gangsters he worked for. This arresting voice was definitely
not Clara's, but there she stood, singing and teasing, an
exaggerated swing of hips and shoulders tantalizing the already
raucous crowd.

Gimme a little coat, will ya, huh?

Sable, or mink or goat Will ya huh?

You know my poor hands are as bare as
anything

I could stand a little bracelet maybe a diamond
ring

Gimme a little car will ya huh

That would be might nice to do

A Packard or a Lincoln or a Cadillac
sedan

Why I'll even take a Rolls and you can add a
chauffeur man

But if you give me a little Ford I'll give a kiss
right back to you.

The audience stood, clapping, stomping, and
whistling as Clara finished the last note, for she had replaced the
last line of the lyrics with a crowd-pleasing love-my-Ford
reference. The original anti-Detroit lyric—"But don't you give me a
little Ford or I'll give it right back to you"
—
would have
offended the many people who relied on Ford for their livelihoods.
Clara Bow knew her audience. She wiggled her svelte hips and blew a
kiss to the audience, and they continued cheering as she and Gary
Cooper took their bows and exited the stage.

The lights dimmed, and the auditorium was
dark except for the soft illumination of the ushers' small
flashlights as the movie began. Clara Bow appeared as Kitty, a
young flapper who tricked her childhood sweetheart into marrying
her on a drunken night, at the behest of her avaricious mother, who
pressured her to marry for money. The sight of Clara rolling around
in a giant bed, her dark, full eyelashes batting at wealthy,
despondent Ted Larrabee (Gary Cooper) caused a hot flush of
hormones to run through Joe. He looked around to see if anyone
could read his thoughts. He blushed at his naivety. Sensing a
movement in the alcove walkway near his seat, he peered through the
darkness, trying to decipher the situation. His hand reached down
to where he had strapped his .38 to his ankle.

Quietly he removed the weapon and placed it
under the hem of his sports coat. His neighbors did not notice. Joe
looked behind him slowly, wishing he had the eyes of a bat or some
other nocturnal creature. Murder attempts were common in theaters,
but not in places as crowded as the Fox was tonight. Occasionally a
sleeper—a body—would be found when the lights went up and the
ushers began sweeping out the rows of seats, the cause of death
either strangulation or a stab wound to the back. Theater owners
had started installing seats with steel frames to prevent the
stabbings, but thugs circumvented them by simply strangling their
victims.

The orchestra played on, accompanying Clara's
antics on the screen; and the audience shouted out phrases of lust
or laughter. But Joe heard nothing other than the beating of his
heart. Was it the River Gang? Had they played Charlie, duping him
into a false agreement with the intentions of getting revenge on
Joe? Or maybe Charlie had duped Joe? It wouldn't be the first time
a gangster had lied to one of his own men only to have him knocked
off at an unsuspecting moment. Joe saw the movement again and let
out a long low sigh. It was only two little boys who must have
snuck in and had found an ideal hiding spot to watch the racy
movie. On pins and needles now, the magic gone, Joe returned his
weapon to its holster and decided to leave the theater.

Glancing at his new Elgin wristwatch he noted
he was half an hour late to meet Charlie at the speakeasy. He
rushed out the shiny brass doors of the theater and looked down at
his watch again. Thump! His shoulder slammed into a gentleman who'd
been waiting for a cab outside.

"I'm so sorry, sir; I was looking down" Joe
began apologizing, "Hey! You're Ty Cobb! Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr.
Cobb." The tall lanky man brushed off the shoulder of his suit coat
and looked down at Joe.

"What are you in such a hurry for?" Cobb
drawled. "Fire in the theater?" he joked. Joe was so relieved his
hero wasn't angry with him.

"No sir—just late to a meeting is all. Mr.
Cobb? I'd just like to say that I saw you at the game when you
broke the record for the most stolen bases. You were terrific!"

"Thanks, young man. But I never run that fast
on the sidewalks, so I'd suggest slowing down off the baseball
diamond." Cobb tuned to hail a cab. Joe thought quickly.

"Mr. Cobb? Would you mind signing an
autograph for me? Please?"

"Sure. You have any paper?" Joe reached into
his pocket and pulled out the picture Clara had left for him at the
will-call booth.

"Will this do?" he asked.

"The real McCoy, huh? Seems like you have
friends in high places." He signed the back of the photograph.
"Goodnight, McCoy." Then he got into his cab and drove off.

Hailing a cab was difficult on a Friday night, and it
was more than fifteen minutes before one finally pulled to the
curb. Joe hoped the surprise visit by Bow and Cooper at the Sugar
House would provide a small leeway for his tardiness. His thoughts
drifted to the sight of Clara's silky white thigh he'd glimpsed in
the back seat of the cab earlier that day.

The cabbie roared to a stop at 121 Davenport.
Joe paid the fare and got out. The smell of cigar smoke wafted
through the air, creating a foggy atmosphere inside the Powhatan
Club. The bar was nearly empty. Most patrons didn't arrive until
after midnight. Joe easily found Charlie sitting at the end of the
bar. A fine, expensive hat sat next to a full beer on the wooden
bar. Joe placed his hat next to Charlie's and took a seat.

"Ah, Joey O… here ya are? Beer?" he asked,
signaling to the barkeep.

"I think I could use something a little
stronger, Charlie," Joe replied, feathers still ruffled at the
thought of the River Gang possibly tracking him. Charlie looked at
Joe out the side of his eye, concerned.

"Everything Jake?" he asked.

"Sure, sure Charlie… just been a long day is
all. Oh, I spoke to my uncle, and I'll have the dough for you
tomorrow morning before Cappie and I set off for Wyandotte."

"Good, good. Hey Wes, set my boy up with some
of that ten year Canadian Club. He's been out courting celebrities
all day. She wear you out, Joe?"

The barkeep set two fingers of whisky in
front of Joe.

Joe took a slow sip and set the glass back
down. "Like I can compete with Gary Cooper! Nah, I got the
heebie-jeebies at the theater, and I started thinking about those
damn dagos. You sure everything's on the level with them?" Joe
didn't like to ask questions, but he didn't like to imagine the
feel of a cold blade on his throat either.

"Doncha worry about them dagos, Joe. Just
relax and let's have some fun. I got Art Mooney's Rhythm Kings
coming in to play tonight, and I wanna have a good time. Drinks are
on me tonight. Least I can do after you helped get that hijacked
load back and introduce me to the 'It' girl. Hot damn, does that
doll got some gams! Tell me again how you came about having her in
your cab." Joe related the story to Charlie and then again as he
was introduced to several more men by his boss. A dopey looking
fellow named Harry, with wiry black hair, challenged his tale,
saying Joe was making it up. Eyes squinted against the smoke, Joe
replied he was telling the truth so help him God. Harry laughed and
said God who? Charlie stepped in to back Joe, and the situation
deescalated. Feeling foolish that he'd let the thug get to him so
easily, Joe switched back to beer and ordered some dinner.

The band came in around midnight and set up
at the end of the small dance floor. The smoke grew thicker, mixing
with the smells of perfume and baby powder in the air. Did every
girl who wanted to be a flapper have to wear Chanel No. 5? Joe's
one lung felt like it was working overtime in the hazy atmosphere.
Money flew over the bar, and beer and whisky poured back out like
Niagara Falls. Joe was a little tipsy and was thankful he'd had the
sense to eat a good meal. Cappie joined the group just as the band
began to play, and Charlie made Joe retell yet again the train
station Clara Bow story. The men grew louder and more boisterous
and were joined by several ladies who noticed the large amount of
cash the group was throwing about.

Blondes and brunettes, tall and short, skinny
and chunky drew near like moths to a flame. Charlie had his hand on
the rump of a pretty-looking Greek girl, and Cappie was holed up in
the corner with a curvy strawberry blonde absorbed in an intense
petting session. Couples swayed and danced to the pulsating jazz as
the black band sweated and played on and on. A very fair mulatto
girl approached Joe and tried to sit on his lap. Flattered and
embarrassed, he grabbed her waist and tried to gently push her off.
He almost fell to the floor himself. The beer was definitely going
to his head now. The girl laughed, and Joe noticed how white her
pretty teeth were when she smiled. Joe tried to get the barkeeper's
attention to order her another drink. The room grew quieter, and
several men stood on the bar rail, craning their necks toward the
door. A flash of blonde hair, several low whistles, and Joe was off
his seat, pushing past the exotic-looking siren next to him and
forcing his way through the boisterous crowd to the back of the
bar.

"Damn, I knew it was you, Marya. You can't be
in here, you dumb dame… the place is full of gangsters and thugs."
He grabbed her hand and pulled her outside before any of the Sugar
House gang got an eyeful of Marya in her skintight dress. Joe was
furious.

"So I guess that's why you's in there, Joe?"
she slurred. "Which one is you? Gangster or thug?" That Marya was
well past drunk was obvious to Joe despite his own inebriated
state. He tried holding her up by her elbow but she pulled away and
fell onto the filthy sidewalk. He tried to help her up again, but
she just laughed and lay on the sidewalk staring up at the sky. Her
dress rose up above her thighs and he quickly reached to pull it
down, trying to cover her.

"You can't lie here on the sidewalk, Marya…
come on, get up!" Several passersby stopped to stare.

"I'll take you home, honey" one bristly
fellow offered. "She is
ossified
!" said another. The gawkers
erupted in cackles and guffaws. Joe managed to pull her up to a
standing position and, holding her around the waist with one arm,
dragged her to the side of the building, away from the spectators.
He leaned her against the brick wall, and she slowly slid down,
landing on her caboose.

"Damn you, Marya! Doncha know those are not
the sorts of guys you can fool around with? Don't you gotta brain
in your head?" Marya looked up at Joe and shot her best wad of spit
onto his cheek. Howling, she held her stomach and hiccupped. Joe
wiped the saliva from his face with his handkerchief. "Who were you
out with tonight, Marya? Did someone drop you off here?" Marya
either couldn't comprehend or wouldn't answer.
How
, he
wondered,
could he leave her here on the side of the building
and go get a cab?

Just then Cappie came around the corner of
the speakeasy looking for Joe. "There ya are. I wondered where you…
hey who's this?" Cappie said, noticing Marya giggling on the
ground.

"This, Sir Cappie, is my lovely cousin,
Marya."

Cappie crouched down next to Marya and held
her chin in his hand. He turned Marya's pretty face from side to
side and she tried to open her eyes to look back at him.

"She looks like a beautiful baby dove that
fell from her nest. Come on, baby dove; let Cappie help you back to
your nest." He gently pulled her from the cigarette littered dirt
and picked her up in his arms. "Joe, grab a cab and I'll meet you
at the street."

Joe hailed yet another cab and whistled to
Cappie, who appeared from around the corner of the building
carrying Marya as if she were a child. She'd put her arm around the
back of his neck and passed out. Cappie softly placed her in the
cab, and Joe came around to the other side. "Can you get her in the
house, Joe?" he asked. Joe looked down at his sleeping cousin and
shrugged.