The Yankee Club (18 page)

Lillian nodded. “You’re right. I appreciate your honesty.”

We stopped at the edge of the Great Lawn. I couldn’t believe the change since my last visit: scores of tents and shacks erected from scrap lumber, sheets of rusted metal, and canvas that flapped in the wind—a shantytown in the center of the world’s greatest city. I felt sorry for the city, the park, but most of all the people who had nowhere else to go.

Lillian’s face sagged. She held up the play. “Puts the problem I have with
The Children’s Hour
in perspective.”

Except for the soup kitchen with Belle, I hadn’t seen the effects of the Depression up close. How blind could I be? “This has been going on while I’ve been consumed with my own petty problems.”

“These sprout up in every city. Hoovervilles.”

I’d never seen a Hooverville in Florida. What a self-centered bastard I’d become. “Roosevelt’s got his work cut out for him.”

“I’m worried extremists from both sides will keep him from being successful. I’m talking communists and fascists.”

If she only knew about the threat from the Golden Legion.

We walked around the encampment. I tried not to stare. A little girl with a dirty face wandered away from two adults attending a small fire. She began to gather twigs and sticks. She pointed to my cane as we walked by. “What happened to you?”

“I … I fell down.”

“I hope you get better.” The little girl with nothing wished me better fortune.

Lillian whispered, “And I gave a loaf of bread to the birds.”

“Wait here.” I hurried down the path and came over a rise. I grabbed the abandoned kite.
I returned. Lillian chatted with the girl and her parents.

I clutched the string closest to the kite. I held it aloft and let the string slide through my fingers, allowing the breeze to do the rest. The girl watched as I let out the string, and the red kite sailed into the blue sky. As the wind pulled the kite higher, I let out more string.

Several other children appeared from nowhere. I handed the string to the girl.

Her eyes sparkled, perhaps for the first time in a long while, as the kite gave a slow dance in the breeze. “Daddy, look.”

Lillian took my arm in hers as we walked away. “You’re a good man, Jake Donovan. You’ll make a terrific father.”

“She deserves fun in her life just as much as the rich girl.”

Lillian nodded.

On the way back we approached a bench where two women sat in ragged clothes. The woman in a cap had her arms around the other. She kissed the top of her head as Lillian and I passed by.

Several steps later, Lillian glanced back at the two women then stopped and grabbed my shoulders. “That’s it!”

“What?”

“
The Children’s Hour
. The student doesn’t make up a story about a man and woman having an affair. She makes up the lie about two female teachers.”

I thought about her idea. “That would give the plot more of an edge. Critics would love it.”

Her eyes glittered with possibilities. “The student spreads rumors that the two women are lesbians. That’ll work so much better, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re right.”

Lillian excitedly chatted about the play and how the change would impact the plot. She couldn’t wait to tell Dashiell.

“Flower for the lady, mister?” A thin vendor with a green cart full of assorted flowers held out a small bouquet. He wore a Brooklyn Dodgers cap and a gap-toothed smile.

Lillian shook her head, and we walked on.

“What’s the matter, buddy? You a Yankee fan?”

Something wasn’t right about this guy. “What did you say?”

Lillian tugged me forward. “Don’t let him ruin your day.”

“Cheap bastard,” the vendor called out.

I forced myself to walk away. At the edge of the park, Lillian clutched the play to her chest. “I can’t wait to make the changes.”

I glanced back up the path, but the flower vendor had moved on.

Outside the Broadway entrance, Frankie stood beside the sedan smoking a cigarette. Apparently Gino’s hangover cure worked. He crushed the butt under his shoe and flashed a thumbs-up.

I hailed a cab for Lillian.

“Jake, it’s none of my business, but Laura’s making a huge mistake marrying an old money snake like Spencer Dalrymple.”

I didn’t want to lie to a friend like Lillian. “I can’t talk about it.”

She patted my hand. “I understand. Must be painful to lose her to someone like him.”

She didn’t understand at all, and I couldn’t explain.

A cab pulled up. The driver hopped out and held open the rear door.

I gave Lillian a hug. “Thanks for the information on the Blackshirts.”

“I’m not sure I should’ve told you about the pool hall.” She climbed into the backseat. “Be careful, Jake.” She waved as the cab sped away.

Frankie dropped me off at The Diamond House. I looked into the car. “Go home and make up with Edith.”

“I just might do that.” He grinned and drove off.

Inside, I checked my hat and cane. A waiter escorted me to the Greenwoody table where Oliver sat between Peggy and Dorothy. He rose and shook my hand with the firm grip I remembered. With a glitzy diamond necklace and a sequined gown, his wife wore an amused look of triumph on her face. Dorothy, in a gold clingy dress with more than a hint of cleavage, flashed a playful smile.

I sat next to Dorothy who smiled demurely. To my relief she acted much less aggressive toward me in the presence of her parents.

Every few minutes someone came by and clapped Oliver on the back, wished him well, or asked for his autograph. On each occasion his wife and daughter puffed up with pride.

Oliver and Peggy drank scotch while Dorothy and I stuck to coffee. Over the meal, we chatted about novels, the theater, and the Greenwoody Estate in Virginia. I enjoyed dinner and almost forgot my true purpose, to learn whether Oliver Greenwoody had a connection to the Golden Legion.

After the meal, Dorothy and her mother excused themselves and headed for the ladies’ room.

Greenwoody removed a cigar, gave it a good sniff, then stuffed it back in his suit coat. “Thank you for not steering the conversation toward politics. The rise of fascism or talk of Roosevelt bores my wife.” He nodded toward his daughter’s empty chair. “Dorothy appears smitten by you.”

“She’s a lovely girl, but as I assured you at the Dalrymple Estate, I have no romantic interest.”

His brow furrowed. “Most men around Dorothy are like bears around honey.”

“My existence is too unsettled to consider a relationship.”

He nodded knowingly. “You’re still getting over your relationship with a famous Broadway actress.”

“That was in the past. Miss Wilson’s moved on, as have I.”

“You moved to Florida. Doesn’t mean you’ve moved on.”

Touché. Peggy and Dorothy passed the dance floor where a band played an up-tempo Lindy Hop number. I had little time but had to sound casual. “What are your thoughts on the president’s New Deal?”

He banged a fist on the table, nearly spilling his drink. “Socialism!” People at nearby tables watched. He lowered his voice. “With the economy in shambles my big fear is the spread of communism. Like much of Europe, this country faces a red menace.”

“You think Roosevelt can stem the growing tide of communism?”

“This country needs a strong military leader to do what’s necessary, like …” He glanced over his shoulder as the two women approached.

“Like …”

“Benito Mussolini.” He gave me a dismissive wave. “Don’t look so shocked, Mr. Donovan. Not the brutality of the Mussolini government, but the efficiency.”

I managed a lie to gain his trust. “I couldn’t agree more.”

He winked at me as the two women reached the table. Peggy sat beside her husband. “Oliver, you’re not boring Mr. Donovan with talk of politics, are you?”

Finding out a hero I’d long admired favored a fascist like Mussolini was hardly boring.

Dorothy slipped into her chair. “Do you dance, Mr. Donovan?”

“I used to cut a rug before I was shot. Now I might be able to manage a slow song.”

Oliver chuckled. “A waltz is about my limit.”

The song ended, and the band began “Isn’t It Romantic?” Peggy jumped to her feet and held her hand out to her husband. With a look of surrender, he escorted his wife to the dance floor.

“A slow song.” Dorothy took my hand. Halfway to the dance floor she smiled. “Isn’t it romantic?” She smirked. “Don’t look so frightened. I was referring to the title of the song.”

On the dance floor I held her at a respectable distance. “That’s a lovely dress.”

“I wore it for you.” The room felt suddenly warmer. She moved closer and pressed her cheek against mine. Wearing the same appealing fragrance as the night before, she hummed the tune to the Rodgers and Hart song and swayed gracefully in my arms. “You dance divinely for
someone with a bullet in your leg and an arrow in your heart,” she smiled, “for a certain Broadway actress.”

I ignored the comment about Laura. “It helps to have a lovely woman in my arms.”

“How was your meal?”

“The chicken was very tasty.”

“Which did you enjoy the most,” she cocked her head and smiled, “the breast or the thigh?”

I wasn’t comfortable with the direction of the conversation. I nodded to her parents several couples over.

Oliver and Peggy kept an eye on us. Peggy seemed to encourage a relationship between Dorothy and me while Oliver didn’t want to lose his daughter to anyone.

Dorothy cocked her head. “Are you pretending to like my father to get to me, Mr. Donovan, or are you pretending to like me to get to Father?”

Damn!
Was I that obvious? “Why would I want to get to your father?”

“Why indeed. Father’s a famous man.”

“I know plenty of famous people. Fame is overrated.” It hadn’t brought me happiness.

“I suspect you admire Father’s past as a war hero, but the future will bring him even more recognition.”

If he was part of the Golden Legion plot, the future might also bring him a prison sentence. “I do want to get to know your father better.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’m working on a new novel. One of the characters is a charismatic war hero considered for vice presidency by both parties. I thought I might pick his brain about what it’s like to be someone like that.”

“Is this character a good guy or a bad guy?”

The song ended, and the band began to play “Night and Day.” “I’m not sure yet.”

While her parents returned to the table, Dorothy and I continued to dance.

“What would you like to know about Oliver Wendell Greenwoody?”

“What does he do now … for a living?”

“Mostly he makes sure Mother isn’t squandering her inheritance. He gives speeches for which he’s paid handsomely. He’s on the board of several banks.”

“Spencer Dalrymple’s bank?”

“And others.”

“Is he interested in politics?”

As we continued to dance, she paused a moment as if choosing her words carefully. “He’s concerned about the country’s future.”

“Aren’t we all?” I wanted to ask about his ties to the Golden Legion but didn’t dare. The song ended, and we returned to the table.

Her parents rose. “Oliver has an early-morning engagement,” Peggy explained.

Dorothy sat at the table. “You and Father run along. Mr. Donovan and I were just getting started … dancing.”

Oliver tapped his watch. “Dorothy, it’s after eleven.”

His wife took his arm. “Come on, General. You were young once, too.”

On the dance floor I’d discovered I might learn as much from Dorothy as I could from him. I rubbed my thigh. “We won’t be late, Mr. Greenwoody. My leg won’t last too many dances.”

His disapproving eyes narrowed. “I’ll be waiting up.”

“No you won’t.” Peggy winked at me and led her husband through the tables toward the front door.

I sat beside Dorothy, determined not to arouse her suspicions about my motives. “Would you like a drink?”

“After my performance of Daddy’s little girl, I think I deserve one, don’t you?”

I signaled the waiter, but she tugged on my hand. “This place is way too stuffy. Let’s go where I won’t feel like I’m being watched by my mother’s friends. Know a speakeasy that’s a bit more fun?”

I smiled as I rose and held the chair for her. “I know the perfect place.”

Chapter 11
The Bambino and Peaches

My plan to get Dorothy to talk about her father over quiet drinks hit an immediate snag. When the cabbie pulled alongside The Yankee Club I hardly believed the scene. At least fifty people waited in a line out front. I could only imagine how many were inside.

Danny puffed on a cigarette beside the front door. Two men left, and he let a couple inside.

Dorothy’s face gleamed as if she’d arrived at a Broadway premiere. Her question bubbled out. “Is it always this busy on a Sunday night?”

“I’ve never seen a line out front.” What was going on?

I paid the cabbie and introduced Dorothy to Danny, whose size appeared to be keeping the crowd in line.

He flicked the cigarette into the gutter. His lips froze as if he couldn’t speak. He straightened his tie and blushed like a schoolboy. Plenty of flashy women frequented The Yankee Club, Gino made sure of that, but Danny looked positively smitten. “Jake …” He swallowed hard. “Jake and me, we’re old school friends.”

“What’s going on?” I thumbed toward the line. “You paying people to come in?”

Danny pointed to the door. “The Babe is here.”

Dorothy sucked in a quick gasp. “Babe Ruth.” She whispered the name to herself then squeezed my wrist, her nails practically drawing blood. “You know him?”

I shook my head. “We’ve never met, but we’re mutual friends with the owner of The Yankee Club, Gino Santoro.”

“Jake and Gino stole my bike,” Danny blurted. Even in the dim light his cheeks turned crimson.

Dorothy frowned. “Why would you steal his motorcycle?”

I struggled to keep from laughing. “It was a bicycle, and it happened a long time ago.”

“Not that long ago.” Danny’s lip curled into a sneer. He opened the door to let us in. Several people in line jeered and gave us the raspberry. He silenced them with a shake of one massive fist.