Dollface: A Novel of the Roaring Twenties (15 page)

“Vera? Vera—you okay?” Evelyn pounded on the door. “I ducked out during lunch to check on you. I brought you some soup.”

“I’m fine. Just, um . . . Just give me a minute. I’ll be right out.” I threw the knitting needle across the floor and buried my face in my hands. Tears streamed down between my fingers and mucus bubbled from my nostrils as my body shuddered in shame. If Evelyn had come home just five minutes later I would have gone through with it. I know I would have. She’d stopped me. It was a sign.

I knew what I had to do. The decision had just been made.

I DID AND NOW I DO

F
acing myself in the cheval mirror, I studied my long white satin gown and gauzy lace veil. It had been a rush job from the dressmaker, the same designer who made Dora’s wedding gown. It had mother-of-pearl buttons and hand-stitched embroidery. It cost a fortune but Shep didn’t mind. He just wanted me to have the dress of my dreams. It was perfect and yet I didn’t look anything like the bride I wanted to be. I turned to the side and flattened my hands across my stomach to see if I was showing. Not yet. It was the first week of May and according to the doctor I was only in my seventh week. I pursed my lips, studying myself in the mirror. There was no sparkle in my eye, no joy in my heart; I felt heavy and weighed down. I was not the sweet object of affection who had waited patiently for her man to propose. No, I had cheated my way into matrimony. I didn’t deserve to be a bride.

“It’s starting to fill up in the synagogue,” said Evelyn, coming back into the dressing room.

“God, I don’t want to be the center of attention right now,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut and rubbing my temples.

“Oh c’mon now.” Dora stepped in and hugged me. “This is just typical prewedding jitters is all. Here,” she said, handing me her glass, “have some champagne.”

I nodded and took a sip, but it wasn’t just the wedding; it was everything—it was the mess I’d made of my life. It hurt to breathe.

I hated Tony Liolli, but goddammit, I also missed him. Everything reminded me of him. A crumpled package of Lucky Strikes resting on the vanity made me think of Tony—not because that was his brand, but just because he smoked. Earlier in the day a deck of cards got me thinking about his magic tricks. Anything Italian ,or just the mention of the South Side, made him flash through my mind. Everything led me back to Tony Liolli, including the baby I was carrying.

“Oh c’mon now, honey,” Dora said. “You’re gonna be just fine. You should have seen me before I married Knuckles.” She smoothed out the crepe fabric of her dress and jangled her bracelets until they slid down her forearm, settling at her wrist.

“I’ve never been so scared in all my life,” I said, taking another sip of champagne. The girls all knew I was pregnant and not one of them judged me for it. “I’ve never changed a diaper, never fed a baby.” My voice began to crack. “I don’t know the first thing about raising a child.”

“When the time comes, you’ll know what to do,” said Dora, stroking my arm.

“Kids—I hate ’em. No good comes of them.” Basha reached for her flask tucked inside her garter. She took a long swig and dragged the back of her hand across her mouth.

“What’s eating her?” I asked.

“Squeak,” said Evelyn, adjusting her pearl necklace. “Squeak’s here with Mrs. Squeak.”

“Oh, no, Basha, I’m sorry—”

“Why the hell did you invite her, anyway?”

“I didn’t. We invited Squeak—not her. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“It’s all because of his damn kids,” said Basha. She slurred her words, weaving in her high heels. It wasn’t even three o’clock yet.

“Keep an eye on her, will you?” I pleaded with Dora and Evelyn. “I don’t want her to make a scene. And tell her to go easy on the sauce.”

“Don’t you worry, honey,” Dora said with a smile. “We’ve got everything under control.”

Just then my mother came into the room and the girls clammed up. “Can I have a moment alone with my daughter?”

Without saying a word, my friends each kissed me on the cheek and excused themselves, sidestepping their way around my mother. She stood in the doorway studying my gown, twisting her mouth into a pucker that brought out every line around her lips. “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be,” she said finally.

I thought she was talking about the baby, the marriage, Shep—
everything.
She must have asked half a dozen times if I was pregnant, and half a dozen times I told her I wasn’t. She knew I was lying. She just wanted to make me admit it out loud.

“This isn’t right,” she said again.

I almost started to cry until I realized she was pointing at my gown.

“I don’t like the way it’s hanging.” She bent down and tugged on one end of the dress, then fluffed out my train. “There! That’s at least a little better. . . .” She stood up and dusted her hands off each other.

I stared at her. “Aren’t you going to say something?
Anything?
”

“What do you want me to say?” My mother folded her arms and tapped her fingertips along the sleeve of her dress. “You want me to say that I’m happy for you? That I think you have a wonderful future ahead of you? That I couldn’t have asked for a better son-in-law?”

Even before I’d taken Shep home to meet my mother, I knew she wasn’t going to like him. When I’d introduced them she narrowed her eyes, took in his slicked-back hair, the pin-striped suit, his spats, the gold watch chain, the pinkie ring—all the things I had first noticed about him, too. But those were the things I’d liked. She had the opposite reaction. I thought he would at least have scored some points for being Jewish but she didn’t care.

Afterward she said, “Only a gangster wears that much jewelry and aftershave.”

My mother looked at me in my wedding dress and brought a hand to her throat, running her fingers along her neck. “Just look at you—do you think you’re fooling anyone about your condition? They know. Believe me, they know. And maybe it doesn’t matter with this crowd, but I didn’t raise you to end up like this. You break my heart, you know that? After everything we’ve been through—after what happened to your own father—why would you allow yourself to get involved with someone like that?”

It was one of the only times she’d ever referenced my father’s murder. I looked down at my shoes and then gazed up at my mother. I couldn’t help it; I couldn’t fight the tears any longer. “I’m scared, Ma.”

“Well, I would imagine you should be.” My mother went to the door and then turned around. “I hope you and your gangster will be very happy.”

I glared at her. Something about her calling him a gangster set me off. It didn’t matter that it was true. It was that she’d said it. “He’s a nightclub owner, Ma!” I shouted as she closed the door. “Not a gangster.
A nightclub owner!
”

•   •   •

T
he reception was held at the Meridian. We had close to three hundred guests, a combination of gangsters and every crooked politician in Cook County, all the corrupt lawyers and judges in the city, even the chief of police and the fire chief. People I didn’t know hugged and kissed me, wished me well and told me I was a beautiful bride. If it weren’t for the handful of girls I’d invited from the rooming house, I would have felt like a complete outsider at my own wedding.

“This is the most beautiful wedding I’ve ever been to,” said Helen, squeezing my hands as she eyed the room. “Everything’s so glamorous. You’re the luckiest bride I’ve ever seen. It’s like a fairy tale come true.”

The other girls from the rooming house were circled around us and while they joined in, agreeing with Helen and congratulating me, something opened wide inside my chest. Wasn’t this what I’d asked for? In that moment, regardless of the circumstances, which they knew nothing about, I was the luckiest bride. Those girls were going back to the rooming house that night and back to their old lives, while I was staying in a penthouse suite at the Palmer House Hotel, ready to embark on a whole new beginning. A server came by with a tray of champagne. We each took a glass and I smiled while they toasted to my happiness. Maybe it was the champagne I’d had earlier, or all the admiration heaped upon me from those girls, but whatever the reason, I was beginning to believe in my own fairy tale.

Shep had brought in Bix Beiderbecke to perform, and when his orchestra played
Hava Nagila
, they had everyone up, dancing the hora. I drifted off to the side, watching as all the guests held hands, forming a circle within a circle, spinning clockwise, then counterclockwise. Shep, Izzy and Irwin Ragguffy were in the center doing the
kazatsky
, their arms and legs kicking in time with the music.

I happened to gaze over at my mother. She was still punishing me, sitting by herself in the back of the room, scooting her untouched wedding cake toward the center of the table. No one would have guessed that she was the mother of the bride.

I was talking to Barbara and Monty when I looked up and saw that Basha had cornered Squeak. When she began hollering, I excused myself, rushing over to her. “Basha, please! Not here—please!”

She ignored me and went on shouting. “You’d better think twice before you show up on my doorstep tonight!” I cringed as she flailed her arms, stomped her foot and pointed her finger in his face. “I’m not kidding, if you fuck that bitch ever again, don’t bother coming back to me. . . .”

People were staring, whispering, and looking back over their shoulders as they passed by. I glanced at Mrs. Squeak, who stood off to the side and adjusted her hat, ignoring it all.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I had turned to walk away when two men grabbed me and then Shep, swooping us up in chairs and dancing like they did in the old country, holding us high above everyone, a handkerchief joining us together.

“You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, Vera!” Shep shouted above the music and the clapping. “I love you!”

I loved him, too—but I couldn’t get the words out. It was as if I were stuck inside a kaleidoscope, everything whirling around me, changing shape and form, changing my life before my eyes. I was Mrs. Shep Green. I had arrived, no longer the pitiable, fatherless girl from the stockyards. A smile spread across my face, making my cheeks ache. Gripping the handkerchief that connected me to Shep, I found my voice. “I love you, too, Shep Green. I really do!”

After the dance was over, Shep threw my garter and I tossed my bouquet, aiming for Evelyn, though it was intercepted by a young woman I’d never seen before. Evelyn grabbed me afterward and we went upstairs to the powder room. She was upset with Izzy.

“Just as well I didn’t catch the bouquet,” she said as we sat on the settee. “We’ve been fighting all day. He’s practically ignored me ever since we got here.”

“I’m sorry, Ev.” I scissored my fingers, waiting for Evelyn to pass me her cigarette.

“He just about bit my head off when I asked him to dance with me.”

“Izzy doesn’t deserve you.”

She dropped her elbows to her knees and planted her chin in the heels of her hands. “Ah, to hell with him. This is your day.”

I slipped off one of my shoes and curled my foot under my rump. “Do you think everyone knows I’m pregnant?” I asked, exhaling toward the ceiling.

“No. Just us. We’re the only ones.” Evelyn crossed her legs, pointing her toes.

“My mother said everyone can tell.” I took another puff and passed the cigarette back to Evelyn.

“But you’re not even showing yet.”

“No, I mean, she thinks everyone knows because we decided to get married so fast.”

There was a commotion building out in the hallway. “You got some nerve showing up here tonight, lady,” I heard Basha saying.

“Oh God no,” I said to Evelyn, “please don’t let her start in!” I was just beginning to think I’d fooled everyone—including myself. I didn’t need Basha turning my wedding into a fiasco.

The powder room door swung open and in walked Mrs. Squeak.

“Hey—get back here!” Basha charged in behind her. “I’m talking to you!”

“Basha—” I tried to step in but she barked at me and told me to mind my own business. For such a tiny little thing she could be scary at times.

“Don’t you ever walk away from me!” Basha went red in the face as she cornered Mrs. Squeak. “Don’t you ever—do you hear me?”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Mrs. Squeak went to the mirror to check her makeup and adjust her beaded cloche.

“I’m not finished with you!” Basha reached for Mrs. Squeak’s shoulder and spun her around, putting the two in a face-off. “You know what he says about you? He can’t stand to touch you anymore. You make him sick to his stomach. He thinks you’re nothing but a nag.”

“And he thinks you’re nothing but a whore!”

That’s when Basha threw the first punch, clipping Mrs. Squeak right on the jaw. Much to my surprise, Mrs. Squeak swung back, catching Basha on the side of the head with her pocketbook.

Evelyn and I sprang to our feet, trying to get out of the way. The two of them were going at it. Evelyn and I grabbed hold of Basha. I had her by the waist and Evelyn had her arms but we couldn’t pull her off Mrs. Squeak. She popped Mrs. Squeak a good one, right in the face. It must have stung, and instantly her freckled cheek turned red.

I left Evelyn holding Basha and raced back down to the reception to get help. By the time I returned with Dora, Evelyn was cowering in the corner, looking like she’d gone a few rounds herself. Basha straddled Mrs. Squeak across the chest and had her pinned to the floor. The sleeve of Basha’s dress was torn and the two of them were calling each other names. Fists were flying as Mrs. Squeak kicked and screamed and reached up, grabbing a handful of Basha’s hair. I heard something awful and I saw Mrs. Squeak’s fingers come away with a clump of Basha’s marcelled waves.

“For chrissakes, you two!” Dora grabbed hold of Basha, but she twisted out of Dora’s grip. Dora lost her balance, landing on her rear end. One of her platinum-colored curls escaped from its updo and fell above her shoulder. It took all three of us to pull Basha off Mrs. Squeak. But Basha was still steaming and as soon as we let go of her, we heard the scream. That’s when we saw that Basha had reached into her pocketbook and pulled out a pistol.