Dollface: A Novel of the Roaring Twenties (38 page)

“Vera?”

“I just . . . I just . . .” He smiled and reached for my hand, pulling me inside. He tried to kiss me and I squirmed away. “No, Tony . . . No . . .” I wasn’t there for that, but just the touch of his hand, the brush of his lips had already begun to wear me down. He pressed his body up against mine, my back against the door as he moved in closer still, his thigh spreading my legs apart. Was I fooling myself, acting so concerned about him? Or was that just a convenient excuse? Was this what I’d really come here for all along? He kissed me again, and this time he had me. I couldn’t fight it anymore.

“I knew sooner or later you’d come back to me,” he said.

BOOK THREE

1928–1929

EVERY TIME WAS THE LAST TIME

I
promised myself. I swore every time it would be the last time. And yet there I was again in Tony Liolli’s hotel room, in his bed and in his arms.

I had one leg thrown over his thigh with the bedsheets twisted about our bodies. Just an hour before I couldn’t wait to see him, and now I couldn’t wait to leave him. It was storming outside, one of those September rains that carried a cold, penetrating chill. We lay in bed smoking cigarettes, listening to the rain pelting against the windows. Every now and then a flash of lighting streaked across the sky, followed by the rumble of thunder. I promised myself I’d leave as soon as the storm let up.

“Been thinking about getting out of the rackets,” he said.

“Oh?” I reached across his chest and crushed out my cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand. I’d heard this from him before and knew it was just talk.

“Maybe I’ll start a business. A legit one. And I’m going to give up the ponies and the dice games, too. I owe a lot of people a lot of money right now.”

“Who do you owe?”

“The question is, who don’t I owe?” He laughed as if it were an accomplishment rather than an embarrassment. He pulled back the covers and wandered into the bathroom, still talking to me over the sound of his urine splashing into the bowl. “I should have listened to Torrio. He said I was too smart for this racket and that . . .” The last of what he said was drowned out by the flush of the toilet.

He came back out, sat in the chair, and grabbed a cigarette, lighting it off a candle on the nightstand. “It drives Capone crazy that I
chose
this life. He says I’m soft. Thinks I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth.” He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, sending that one rebellious lock onto his forehead. “I’m smarter than Capone. I could run this town better than he does.” He took another drag off his cigarette and exhaled toward the ceiling.

I got off the bed and searched the floor for my stockings but he grabbed me and pulled me to him. God, he knew how to heat me up again. I sat on his lap, facing him, looping my legs about his waist, letting them dangle down the back of his chair. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer to him. It had stopped raining but I couldn’t leave, not yet. Not when every time was the last time.

When I arrived home later that afternoon, Shep was in his study, leaning forward in his chair, his whiskey glass pressed to his forehead. The top button of his shirt was undone and he’d loosened his tie. He was supposed to be down at Schofield’s all day. What was he doing home so early? It wasn’t even six o’clock.

“Where ya been, Vera?” His voice sounded strange, tight. Something was wrong.

“Just out.” I cleared my throat and inched my way closer to him. He looked at me as if he were searching for something. Did he know where I was all afternoon?
How could he possibly know?
I turned away and futzed with a vase of flowers on the edge of his desk, keeping my back toward him.

“Did you see Basha today?”

It felt like a trap. I had to stop and think this one through. I rearranged a daisy, stalling.

“Vera?”

“No, why?”

“So you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” I looked back at him from over my shoulder.

He came over to me, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “It’s Squeak.” Shep pulled me closer. “He’s gone. They shot him. He died on the way to the hospital.”

I heard myself gasp as I covered my face with my hands and sank down into his body.

“I’m losing everybody, Vera,” he said, his breath hot against my neck. “Dion. Then Hymie and Vinny. Izzy. Now Squeak. They’re all gone.”

My eyes turned glassy and a lump gathered in my throat. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, Shep. I’m just so sorry. If I could undo it all, I would.”

“I know you would, Dollface. I know you would. . . .”

I wasn’t sure if I was talking about Squeak or Izzy or everything else.

•   •   •

M
rs. Squeak wanted Basha to leave the wake, and that caused some scene. Shep and Bugs tried to reason with Basha, explaining that the family found her presence there inappropriate.

“Inappropriate?” Basha looked at them through the black netting on her hat hanging down past her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Shep shook his head and took hold of her arm, coaxing her toward the door. “I’m sorry, Basha, but it’s a request from the family. And at a time like this, I think we have to respect the family’s wishes.”

“Family? What fuckin’ family?” She jerked her arm out of his grip. “I was Squeak’s family. I’m the one who belongs here. Not her!”

Everyone in the chapel turned and looked. It was obvious by the way they whispered and made faces that they all knew she was Squeak’s gun moll.

Dora, Evelyn and I stood to the side, watching.

“Should we say something to her?” Evelyn asked.

“I’m not opening my trap—no way.” I shook my head.

“Let the fellas handle her,” Dora said, staring straight ahead at the casket.

“C’mon, Basha,” said Bugs. “What do you expect? You’ve been screwing her husband for the past ten years. Plus, you took a shot at her once.”

“Yeah, and I should have killed the stupid bitch when I had the chance!” Basha glared at the row of mourners staring at her. “What do you think you’re all looking at?”

“See, now, your little outbursts are one of the reasons why they don’t want you here,” said Bugs.

Shep stepped in. “Basha, c’mon now. Either you let us walk you out with some dignity. Or else—”

“Or else what?”

“Or else I’m afraid Squeak’s wife’s going to have the cops arrest you.”

“These are my freakin’ choices?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What the hell can she have me arrested for?”

“Disrupting the peace, for starters.”

Basha contemplated this for a moment. “Can I at least view the body? Can I at least say good-bye?”

Shep thought this was a reasonable request and went to talk to the family. Mrs. Squeak begrudgingly agreed, so Basha went up to see Squeak one last time. With Bugs and Shep on either side of her, she placed her hands on the edge of the casket and leaned forward, resting her head on Squeak’s chest.

“What the hell is she doing now?” asked Dora. “Is she gonna climb in there with him?”

Basha broke down, weeping all over Squeak, mumbling louder and louder, “I love you, baby. I love you, baby. I love you. I love you, baby. . . .”

Mrs. Squeak broke that up, pulling Shep aside. “Okay, that’s enough! Get her out of here! Out! I want her out of here. Now!”

That’s when Basha took a swing at Mrs. Squeak and almost knocked over one of the candles at the head of Squeak’s casket. Bugs grabbed Basha from behind, locked her in his arms.

She squirmed and struggled, yelling, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Basha bucked and snorted like a horse being broken when the cops put the handcuffs on her.

Bugs and Shep worked their magic, pulled some strings and got her out on bail just in time for an encore performance two days later at Squeak’s funeral.

SOUTH SIDE BLUNDERS

H
ow could two men love me when I hated myself so much? I didn’t deserve to be loved. I’d look at Cecelia and Basha. They were suffering so over losing their men when I was the one who should have been without love, not them.

Poor Basha. Her grief was thick as tar and just as black. After Squeak’s funeral, when she wouldn’t answer her telephone, Evelyn and I went to her apartment. We found her sitting in the dark in her bathrobe, drinking and smoking cigarette after cigarette. Her hair was stringy and dirty and I could smell her body odor, sour and rank.

“C’mon, now,” I said, after I’d run the bath for her. “You need to get cleaned up and get dressed. You’ll feel better.”

“I don’t wanna feel better. I wanna die.”

Evelyn and I looked at each other. I grabbed one arm, she took the other and together we lifted Basha up.

“Let me
go
!” Basha kicked and screamed, trying to twist away. “Goddammit! Let go of me! Let me die!”

Basha couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds, but she was strong. She gripped onto the door and I had to pry her fingers off the glass knob, one at a time. “Goddammit! I said let me go!”

The water sloshed back and forth like an angry sea as we hefted her into the tub. Basha tried to fight it, but even as she splashed and told us to “go to hell,” I saw her eyes close. Then her jaw went slack and her shoulders sank below the water’s surface as the steam rose up around her like fog. “I hate you both,” she said in a lazy drawl.

I was soaking wet. So was Evelyn. We grabbed some bath towels and dried ourselves off while Basha leaned back in the tub, muttering, “Why did they have to kill him? Why?”

An hour later, she was dressed and even managed to nibble a slice of toast.

After that, I looked in on her every day, opening the drapes to let some daylight in and making sure she at least tried to eat something. It wasn’t until she ran out of cigarettes and gin that I convinced her to venture outside her apartment.

“What am I gonna do without him?” She pushed her dark glasses up on her nose. It was a beautiful fall day, leaves changing colors, swaying in an easy breeze, but Basha wasn’t seeing any of it. “I thought I was lonely before whenever he was with
her.
Now I don’t even get the crumbs anymore. I’m telling you, I don’t wanna live without him.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be okay.” I put my arm around her shoulder, offering her a half hug. “It just takes time. It’s only been a few weeks.”

“I just hope to God you know how lucky you are. You got a man to go home to. A man who loves you. And only you. You don’t have to worry about sharing him with somebody else.”

Just as she said that, I stepped down wrong on a break in the sidewalk and lost my balance in a graceless stumble. I took it as a sign. God was watching.

•   •   •

I
t was Indian summer. The sky was a brilliant blue without a hint of clouds. The fruit stands and flower pushcarts were out on State Street for the last time before they’d close down for the winter. Buckingham Fountain was turned off for the season, always a sign of the city bracing itself for the coming cold. Like everyone else, I wanted to take advantage of the beautiful weather, and the steady breeze made me feel like walking.

It was about half past eleven, and I was heading for Tony’s hotel down on the south side of town. As soon as I rounded the corner at the Plymouth, I stopped in my tracks. Through a haze of sunlight, I spotted Cecelia and Dora coming down the sidewalk. Dora was wrestling with her packages, switching the bags from her left hand to her right while Cecelia chattered on.

Just when I thought maybe they hadn’t seen me, Cecelia looked up in surprise.

“Hey, toots—that is you! What are you doing all the way down here?”

“I’m just . . . There was a shop I wanted to visit . . . that’s all. . . .” The words circled inside my head, and I wasn’t sure if I’d actually spoken at all. My pulse raced and I felt clammy, even a little dizzy. A streetcar hurtled past us, bells clanking as sparks shot off the overhead cables. I finally managed to ask what they were doing on that side of town.

“Guess what?” Dora reached into her bag and pulled out a baby rattle. “Guess who’s having a baby!”

“You?” I smiled, or maybe I just stared. My thoughts weren’t attached to the rest of me.

She nodded and hugged me. “Can you believe it! After all these years of trying, it happened. I just found out yesterday. I was gonna call and tell you later.”

“Look how happy she is,” Cecelia said with a shrug. “Personally, I don’t get it, but if it makes her happy, then God bless, right?”

I smiled. Was it my imagination or were they looking at me funny? My mind went to every bad place. Did they come all this way just to shop or were they checking up on me? Maybe they’d followed me earlier in the day. Maybe they suspected what I was up to. My breathing turned shallow.

“C’mon, we’re gonna grab some lunch. There’s a great little café around the corner.”

I had no choice. I had to go with them.

I was a nervous wreck, looking all over the place for Tony, catching my breath each time I saw anyone who resembled a man about his age, about his height. I fidgeted with the menu, with the silverware, with anything I could find. Eating was next to impossible. Each time they asked me a question, I wondered if they were probing, trying to trip me up.

At one point Cecelia excused herself and went to the ladies’ room, and that gave me a chance to steer the conversation toward Dora’s pregnancy.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I feel terrific. Never better.” She nodded, contemplated a sip of coffee and then set her cup back down on the saucer. “So let me ask you something. Woman to woman.”

“Okay.” I swallowed hard and braced myself.
This is it.

“When you were pregnant, were you scared? You know, about having a baby?”

“It doesn’t hurt.” I smiled, relieved. “They’ll put you to sleep. You’ll be sore afterward but you won’t feel anything while it’s happening. You wake up and there’s your baby.”

“No, I’m not talking about the labor. I mean, were you scared? You know, with all the killing going on, all the violence. I don’t know if I want to bring a child into all this.”