STRONGER (7 page)

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Cocoa said with a wink.

The kitchen was in a flurry of activity. Cooks were grabbing tickets as fast as waitresses could stick them in the gap.

“This is the busiest time for the kitchen,” Cocoa said. “Well, they’re busy the majority of the night, but this is when they’re really in the weeds. As soon as all the customers get here, they want to get their food and drink orders in as soon as possible so they can enjoy the show.”

“And tonight’s a special show?” I asked as my roommate jotted down something on her pad of paper.

“Very special,” Cocoa confirmed with a small smile. “It’s what everyone comes for.” She ripped the paper from her pad and popped it into the gap. “For the Don!” she hollered.

“The Don!” one of the chefs called out. Cocoa’s ticket was seized ahead of several others and space was cleared on the grill. With the way some of the line cooks moved, I could tell they were expediting the order.

“So, who’s Don Costa?” I asked Cocoa. “Blues said he was one of the club’s biggest customers.”

“She’s right,” Cocoa said. “And the Don gets whatever he wants, so stay close to me and keep looking pretty.” My roommate eyed the grill. “Rush that order, please!” she called needlessly. The chefs were already doing all they could for it, bright flames spiraling up from the pans.

Cocoa grabbed a tray of olive oil and slices of bread. “Can you carry this on your shoulder?” she asked.

I was determined to prove myself. “I can do it.”

She hefted the tray and placed it on my shoulder, not letting go until it was balanced.

“Let’s go,” she said, holding the swinging door open for me.

The Don and his party were already done with their first round of drinks, I noticed as we got back to the table. Cocoa lifted down plates, the basket of bread, and the olive oil from the tray. I tucked it under my arm as I’d watched my roommate do.

“You gentlemen were thirsty,” Cocoa exclaimed, doling out the plates expertly. They might as well have been cards for how lightly she handled them. “Let me send Jazz over to the bar for another round.”

“No,” Don Costa said, freezing me in my tracks. “You go, Cocoa. I like to watch you shake those hips all the way over here. I want to get to know Mama’s newest girl.”

Cocoa hesitated for half a beat before smiling and taking the tray from me.

“You better behave yourself while I’m gone, darling,” she said, shaking her finger in the Don’s face. Her eyes flickered to mine before leaving.

I was nervous as hell but turned my smile up as high as it would go. The table’s occupants dug into the basket of bread, dipping the slices in the fragrant oil. It smelled like it must be infused with rosemary or something similar.

“Can I get you gentlemen glasses of water or something?” I asked, glancing over at the bar. Cocoa and Blues were watching like hawks even as Blues mixed the martinis.

“Water?” one of the Don’s friends spluttered. “What would we do with it?”

They laughed and I blushed.

“C’mon, Georgie, she’s new,” Don Costa said. “She doesn’t know what’s what with us yet.” He wiped breadcrumbs from the corners of his mouth with the cloth napkin and patted his knee. “Have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

I sat down quickly, lightly, without question. I didn’t want to disappoint or embarrass Cocoa or Mama even if I was acutely uncomfortable. The Don always got what he wanted, didn’t he?

“Tell me about yourself, Jazz,” Don Costa coaxed. “What were you doing before Mama discovered you?”

Somehow, eating a McDonald’s hamburger out of a dumpster didn’t seem like an appropriate response.

“I was a student,” I said, thinking quickly.

“How wonderful!” the Don said. “I always say education’s the most important thing, don’t I, fellas?”

Everyone voiced their agreement.

“What college were you at, doll?” he asked.

“I just graduated high school,” I lied. When my mother died, I’d been about halfway through my senior year. Graduating hadn’t been at the top of my priorities at that point—survival had been.

The Don suddenly became infinitely more interested in me. His hand tightened reflexively on my hip. It felt possessive and I tried not to squirm.

“Mama wasn’t lying,” he remarked lightly, even as his voice shook with an emotion I couldn’t identify. “You are young.”

I shivered at his tone and felt myself thinking again about the “everything” my roommate had failed to tell me. There had to be something I was missing.

“Don Costa, I hope you’re keeping your hands to yourself,” Cocoa said in mock admonishment. She distributed the martinis like lightning and held out her hand to me.

I took it with no small degree of relief and she pulled me up from the Don’s lap.

“I need Miss Jazz here to help me with your suppers,” my roommate said, looping her arm around my waist and pulling me close. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” the Don said.

“Then we’ll be back in a jiffy,” Cocoa said.

She steered us around, but it wasn’t the kitchen we headed for—it was Mama’s office. Cocoa opened the door without knocking. Mama was reapplying some of her heavy makeup, singing softly to herself.

“We have a situation,” Cocoa said grimly, not letting me go even as the door shut behind us.

Mama glanced up. “I know we do, sugar.”

“What should we do?”

I assumed they were talking about Don Costa.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I know the Don’s just flirting with me. I’m okay with it. I can flirt back, if you want.”

Mama and Cocoa exchanged a long stare.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” Cocoa said, giving me a hard look.

“I thought you said the Don always gets what he wants,” I said, confused again.

“He does,” Mama said, closing her compact with a sharp snap. “We’ll deal with it when the time comes.”

Cocoa hadn’t stopped looking at me. She suddenly grabbed my blouse, buttoning two buttons and hiding the cleavage I’d been rocking. She unbuttoned another button on her own shirt and adjusted her bra. Her breasts looked to be under considerable risk of spilling out.

“That’s a start,” Mama remarked. “Now, if you girls will excuse me, I’ve gotta get on stage.”

We all left the office together, Mama locking the door behind her. I remembered all the cash inside the safe.

Cocoa and I dashed into the kitchen. “That better be the Don’s order,” she threatened as one of the cooks put the final touches on a set of plates already arranged on a tray.

“Of course it is,” he answered. “I don’t want to get my throat slit.”

Cocoa snorted before grabbing the tray and positioning it on my shoulder, not giving me a chance to think about what the cook had said. It was a lot heavier than the first.

“Walk as slow as you need,” Cocoa said. “It’s a lot of food.”

We picked our way across the floor, the smell of the food wafting into my nose and reminding me that I’d skipped dinner. The nightclub was almost completely full and there was still a line outside.

Reaching the Don’s table, I realized their martini glasses were empty again. These guys were drinking like fish.

Cocoa unloaded the tray again and I tried to stay still, shifting my grip as the weight changed with each plate removed.

“Let me go take care of those empty glasses for you,” I said with a wink, trying to take initiative. Cocoa nodded and bent forward to arrange things on the table, giving the entire table an up close and personal view of the precarious state of her breasts.

I made my escape with the tray, handing it to Blues to conceal behind the bar.

“How’re you making out with the Don?” she asked. “I can see his boner for you from here.”

I blinked, barely managing not to turn around and see for myself.

“Four more martinis for the Don and his companions,” I said.

As Blues mixed the cocktails, the curtains parted. The entire room erupted in applause as Mama took the stage.

“How is everyone doing tonight?” Mama asked, taking the microphone from the stand. Customers and girls alike responded with whoops and hollers.

She looked beautiful with a spotlight, the beads on her strapless top shining. Mama looked like she belonged there.

“I hope everyone enjoys their night with us,” she continued after the whistles from the crowd died down a little. “Let my girls know if there’s anything they can do to make it more pleasurable.”

The word “anything” dripped with innuendo. I wondered what Don Costa might ask of me and experienced a pervasive wave of dread.

“Now, for your musical entertainment,” Mama said, smiling.

She replaced the microphone in the stand but didn’t leave the stage. It suddenly dawned on me why Cocoa had said tonight was special. Mama was going to sing.

A single pianist started playing, a saucy but intricate flurry of keys. Tears sprang to my eyes before I knew what was happening. It was a cover of Etta James’ “At Last.” It was one of my mother’s favorites.

I stood, transfixed by her incredible voice. Mama had soul. The conversations throughout the club were hushed, almost in awe of her performance.

I snapped out of the spell Mama had drawn over me like a heavy veil. Blues put the last glass on the tray and lightly smacked my hand when I tried to take it.

“Here comes Cocoa,” she explained. “Don’t spill the Don’s drinks.”

My roommate swept the tray up again and smiled at me.

“Mama’s voice is like a dream, isn’t it?” she asked. “It’s like everything’s gonna be okay while she’s up on that stage.”

I agreed, but found myself wondering what happened when Mama came down out of the spotlight.

We delivered the drinks to the Don’s table.

“Sit down,” he said quietly. “I want to enjoy this performance with my girls.”

He scooted away from the table and patted his lap again, spreading his arms for both Cocoa and me. Without exchanging a glance, we perched on his lap. I balanced as lightly as I could, trying to ignore the hand trailing up my bare leg. As long as Mama was on the stage, everything was going to be okay.

Mama smiled sweetly as the pianist ended the song with a jazzy flourish.

The nightclub exploded. The Don whistled piercingly into my ear, but I barely noticed. Cocoa and I clapped madly. Everyone was doing the same. Mama stood up there like a queen and soaked in all the appreciation.

She continued her set, mastering all the jazz standards and putting her own stamp on them. Her well-oiled voice skated and curled up and down the musical scale. Some of the customers danced on the floor during some of the songs, but the Don and his companions stayed put. Cocoa and I got up twice to bus the table and get more drinks.

After nearly two hours, Mama took a sip of water from a champagne glass and cleared her throat.

“That’s all for now,” she said. “I’m going to take a short break and come down to say hello to everyone. I’ll be back on later.”

The curtains closed and the lounge music resumed. The low roar of the crowd got louder and I noticed the Don’s grip on my hip again. It was like a period of magic ending in favor of reality.