The Game©
New York City, New York
December 1928
I propped an elbow on the wooden bar in a speakeasy on 52nd Street, a casual observer of the nightlife. At least, that’s what I told myself. The bar offered a warm respite while I waited for Dick to finish his business.
But my parched, expectant lips argued otherwise.
A young woman caught my eye, and her gaze took me hostage. She rose from the table where she’d sat with three people and sashayed over to me. Her long ruby red fingernail poked the liquor guzzler next to me. “You’re in my seat.”
He drained his glass until gin oozed from his lips, smacked the glass on the bar, then dragged his hand across his mouth. “Is that so?”
Guzzler’s head shot back as he drank her in from head to toe. Perfect finger waves swept her platinum hair onto a bare-shouldered black satin dress that clung to her ample bosom. A silver-jeweled belt cinched her hour-glass silhouette. Red patent leather heels accentuated the shape of her legs.
Her eyes stayed locked on mine as if Guzzler had never said a word.
Heat crawled up my neck until it singed my ears.
Guzzler snatched his hat and stood. Curses rode on his stinky breath. He teetered and turned in my direction. “You’re playin’ with fire, Bud.” A loud belch followed his warning, and I waved my hand in a vain attempt to fend off its stench.
She glided beside me, took the untouched glass from my shaky hand, lifted her pinky finger, and sipped the amber liquid.
I followed its path down her long, slender neck.
Her perfume cut through the smoke-filled haze, more potent than any liquor buzz I could’ve managed on my two-bit salary. Her skin, those lips, the wave in her hair. I’d seen her before, I was sure of it. On stage? No, a woman this refined wouldn’t work in a burlesque show.
That’s it! I’d seen her picture on a society page in the newspaper. No, that couldn’t be. I only read the comics, every other Sunday. Right before Nora stomped her feet and pointed to the clock.
“Put the paper down or we’ll be late for mass.” That woman of mine. She had a way with words.
“So, what brings you here tonight, Bud?”
Ah, the silky timbre of her voice.
Fog, or something worse, dulled my brain. I dug up words from my dry throat. “It’s Angelo. I’m waiting for my, my—”
“That’s not what I meant.” She ran her fingers along the worsted wool collar of my hand-me-down coat. Her luscious red lips moved closer.
My heart ignited.
I shook my head, but the cobwebs remained. Hadn’t I left this behind me? I’d exchanged solemn vows with Nora months ago. A second chance at a respectable life. I glanced at the door. Not too late to run.
She stroked my chin with the tip of her fingernail, drawing my attention back to her. Had she read my mind? Tremors skittered down my spine.
Behind the bar, a clean-shaven man with riotous hair, black bowtie, white shirt, and yellowed apron strolled over. “It’s early, Bud. Want another?”
Another? I hadn’t touched the first. “It’s Angelo. Make it a double.”
“Oka-ay.” He stretched out the word while confusion rolled in his eyes. “A double what?”
“Scotch.” She nodded, no doubt a signal between her and the barkeep.
“Ask him, already,” one of her friends called.
Their voices broke the spell she’d put me under. I reached up to brush away her delicate hand.
But she wove her fingers between mine. Soft, gentle, desirable.
“Hurry up.” Another of her friends shouted. “You’re taking too long.”
I didn’t look in their direction. I couldn’t. A team of mules couldn’t pull me away from her.
She grabbed the drink as soon as the barkeep set it down, brought the glass to her lips, and poured the alcohol in her mouth. “Another”—she ordered—“and keep ’em coming.”
My hand remained a prisoner in hers. She moved closer, the scotch on her breath intoxicating me. “Your coat. It’s warm in here. Why don’t we take it off?”
I opened my mouth but my words sank like the Titanic.
“I promise, it won’t hurt.” She released my hand. Her fingers slipped inside my collar. “I’ll help you.” She stripped off my coat, inspected the lining, then handed my threadbare cloak to the barkeep.
I should’ve said something. My coat was going who-knows-where, but my tongue remained locked in the basement of my throat.
She turned my face toward hers. “That’s a nice suit you’re wearing.” Her hand roamed along my cheek and continued down the front of my suit jacket. The swish of her satin sleeve sizzled in my ears.
“Let’s loosen your tie, hm?” She slid her hand up. Her fingertips probed my stiff white shirt.
I couldn’t stop gawking at her.
She bit her lower lip and worked the knot in my tie.
Although it should’ve helped me breathe easier, my knees weakened and the room began to spin as though we swayed in a slow, seductive dance.
“Your suit. How often do you have it dry cleaned?”
I must have misunderstood her question. “P-pardon?” I grabbed the next drink and slugged it down.
“It’s not double-breasted like some of the newer styles. And you’re not wearing a vest underneath.”
Sweat beaded on my brow, but my arm hung paralyzed, refusing to allow me to mop my forehead.
One of her friends slapped the table. “Julie, that’s enough. Bring him here.”
“Julie.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but her name tumbled from my lips, almost like the unintended drool that trickled from my mouth.
“Come on.” Julie wrapped her arm around my sleeve and led me toward her friends.
The barkeep followed. At the table, he set down a round silver tray with five drinks.
I analyzed the people at the table. Two broad-shouldered men and a flaming redhead wedged between them, the barkeeper, and Julie. My vision blurred. Nora was right—I couldn’t hold my liquor.
“Here, Bud. Sit next to me.” Julie pointed to the chair beside her.
“It’s Angelo.”
Barkeep’s hand pushed on my shoulder, and the woven cane seat creaked the second my rear touched down.
“What’s going—”
“It’s a rule.” Julie picked up two drinks and placed one near my lips. “Not another word until everyone has had a drink.”
Pleasure and caution blazed through my brain. I took the glass from her delicate fingers. I’d tasted the excitement and wanted more.
With her slender index finger, Julie pointed at the guy across the table. “This is Mark. He got a new job selling encyclopedias door-to-door. Before that, he worked on Wall Street.”
They all laughed, but I had no idea why. My face overheated like a defective radiator.
“Tell him the truth, Julie.” Mark swirled the golden liquid in his glass. Shadows clung in half-moon shapes below his lower eyelids. “I sold hot dogs on street corners to big-wig stock traders. Never got a single tip from those cheapskates.” He twisted his mouth and dropped words I’d never heard.
If Nora were here, she’d have covered my ears.
The redhead swatted him with her napkin. “There’s a gentleman at our table. Mind your manners.”
“Stop it, Brenda.” He covered his forehead with one hand while the other grabbed at the napkin disturbing his peace.
Brenda and Julie giggled.
Mark didn’t laugh.
Neither did I.
Julie elbowed my arm, shook her head, and tsked.
What had I missed?
I attempted to stand but my legs refused to hold my weight. “Look, this is all well and good but—”
“Tell Bud what you do, Brenda.” Julie poked my chest then looked deep into my eyes. “You’re going to love this.”
I leaned closer to tell her my name wasn’t Bud, again, when the redhead spoke.
“It’s nothing, really.” Brenda tucked stray wisps of hair behind her ear. A conspicuous pearl dazzled in her earlobe.
I sat at the edge of my chair. I’d heard of women who’d infiltrated various trades to disguise their wartime-spy activities. From what I could see of this woman, her bulging cleavage, small shoulders, and ocean-colored eyes could melt secrets out of any male enemy.
“If you won’t tell ’em, B, I will.” Mark shifted in his chair. His fingers drummed a steady rhythm on his now empty glass.
Brenda toyed with the opaque gem. She quirked her head toward Mark, then her focus darted to me. “If you must know”—she reached over and stilled Mark’s hand—“during the day, I work in the steno pool.”
Julie sprang from her chair. “Not that one. Tell him about the other job. The creepy one.” She froze. Her eyes opened as wide as barn doors. She scanned the bar, but the jukebox’s jazzy tunes overpowered the clanking glasses, intermittent hilarity, and disinterested conversationalists.
Brenda sneered. “Sit down. I was getting to that.” Her hand climbed toward her earring, when Mark clamped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in. She glanced in his direction then into her half-full glass. “I-I’m the county coroner’s assistant. He’s teaching me to embalm the dead. It’s good money, and he says I’ve got a knack for it. I guess it’s kind of distasteful to most folks, but I get no complaints.” A curious smile curled her lips.
Mark pounded the table. Laughter bellowed out of him. “It’s creepy, all right.” He blurted each word between howls.
Julie’s eyes narrowed to pinpoints. She yawned as if she’d lost interest in the topic. Her elbow nudged the man on her right. “Your turn, Boss.” She turned and whispered in my ear. “I like to call him that. It chafes his skin like sandpaper.”
Her breath tingled my face, and shockwaves rippled through me. Her porcelain skin and sweet lips lured me. When she turned away, goosebumps emerged.
Boss scowled, his disposition unaffected by my torment. He peered beyond Julie. “The name’s Fred. Fred Berdan.”
Julie’s moniker fit him. Vapors of cigar smoke circled above the wide lapels and buttonhole of his stylish pinstripe suit. Men of means and position wore this latest fashion. I didn’t travel in those circles.
He had sucked his glass dry before I could even think about taking a swig. He chomped on the stogie between his teeth like a newborn with a pacifier, then spit on the floor. Perhaps he thought I wasn’t looking.
Boss Fred extended his hand and I shook it only to slink back in my seat, rather surprised at myself. I’d told Nora these were no longer my kind of people, and settled into my introverted, stable home life. Me, the Missus, and Perry, our tiger-striped cat. I’d come in tonight to wait for Dick. No drinks, not even one. I certainly wouldn’t exceed two.
I glanced toward the door. Dick had to have finished his business by now. I pushed my sleeve away to uncover my wristwatch.
An electric current shot through my body. Julie’s hand covered mine. She gripped my arm and jerked it up, brought my watch in front of her face, and read the time. Her friends stretched over the table, as if ready to pounce on her. Then, Julie twisted my arm to pass my exposed wrist beneath their noses so they could read the hands on my watch. She sighed then guided my arm down onto my leg. As she tugged my sleeve back over my watch, her hand blazed a trail beyond my fingertips toward my knee. Scorched nerves smoldered.
I had no idea what time it was—I hadn’t gotten a peek at my watch. “I’d better be go—”
Julie put her finger to my lips, winked, and faced Fred. “Come on, Boss. Tell Bud what you do.”
Fred removed his stogie and puffed an “O” in the air. “I work for a magazine company around the corner.” Ashes scattered on the table as he tapped the cigar.
“That’s not all.” Julie turned toward me, and her eyelids fluttered. “He’s an editor and a darn good one. His father owns a newspaper in California. That’s how Fred got the job here. I suspect he’ll move there someday.” Without a glance in his direction, she planted her hand on Fred’s chest and gave him a shove.
His body swayed back, then forward. The stogie flamed when he winked at her.
“What about you, Julie? What do you do?” I’d been drawn into their circle, this band of blind pig acquaintances.
Her smile dwindled. “I’ve auditioned for the St. Louis Rockettes three years in a row. Every year they turn me down.” Her thick eyelashes battled to retain glistening moisture. “I guess I should be grateful. One of the producers has connections. Got me a job as a hand model, but the work isn’t steady.” She let out a long sigh. “Between modeling jobs, I assemble radio parts.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. This beautiful woman, an assembler. Not that it wasn’t respectable work. It simply didn’t complement her assets.
Brenda took a steno pad from her purse and tore off four sheets. “Is everyone ready? It’s the moment of truth.”
Fred passed around four pencils with razor-sharp points.
They intended to keep secret whatever they wrote, their heads hung low, one arm crooked around their papers. For the first time all evening, I felt excluded—an outside in their company. I should’ve left long ago. With my resoled shoes pressed into the floor, I pushed my chair back.
Barkeep’s firm hand brought my getaway to a halt. “Where you going, Bud?” His dark eyes danced with amusement.
“I-I need to—”
“No. No, you don’t.” He towered over me as he scooped four folded sheets onto his silver tray. One by one, he unfolded them and skimmed the words only to offer an occasional chuckle or raised eyebrow.
I’d pulled my gaze from the barkeep. Four crisp ten-dollar bills sat in the middle of the table. My jaw fell limp. Who had put the money there? It was more than I made in a week. When I had a job.
Barkeep shuffled the papers while clearing his throat. He angled the first sheet in his palm so I couldn’t see the writing. “He’s a school teacher.”
Julie shook her head, Mark scoffed, and Fred’s face remained placid.
Only Brenda nodded.
I scratched my chin. I couldn’t read the situation but hot lava flowed in my gut.
Another paper lay in the barkeep’s hand. “He’s an accountant.”
Fred’s stogie rocketed through space. In seconds, his cackles morphed into blood-faced choking.
Julie ran to his side, slapped his back until he recovered, and then ranted. “What’s so funny about that?”
Mark and Brenda sat stiff in their chairs, deadpan.
Barkeep palmed another paper. “He’s a lawyer.”
I sat straighter, finally attuned to their mischief. They were trying to guess my occupation, which explained why they’d introduced themselves in that small-talk, folksy way. My stomach churned.
Barkeep cupped the last paper in his hand. “He’s a detective. A dick.”
Fred smacked his forehead. A grin formed around his cigar.
Brenda chortled until tears ran down her face.
Julie stared at me. Her eyes darted to Mark’s, then she shook her head.
Mark smirked. “The money’s as good as mine.” He scrubbed his fingernails against his vest.
I should’ve ducked before pride busted his buttons. Instead, I waited for what would happen next.
Barkeep folded the papers and stuffed them in his pocket before he dragged the money across the table. He checked each bill before he sat. His eyes fastened on me. “Tell.”
I looked at the cash in his hand. “I feel rather uncomfortable. I know everyone’s name but yours.”
“Nick. Nick the barkeep.”
“All right, Nick. What do I do now?”
Everyone giggled, even Julie.
Not Nick. His lips flattened into a thin line. “You tell us what you do for a living.” Sarcasm scraped his tone.
“Then what?”
Nick rubbed his neck and bent closer to me. “Whoever guessed right gets the cash, see?”
“What if no one did?”
“Look, Bud.” He tilted his chin in my direction. “I told you the rules. Now, tell us what you do.”
Sensing my toe hung over the edge of eternity, I restated the question. “Just so I understand, if no one’s guessed correctly, do I keep the money?”
Nick’s fist tightened around the cash. His eyes seared into mine. “Yes. Now, for the last time, give it up, Bud.”
If my mother hadn’t gifted me with hearing as good as hers, I’d have missed what he said. His thick, angered speech and all.
I stood, unthwarted. “My name is Angelo Cortadino. I was a book binder before my drinking and gambling caught up with me. And I was good at it.” The dry glass on the table beckoned to me. I fingered the rim then flicked it over. “Lost my job, my home, and my family.”
I yanked the money from Nick’s hand. “I’ll put this in the collection plate at St. Peter’s Cathedral. It’s a few blocks from here.” I stared into each of their faces. “And I expect to see you at mass on Sunday.”
Julie’s eyes rounded.
I shouldn’t have, but I leaned close and let my lips linger on her cheek. “A man’s skin and the texture of his clothes aren’t the only clues you need.”
Nick had stepped away but returned with my coat.
I strode outside the speakeasy. Snow swirled in the wind, blinding me, and the cold numbed my senses.
Dick’s jalopy idled alongside the curb, and I climbed in. His chin jutted forward in his usual wordless manner.
“Nope. Not them. You?”
“Nothin’.”
I yanked my sleeve up and checked the time. “If we hurry, we can hit one more juice joint tonight.”
Dick craned his neck toward the street before gunning the heap into traffic.
I gazed out the window at the people on the street. I should’ve stopped the game sooner. They didn’t have that kind of money. They were just kids.
The car darted through traffic. Christmas lights and shoppers blurred as we drove down the lane.
Slumped in the seat, I licked my lips and suppressed regret. The taste of liquor and the thrill of the game unquenched and alive in me.
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