Chances

  She had supervised the dinner herself, making out the menus, ordering the finest cuts of meat, and finally flitting in and out of the kitchen while her two cooks and their assistants prepared everything. It was indeed satisfying to see the food being devoured with such obvious pleasure. And after the food… the entertainment.

  She smiled secretly to herself. A big blonde. A young black girl.

  And a midget! What a perfect combination! As soon as Oswald had returned home from Arthur Stuyvesant’s retirement dinner and told her about it, she had known at once that she simply must get them for her next big party. She licked her lips in anticipation.

  This would be the most talked-about party of the year!

  Free from the Senator, Gino wandered out onto the terrace. Before he had time to take a breath, the large girl with the reddish curled hair was dogging his footsteps. “Who are you,” she demanded, “one of Clemmie’s gangster friends?”

  One of` Clemmie’s gangster friends! “Hey,” he said, “wanna fuck?”

  She blushed the color of a ripe tomato. “How dare you!”

  He was enjoying himself. “No?”

  “I think you are absolutely disgusting!”

  He noticed that she made no move to leave his side. “Wassamatta? Doncha like t’fuck?”

  Her eyes widened and her long nose quivered indignantly. But still she made no move. “You are a sick man,” she said firmly, “to say revolting things like that to a lady.”

  “Didn’t realize you was no lady.” He saw Clementine and instantly became bored with the conversation. “See ya, kid.” He waved cheerily and made his way over to Clementine and the group of people she was talking to. Suddenly he realized that one of them was Charlie Lucania. Jeeze! Several flashes darted through his mind at once. Like—what the hell did she need him for bootleg if she was friendly with Lucania? Like—wasn’t this something, him and Lucania at the same party?

  “Ah, Gino,” Clementine said. “I’d like you to meet some friends of mine.”

  He noted Lucania’ s look of surprise and drew himself up full height. “Hey, Charlie,” he said, patting the taller man on the arm as though they were old friends. “How’s it going?”

  Scott handed Whitejack the sealed envelope and turned to go.

  “Old man!” Whitejack snapped sharply. “Not s’fast I gotta count it.”

  Scott sniffed disapprovingly. “I can assure you… sir, it is all there.”

  Whitejack narrowed his eyes. “So then y’aint gonna mind if I check it out.”

  “Certainly, sir.” He stood stiffly by the door while Whitejack ripped open the envelope and proceeded to count the crisp new hundred-dollar bills.

  Carrie sidled across to him and started into a glassy-eyed bump-and-grind routine. Lucille went over, took her arm, and drew her away with a soothing, “Not yet, hon.” The big blond woman sitting by the dressing table snorted in exasperation.

  Scott cast his eyes toward the ceiling and made a mental note to tell the housekeeper to have this room fumigated. The smell these four people had managed to conjure up was disgraceful.

  Esther Becker attached herself to Bernard Dimes and his woman companion. “God knows what surprise Clemmie has thought up this time!” she exclaimed, tucking her arm through Bernard’s as they made their way into the ballroom at the back of the house. “She said it’s something naughty! Can’t imagine what, can you?”

  Bernard Dimes shook his head and wished that he was at home in bed. He had the beginnings of a cold and he didn’t need one of Clementine Duke’s parties. Not that her parties weren’t wonderful affairs. They were. But you had to be fit to attend them, and Bernard Dimes felt dreadful. He was a tall man in his mid-thirties, slightly balding, with thin features and a pencil mustache. He was a theatrical producer of repute, and Esther Becker and her husband were heavy investors in his shows. Because of this he didn’t shake Esther’s arm away from his as he wished to. Instead, he smiled and nodded and pretended to be having a wonderful time. Bernard Dimes was a rich man, but one lesson he had learned early in life was that you never invested in your own productions.

  “I want to talk to you after the entertainment,” Clementine whispered in Gino’s ear, “so don’t go away, will you?”

  He had no intention of going anywhere.

  She squeezed his arm and gazed around with pleasure as the ballroom filled up with her guests. The whole thing was so exciting!

  Gino was in a real good mood. Coming face to face with Lucania like that. Equals. And Lucania throwing a cordial greeting his way. Too fuckin’ much!

  And meeting Lucania’s dame, a six-foot redheaded showgirl. Wait till Aldo got an earful. He’d never believe it!

  And the stuff with Senator Duke. Taking their money and investing it. Making it legitimate. Of course it would need checking out. But Gino reckoned he was too sharp to get himself conned. And anyway, the old guy certainly didn’t need Gino’s money—he was quite obviously rolling.

  The tables scattered around the ballroom were filling up. “Excuse me,” Clementine breathed to Gino. “I’ll be right back.”

  Whitejack stood behind the curtain and heard the buzz of excitement coming from the other side. He grinned and pinched Dolly on her fat ass. “Hear that fuss, mama?”

  She smoothed her red satin dress over her ample form. “I hear it, black man. One number, that’s all Just the strip—nuthin’ else. You did tell ’em that, didn’t you?”

  His eyes flashed wildly. “Who I have t’tell, woman? That cracker?” he indicated Scott, who stood a safe distance from them. “We bin paid. We do what we want.”

  “Just you remember that.” She pointed at the Victrola set up in the corner. “One record only.” She spun around to face Carrie and Lucille and was shocked to see Carrie visibly slumping. “Lookit her,” she hissed. “She look ready t’go t’sleep!”

  “Don’t worry, woman. I got me a little blow of coke t’give her just ’fore she go on. She be fine.”

  Dolly frowned, then poked Lucille hard in the ribs. “You watch her,” she muttered sharply, “an’ remember—one number an’ off.”

  “Sure, Dolly,” Lucille replied affably. The big woman frightened her. “Just follow me when I go on,” she whispered to Carrie. “Everything’ll be fine.”

  Carrie nodded blankly, her eyes glazed. She had no idea where she was or even who she was. She felt like she was just about ready to shut her eyes and float off to some place where nobody could ever bother her again.

  Clementine peered into the curtained-off section of the ballroom and came eyeball to eyeball with Whitejack.

  He threw her what he thought was a charming smile.

  She was startled. No one had told her about the six-foot-two-inch negro with teeth like slabs of concrete and a totally bald polished head.

  She nodded briskly, her eyes skimming quickly over the three females, who were quite the oddest trio she had ever seen. “Whenever you are ready,” she said.

  “Ma’am, we is always ready,” Whitejack replied, his grin almost splitting his face in two.

  She nodded again and retreated. What characters! Even better than she had anticipated.

  Whitejack smacked his lips. “Mama! Mama! Mama! You get a load of the je-uuuls on that woman?”

  Dolly tossed her curls and ignored his comment. “Let’s get on an’ out of here, ’fore you start kissin’ the hem of her ass.”

  He glared at her, then extracted a small packet of white powder from his pocket and a hundred-dollar bill. Deftly he rolled the bank note, poured the white powder into the funnel it made, and beckoned to Carrie. “C’mon t’daddy, little girl. C’mon an’ get your nose candy.”

  Carrie stared at him blankly. Dolly gave her a shove.

  Whitejack held the bank note to her nose and she automatically inhaled, sniffing deeply. “There you go, girl,” he crooned, “that happy dust gonna take y’on a real great snow ride.”

  He turned to the Victrola and started the loud honky-tonk
music. Then he pushed Carrie through the curtain.

  She staggered slightly in her spike-heeled shoes, and just for a moment it looked as if she would fall. But then she recovered her balance, and without even starting to dance she began to remove her dress.

  “Shee-it!” groaned Whitejack, peering through a chink in the curtain. “She’ll be finished ’fore she’s even started.” He grabbed Lucille. “Get your ass out there an’ make her dance!”

  He almost hurled Lucille through the curtain. She was greeted with shrieks of laughter, mostly female. And she immediately understood what Dolly had been complaining about. A mixed audience was different. The women—secure in their jewels and furs—were hostile, mean, and spiteful.

  Carrie already had her dress off, and her hands were reaching behind her to undo the lace brassiere when Lucille hissed, “Dance, for God’s sake, dance.”

  Carrie got the message and began to sway listlessly. Lucille moved her tiny body vigorously in time to the raucous honky-tonk. They made the oddest couple possible.

  The audience laughed in embarrassment and disbelief.

  Clementine felt a hot flush sting her cheeks. This wasn’t entertainment. This was awful. What was wrong with the black girl? She looked as if she might collapse at any moment. And the midget couldn’t dance to save her life.

  “Really, Clemmie,” whispered Esther, “what is this supposed to be?”

  She smiled tightly. “It gets better.”

  “I should hope so! This is pathetic.”

  Clementine started to simmer with fury. Five hundred dollars for this? She had been conned. Wait until she got hold of Oswald. Was he mad? Telling her what a wonderful entertainment this was.

  Then Dolly came on, big blonde Dolly who knew a thing or two about taking over a room. She saved the situation somewhat with her genuine burlesque routine. At least she could move.

  “This is disgusting,” Bernard Dimes whispered to his lady friend. “Clementine must have taken leave of her senses. Surely this is only suitable for a drunken stag evening?” He frowned. There was some thing disturbingly familiar about the pathetic black girl. Somehow he felt that he had seen her before….

  Now all three of them were going into the strip. First the brassiere, then the rolled garters, then the stockings, one at a time, then the panties.

  Gino glanced around him. All these rich fancy dudes watching three whores he wouldn’t give carfare to. Where the hell had Mrs. Duke come up with them?

  He stared at naked flesh and felt absolutely nothing except boredom. Lighting up the cigar the Senator had handed him earlier, he took a sidelong glance at Clementine. She seemed tense.

  The black girl was near their table now. She had taken it all off, and her big knockers didn’t match the rest of her skinny body. She was taking off her second stocking when she fell. Like a stone she dropped to the ground, legs splayed obscenely open.

  “Oh, my good God!” Clementine exclaimed.

  A ripple of embarrassed laughter rang around the room.

  The honky-tonk music kept going. The big blonde kept going. The midget was about to stop, but one frosty glance from the blonde made her continue to dance.

  Gino leaped up quickly and grabbed the black girl under the arms and dragged her toward the door. Couldn’t just leave her lying there. Scott met him at the door, and together they lifted her into the hall. She was out cold.

  “Is there a doctor around?” Gino demanded. “She don’t look so good to me.”

  “I expect there is a doctor among the guests,” Scott said stiffly, trying to avert his eyes from the naked girl lying at his feet.

  “Let’s get her to a bedroom,” Gino decided, taking off his new dinner jacket and covering her with it.

  “I’ll have to ask madam—” Scott began.

  “I said, let’s get her to a bedroom.” His eyes were hard and bleak. They held an expression you didn’t argue with.

  Simultaneously they lifted the unconscious girl and carried her up the stairs and into the blue guest bedroom, where they unloaded her onto the bed. Perspiration beaded Scott’s forehead.

  “You’d better go find a doctor now,” Gino ordered.

  “I’ll see what Mrs. Duke wishes to do, sir,” Scott replied disdainfully. He was not about to start taking orders from this… this… person.

  “Yeh? Well, you’d better fuckin’ hurry, cause if you don’t get a doctor soon this is gonna be one dead girl. Tell that to Mrs. Duke an’ see what she says.”

  Scott hurried off.

  Gino regarded the unconscious girl He picked up her arm to feel for a pulse, and it was then that he noticed the track marks. Little red puffs of skin with tiny punctures and bruising. Her pulse was disturbingly slow. He held open one of her eyelids, and the pupil was wild and dilated. This girl was in bad shape. And she was only a kid, couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen.

  Someone had been feeding her drugs and sending her out to strip for a living. Gino felt the anger begin to burn in his gut. He hated to see a young girl used in this fashion.

  Where the fuck was the doctor?

  Whitejack groaned when Carrie fell, but he kept the music going and was relieved when someone dragged her out of the way and the act kept right on moving.

  A smattering of applause heralded the finale, and a naked Dolly hurled her way behind the curtain and spat, “You one dumb-ass nigger. What we gonna do now?”

  Whitejack did not take kindly to being called a nigger unless it was a brother or sister did the calling. “Shut your fat mouth, white trash!” he snarled, “an’ get dressed. We’ll grab Carrie an’ get movin’.”

  “Fine with me,” sneered Dolly, pulling her panties on.

  “This is Dr. Reynolds,” Clementine said, hurrying into the room with a gray-haired man.

  Gino stood back from the bed. “It don’t look too good t’me, Doc.”

  “Are you a doctor too?” Dr. Reynolds inquired mildly.

  “Only when there ain’t anyone else around.”

  Clementine put a steady hand on his arm. “Let’s wait outside,” she murmured quietly.

  Gino threw the doctor a hard look. “She’s a dopehead,” he said roughly. “Take a look at her arm.”

  Clementine led him outside. She sighed. “This has to be the most awful party I’ve ever given.”

  “Aw, c’mon. Party’s good, you didn’t know you was gonna get stuck with them crummy strippers. Whatcha think? That they was dancers?”

  “I knew they were strippers. I thought they were good strippers. I was told they were an excellent entertainment. I’m just so… embarrassed. I’ll be a laughingstock.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Her hand tightened on his arm. “That’s what I like about you. You’re so direct and honest.”

  Her green eyes were sending out signals again, and he wanted to respond. “Clementine—” he began.

  “Where’s my baby sister?” a loud voice demanded, and up the stairs and into view came Whitejack, Dolly, and Lucille, with Scott trailing behind.

  Gino blocked the door to the guest bedroom. “She your sister?” he asked rudely, checking Whitejack out and knowing him for what he was.

  “Sure is,” blustered Whitejack, “an’ I wanna see her.”

  “The doctor is with her, Mr…?” Clementine trailed off questioningly.

  Whitejack did not bother to supply her with a name. “She don’t need no doctor,” he said brusquely. “She just gets these faintin’ fits now an’ then. Nothin’ to worry ’bout.” He attempted to pass by Gino.

  “Mrs. Duke said,” Gino intoned coldly, “that the doctor is with her. So wait.”

  They locked eyes, then Whitejack shrugged. “Sure, sure. Only it’s a waste of everyone’s time. We just gotta put her in the car an’ take her home to mama, an’ she’ll be as good as new tomorrow.”

  “Yeh,” said Gino. “Ready for another trip.”

  “Huh?” puffed Whitejack.

  Dolly intervened. “Whyn’t
I just take a peek at her, get our things, an’ we can come back for her tomorrow.”

  Gino nodded. The big blonde was smart. She sensed trouble and wanted a fast out.

  “You can’t leave her here!” exclaimed Clementine.

  Gino looked at her in surprise. “Why not?” he asked. “If the kid’s too sick to travel, you gonna throw her out on the street?”

  “Her brother wants to take her home.”

  “Her brother, shit.”

  Whitejack said menacingly, “I don’t know who you are, but—”

  Dolly interrupted him, grabbing his arm. “We’ll wait in the car. Don’t want no fights or nothin’.”

  She dragged him down the stairs. Lucille followed, Scott behind her to see them safely on their way.

  Clementine was perplexed. “What is going on, Gino?”

  “They’re leavin’. Fast.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause any minute now your doctor friend is gonna be yellin’ all hell ’bout dope and underage an’ all kinds o’ things they could go to jail for.”

  “You mean they drugged her?”

  “I should think so.”

  “His own sister?”

  “C’mon, Clementine, don’t be dumb. She’s his sister like I’m your brother.”

  She was quiet for a minute. “Oh, I see.”

  They waited in silence until the doctor emerged.

  “The girl is a drug addict,” he said flatly. “She’s been overdosed. We’ll need to get her to a hospital immediately.”

  “Oh, dear!” exclaimed Clementine. “Someone fetch Oswald. He’ll know what to do.”

  “It ain’t complicated,” Gino said. “Just call an ambulance.”

  “We can’t do that! Can you imagine the publicity? ‘Doped Girl at Senator’s Weekend Party.’ It’s impossible.”

  Gino nodded. She had a point.

  “Look here,” Doctor Reynolds said testily, “the girl is very sick. She must be hospitalized.”

  “I’ll take her,” Gino decided.

  “But if you take her to the hospital, won’t they think that you had something to do with her condition?” Clementine asked.