Dollface: A Novel of the Roaring Twenties (39 page)

I smoothed the napkin across my lap. There was a time when I felt threatened by Dora, worried that she’d steal my daughter’s love out from under me. But now she was reaching out to me, one mother to another. There was a new bond between us.

“Everything’s gotten so violent,” Dora continued. “It frightens me. How do you deal with it?”

“It was different when I had Hannah. We’d lost Dion, but it was nothing like it is out there now. We didn’t know how bad things were going to get.” I ran my fingers over the napkin again. “Frankly, the hardest part is trying to raise Hannah in a
normal
household when I don’t know what normal is. As a mother, I don’t know what I’m doing. I make it up as I go and I’m sure I’m doing it all wrong.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh, yes, I am. She wants an extra cookie and I let her have it and then I think I shouldn’t have. When I give her a bath, I worry if the water’s too hot, too cold. Honestly, I never know if I’m doing anything right. The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t want her to grow up the way I did.”

“But let’s face it, she’s Shep Green’s daughter. She’s not going to grow up like you did. She was born into a family of privilege.”

“And a family of crime.”

Dora sighed. “I guess that’s what I’m worried about. How do you bring a child into a world with such violence . . . ?”

What do you do? You learn to cook and you set the table every night and you make the beds and do the laundry and pretend that you’re no different from any other family. But you know you’re living under glass. You know it can all be shattered in an instant.

Cecelia came back to the table and the interrogation picked back up. What was the name of the shop I wanted to visit? How did I discover it? Where were my packages? What a shame that I’d come all this way and hadn’t bought anything. . . .

After lunch, as Cecelia flagged down a taxicab, they offered me a ride back up north but I begged off.

“I think I’ll stick around down here. You two run along. There’s some more shopping I want to do. You know, since I never,
ever
get down this way . . .”

I waited on the sidewalk until their taxicab drove out of view, and then I took off in the opposite direction.

•   •   •

“Y
ou’re late.” Tony was leaning against the doorjamb, his shirt unbuttoned, his hair rumpled. If he wasn’t drunk already, then he was on his way. “I’ve been waiting here for you for over an hour.”

I pushed past him and tossed my pocketbook on the dresser. “I ran into Cecelia Drucci and Knuckles’s wife right outside your hotel.”

“Did they see you come in?”

“No.”

“So what are you worried about?”

I poured myself a drink and spilled half of it. My hands were shaking. “You should have heard me trying to explain what I’m doing down on this side of town. I could barely get a sentence out. I wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Relax. You’re overreacting. They just caught you off guard, that’s all.”

I looked at him, exasperated. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing. You’ve got just as much right to be down here as they do.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe I was overreacting. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “I have to be back home by three. Should we still do this or not?”

The mood was shot. We both knew it. Still, he took off his shirt and unbuttoned his trousers while I slithered out of my dress, folding it neatly and setting it on the dresser. Usually our clothes ended up in a tangled pile on the floor. But not that day they didn’t. Once I was undressed I slid under the bedsheets, waiting for him. He wasn’t even aroused when he climbed on top of me, crushing my leg with his thigh. His breath was sour and smelled of cigarettes and whiskey. We barely kissed at all, and when it was over, I felt dirty and couldn’t wait to bathe the last half hour away.

THE HOLIDAY BLUES

S
hep sat behind his desk, fiddling with his cuff link. He couldn’t look at me when I read to him anymore. Even if it was from a novel. And that day I was sorting through scraps of paper and cocktail napkins and anything else that Bugs had found to write on. I read them to Shep one by one. Some were dropoff points. Others were instructions for Knuckles and some of the others like Frank and Peter Gusenberg. Another was a list of repairs for a truck that John May needed to fix.

I was let in on Shep’s business now but only because he needed me. It reminded me vaguely of my own bootlegging days.

“You know,” I said, “it would make a lot more sense if Bugs had Frank stay back at the warehouse and he sent Peter to—”

“Is there anything else there?” Shep asked, letting me know my opinion wasn’t needed.

“That’s it.” I handed him Bugs’s notes. There was a definite cutoff point to my usefulness.

He nodded, got up from his desk and reached for his hat. “I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.” He walked out of the room.

Sometimes I didn’t feel like his wife, but more like his underling. It had been weeks since he’d held me or kissed me, let alone made love to me. I missed him, and the more he shut me out, the more I justified my running back to Tony.

The next morning I went to Tony’s hotel. Capone was sending him out of town for a few weeks the following day and the two of us went at it, hoping it would sustain us while he was gone. I’d lost all track of time and was more than thirty minutes late meeting the girls for lunch.

“Have you ordered yet?” I asked, rushing into the Walnut Room.

“Just waiting on you.” Evelyn shot me a look and raised her menu.

“Maybe now we can order. We’re starving.” Basha snapped her fingers to signal the waitress.

“Oh c’mon, I’m not
that
late,” I lied as I settled in, shrugging off my overcoat, resting it on the back of my chair.

“So where were you, anyway?” Evelyn asked, her eyes locked on her menu. It was like she knew I was keeping something from her.

“I had to take Hannah shopping for shoes.”

“I thought you did that yesterday,” said Basha.

“It, ah, well, we started to and then something happened and . . .” God, I couldn’t keep my stories straight. I shifted in my chair. I was still wet from Tony.

“It’s okay. You’re here now.” Dora smiled. She was pregnant and not about to let anything get her down.

“No Cecelia today?” I asked, looking at the empty chair.

“She sends her regrets.” Evelyn pinched open her pocketbook for a cigarette.

“It was their anniversary the other day,” Dora said. “It knocked her for a loop. Some days she seems like her old self and some days she’s a wreck. Poor thing.”

“Poor all of us.” Basha reached inside her pocketbook for her flask and poured some gin into her coffee cup. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Basha sober. Now that she was no longer plotting Mrs. Squeak’s demise, she didn’t know what to do with herself. It was as if her favorite hobby had been taken away.

“Do you believe this,” I said, trying to lighten the mood as I gestured toward the garlands and big red bows wrapped around the pillars. “We just got through celebrating Thanksgiving last week and they’re already putting up Christmas decorations. It gets earlier and earlier each year, doesn’t it? Sheesh.”

“Thanksgiving? What’s there to be thankful for?” Basha rolled her eyes. “You know, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. We weren’t supposed to end up alone.” Basha took a sip of her gin. “I hate those goddamn greaseballs—every last one of them. May they all be gunned down!”

Evelyn nodded. “May they all rot in hell!” She had the victim role down.

I couldn’t look at Evelyn for fear she’d read my face. She knew about Tony. Though she’d never said a word, she knew.
She knew.
And if any of the others had known I was involved with a member of the South Side Gang it would have been the end of me.

I opened my menu and closed it again. I couldn’t eat. My stomach was in knots. I wasn’t just two-timing my husband; I was two-timing my girlfriends and the entire North Side Gang.

This affair was exhausting. I was tired of saying I was with the girls when I was at the Plymouth Hotel. And because Tony would get jealous over Shep, I’d tell him I was with my mother when I was at home with Shep. I didn’t know what I was doing with Tony. Some days, like that morning, I couldn’t get enough of him. But other times I knew it wasn’t worth the risk.

With each passing day, I had a sinking feeling that I was going to get caught. But still, I couldn’t bring myself to end it with Tony. Each time I tried, I grew weak. In so many ways he knew me better than Shep. He knew my darkest, blackest secrets—things that would have turned Shep away from me. Maybe I deserved a cheater like Tony after all. I knew I didn’t deserve Shep.

•   •   •

I
t was two days before Christmas when we got the news. Three months into her pregnancy and Dora lost the baby. Evelyn and I went to see her, bringing her flowers and magazines, hoping to cheer her up.

When Knuckles answered the door, we were shocked. Their usually pristine house was cluttered with newspapers, dirty dishes, laundry strewn about the sofa and chairs. Their Christmas tree was in the corner waiting to be trimmed, the floor covered with boxes of bulbs and a tangle of lights.

Knuckles looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Warning us, he said, “She’s in a bad way. I can’t even talk to her.”

While Evelyn went into the kitchen to wash the dishes and straighten up, I ventured into the bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, but couldn’t get Dora to look at me. She stared straight ahead. It was the first time I’d ever seen her without any makeup. Her skin was pale; her lips were thin and chapped. I was surprised by how young and innocent she looked.

“The doctor said you’re going to be fine. You can try again. You’re still young enough.”

She turned to me in anger, her blue eyes rimmed with tears. “Easy for you to say! You still have your baby. I never even got to hold mine!” She rolled over with her back toward me. “Go away,” she said. “You’re the last person I want to see right now. Just leave me alone.”

I reached out to stroke her shoulder but stopped myself. She didn’t want me there. That was clear. There was nothing I could say to take away her pain and apparently my very presence was making it worse.

I eased up off the bed and showed myself out. She didn’t stir. I wasn’t even sure if she knew I was gone.

After we left Dora and Knuckles, Evelyn and I made our way over to State Street. Snow was falling, turning downtown Chicago white and picturesque. It was beautiful with all the storefronts decorated in their garlands and twinkling lights. Christmas carolers stood on the street corner, their voices trailing behind us as we cut over to Washington.

As Evelyn and I pushed through the revolving door, a store greeter in his red vest welcomed us to Marshall Field’s. We dusted snow off our coats and stomped the slush free from our boots before heading to the glove display.

Evelyn stuffed her hands inside a pair joined at the wrist by a string. “Ooh, these are nice. Irwin would love these.” She’d started seeing Irwin just a few weeks before, and already she was smitten. “Oh, or look at these!” She held up another pair. “Before I forget, do you and Shep want to join us for dinner Saturday night? Irwin wanted me to ask you.”

“Yeah. Sure. I have to check with Shep, but it sounds swell.” I moved over to the scarves. “So this is getting serious with you and Irwin, huh?”

“Isn’t it crazy?” She beamed. “What is it about me and men whose names start with the letter
I
?”

I paused over a blue satin scarf. This was the first time I’d heard Evelyn make even the slightest reference to Izzy.

“I’m just head over heels about Irwin. I love him, Vera. I really do. And not like before. This time it’s real.”

I smiled and squeezed her hand. “He’s a good man. He truly is. Too bad he’s in such a lousy business.”

“Making brassieres?”

I gave her a look. “I meant his
other
business.”

“Oh.” Evelyn frowned and set one hand on her hip. “So I’ve been thinking. . . .”

“What about?”

“Well, you know, I trust Irwin. I trust him in ways I never trusted Izzy. And I think it’s important that Irwin knows he can trust me, too. So . . . I’ve decided that I can’t have any secrets from him.”

“What do you mean by secrets?”

“You know,” she said, drumming her fingertips along the countertop. “I want to come clean.”

“About?”

“You know
what
about.”

“Evelyn!” I could feel my eyes bulging out of their sockets. “Are you crazy?”

“How am I supposed to have an honest relationship with him if I’ve got this huge secret between us? It’s been eating me up alive. I need to get this off my chest.”

“Ev—”

“He loves me—he’ll understand.”

“Have you lost your mind?” I tossed the scarf onto the counter and pulled her aside. “You can’t tell Irwin. You can’t tell
anyone
. Not ever!”

“But he’ll understand. He really loves me.”

“I don’t care how much he loves you. Listen to me.” I grabbed her hands and forced her to look me in the eye. “Those guys—our men—they may love us, but their number one priority—their number one loyalty—is to each other. You can’t come clean to Irwin without dragging me into this. How do you think it’s going to sit with him that you killed one of his best friends?”

“It was an accident. Self-defense. You said so yourself.”

“You think that’s going to matter to them? And what exactly are you going to tell Irwin when he asks what you did with Izzy’s body?”

“I don’t know . . . I could—”

“Are you prepared to tell Irwin that a member of the South Side Gang helped you and
me
? You’re going to drag me into this! You can’t do that. I helped you—you can’t turn around and ruin my life. Shep doesn’t know anything about Tony Liolli.”

Evelyn looked like I’d just smacked her. “Okay, okay—I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking of it like that.”

“No, you sure weren’t!”

“I get it. Okay. I won’t tell him. I promise. But don’t forget, Shep was away when it happened. And besides, it’s not like you’re still seeing Tony.” She looked at me and I watched her expression change. “Oh my God! Vera, are you still seeing him? You’re not, are you?”