The Yankee Club (34 page)

Authors: Michael Murphy

This time he kept his balance. Laura shrieked as he turned onto the street in front of an
oncoming truck. The driver blasted his horn and swerved around Danny.

I held my breath until he rode out of sight.

A cab pulled up, and a pretty redhead climbed out. She tugged on the hem of her short skirt, fighting a losing battle with the breeze, showing shapely legs. She paid the cabbie then smiled at Gino as she walked past.

Stella grabbed his arm. “You ain’t gonna give every good-looking doll you see the once-over after we’re married, are you?”

“Course not.” Gino winked at me. “Not
every
good-looking doll.”

“Have you made any honeymoon plans?” Laura asked.

“I’ve got plenty.” Gino winked.

A wide-eyed look of excitement spread over Stella’s face. “We’ve been talking about Hawaii.”

Gino nodded. “Ma always wanted to visit the Islands, but I think she’d like California, too. She’d enjoy seeing the Pacific Ocean, and we could spend a few days with you guys.”

Stella smacked Gino on the arm. “I never know when this guy’s serious.”

Gino shrugged. “I’m serious.”

The cabbie opened the rear door. “You folks need a lift?”

“You mind if we take this one?” Stella tugged Gino toward the open door. “Gino wants to meet my mother in Brooklyn.”

Laura grinned. “We wouldn’t want to keep him from that. We’ll take the next one.”

We exchanged hugs and kisses with Gino and Stella. Gino gave me a final hug with more than a touch of sadness. “By the time you come back, Prohibition will be over, and I’ll be running an Italian restaurant instead of a speakeasy. End of an era. It’s the last of the ninth for The Yankee Club.”

Gino helped Stella into the cab. With her view blocked, he grabbed his tie, cocked his head, and pulled, imitating a hangman’s noose.

I swallowed a lump in my throat as they drove away.

The doorman hailed another cab. Laura took my arm and dabbed at tears with her lipstick-smeared hankie. “Think being a daddy will change him?”

Gino change? “Not a chance.”

A green Model A cut in front of a cab and skidded to a stop in front of the hotel. Frankie jumped out. “Surprise! Need a lift?” He opened the trunk and gestured to the bellhop, who wheeled the cart of luggage to the car.

I helped Frankie load Laura’s trunk. “I thought you turned in the car.”

“Cole leased it.”

“Cole Porter?”

Frankie tossed the rest of the bags in the trunk. “Yeah. He hired me as a driver. Edith’s happy, my first full-time job since … forever.”

I stuffed several bills into his hand. “You saved my life more than once.”

“I didn’t do it for the dough.” He offered it back.

“Consider it our fare.”

“This much could take you to Canada and back, but if you insist.” He stuffed the money in his pocket and slammed the trunk closed. “You heard from Belle?”

“She’s staying in Florida awhile, subleasing my apartment for the next six months, while Laura and I are in Hollywood. She’s apparently made more off some of the old retirees than she did here.”

Frankie opened the rear door for us, and we climbed inside.

Laura took out her hankie and wiped Stella’s lipstick from my mouth. She showed me the cloth. “Looks like you’ve been bleeding.”

“Penn Station?” Frankie asked as he started the car.

“Penn Station.”

“Out o’ my way, lady.” Frankie swerved around a stoop-shouldered woman crossing at the corner. Laura dug her nails into my thigh as he sailed through the intersection. He glanced in the rearview mirror. “What will you do in Hollywood, Jake, while Laura’s making movies?”

“Write.”

“Write. Sure you will. If I know you, before long, you’ll be knee-deep investigating some sinister caper.”

I’d done enough investigating the past couple weeks to last the rest of my life. “I plan to stick to writing mysteries, not solving real-life ones.” Like Dashiell.

Laura patted my hand. “Jake’s detective days are behind him.”

Frankie stuck a toothpick in his mouth, glanced over his shoulder, and grinned. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

As we drove through the city, Laura gazed out the windows. Her eyes filled with tears. I held her hand and let her silently say good-bye to the place where she and I grew up.

Laura squeezed my hand. “This city holds a lot of painful memories … but it’s still home, you know?”

What a sap I’d been. Laura hadn’t really been angry at Ethel Merman or jealous over Dorothy. Unlike me, she’d spent her whole life in New York City. She didn’t want to leave Broadway, but with theaters closing, Hollywood offered the best chance to continue her career.

I wasn’t so sad leaving New York. Since I’d returned to the city, I’d been shot, shot at, and handcuffed on more than one occasion. I escaped from certain execution by Tony Vales, fled a boat off Dalrymple’s Connecticut lodge seconds before it exploded, and rescued Laura at
Madison Square Garden. “We’ll be back.”

She squeezed my hand and sniffled. “Of course we will.”

I handed her a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose. “Thanks.”

A part of Laura was a little girl about to leave home for the first time. I’d be there to help her adjust to her new career. I looked forward to the future, Laura a movie star and me with opportunities to get to know creative people I’d never meet in New York. I couldn’t wait to get started. When Laura rested her head on my shoulder, I knew she felt the same.

As we drove through the crowded streets, Laura opened her fingers revealing the lipstick-smeared hankie in her hand. “I think I need a new one. Then again maybe I should keep this to remind me of all the women you’ve kissed since you returned to New York.”

I smiled and tossed the hankie out the side window. I glanced behind the car and watched a breeze toss it around like a kite in Central Park. As we turned the corner, the hankie fluttered between two cars then skidded along the sidewalk and disappeared in the streets of New York.

MICHAEL MURPHY is a full-time writer and part-time urban chicken rancher. He lives in Arizona with his wife of more than forty years, and the five children they adopted this past year. He’s active in several local writers’ groups and conducts novel-writing workshops at bookstores and libraries.