“There you are!” Winnie waved from in front of the clock outside the Waldorf’s Peacock Court. Her beaded chemise was so sheer, her slip showed through. An extraordinarily tall ostrich feather stuck straight up out of her turban.
“Sorry I’m late. I had to wait until Father had left.” Clair grimaced.
Beside Winnie, Clair felt like a fuddy-duddy in her pastel Sunday dress and lace evening cap. What concert were they going to that Winnie would wear such an outfit and all that makeup? Even so, she looked smashing.
“I almost gave up.” Winnie kissed her on the cheek. “That man over there keeps glancing at me. I think he has a crush.”
Clair glanced at Mr. O’Shaughnessy. A big, strapping man with a kind heart, he’d probably wondered why flamboyant Winnie was there. The hotel manager had worked at the Waldorf for many years. Clair knew his wife and his children, all ten of them. “I’m sure he meant nothing by it. Let’s go.” She grabbed Winnie’s arm and steered her toward the exit. If Mr. O’Shaughnessy spotted them, he’d certainly tell Clair’s father.
Winnie stopped. “Wait! Aren’t you going to show me around?”
“Another time.” Clair quickly led her across the lobby’s mosaic floor. She ducked down the steps while the doorman had his back turned.
“Where’s your driver?” she asked.
“Driver?” Winnie laughed. “We’re taking a cab.”
“A cab?” Clair had never ridden in one before.
Winnie raised her arm and whistled shrilly. A checkered cab pulled over. As she climbed in, her feather got stuck, and she had to draw back and reenter. Clair slid in behind her.
“Ninth Avenue and Forty-fourth,” Winnie ordered.
The driver nodded and raced away from the curb going north. Clair peered out the back window as the doorman turned with arms akimbo and a confused expression. Clair doubted he could recognize her at this distance. She sat back while an unexpected rush of freedom surged through her body.
“Winnie, how do your parents feel about you going out unescorted?”
Winnie gazed down at her gloved hands. “My folks? I don’t have any.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Pa might still be alive back in Mississippi. I left there a long time ago.”
Clair couldn’t imagine ever abandoning her father. “Whom do you live with?”
“I’m at a women’s boardinghouse.”
“That sounds fun.” It wouldn’t be as boring as the hotel.
Winnie shook her head. “Yeah. If having fun is living with a bunch of old geese.”
Clair nodded. The sky had darkened to a faded lavender blue. Streetlights flickered on as they drove uptown. People dressed for an evening out walked along the sidewalks. Bicyclists and a packed electric bus whizzed by. Clair looked forward to hearing some good music. It had been ages since she’d been to a concert. The girls continued to converse as the moonless sky grew darker.
Finally, the driver pulled over, then turned and studied them. “Are you sure this is it?”
“Yep.” Winnie giggled.
Clair stared at the two-story brick building with the windows boarded up. A fire escape cascaded down its side. “This can’t be it!”
“Sure is.” Winnie winked at the cab driver.
He held out a hand. “That’ll be two smackeroos.”
Winnie dug in her bag and paid him. They got out of the taxi, and it drove off. No other cars were on the street. An assortment of deserted structures surrounded them. Shadows shifted at the sky’s edge, and from overhead came a shrill scream. Clair yelped and grabbed Winnie’s arm.
Winnie laughed. “It’s only a crow, silly.”
The almost-invisible bird swirled in a circle above them and landed on a spindly pine tree. If Clair had stayed home, she’d be safe in bed by now.
“Don’t worry, honey. Come on.” Winnie led a trembling Clair along the gritty sidewalk toward the building.
A bum carrying his bindle on a stick turned a corner and staggered toward them, his filthy clothes reeking. “Hey, girlie.” He slurred his words and started to reach for Winnie’s feather.
“Go away!” Winnie shoved him.
He tottered back and fell on his behind. “You’re one tough broad,” he slurred.
“You’re right, mister!” Winnie yelled, as he scrambled up and scuttled away.
Clair would never have the nerve to defend herself so bravely. In the distance, she heard the shattering of glass and a dog’s howl. Clair hadn’t ever been anywhere so dark before, except maybe at the beach cottage in the summer. Nights there could be jet black, though stars dotted the heavens. Here in Manhattan, the dark, sooty air was suffocating.
“It’s right here.” Winnie guided Clair down the few short steps below street level and knocked on a large wooden door. What on earth kind of music would be played here?
A slit opened, a cacophony of noise escaped, and a pair of eyes peered out. “Password!” the man yelled.
“Rudy Moody,” Winnie drawled.
The slit slammed shut. Clair’s eyes opened wide.
“Oops!” Winnie giggled and rapped on the door again.
The slat reopened. “Yeah?”
“I meant Moody Rudy.”
This time, the door swung open. The girls stepped inside the low-ceilinged space, and the door closed behind them. Clair’s eyes soon adjusted to the dark, smoky haze, but she still felt disoriented. What was this place, and who were all these people?
Men in dapper suits and women in short fringed attire with glasses and cigarettes in their hands talked and laughed. Two women wearing tuxedos, with short black hair shining bright as shoe polish, strode by arm in arm. Clair knew she looked out of place.
A stocky man, his hair parted off-center and sporting a dark double-breasted suit, came toward them, a white carnation in his lapel. “Hey, Win!” His flat nose looked as if it’d been broken in a fight. He pointed to his cheek. “Put one here.”
“No, Rudy.” Winnie shook her head but batted her eyelashes at him.
He leaned closer to her. “Come on!”
She pecked his pockmarked cheek and smiled as if he were a nonpareil.
“’Atta girl.” He gazed at her. “What a getup!”
She stood back and wiggled her hips. “Made it myself, and the hat, too.”
Rudy nodded. “Swanky! And that feather.”
“Merci beaucoup!” Winnie’s perfect French accent surprised Clair.
Rudy smiled. “Who’s your gal pal?”
“This is Clair. She’s a lot of fun.”
No one had ever described her as fun before. “Charmed.” Clair resisted the urge to curtsy.
“Welcome!” Rudy didn’t seem moody at all, only a bit gruff. “Glad you made it tonight. The joint’s really gonna jump.”
That sounded enthralling and maybe even dangerous. He led them to a table next to the dance floor. The small stage held a piano.
“Be right back.” On his way to the carved wooden bar, Rudy clapped one man on the back and nodded at another. The room was filling up.
“Isn’t he dreamy?” Winnie twisted a curl sticking out from under her hat.
She must consider him handsome in a rugged sort of way. Clair nodded. “What exactly is this place?” It felt as foreign as the moon.
“Rudy’s Roost. It is the place! Last week a talent agent from Hollywood came in with Gary Cooper.”
Clair couldn’t believe it. She had seen him in Wings. How divine it would have been to see him in person!
Rudy wove back through the crowd toward them carrying glasses.
“And look at that Rudy. He’s my Cooper.” Winnie stared at him. “He seems rough on the outside, but inside he’s a marshmallow.”
Winnie removed her gloves and lit a cigarette. “Want one?”
Clair shook her head.
Rudy pulled up a chair and set down their drinks. “Here you go. Wet your whistles.”
“I’m parched.” Clair peered into the dark liquid. “Oh, good. Sarsaparilla.” She took a sip, swallowed, and banged her glass down, then started to cough. It burned her throat. Probably that was what turpentine tasted like. “It must have gone bad.”
Winnie and Rudy stared at her, then each other, and laughed.
He put his hand on Clair’s shoulder. “No, doll, it’s hootch.”
“I’m not familiar with that brand.” She shook her head.
Rudy explained. “Booze, rotgut.”
“Moonshine.” Winnie giggled.
Clair couldn’t breathe. “You mean alcohol?”
Winnie nodded with a smile.
Clair’s body grew hot. This must be a speakeasy! Her father would be devastated if he found out. The other night he’d railed against them. How they were ruining the country and should be destroyed. She might now be considered a wanton woman.
Winnie chugged down her whole glass, smacked her lips and burped.
“You slay me, Win.” Rudy opened his mouth and tried to burp, too.
Clair stood. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not?” Winnie frowned.
“Isn’t this place illegal?”
Winnie and Rudy guffawed.
Tuxedoed musicians jumped onto the stage and began to play a lively jazz tune on piano, bass, and saxophone. Whenever this type of music came from the radio, her father made her turn it off. He called it “the devil’s music.”
“I need to go home,” Clair whispered into Winnie’s ear.
Winnie took Clair’s arm and pulled her back down. “Give it a chance.”
“What?” Clair couldn’t hear Winnie because the trumpet blared so loudly.
A lone woman in a short red dress appeared on the dance floor and began kicking her legs out sideways, spinning and wiggling her body. A skinny man soon joined her, leaping back and forth. That was no Foxtrot! Clair couldn’t take her eyes off them and realized they must be doing the Charleston, or maybe even the Black Bottom. She’d read about these scandalous dances in the newspapers. Soon, other dancers joined in. Winnie and Rudy ran onto the dance floor, too. Clair understood what he’d meant when he said the joint would be jumping. It literally was.
She grew hot and cautiously took another sip of the drink. It went down a smidge easier this time. She closed her eyes to get her bearings. The “devil” music was jarring but irresistible. The sounds engulfed her, and soon she began to nod her head in rhythm. Holding the sides of her chair, she resisted the urge to get up and dance.
She hoped her father was wrong, because if the devil liked it and she did, too, that meant she was evil. The music penetrated her whole body. She couldn’t help herself—she leaped up onto the dance floor. Copying Winnie, Clair crisscrossed her hands above her knees. Her arms flew and her Mary Janes stepped back and forth, and forth and back. Somehow she knew exactly how to do this.
Rudy shouted at Clair, “Hey gal pal! You’ve got great rhythm!”
Her long legs soon mastered the dance. Out of breath, she ran back to the table, took another sip of the magic potion, and danced back onto the floor.
Winnie leaned over and yelled into her friend’s ear, “Glad you stayed?”
Clair smiled and nodded. This was fun. She felt as if she’d been friends with Winnie forever.
A loud blast from the trumpet surprised her. What would happen if her father ever found out? But as the trumpet note slid down the scale and she spun around again, she really didn’t care.