Chapter Four

Norma groaned as she rolled to her back on her bed, staring at the low ceiling with more intensity than a police stand-off. She prayed some grand wisdom would be bestowed upon her from above, but it never came. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Henry...err…Mr. Chapel. She simply couldn’t stop the desire from growing deep within. He made her desire and the feeling was…odd, made her antsy. It made her not want to go out for a gay time with Ingrid. Too late for that, though. The time was nearing, and Norma hadn’t done a single thing to prepare for a night of what probably would be a disaster, if Ingrid and gin were involved.

She groaned again, reluctantly sliding off her bed, limbs heavy with exhaustion. Preoccupying herself with Mr. Chapel forced every cell in her body to work over time. Somehow she found the strength to slip into her speakeasy attire. Her best dress was thrown over a wooden chair near the window, and she slid into it with much effort. Forget about how much energy she expelled putting on her stockings and shoes—it winded her. When she twisted her long hair into a neat chignon at the back of her neck, she thought she’d faint. As she put the final touches to her outfit, a knock sounded on the door.

Ingrid showed up with a new suitor, though Norma would use that term loosely. Ingrid had many suitors, but Norma had never heard about this one. He was dripping with the times. He was hip and into the jazz scene and knew where to get all the best gin. In the back seat of his luxury motorcar, Ingrid sucked deeply on her cigarette in an ivory holder. She laughed and carried on like she was completely out of her mind.

“Welcome, doll.” Ingrid’s date pulled Norma into the back seat next to a thoroughly sauced Ingrid whose eyes sparkled like polished blue agate stones. Another mysterious man, dressed in a dark jacket and hat, sat behind the wheel. He didn’t say a word. He must have been the driver—because all sheiks need a personal driver.

“Good evening.” Norma remembered her manners. She refused the brown bottle filled with white powder Ingrid handed her. She didn’t need anything extra to have a good time, especially since she’d already doomed the evening as a disaster.

“Come on, doll.” Ingrid laughed, mimicking her date. “Have a little.”

Norma frowned at the potent smell of gin wafting from Ingrid’s mouth, and even though Ingrid was clearly on a toot, she was beautiful in a chiffon dress with a lariat string of pearls wrapped around her delicate neck and fishnet stockings stretched over equally delicate legs. What Norma admired the most were Ingrid’s perfectly pouty red lips and deep ocean irises contrasted with a line of black kohl around her wide eyes. No one would disagree that Ingrid was more seductive than Theda Bara.

Norma looked down at her own ensemble, second guessing her basic fringe dress and nude stockings. This is my best dress? She sighed. It could’ve been worse she reconciled, thinking of the wardrobe malfunction—the one Mr. Chapel witnessed. She couldn’t think of that—too much.

She looked up from her fidgeting thumbs and caught a dangerous glint in the sheik’s eyes. The lust dripping from them was palpable. What the heck is he looking at? Her pulse quickened double-time. She could do nothing but turn away.

Later, Norma found out about Ingrid’s date. He was Ralph Heinz, a very wealthy copper and commodities heir. He apparently got whatever he wanted. Unfortunately, that did not include Norma Hill. She’d been left alone with Ralph after Ingrid fainted in the back of the car before they arrived at the Jazzy Cat. Not exactly the ideal situation—in fact, it was the worse. Norma saw it coming a mile away. Was Ingrid always so irresponsible? She’d have to speak to Ingrid about the indiscretion once she sobered up.

“Cash or check?” Ralph whispered in her ear, his warm breath prickling her skin with each word. They’d been on the dance floor, pounding out her favorite dance. On the dance floor was the only way she felt safe with him.

His face was too close to hers. She sensed he had wanted to kiss her since the car ride, and his question confirmed it. Exhausted from dancing the Black Bottom, she couldn’t fight him off if he intended to collect his kiss with force. With all the energy she could muster, she pulled away and said, “Neither.”

“Are you playing hard to get, Miss Hill?” He followed her as she returned to their exclusive white linen covered table near the dance floor.

She hadn’t had a drink yet, but it seemed like a good time to have her first one…ever. Take that Too-Dry-Two-Shoes.

“Not at all.” She softened her tone. “I don’t give away my kisses.” Norma fanned at the perspiration beads along her hairline. Her dogs were screaming at that point. She really should stop wearing her cousin’s too tight shoes. She was nothing but a big wardrobe malfunction. And it reminded her of what happened with Mr. Chapel. I would have given him a kiss free of charge. Her stomach dropped. She told herself she wouldn’t think such things.

Ralph chuckled deep in his throat. A quick lick of his lips said what words didn’t. Her predicament became more dangerous by the second. Ralph, who got things so easily, wouldn’t have to work for anything, especially a kiss.

“Well, what will it cost me?” He showed his pearly white teeth like a beast in the wild would.

“Well…” Norma faked true contemplation. “I could use a mint julep.” She wanted his face away from hers and would say anything to make that happen. His steamy breath invaded her space. It cornered her, heightened her need to run, but she had nowhere to go.

He tipped his head back in a hearty laughter. For a creep, his laugh was soothing and melodic. What a waste. He drank her in with hungry eyes before gesturing to the waiter. He placed the order and then turned back to her, but not before he ogled the attractive female servant.

“I like you.” He took a sip of his drink. Gin, probably.

Great.

Her face tightened, a smile didn’t come easily. Though when she finally managed it, she imagined her face resembled a marionette’s.

Darn Ingrid for passing out.

Did Ingrid really like this idiot? Sure, Ralph was handsome by society standards, burly and probably very capable—not to mention stinking rich—but his eyes were simply eerie. That negated all his physical good looks in Norma’s book. Not to mention he looked like he would do just about anything to get ahead in business or otherwise, and at that moment she was his “otherwise.”

Norma was irritated and couldn’t wait to give Ingrid an earful about her “date.” Though, Norma didn’t have to play along. Perhaps she should’ve thought about her own bad judgment before she pointed an accusing finger.

Her mind conjured ways to handle Ralph, but before she could act, she saw him. Yes, her employer, Henry Chapel—the Big Cheese—walked in the Jazzy Cat, and the room seemed to stop at his feet. Her heart pulsed hard—almost hurt her insides. Was it a mistake? She hoped so, but it wasn’t.

Henry Chapel, the man she had almost kissed and couldn’t get out of her mind, stood across the crowded Jazzy Cat scanning the room with his alluring eyes. They were dangerous and commanding, eyes a person couldn’t refuse. They seduced and hypnotized at will. Every ounce of him oozed style. Every ounce of him oozed confidence.

She couldn’t remove her gaze from him when he moved, and her body responded immediately. Her troubles with Ralph fell away for a brief moment.

Mr. Chapel eased through the room like he owned it. Like he owned every room he walked through. White flecks of snow decorated his black wool coat.

A blonde vixen threaded her delicate arm through his—the act was dignified and sweet. Who is she? The beauty held an onyx cigarette holder—probably very expensive—stretched long from her fingers. She also held a chinchilla shrug in the crease of her elbow.

Norma slowly drank in his date’s attire from head to toe. She dressed in an in-vogue chiffon dress, long at the waist and cut to the knee—the very same Ingrid reported on in the Smart Style—and a cloche hat placed perfectly over her blonde straight bob.

Her stomach dropped two feet. The blonde Sheba was more than perfect. She was the kind of woman a man like Henry Chapel should be seen with.

Less than graceful, Norma ducked in hopes Ralph’s large body hid hers from Mr. Chapel’s view. She pushed all musings of him out of her mind, feeling the urgent need to escape. Surely the Jazzy Cat was the last place a boss would expect to see his female subordinate, and after their encounter, she didn’t know how to face him. What would she say? She could easily vomit right where she sat.

The female servant cut the tension when she returned with the dreaded mint juleps. Norma watched her set the sweating glasses on the table, trying to reconcile her predicament.

“Here’s your hooch, doll,” Ralph announced, his large knee clanking her thigh under the table. He didn’t make any strides to pull back or apologize, only moved closer. His slits for eyes devoured her like the big bad wolf that swallowed Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother. She was in trouble.

Panicked, she tried not to make eye contact with Mr. Chapel, even though she had a perfect view of him. He greeted various patrons, shook hands with men, and offered a kiss to the hand of several women who swooned under his puckered mouth. She scoffed at the sight. His lips curled in that perfect smirk, and his green eyes shined brightly. Darn he’s a confident fella.

The potent scent of the drinks drifted to her nose. Aware of the current situation, she didn’t see the possibility of escaping. She decided to take a sip while the wheels in her brain spun up a new plan to get out of the predicament. Where could she go? With Ralph in front of her and Mr. Chapel nearby, things looked dire at best. She swallowed the toxic liquid, forcing it down as it burned all the way to her stomach. Clearly, she was inexperienced—in drinking and dealing with men.

“Easy.” Ralph brought his large hand to her cheek, a behemoth hand coming to devour her whole. He caressed her skin with feather-soft strokes, obvious something else was on his mind.

She cringed. Her gaze searched for Mr. Chapel, who within that split second had evaporated into the crowd of beautiful, ossified people. Where is he?

When Norma wouldn’t soften to Ralph’s advances, he pried the drink from her grip and set it on the table. Hot breath smothered her face again as he moved in and whispered things she couldn’t hear over the vibrant orchestra music. He thrust his torso forward to plant his lips against her mouth, and she flew back as if he’d poured boiling water on her. In the process, she hit the highball crystal glass, tipping it over with a crash against the white table cloth. Everything in its path was drenched.

Cursing, he jerked around in his seat, proving he was not a gentleman.

She’d never heard swearing like that.

His once lusty eyes were filled with rage. Engorged veins on this forehead proved it.

“I’m so sorry. Is there anything you want me to do?” She hoped he’d tell her to scram. But that wasn’t the case. Nothing went over well. Not the ride to the Jazzy Cat. Not the proposition on the dance floor. Not the attempt to have her first drink. Worse was, Mr. Chapel was very aware of her presence. Their gazes locked.

Henry Chapel’s piercing stare impaled her straight through the chest. No mistake that he saw her, and his eyes darkened when he glossed over her boisterous companion.

Ralph brushed off rogue droplets of gin from his jacket and released a deep belly laugh. Norma didn’t know what to do next. A train going a hundred miles an hour was no match for how fast his temper changed.

Did Ralph still expect to have a kiss for the mint julep? Didn’t he already steal a kiss? Isn’t that what started this big fat mess? She shuddered.

“Now where is that kiss?” Ralph confirmed her suspicion and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her closer. His lips puckered and her heart quickened, not in a good way.

Henry Chapel approached as if he were chasing a taxicab. His face was twisted up and brooding. But still insanely gorgeous. Could he ever be anything but that? Something gleamed in his determined eyes. Concern? Anger? Norma couldn’t be sure under the dimmed lighting.

No time to assess what Mr. Chapel’s eyes meant while she was in Ralph’s dangerous grip.

“Miss Hill?” Henry closed in, legs planted firm and wide, his date followed close behind. The blonde held on to her cigarette for dear life, clearly not happy her handsome date came to another woman’s rescue.

Mr. Chapel’s eyes clouded over as he drew in the sight. His gaze locked on Ralph’s fingers, and his jaw clenched more the longer he studied the assaulting fingers on her shoulders.

“Miss Hill, is this gentleman bothering you?” His tone deflected what brewed underneath.

She’d heard that tone before, and it usually was the start of a bad conversation.

Licking her dry lips, she attempted to say something, not just sit there like an idiot. But again, her voice gave way to an even faster heartbeat.

Ralph didn’t lose his senses. His vein reappeared with a vengeance when he caught an eye-full of his perceived competition.

Still, Ralph didn’t release his hold, even with Mr. Chapel’s loaded question.

Mr. Chapel remained polite and waited for an answer before he dared to plant a firm, large hand on Ralph’s broad shoulder. He asked again, “Norma, is this man bothering you?”

The room spun, and for once she was reduced to a silly girl with nothing to say. Nausea overcame her—not the first time she wanted to vomit around Mr. Chapel.

“Uh...” She couldn’t scrape up the right words. Her gaze lifted to his very green stare.

“What’s it to you, sir?” Ralph shoved off the intrusive hand with a sharp shoulder movement.

Mr. Chapel retracted his hand at the gesture, though he didn’t seem bothered by Ralph’s growing fury.

“Miss Hill is my employee, and I want to be sure she’s not...distressed.” Henry stepped toward Ralph. His ability to look determined increased by a thousand fold.

Norma hadn’t seen him look that intense, and she was the best candidate to decipher his levels of anger. But somewhere in the chaos, the realization hit her like a bullet from a Tommy gun. He was rescuing her!

“I don’t think you need to worry about Miss Hill,” Ralph snapped. Other veins popped up on his neck and hands.

“I think you need to let her go,” Henry threatened.

“Are you going to make me?”

“I think I might.” Henry still sounded like a gentleman.

“Please stop!” Norma had found the strength to jump to her feet, breaking away from Ralph’s hold.

He jumped up as well.

She stood between the two men as they stared daggers into each other—good thing a stare couldn’t cut the skin or else it would look like a mob hit. A small crowd had formed around them at that point; however, the band played on while most patrons strained to hear the debacle over the music.

“Let’s be civil about this,” Norma finally said when the men refused to let up. Their eyes had already gone ten rounds—neither was giving up.

“You’re right, sweet lips. Let’s go; we have to square up.” Ralph tossed a smirk to Mr. Chapel.

Square up?

Lust colored Ralph’s eyes, his rage long forgotten. What did he have in mind? Something told her she now owed him more than just a kiss. He grabbed her around the waist, hands softer and coaxing like he was putting on a show. She didn’t budge.

“I don’t want to go with you!” Her head pounded with the cry of the brass section, and the toxicity of the mint julep finally hit her hard.

“Doll…” Ralph cajoled her. His saccharine voice was loaded with promises he intended to keep.

She still didn’t move.

“You and I had a deal.” The timbre in his voice changed once again. One second angry, next second charming, the man was dangerous.

“I’ll stay with Mr. Chapel,” she concluded, not truly realizing what she said or the implications of what those words meant.

“You jest! You’re not going to stay with this pansy paper man.” Ralph spit, stepping back from Norma. His eyes narrowed and shifted to Mr. Chapel. “Yeah, I know who you are, Chapel.”

When she couldn’t be persuaded by his less-than-honorable words, Ralph looked at Mr. Chapel. He threw his head back, laughter from the pit of his belly billowing over the orchestra music. He laughed as if her resistance to him was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“You missed out, doll.” His words were less than gracious. And even worse, he gave her the up-down with the full intention of insulting her.

Ralph didn’t take another look at Henry, who had crossed his arms and had the faintest glint of victory in his narrowed eyes. Ralph pivoted on his fancy Italian shoes and walked with innate finesse through the crowd—a loss to the paper man didn’t steal his swagger. Following close at his heels was the driver in the dark suit.

Norma hadn’t seen him since the ride to the Jazzy Cat. He must have been lurking in a dark corner until his master was ready to leave. What perfect timing.

Moments passed, and she didn’t dare look at Mr. Chapel or his blonde lady friend. One thing was for sure. The blonde definitely wasn’t happy about the turn of events. Especially since she was practically invisible throughout the fiasco—she may as well have danced a couple songs of the Charleston. Norma didn’t intend to ruin Mr. Chapel’s date, but she also certainly didn’t want to see what Ralph had in store for her.

“I don’t know where to begin.” Mr. Chapel raked a

hand through his sleek ebony hair.

“I was brought here by a friend,” Norma explained, careful not to mention Ingrid. She didn’t want to soil her name or worse, get her fired.

“I figured as much.” He rolled his eyes. “I doubt you have it in you to come to a place like this on your own.”

If Ralph didn’t insult her with his once over, Mr. Chapel did a bang-up job bringing her simmering blood to a full boil. She was certifiably insulted. Was he suggesting she couldn’t take care of herself? Most likely, he was suggesting she was a bore and didn’t know how to have fun. The blonde snickered at his comment.

“Excuse me, Chapel,” Norma snapped. She’d never just used his last name before and should have been a little scared, but the adrenaline kept her bold and barreling forward. “I’ll have you know that I do frequent speakeasies, and I am not a stranger to petting parties!” she shouted over the orchestra.

It would have taken a lot more than a juvenile tantrum for that to be true. Truth was she’d only been to a speakeasy once and had never been to a petting party. Her kissing experience consisted of one man, Jerrod Banks, a former Chicago Daily reporter, who was just as inexperienced as she was. His kisses didn’t nearly have the lightning bolt affect that Henry Chapel’s touch gave her.

“Is that so, Miss Hill? Then why did I have to save you from being mauled by that sap?” His lips pressed together; clearly he didn’t buy any of her lies.

“You are pompous, aren’t you, Mr. Chapel? You didn’t save me. I could’ve taken care of it.” Every part of her face radiated heat; even her ears were on fire. How was this man able to get under her skin like no other, and why did he always look at her mouth that way?

“Then why didn’t you go home with that brute?”

She didn’t know how to respond. They stared deeply in each other’s eyes, neither of them blinking.

Norma’s hands pressed against her slender hips again, as they always seem to when he was around, and her heart raced a million miles a minute. In all honesty, he did save her from Ralph, but she wouldn’t admit to that. “Maybe I was going home with him, but that, sir, is none of your affair!” She looked for the nearest exit. “I,” she began with one last piercing look at him, “am going home...alone.”

Worse exit statement ever said.

Not only did she lie about going home with Ralph, but she admitted she was going home alone, which proved Mr. Chapel’s point. She was indeed a prude and a bore who wouldn’t go to a place like the Jazzy Cat on her own.

A groan escaped her in response to his amused snort, which was full of unspoken judgments. And after feeling so buzzed around him, she needed to put her pride aside and escape while partially on a high note. If possible.

With a snort of her own, she snapped her shoulders back and sliced through the crowd with ease like a knife through a glob of butter, leaving Mr. Chapel to hopefully gape in her wake. Luckily, the spectators of the confrontation had dispersed, and gliding toward the shadowy exit was effortless, which is what she needed—quick, easy.

The alley was dark, and the cold bit at her face in the most painful way. Her arms instantly wrapped around her torso, trying to keep the warmth inside. Chicago’s icy breath had a way of sucking it out of a person. A few loose newspaper pages somersaulted down the alley. The sounds of loose papers seemed eerie and odd because just ten feet away, guys and gals were properly lubricated with gin and clumsily dancing the Charleston inside the bare brick building.

If she could only get her mind wrapped around what had happened. So many emotions bounced through her; she was tortured to say the least. Thoughts of the ridiculous nature formed and quelled quickly in the midst of her tipsy mind. She couldn’t make sense of them. Faint white spots fell behind her closed eyelids like a group of shooting stars exploding across the night sky. She felt woozy. She didn’t drink that much.

A breath of something cryptic whipped around her. Perhaps it was the mint julep doing its worse. The urge to run took precedence, but her legs felt like jelly, and her pinched feet didn’t give much promise to go any real distance. Panic ensued and filled her to the brim. She looked for a place to hide, although she didn’t know exactly what she was hiding from. Some other sense kicked in, telling her things were about to get thick.

Screams pierced her ears as she crouched behind some cardboard boxes away from the flickering street light. In the distance, a dark figure struggled with a woman in full flapper attire. They must have been in the Jazzy Cat, although she didn’t recognize them. Of course, how could she after the debacle with Ralph and Mr. Chapel. The man pulled the redhead by the throat to the side of the alley, suspiciously looking around.

The screams quickly turned into loud toe-curling sobs and muffled words that may have been, stop and help, but they were too low to penetrate the brick building or get the attention of party goers inside the Jazzy Cat. It got her attention though. The long strand of white pearls around the woman’s throat snapped from the force of the strangling and ruptured like hundreds of marbles let loose from a bag.

Norma’s legs turned from jelly to mush. She wanted to help but didn’t know how. She shivered as cold saturated her bones. But fear made the shivering worse. The sound of her teeth chattering boomed between her ears—surprisingly it didn’t get the attention of the assailant. Her hand instinctively went to her mouth to muffle the scream in her throat, and her eyes shut so tightly that they watered. She dipped her head down for a second, still hearing the faint scuffle and then stretched her neck to peer over the large box, hoping she didn’t let her presence be known.

The woman tugged at the man’s wrists, pulling and yanking but unsuccessfully as he strangled her. Kicking her legs didn’t do much either to lessen the iron-clad hold the man had on the poor woman. Her dress hiked up with each kick, a sturdy garter belt exposed on the left thigh. A breast found its way out of the chiffon dress during the struggle as well.

The scuffle seemed to last for ages. It looked like something Norma had seen at Balaban and Katz Chicago Theater for the Shakespeare Week. Was it real or a game? The woman was ruthlessly manhandled and neither laughed. It couldn’t have just been horseplay. Norma had the urge to jump up from behind the boxes. Could she possibly spook off the man? The urge to do so was fleeting. Instead, she ducked down lower behind the cardboard, still knowing she had to do something.

Her heart raced faster every moment until she decided to act. With all the courage she could muster, she rose to numb feet in a wide-legged stance, knees ready to buckle at any moment. Her intention was to yell stop or leave her alone or any coherent statement that escaped her fuzzy mind, but it was too late. She could’ve said anything, but no one was there to hear it. She was completely alone. The redhead and the dark man were gone—like it never happened. She heard only the soft whispers of Chicago breathing in her ears.