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October 4th, 1921 The Chestnut Club
PAGE kept leaning into Matt, letting him lead the way as they waltzed around the crowded and dimly lit dance floor. Tall narrow tables and a smattering of stools for people to perch on had been crammed too close together against the walls, leaving a lot of space in the middle of the room, but it was still not enough. Too many dancers occupied the area. But although all Matt’s attention was focused on her, as it ought to be, he somehow managed to keep them from bumping into anyone. As if he had some sort of radar.
The air was thick was sweat and smoke and the noise of dozens of people talking beneath the blare of the band. The hum of happy conversations suddenly surged as the instruments trailed off the end of one number, then submerged again under a new song starting. A faster tune this time, and she and Matt transitioned seamlessly into a foxtrot.
The two of them had only started learning how to dance, proper ballroom dances, three weeks ago, back in nineteen eighteen, but it had been easier to pick up the simple steps than she’d expected. Really, it wasn’t much more than walking, shuffling and swaying along with the music, matching her movements to the rhythm of the beat. Although the timing changed depending on the tune, she only had to pay attention to that—and follow her partner’s lead. But this was one of those times she liked to let him have control.
So close, they could converse at normal volume and still hear each other over the music. “This is all far less formal than I’d imagined it would be.” And more intimate.
Matt nodded. “I think ballroom dancing in my time was rather rigidly choreographed. A lot more about putting on a show and probably taken too seriously for most people to really enjoy. This is a lot more casual and fun, which has to be why everyone is doing it.”
It was very popular, certainly. Since they’d arrived in nineteen twenty-one last week, they’d gone dancing every night, a different club each time, and the places had always been packed. Everybody had clearly been enjoying themselves. So he was probably right. “It’s like one long party.”
“Not for everyone, I’m sure, but with the war in the rearview mirror and the economy improving, it must feel worth celebrating, everything looking up. Of course it won’t last.”
Page nodded. So much information about this ancient period of history had been lost by her time, but she knew about the Great Depression, and how it had followed the Jazz Age. “When does the party end, then?” This era was relatively recent history to him, so Matt should be able to provide her with lots of helpful details. And sometimes he could.
“A little over eight years before it comes crashing down, but the party will continue. Only, then it will be as a distraction from how horrible things are—and probably involve a lot more drinking.”
She shook her head, not wanting such thoughts to detract from the fun they were having at the moment. They would see the hardship for themselves soon enough, they might as well enjoy the twenties while they were here. And so far they were.
Then she noticed him glancing around, peering past the other couples at the shadowy forms on the edge of the dance floor, standing or sitting there as they imbibed, and wondered why he was interested in them. She also wondered where all those people were getting their drinks, since selling intoxicating beverages was illegal. Supposedly. So she asked.
Matt shrugged. “Given the high price of admission, I suspect somebody’s supplying all the booze, but if it’s our hostess providing refreshments, she’s being very discreet about it. But then she would.”
Page waited until they’d glided around a pair of enthusiastic dancers kicking up their heels. “That’s what you keep trying to see? Somebody delivering drinks?”
He shook his head slightly. “Not our business. No, I just had a feeling we were being watched.”
“Who would? Who could?” Between the darkness and the cigarette smoke, it was too difficult to see anyone clearly.
He only responded to her first question. “Well, you’re certainly worth looking at. Especially as you didn’t dress in one of those silly flapper outfits. I’m rather surprised you haven’t yet though. Isn’t that the trendy thing?”
She gave him an icy glare. “I like to be fashionable, but I don’t follow fads.” Especially when they consisted of wearing flimsy, garish garments, smoking cigarettes, and getting sloshed. Not to mention slathering on enough makeup to make one look like a clown. The magazines were pushing that lifestyle at young women, popularizing it. Selling it to them along with all the mass-produced merchandise the trendy had to have. Including the magazines themselves. This was the start of what Matt liked to call crass commercialism.
He grinned at her in that infuriating way of his. “Well, you always look stylish, so I guess you know what you’re doing.”
Trying to ignore the compliment, she returned to the subject at hand. “So, is this a speakeasy? Or not? And if Tennessee Tess isn’t selling them alcohol, who is?”
Staring over her shoulder, he moved his mouth closer to her ear and spoke softly. “I’m not sure, but booze seems to be available almost anywhere. Only it isn’t obvious. Bootleggers all over the place, if you know how to recognize them, but I don’t. And then you remember that soda shop down the street?”
“The one which was advertising ginger ale and root beer in the window?” The band paused again, and they separated a half step.
He nodded. “Chances are you could get intoxicating beverages there as well as pop.”
She shook her head. “Not particularly subtle.”
“Apparently they don’t have to be. Prohibition in name only, here and now anyway.”
Then a trumpet blared the beginning of a tango and Matt was pulling her back against him, tighter this time. They started sliding across the floor, and she had no more thought for talking. As simple and similar as all these dances were, there was plenty of room for variation, and Matt not only knew a lot of those modified steps, he’d gotten quite good at improvising as he went along. It kept things from getting repetitive and also kept her on her toes. Especially with the slightly more dramatic tango.
Page stared into his eyes as they turned slowly, shifted back and turned again, and wondered what he was waiting for. His feelings for her were growing increasingly obvious, but he hadn’t said a word about them. Or tried to kiss her, though she wasn’t sure she would let him. Not yet.
The last time hadn’t been particularly pleasant, but then that hadn’t been a proper kiss. He’d been delirious with fever and unaware of what was happening and apparently only remembered it as a hallucination or dream. She’d decided not to enlighten him. But it had started her wondering when they’d kiss for real, a true test to find out what it was like, hopefully before they reached the era of those kissing marathons he’d mentioned, to know whether or not she would participate. And she’d calculated she wouldn’t have long to wait. After all, ever since she had met him Matt had been so spontaneous, so impetuous, it had annoyed her no end.
He had gotten himself into trouble any number of times, and her with him, by acting so brashly. It had irritated her from the first, but she hadn’t been able to get rid of him. Now she didn’t want to. She had grown accustomed to the man, to his attempts to be amusing and even to his stubborn streak. He did have his good points, like loyalty, but excessive consideration for her concerns wasn’t one of them. As helpful as he was when he went along with what she wanted him to do, he often seemed to think he knew better. And said so.
It made it all the more frustrating to her, then, that he still hadn’t made a move. Matt was too unpredictable for her to even try to work out what that might be, but she had expected something long before now. And still she waited.
Perhaps the dating and dancing they enjoyed as part of her research into twentieth century courting rituals was the problem. If he was happy with their relationship as it was—unspoken and undefined as that might be—
He swung her to the left and held her there for a single beat, interrupting her train of thought for the umpteenth time before swinging back into motion. Was he satisfied with the status quo? With simply being her partner out on the dance floor?
That could be the explanation, but how to know for sure and what to do about it, that would have to wait for when he wasn’t whirling her in his arms as music thrummed through her body, disrupting her concentration. It was all she could do to keep time and avoid stumbling with him staring into her eyes like that. She wondered what he saw in them.
Before she knew it, the band was screeching to the end and lowering their instruments to take ten, and Matt was taking a small step back, still holding her arms. Then he coughed and looked around the room. “All this smoke doesn’t bother me as bad as it used to, but I think I’ve had enough. How about getting some fresh air?”
Page nodded as she took a minute to catch her breath. “First we should present our compliments to the hostess. After that—do you have any suggestions?” It was her research, but he sometimes had a good idea.
With his hand on her elbow, he started guiding her off the dance floor. “Maybe we should head up to Harlem and listen to some real jazz. Though we should probably get a bite to eat beforehand.”
“Isn’t this real jazz?” Her free arm gestured at the members of the band decamping, likely looking for a meal themselves.
Matt shook his head. “It’s jazz, but.” For once he seemed to be unsure how to explain something. “It’s a certain kind, meant for the people who come to places like this. Jazz to dance to.”
She was confused, and he wasn’t helping. “You can’t dance to real jazz?”
“Not this kind of dancing, no.”
Page doubted he really knew what he was talking about. The only way to know was to go and see for herself, but she didn’t feel like spending the rest of the night in another dingy dive listening to more music, whatever kind it was and whether you could dance to it in any way. “Some other time. Let’s go see a movie instead.”
Matt made a face, which wasn’t surprising considering how little he had cared for the ‘silent’ movie they had gone to on Friday night. She, however, had loved the experience, the picture itself and the beautiful piano music a man had played to accompany the visuals. Much more enjoyable than those ‘modern’ movies Matt had liked seeing back in the twenty-first century. They hadn’t had anything like either where, or when, she’d come from, so she had put up with going to a couple of those—Matt could manage to sit through a Chaplin or Valentino.
Besides, while she allowed him to make suggestions, their ‘dates’ were always her call. “I’ll let you pick where we eat though.” He always chose someplace casual, but that was what she felt like tonight, so it was alright.
As they neared the front of the house and their hostess, Page shrugged his hand off her elbow and smiled so he didn’t take it wrong. Then she turned her attention to Tennessee Tess, who was standing on an elevated section of the floor near the door as she watched over her ‘guests’ with a satisfied smile on her face. The coffee-with-cream complexion reflected the woman’s mixed-race heritage, while the smooth skin was evidence of a healthy lifestyle. Despite how she might make her living.
And if the woman was at all worried about any potentially illegal provision of alcohol in this place, it didn’t show. But however curious Page might be about the woman’s background or business, introducing the topic would definitely be awkward. And probably gauche.
So as they approached their hostess on the way out, Page kept her comments blandly polite. “Miss Tess? We wanted to thank you for welcoming us to your club. You’ve got a great band, and we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.”
The woman just shook her head. “I’m glad, but you two haven’t really accepted my hospitality until you’ve let me get you a drink, so I don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”
“For the music and the dancing, of course.”
Tess grinned. “But now you’ve stopped prancing around, why not sit down and relax with something for a bit? I make a mean martini.”
Page cocked her head. “An angry drink?”
Matt gave her one of those looks, then turned a wide smile on their hostess. “We appreciate the offer, really, but we only came for the dancing, and so we’ll have to decline. We’ve worked up an appetite and need a hearty meal more than a cocktail.”
Page preferred to think their entrance fee went to pay for the band rather than illegal booze, so she nodded along with what Matt was saying. And neither of them really drank—at least she didn’t think he did—but saying so might not be the thing. Hard to explain, too. So she’d let Matt do all the talking. At least for the moment.
But then a harsh whistle blew, cutting through the babble of conversation and bringing a moment of silence which was quickly broken by the sound of stomping boots as a bunch of uniformed men came bursting through the door. Their apparent leader, a stout fellow whose brass buttons bulged out on his blue tunic, stood in front of the entrance and shouted orders. “This is a raid. Everybody stay put and don’t try any funny business.” The other policemen were already fanning out across the room.
Though the interruption had been startling, no one seemed surprised or alarmed or reacted much at all at first. Page found that remarkable. But not as surprising as the subsequent scene which played out. The people who’d been sitting stood, while the others who’d been standing and drinking—or milling about on the dance floor waiting for the band to return—calmly began sauntering toward the exit as if to leave. And the police didn’t try to stop them or even pay particular attention to the guests who moseyed out of the club, many of whom were carrying liquor bottles with them as they walked around the officer in charge and out the door. He marched up to Tennessee Tess with a belligerent look in his eye while the rest concentrated on cornering a handful of young women who had stayed behind.
Matt grabbed Page’s arm and pulled her back a few steps, away from Tess and the large policeman but not so far they couldn’t hear, particularly since the sergeant—that’s what she thought those stripes on his shoulder meant—boomed so.
“You’re operating an illegal establishment, selling intoxicating spirits, in violation of the Volstead Act, and I’m afraid I’ll have to shut you down.” He stared pointedly at the bottles and glasses that had been abandoned on the tables.
Seemingly unconcerned, Tess simply shook her head. “And I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, Sgt. O’Reilly. This is only a social club, and I’m not selling anything. I suppose some of my guests must’ve brought booze with them, but that’s not against the law.” She glanced over at Matt and Page. “It’s true I sometimes offer someone a drink, simply to be hospitable, and sometimes they ask for something alcoholic. But it’s not illegal to give anyone a free drink. Which I’m sure you know.”
O’Reilly had relaxed some as he listened to her and appeared a lot less antagonistic. “Well, if that’s all true...” He looked across the room at the young women who’d stayed, now sitting at some of the tables against one wall and being watched over by the other policemen. Waiting to be questioned, apparently. “Then why do you need waitresses?”
She slowly shook her head again. “They’re not waitresses, O’Reilly. Those are friends of mine who like to help out is all.”
“Out of the goodness of their hearts?”
She smiled. “Sure. They’re very generous girls—as your men will find out.”
The sergeant gave the other policemen a subtle nod, and Tess watched with approval as those men took seats next to the young women and started to talk to them. As it happened, every one of those tables had a bottle or two of liquor still standing on it. Page wondered if that were a coincidence. Considering the quantity that had been left behind, it was possible but somehow seemed doubtful.
O’Reilly turned his attention back to Tess. “I’ll need to ask you a few more questions myself.”
“Of course, Sergeant. But why don’t we go back to my office and relax while we talk.” She smiled at him. “And you can sample my hospitality.”
He glanced over at Matt and Page, then replied in a gruff voice. “We’ll see. Lead the way.” And he followed her sashaying figure down and toward the back of the club. While they walked away, Page distinctly heard him say, “My throat is getting dry.”
What had seemed at the start to be an awkward situation had turned absurd. For a few short minutes Page studied the way the other policemen were sitting and chatting with the remaining girls. They all appeared to be getting along quite companionably. Those men weren’t interrogating the women or even interviewing them as far as she could see. And then they began to accept drinks from the girls. The way they were behaving...
She turned to squint at Matt. “How would you describe what they’re doing?”
He shifted his eyes from her to the scene she’d been watching. “I’d call it flirting myself. But I rather imagine the cops would call it ‘providing entertainment’—if they weren’t on the receiving end. It’s a chargeable offense, I think.” Then he grinned.
Page glared at him. “Are you saying those girls are—” She wasn’t sure what word she wanted.
Matt shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think they’re just being overly friendly. Between that and the booze, it would probably be considered bribery if those cops cared about that. But they seem to be enjoying themselves.”
Page had to agree. It was an aspect to courting in this era she had not given much thought to and didn’t want to think about now. Instead she threaded her arm through Matt’s and steered him toward the door. Important for him to know she wouldn’t always let him take control. “And now we head for wherever it is you’d like to eat.” He had been right about having worked up an appetite.
Together they sauntered out of the club as casually as the other guests had several minutes earlier. Feeling the tension in Matt’s arm, she knew that for all his outward insouciance, he likely half-expected one of the officers inside to challenge them on their way out. Of course, her personal experience of law enforcement was quite different from his—at least it had been until she’d met him. But he ought to understand that those policemen were far too focused on the girls they were ‘interviewing’ to be bothered with the two of them.
Outside, they both took deep breaths of the relatively fresh air. Page noticed the police cars which were parked all around the entrance and the couple of constables standing by and spared a thought for how their circumstances compared with their fellow officers inside. These two must’ve drawn the short straw. And she saw the small crowd that had gathered beyond, passersby who had paused in hope of seeing something exciting, presumably. They were likely to be disappointed. But most of her mind was busy appreciating the sight of Manhattan at night.
Despite having been a week in nineteen twenty-one, she remained impressed by the changes which had taken place since nineteen eighteen. Probably because for her it had happened overnight. For the natives it would’ve occurred gradually over the last three years, and apparently didn’t inspire them the same way. But this explosion of colored lights and big, bright signs was quite the sight compared with how Midtown had seemed when the war was winding down. Still nothing like it would be in a few decades, but all the nicer for that.
And the weather was perfect. Warm but with a light refreshing breeze. Matt’s notion of not Traveling the full three years but ‘backing up’ to arrive in late September, rather than November, had been a good idea. He did have them sometimes. Just not as often as he imagined.
They turned right to head the half a block down to Columbus Circle, but the constables who’d been standing around suddenly moved forward to block their way. Matt’s way specifically. One of the men, tall with a mop of curly black hair, stood in front of Page but pretended she wasn’t even there. The other, a short fellow with light brown hair plastered to his scalp, drew his baton and leveled it menacingly at Matt. Together they made an effective barricade.
The one with the baton pointed it at Matt’s face and spoke with a whiny voice. “We’re arresting you for fleeing an illegal establishment. It’ll be better if you come peaceably, otherwise we’ll have to add resisting arrest to the charges.” The man’s smile was saying he really wouldn’t mind.
Page was surprised to feel the tension go out of Matt’s arm. He grinned at her before turning it on the police in front of them. “Charges? Really? Did you stop everybody else as they came out? Did you arrest them all and already cart them off in a paddy wagon?”
The shorter one snorted and looked at the other. “I don’t think he thinks we’re serious, Liam.”
Liam shook his head. “It doesn’t sound like he does, Sid. By the way, did you see anybody else try to escape from this place?” While speaking, he had not moved his gaze from Matt.
“Nope, can’t say I did. And as it’s a known purveyor of illegal intoxicating beverages being raided by our colleagues, it doesn’t look good for this guy.” He turned to Matt. “Try your excuses on the judge and see where they get you.” Then back to his partner. “We’ll have to take him in for interrogation.”
Nodding, the one called Liam pulled out a pair of handcuffs and held them up. “Well, you want to cause trouble?”
Matt smiled as he took his arm back from Page and held out his wrists. “I wouldn’t dream of making things difficult for you gentlemen.” The sarcastic tone made her wonder if he intended to put up a fight. Apparently not.
Matt might not want to give these men any excuse for getting rough with him by resisting arrest, which was unusually sensible of him, but he wasn’t able to control his smart mouth. Page had to hope that wouldn’t be enough to anger these policemen. But then it hurt her to see them handcuff him, and she was beginning to become severely irritated with them. Not only because of the way they were treating Matt, which was ridiculous, but because of how they continued to ignore her. Which was inexcusable and inexplicable.
As they started pulling him away from her, she started to follow. That clearly confused the policemen, who stopped and stared at her, seemingly incapable of speech for a long moment. Who or what did they think she was?
Finally the short Sid frowned at her and spoke. “Say, Lady, you can’t come along. Not for this. We gotta take the guy down to the precinct for processing, and that’s no place for a woman. Not one like you, anyway.”
Page shook her head at them. “Nonsense. He’s my—” She hesitated. Calling Matt her date probably wouldn’t sound to them like a reason for her to accompany him. He was neither fiancé nor employee, and saying he helped her with research might be misconstrued. Especially if they made her describe what that was and what it entailed.
Of course. With the help of the bank which administered the Travelers’ Trust, Page and Matt had set up a holding company and used that to purchase the Hotel Ngaio—mostly to make sure there would always be rooms available for them as they skipped ahead through time—so he could be considered her business partner. She hoped they wouldn’t ask her to prove that, though. “He’s my partner, and I have to protect my interests. So I go where he goes.”
She could see they didn’t like it. So before they could come up with a reason she couldn’t tag along, she pulled a twenty from her clutch and slipped it to tall Liam. “Surely you two don’t mind taking me to your police station?” She’d discovered the utility of a well-placed tip in nineteen eighteen and hoped it would be effective here and now too. She thought of it as a legitimate use of the funds she received to pay for research expenses. Especially when it worked.
The taller policeman lifted his eyebrows toward his shorter colleague, then seeing Sid’s nod back at him, shrugged and pocketed the twenty-dollar bill. Opening the front passenger door to one of the police cars, Liam waved her in. “I’ll drive, Miss, while my partner sits with your—partner—in the back.”
Page nodded and slid onto the seat while Liam and Sid shoved Matt in the back and Sid climbed in after him. Liam crossed around to the driver’s side door and got in behind the wheel. Then they pulled away from the curb, and Page checked the rearview mirror to see Sid mopping sweat off his brow while Matt grinned at her. And she hoped there would be somebody sensible at the police station. Somebody who could correct whatever mistake these men had made. Since she couldn’t rely on that, she was glad she had plenty of cash on her.
Meeting Matt’s eyes in the mirror again, seeing that stupid grin on his face, Page glared. What sort of mess had he managed to get her in this time?