“IT’S LIKE A BEAUTIFUL DREAM,” MUTZIE THOUGHT, AS SHE looked out of the window at the wide expanse of green lawn that slanted gently to the lake. She could see children flashing down the slide, hitting the water and stirring up a splash that in the sunlight looked like crystal bubbles bursting out of the slate gray lake.

Their mothers sat lounging on chairs or playing cards under gaily striped umbrellas. Some of the older children swam in the cordoned off swimming area while a few tiny sailboats, like paper toys, skirted beyond the painted buoys, sails flapping in the light breeze.

She marveled at the way in which her life changed so dramatically. She had become a woman and won the heart of a powerful man who protected her and showed her a new and exciting world, a long way from the drab, colorless, boring life she had been leading.

“Just look at this gorgeous sight,” she whispered aloud. She had turned away from the window and looked into the full-length mirror at the new dress Pep had bought her. What men do, men do, she assured herself. They had their reasons. She concluded that Pep was like a soldier in an army that was at war, and in a war sometimes people got hurt, or worse. Like in those war movies about the World War. If you thought of it that way, you knew you had to stop thinking about what happened on the battlefield and act more like the women who stayed at home.

She turned away from the mirror to look outside again. The beauty of the view soothed the nagging irritation of these dark thoughts. Of course, she had gotten good at pretending that she was walking around with blinders on, with ears stuffed with cotton and a mouth that uttered hardly anything except when she alone was with Pep.

So far, being Pep’s girl, his numba one as he called her, was like being a celebrity. People said, “That’s Pep’s girl” and looked at her with what she thought was awesome respect. Besides, if anyone, including his associates in the combination, did not show her respect, that person would have hell to pay. She was very careful not to be overly friendly with anyone and to keep to herself. Besides, she had the sensation that the women were keeping her under extra-special surveillance. Pep had a real jealous streak. Actually, she liked that. It made her feel really special, valuable, worth protecting. And he had taught her all those moves to show her gratitude.

She was, of course, true to her promise. She never again asked him what he did to make his living. She found that she could separate it in her mind. Not that she had to lie to herself. All she had to do was to imagine herself as a thoroughbred horse with blinders running around the track. Over and over again. Round and round. It was nice to be pampered, noticed, admired and showered with perks and presents.

As her father had said countless times, the world belongs to them that have the gelt and the objective was to get it and not be pushed around. Wasn’t that the real American dream? Wasn’t that what being a go-getter meant? Hadn’t she been a go-getter by transforming herself to look like a Hollywood star?

Her role was to be Pep’s girl. She was not stupid enough to believe that everything they did was legitimate. Legitimacy, she knew, had lots of gray areas. Prohibition was the law, but drinking went on anyway because people liked to drink; they needed to drink and have fun. In the movies there were lots of people shown drinking and having fun in speakeasies. So what was wrong with that?

Okay, so there was bookmaking. People loved to play the horses and the numbers. They derived pleasure from that. Somebody had to run these things. Sometimes laws were silly. She had seen with her own eyes cops in uniform getting paid off by the boys on the corner. Everybody knew that the law was a joke.

And borrowing money when a bank was too stuffy to lend it was okay, too. The people that lent money to people of high risk deserved to be paid high interest rates for that risk. There were other things, too, that made sense if one thought about it carefully. Businesses did need protection against unscrupulous competitors, and sometimes businesses and unions did need middlemen to negotiate things away from public scrutiny. It wasn’t her job to be judge and jury. Besides, she had learned life had trade-offs.

She could put two and two together. She knew Pep and his friends were what people generally referred to as gangsters. She had seen enough gangster movies to know what that was. But she was able to separate what he did, which she didn’t know for sure, from what he really was, which was the most important thing. Okay, there were rumors and things said. As she had learned early in life if you are afraid of the dark, don’t go into dark places.

Pep’s work, she told herself, was certainly adventurous and filled with excitement, and probably courage, too, because what Pep and his associates did was, she assumed, dangerous work. Maybe there were killings connected to it, but they were most certainly righteous killings, necessary to protect themselves and probably society from extremely evil and greedy people. Like Robin Hood perhaps. She could live with that idea. Still better, she forced herself to put any contrary thoughts completely out of her mind.

The important thing for her just as for the wives and girlfriends of the other fellows in the combination, was that their men were good husbands or boyfriends or fathers or sons and, of course, good providers. Pep was a wonderful son who treated his parents with great respect and was generous in his support. He was also a good uncle and brother. These were the real criteria by which to judge a man’s true character as far as she was concerned. Weren’t they?

Often she heard people say things behind her back that were not exactly complimentary. Even here at Gorlick’s, some of the other women were snooty to her or looked down on her. She attributed that to jealousy. She had the best and handsomest man of all of them.

She heard rumors, of course, that Pep might have other girls. She didn’t exactly like it, but she never ever confronted him with such suspicions. That was none of her business, either. After all, she was the one he had chosen to put up in Gorlick’s for the summer. She was his number one. If there was a number two or three she never asked.

He was also very sweet and generous to her. He bought her dresses and shoes and gave her presents. He also gave her fancy underwear and he liked her to dress up with garter belts and high heels and brassieres that pushed her breasts into high mounds. He taught her about sex, and especially about those things he liked her to do to him.

In doing those things, she felt like an actress in a movie, and he was the director. Her role was to perform and please him, which she did with obedience and enthusiasm. Once or twice she even had an orgasm, but for her, the most important thing was to give Pep pleasure. Soon she began to believe that her mother’s ideas about purity and marriage and being an old maid were laughable. Where would marriage get her?

The game plan at Gorlick’s was for the men to come up on weekends and the women to stay on during the week. Some men stayed all week, but mostly they kept to themselves all day, playing cards or taking walks together, meeting with their women or children only at mealtimes.

Pep wanted Abie Reles’s wife, Helen, to keep an eye on her, but that didn’t work out very well since Helen Reles played cards most of the day and night, which meant that Mutzie was stuck being a babysitter for their son, who was a brat. When she complained to Pep, he put an end to it. The Reles kid was a pain in the ass.

The fact that Mutzie wasn’t a card player was a definite social handicap. She was younger than most of the others, too. Not to mention the obvious, which was that she attracted a good deal of attention from the men. This didn’t sit too well with the women and probably inspired a great deal of jealousy toward her. Of course, she understood that. Also, there was a certain status in being Pep’s girlfriend, which meant she couldn’t be friendly with just anyone. Besides, she wasn’t the gregarious type. The result was that during the week, she kept to herself mostly, waiting for Pep to come up for the weekend. She sensed that people got used to her being alone and soon accepted it.

At meal times she ate at the same table with Helen and Harriet, Bugsy’s wife, and some of the others, but she was rarely part of the main conversation, although she listened to what was being said. Rarely did the women discuss anything about their husband’s business, which apparently was the rules of the game. Mutzie was certain that they were watching her to be sure that she was sticking to the letter of the rules.

Being with these women did, however, make her realize that being the wife or girlfriend of a gangster was no bed of roses. Kid Twist had spent three years in Elmira, a state prison, and was always being hauled in by the police on suspicion of something or other. The same was true of Pep and Bugsy Goldstein.

But the women led her to believe that what the police were doing were harassing their men largely because they were not the ones in on the “take.”

“They’re always picking on the boys because they want a piece of the action,” Helen told her. “Simple as that. It’s true that sometimes my Abie loses his temper and does things maybe he shouldn’t, but as far as I’m concerned he’s a good husband and father and provider and those things matter the most to me.”

During the first week of her stay at Gorlick’s, Mutzie was subject to words of advice from both Reles’s and Goldstein’s wife. They added up to what she already knew, which was never ever to double-cross Pep or even look at another man while she was Pep’s girl.

Although she didn’t complain to Pep that she was lonely during the week, he must have gotten differing reports from the other women.

“You bored up here, Mutzie?” he asked her one Friday night after they had made love. Pep was always pretty hot when he came in from the city on Friday afternoons. The first time was always over with quick.

“I’ll bet you heard that from the other girls. They probably think I’m stuck-up when all I want to be is alone. I’m happy here, Pep. Especially when you come up.”

Above all, she didn’t want him to think that she was unhappy, ungrateful or troublesome to him. It was certainly better being at Gorlick’s than in the hot city and her parent’s stinking apartment for the summer. And she had Pep on weekends and all the prestige that went with being his girl.

“Those cunts are all jealous, ya know,” Pep said as they lay naked in bed. “Yaw a looker and they all got them fat Jewish tushes.”

“Maybe, but they don’t really bother me.”

“They bother ya, I’ll give ’em a headache they don’t feget. Maybe I gotta talk to them.”

“I wouldn’t like that, Pep. And I’m not bored. Mickey Fine … he’s the tumler, puts on some really good shows. And there’s movies twice a week. You know how I like movies.”

“He can be funny sometimes, that Mickey,” Pep said.

“He treats me very nice. A perfect gentleman.”

“Putz better be.” Pep suddenly became reflective. “He’s a good kid. We did business wid his fada. They got a staw sells foundation garments. I’m gonna talk to him to keep an eye out.”

“You don’t have to do that, Pep.”

“Maybe ya keep away from dem cunts, ya be better awf. Mickey’s job is to make ya happy heah, make ya laugh. I don want no long face when I come heah. I want happy. Women don make love so good when dere not happy. I come up here I want no aggravation.”

“Believe me, Pep, I don’t want any aggravation for you. No way. All I want is to make you happy.”

“You make him happy,” he said after a pause, pointing to his growing hard-on. “He’s happy, I’m happy.”

“What a beauty, Pep,” she cried, touching its velvety head with her lips. “It’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw.” She had learned all about the special compliments he liked to hear.

“It’s just faw you baby. Just faw you.”

She would spend the weekend as close to him as he would let her get. She would stand right behind him when he played cards with the boys or blackjack at the tables and he called her his good-luck charm. She would even be close by when he just sat around and schmoozed with the boys, most times being the only woman in the group.

She wasn’t ever part of the conversation and it wasn’t long before she knew she was considered more like an ornament, Pep’s ornament, like a tie clasp or diamond cufflinks, a thing to admire then ignore.

She was always fearful that they would send her away, and because of that maintained a kind of indifferent expression, as if she wasn’t listening to what the men said to each other. The fact was that it was impossible not to hear, although she tried her best to quickly forget what was said.

They told some weird stories and sometimes it wasn’t easy to pretend that she was not listening.

Like Kid Twist’s story about some man named Ernie.

“We brung him to my place. My mudder-in-law was in da next room. So I get the rope and Pep gets da pick and so fa da guy knows from nothin, but somehow he sees da rope in my hand and he gets antsy. Den he sees da pick and he goes crazy and he bites Pep’s fingah.” Reles started to howl with laughter. “And Pep gets real mad and he asks me fa a Band-Aid. I say, ‘Now in da middle a dis? Can’t you wait till we finish?’ But Pep says, ‘He’s gonna give me goims, maybe hydrophobia or sumpin.’ So I said we better hurry so we can get the iodine. ‘Iodine’ he cries out. ‘That hoits. Ain’t ya got mercurochrome?’ ” Again he doubled up with laughter.

“So what happened?” one of the men asked.

“We hurried,” Kid Twist said. “My mudder-in-law yells from her room. ‘What’s happenin down dere, Abie’ and I calls back and says, ‘Nothin, Ma, Pep just got his fingah bit.’ ‘You want I should get him a Band-Aid’ the old lady calls back. So I tell her ta shuddup and go back ta sleep and I’ll take care of Pep’s fuckin fingah.”

He bent double with laughter. Naturally, Mutzie pretended not to hear, taking out her compact and fixing her face. She wasn’t sure what they meant when they talked of hurrying something, but she was certain that Pep didn’t do anything really bad. At least she hoped not.

Sometimes one of the men might mention keeping it down in Mutzie’s presence.

“Never mind Mutzie,” Pep would say. “She don know nothin, right, baby?”

Mutzie would shrug and nod and bend down and kiss Pep on the lips and he would pat her on the ass.

“You got a great lookin whatamacallit,” Kid Twist would say to Pep winking in her direction.

“My protégée,” Pep would say, giving the men around the table a big grin. “Best of all, she’s good to Peppy, ain’t you, baby?”

Her response was always to kiss him or sometimes to sit on his lap. Occasionally Pep would squeeze her breasts in front of the men, but it was playful and not mean and didn’t embarrass her, although she would push his hand away as a show of dignity.

Once, Bugsy Goldstein baited him as they played cards. He had, she noted, lost a great deal that night and was probably feeling sore and nasty. Mutzie, as always, stood right behind Pep with her hand on his shoulder. He caressed her arm as he played. It was between hands and she had bent down to get a kiss and while he kissed her he squeezed her breasts.

“Five bucks says dey ain’t real,” Bugsy said suddenly.

“Ain’t real?” Pep squeezed and she pushed his hand away. “Any udder takers on dat?”

“I got five,” Kid Twist said.

“Me, too,” Charlie Workman said.

“Na,” Pep said. “Double maybe.” He looked up at Mutzie. “Right, doll?”

She wasn’t quite sure what was going on so she nodded.

“Okay, doubles,” Bugsy said and the other men at the table agreed. The money was put in the center of the table as if it was a poker pot. Mutzie was wearing a dress that wasn’t very low cut and, as usual, she had on a pointy brassiere.

“C’mere sweets,” Pep said. He guided her to his lap and put his arms around her. Then she realized that he was undoing the back of her dress. She tried to get away but he held her fast. The men laughed.

“Hey, Mutzie. Money’s on da table. Yaw gonna win it for us, right, doll?”

“Pep, don’t,” she squirmed. Yet, although she was embarrassed, she did not feel frightened. Pep was just having fun, kidding around. It was just a joke. Wasn’t it? He wasn’t going to really let it happen. Then suddenly Pep grabbed her hard by the shoulders.

“Ya gonna make me tear this shmata?” he said. “Jes a bet, baby, for old Pep.”

“Please, Pep,” she begged.

“Jes a free show, baby. No harm in it. Dese are my buddies.”

She tried to wiggle free and he slapped her hard on her upper arm. Her response was to stop wiggling and hide her face in his neck. Pep unhooked her bra and she felt her breasts fall free. Then he pushed her to a position that gave the men a good look. She kept her eyes tight shut. She felt sick to her stomach.

“Them’s as real as your balls, Bugsy,” Pep said proudly.

“I don know, Pep, if I can believe my eyes,” Bugsy said. “Some things ya can only tell by feel.” He put out his hand and squeezed Mutzie’s breasts. His touch filled her with self-disgust.

“Real, I tink,” Bugsy said.

“Lemmee make sure,” Kid Twist said. He moved to where she was sitting on Pep’s lap and also felt them. Then Charlie Workman did the same. A sob began to grow inside of her. She tried to imagine this was happening to someone else. It was the most shamful moment in her whole life.

“We win,” Pep said, kissing Mutzie’s cheek. Then he pushed her off his lap and let her straighten herself. She felt herself about to burst into tears, but she held back. She would not give them the satisfaction. Besides, she was completely confused. How could Pep have let this happen?

“She’s a real good sport,” Bugsy said.

“Real good,” Kid Twist agreed.

Pep stuck out a finger and winked.

“And dat’s all ya gonna get,” Pep said, laughing.

That night when they got back to the room, she told him. “How could you?” she snapped. “I really felt like a hooer.”

“Aw, baby. It was only fun. Da boys got a kick outa it. Dey know you ain’t no hooer.”

“You wouldn’t do it with Helen Reles.”

“Who wants to see Helen’s tits? Besides, we all seen them. They hang down to her pupik. We’re all like bruddas, Mutzie.”

“You promised to respect me,” she said.

“Jeez, Mutz. I didn’t mean no harm. Hell, I’m real proud of those bazooms.”

“They are for your eyes only, Pep. And nobody but you touches.”

She felt her temper rise. For the first time with Pep, she felt abject fear and the full extent of his control over her.

“Yeah. Yeah. I was just kiddin aroun. And if you show ’em to anyone else I squeeze his nuts off.”

“No more, Pep. Promise.”

“Cross my heart, Mutz.”

By then he was already undressing her and touching her everywhere. He pushed her down on the bed and took off her panties, then he pulled her legs apart.

“They ain’t never gonna see this,” he said. “Ain’t that a sight.” He bent down and started to kiss her there. Then he stopped. “Not for forty lousy bucks.” He giggled and went back to what he was doing. She felt no sensation. Only fear.

One Sunday in late June she was accompanying Pep to his Caddy, parked in the front driveway ready for the trip back to the city. They bumped into Mickey Fine, who was just hopping out of the Gorlick bus, which had taken people to the bus station in town.

“Hey, tumler,” Pep shouted, calling him over. Pep was a hard one to please when it came to humor, but somehow Mickey managed to make him laugh whether on the stage or just offering a passing remark. Pep and Mutzie did not spend much time at the various weekend shows. Pep either played cards, schmoozed with the boys or made love to her. That was his typical weekend.

“Yes, Mr. Strauss,” Mickey said. Mutzie could tell that Mickey was afraid of Pep, but then most people were, except his closest friends like Reles and Goldstein and some of the Italian boys that came up on weekends, like Louis Capone and Dasher Abbandando.

This particular weekend had not been a good one for Pep and Mutzie. In the first place she had her period. Pep was too fastidious to make love to her when she had her period, although she did manage to satisfy him in other ways. But it was not the same, not for him.

“Ya shoulda called and tole me ya was wearin da rag,” he rebuked her when he discovered that she was having her period.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come up,” she said.

“I wouldna,” Pep said. “I hate when women got da rag on. It’s a mess and dey stink.”

“It’s not like it is my fault,” she told him in a muted rebuke.

“I’m not saying that wearin da rag was yaw fault, I’m saying that you shoulda tole me is all.”

“I suppose I should have,” she admitted, feeling oddly guilty. “Next time.”

He was edgy the entire weekend and spent more time with the boys and less time with her, which made her depressed. She tried to hide it, pretending to be happy and giggling a lot. It only made things worse, as Pep could see right through her ploy.

“I’m sorry, Pep, for making it such a lousy weekend,” she told him. She wasn’t sure why exactly she was apologizing, but she was sure that he was in bad mood and, she reasoned, it had to be her fault.

“No ragtime next week, right?” he asked, studying her face to make sure. She shook her head and sniffled, holding back tears.

“And stop blubbering,” he told her, but he drew her into his arms and kissed her head. “Yaw still my numba one.”

It was right after that that Pep saw Mickey Fine step out of Gorlick’s bus.

“I got sumpin special for ya to do fa me, tumler,” Pep said.

Mutzie liked Mickey Fine, although she didn’t always laugh at his jokes. He was always very polite to her, even when he got off one of his so-called funny ones. She did notice that he sometimes seemed to stare at her, although he quickly averted his eyes when she faced him. Of course, she knew she attracted attention, but there was something different in the way he looked at her. Perhaps it was her imagination.

He was a tall man, a boy really, closer to her own age. He had dark curly hair, clear blue eyes and a sparkling smile that seemed to light up his whole face. He was a little on the skinny side and he often told jokes about himself being so thin.

“I’m thin so I can crawl under the door when the husband comes in too early,” he said often.

“Yaw gonna make this lady happy, tumler,” Pep said.

“I am happy, Pep,” Mutzie protested. Aren’t I? she asked herself. She was no longer as sure as she had been. In fact, she was afflicted with lots of second thoughts.

“I mean happy happy,” Pep said, turning to Mickey. “Yaw job is ta see dis lady is in a good mood when I come back here. Got it? Yaw gonna make her laugh all week, tumler.” He put his hand in his pocket and peeled off a five dollar bill. He looked at Mutzie and quickly turned his glance away.

Mickey took the bill, looked at it intensely and held it up to his eyes.

“Oy Abie, you should never have gone to that show. Maybe if you stuck around you coulda got your punim on the hundred.”

“Is dat a hint?” Pep said, grinning. “Maybe ya keep her in a good mood, I give ya da hunnert.”

Mutzie exchanged glances with Micky and raised her eyes in embarrassment. She hated the idea of his paying someone to make her happy.

“You hear about the Pollack who went to get his eyes tested for a driver’s license?” Mickey asked.

“You tell me, tumler,” Pep said.

“He puts his hand over one eye and reads. ‘CZYTROSKI.’ ‘Terrific,’ the guy who was testing says. ‘No big deal,’ the Pollack says. ‘I know the guy.’”

Pep made a Bronx cheer that sprayed on Mickey.

“Very funny,” Mutzie said, with a touch of sarcasm.

“Happy, tumler,” Pep said. “I want dis lady happy.” He pounded a fist in Mickey’s upper arm. At that moment Reles came up to them. Behind him was Workman and a kid named Red Alpert.

“Ya beatin him up again, Pep?”

“I jes hoid one of his jokes,” Pep said.

“Hear the one about the alligator at Grand Central?” Mickey began. “A redcap comes over. ‘Carry your bags, sir?’ ‘Yeah,’ the alligator says …”

“But be careful … that’s my wife,” Reles interrupted, slapping Mickey on the back.

“You heard it?” Mickey asked.

“Ya know how ya find out who gives da best blow jobs,” Reles said.

“Jeez, Abie, not in fronta Mutzie,” Pep said.

“Woid a mouth,” Reles said, jutting a thumb in Pep’s chest. “Gettin bashful, baby?” He turned toward Mutzie. “Sorry, Mutz. It was on da tip a my tongue.” Reles roared with laughter.

Pep got into the Caddy shaking his head. Reles got in beside him and the other two men got in the back. When he was seated, Pep opened the window on his side.

“Come plant one on old Pep, Mutz.”

She came over and stuck her head in the window. She gave him a long soul kiss. When they were finished, he turned toward Mickey, who had averted his eyes.

“Happy,” Pep said. “Real happy.”

“And you keep that shlong in your fist,” Reles said, laughing. The men in the backseat also laughed. Mutzie felt herself flush, but she didn’t let on that she had heard. She stood watching as the car pulled away, feeling depressed and sick with a growing sense of shame.

“Sunday must be tough,” Mickey said, after the Caddy was out of sight. “I get a little sad myself seeing some of the guests leave.”

Under the tumler’s veneer, she saw a vulnerable sincerity that she liked, although she did feel uncomfortable with Pep’s ordering him to make her happy. She could tell he was also uncomfortable. He called out suddenly to a couple of incoming guests.

“Don’t worry, folks, the hotel is fireproof during the season. It’s off-season that Gorlick makes his money. He has so much he doesn’t know what to burn next.”

“That’s not funny,” one of the women said grimly. “Who is this schmuck?” she asked her girlfriend, a dyed redhead with a painted mask for a face.

“Don’t pay any attention to him, he’s not an eligible guy. He’s only the tumler.”

“Reminds me of a girl I went out with once,” Mickey whispered to Mutzie. “You heard of nose drops? So does hers.”

“You don’t have to try so hard, Mickey,” Mutzie said.

“Oh yes, I do,” Mickey said. Although he was smiling, a sad grimace seemed to pass beneath the smile.

“Pep’s a lot of talk. He’s not like people say,” Mutzie said.

“I think he’s great,” Mickey said. She caught the note of sarcasm, but let it pass. In her presence, she had learned, no one said a bad word about Pep. Not ever.

“People say so,” Mutzie said.

Mickey followed her through the lobby toward one of the back porches, where she then sat on a rocking chair. He sat beside her. Beyond the porch rail the incredibly green lawn undulated downward to a stand of pine trees that screened the road below. It was a tranquil setting, quite beautiful, and they both stared out at it for a while.

“You know you don’t have to stick to me like glue,” Mutzie said suddenly. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I was just enjoying the view.”

“Not afraid that people will talk? You spending time with Pep’s girl?”

“Hell, Pep hired me,” Mickey said. “I got a sawbuck to prove it.”

She felt a flash of anger rise in her chest, but she calmed herself. Looking at him, she again saw his vulnerability and realized he hadn’t really meant it to be insulting. She said nothing in response and continued to look out at the landscape. They were silent for a long time until she realized he was staring at her.

“You wanna be an actress or something?” Mickey asked suddenly.

For a moment, she was wary. Above all, she wasn’t looking for intimacy, but she was flattered. She shrugged an answer, not wishing to ignore him completely.

“You got charisma, Mutzie,” he said. “I’ve seen the way people look at you.”

She felt more than flattery now, as if he were tapping into something very deep inside of her.

“Sure it’s not the hairdo?” She fluffed her hair. “It’s the Jean Harlow look.”

“I’d never know,” he laughed.

“Some people think it looks cheap,” she said. “But I don’t care. Pep likes it and that’s all that counts for me.”

This is what she had been telling herself, had convinced herself was the truth. In her thoughts, she would never allow herself to think beyond Pep, as if she might have ambitions of her own. And yet, it tantalized her to think that maybe she might be an actress, get to live all those wonderful lives that actresses lived in the movies. All right, it was only make believe. But what was wrong with that? She knew from the fan magazines that when they weren’t living these exotic and interesting lives in the movies they were offstage somewhere in sunny California living glamorous lives in lovely houses with swimming pools and going to nightclubs and racetracks.

“Maybe someday I’ll go to California,” she mused aloud.

“Me, too, maybe,” Mickey said. “Be a movie funny guy. Like a Ritz brother, only I have no brothers.”

The truth of it was that she had expected Gorlick’s to be something like that and in her heart of hearts she was becoming more and more disappointed, although it was better than spending the summer in the hot city. Wasn’t it?

There were moments when she wanted to ask Pep if there was a future between them. But she was afraid. Afraid there might be, or afraid there might not be? She wasn’t sure. Seymour had told her mother that she was going out with Pep, who he portrayed as a very important businessman which, of course, delighted her mother and filled her with hopeful ideas. Of course, she didn’t know how intimate Mutzie and Pep had really become. Nor did she know how Mutzie was really spending her summer. She had told her mother that she was working at Gorlick’s as a waitress.

“What about Mr. Strauss?” her mother asked when she called home once a week.

“Oh he visits on weekends,” she explained, adding, “He has an investment in Gorlick’s.” This elated her mother.

“Maybe the country air will put wedding bells in his head,” her mother suggested. Mutzie doubted that. Not a hint of such a thought had crossed Pep’s lips. Besides, it was a decision with which she did not wish to be confronted.

These were the thoughts going through her mind as she felt Mickey continue to study her. “I just thought, you know. If you wanted to be an actress, or just for kicks, you might want to be in my little skits. No kidding. It would beef things up a bit to have an attractive girl like you in some of my routines.”

She felt oddly tempted.

“You think Pep would mind?”

“Mind? He’d be real proud.” He paused and she felt his eyes boring into her. “Besides, you really don’t look none too happy during the week. Don’t think it’s not noticeable that you’re always off by yourself somewhere.” He cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed. When she stole a quick glance at him, she noticed that he was blushing.

“Maybe some Hollywood scout will discover you.”

“Don’t be silly,” she snickered, feeling secretly excited.

“Really. It would be fun. Dress up the act.”

“Maybe I should check first,” she said. Pep had given her the number of Midnight Rose’s candy store on Saratoga and Livonia. If she ever needed him she was to call.

“Whatever you say. Anyway, the offer stands.”

At that moment she was conscious of a short redheaded young man watching them from the lawn. She had seen him around as one of the help. He seemed to be looking at them intently.

“That’s Irish. One of the truly dumb. When I want to spend the day not thinking I read his mind.”

“That dumb?”

Mickey got up.

“Anyway, think about my offer. Mr. Strauss would be proud.” He looked at her and their eyes met. “And you’d be happy.” He paused. “I know I would be.”

Why not? she asked herself. She could tell Pep that it would make her real happy. Mickey started to leave, but before he moved away she held out her hand. He took it. She noted that it was moist, not clammy, but warm moist.

“As the one-legged hitchhiker told the guy who gave him the lift. Got to hop off now.”

“It never stops, does it?” she asked. She liked Mickey, felt a sense of sincerity about him. Yes, she told herself, she would tell Pep that she wanted to do this. She was sure Pep wouldn’t mind.

That night she called Pep at the candy store.

“Who is this?” the man who answered said. She recognized the voice as that of the young man behind the fountain at the candy store, Moe, the son of Midnight Rose.

“It’s Mutzie,” she said. “Pep’s girl.”

“The one at Gorlick’s?”

“Yes,” she said. The Number One, she thought. She was beginning to hate the reference and what it implied.

“Pep’s gone away for a coupla days,” Moe said.

“Where?” she asked. It was a reflex. She had not meant to ask the question, but she had been surprised.

“On a fishing trip,” Moe said laughing.

“Oh, yes,” she said, trying to take the sting out of the inquiry, hoping he wouldn’t tell Pep. “Just tell him Mutzie called. Nothing important. And tell him I’ll see him Friday night at Gorlick’s.”

Pep’s business was his business and her business was her business, she told herself. Besides, she didn’t think he would mind. Hadn’t he told the tumler to keep her happy? This was all part of it.

The next day after lunch she and Mickey began to rehearse in one of the private card rooms that were deserted on sunny days. At first she was nervous and mumbled the lines he had given her.

“You look like you’re suffering,” Mickey told her.

“I am.” The paper on which her lines were written shook in her hand.

He tried to relax her by telling jokes. “Hear about the lady who saw her name in the obituary and called her friend in hysterics?”

Mutzie shook her head.

“She says, ‘Did you see my name in the obituaries this morning?’ The woman replies, ‘So where are you calling from?’”

Mutzie giggled, but mostly out of nervousness.

“Feel better?” Mickey asked. She nodded. “Now read.”

“Hello, Sam.”

“Who is this?”

“This is Sadie.”

“With which Sadie am I having the pleasure?”

“This is the Sadie with which you had the pleasure.”

“Oh that Sadie? I remember you and that weekend we spent together. What a weekend. I’ll never forget you. And I forgot to tell you, you’re a good sport.”

“That’s why I’m calling you, Sam. I’m having a baby. I’m gonna kill myself.”

“Say, you are a good sport.”

She started to giggle.

“There you go. Get into the spirit. You can’t make people laugh unless you’re having a good time yourself.”

“Yes. I see that.” She agreed. In the next hour he handed her script after script of funny lines. She felt herself getting better and better.

“Later we’ll do song parodies. The guests love that.”

Mickey decided that the show would be put on Thursday night and, maybe if it went over well, they would do it again for Pep when he came up. They worked for three days in the afternoons getting the lines right. She spent every evening in her room memorizing them.

“They’re all talking,” Helen told her at breakfast Thursday morning.

“About what?”

“You and the tumler,” Helen said. “It doesn’t look too good. You step out on Pep and you’ve got a problem.”

“Pep?” She felt insulted and confused. “Pep asked Mickey to look after me.” She could not say, To make me happy.

“I’m not saying it’s true,” Helen said. “I’m only saying how it looks.”

“I’m merely helping him out with some skits. And they’re real funny. You’ll see tonight.”

“Look, I’m not accusing. It’s how it looks. Ya know what I mean. Yeah, business is business. The boys don’t hurt nobody cept when it comes to business. One exception, lady. You don’t step out on Pep. No way. Pep can be very hard on his girls if they step out on him. I seen it. Ya lucky if your face don’t look the same or … ya know.” She made a throat cutting gesture with her hand. Mutzie felt her stomach lurch.

“Well, I’m not stepping out on him. I wouldn’t do that to Pep. I’m Pep’s girl and you know it. Don’t make trouble, Helen.”

Helen put her mouth to Mutzie’s ear.

“And the boy will be singing soprano,” she whispered.

For a moment, she felt as if her heart had stopped. Helen persisted.

“Word to the wise, kid. I been around these punks a long time. This Pep follows his shmekel. You give that magic wand your undivided attention. Save yourself a lot of grief. Get my drift.”

“I would never …” Mutzie began, swallowing hard.

The two women exchanged glances.

“Glue them legs together, girlie. One thing more. Sometimes. …” Helen’s voice dropped to a whisper again. “Sometimes … I’m not saying for sure. But sometimes you gotta help him out. Ya know. Like doin a fava for an important friend. Ya know what I mean.”

Mutzie froze, recalling her previous humiliation. Not Pep, she thought. He promised. This Reles woman, she concluded, could make real trouble. She had better not push her luck.

At that point little Heshy arrived, his face and knees covered with mud.

“Look at you, little putz,” she shouted twisting his ear. “Schmutz everywhere.”

After lunch she went to the card room, but she no longer felt comfortable about working with Mickey. As much as she resented the idea, she was not a fool. These women could be very vicious and hurtful. Nevertheless, Helen’s warning had found its mark.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she told Mickey.

His jaw fell, a nerve in his cheek began to palpitate and his expressive blue eyes told her of his disappointment.

“But Pep said …” he began.

She put a finger over his lips.

“People see things differently,” she said. “The women are saying things.”

“Hey, Mutzie. Gossip are the spies of life. They’ve got nothing else to do.”

“I don’t want to make trouble, Mickey.” For you either, she thought.

“What’s the harm in making people laugh?” Mickey said. “It’s one of the best things you can do for yourself, too. Besides, you got Pep’s go ahead.”

“Well, I …” She paused. “I didn’t. I thought I should make my own decision.”

“Do you think he’ll mind?”

“About the show, I don’t think so.”

“So where’s the problem?”

“I told you, Mickey, people can be cruel.”

Mickey studied her with what seemed like great intensity, looking into her eyes. She turned away, hiding them from him. Maybe she was overreacting, she thought, allowing herself to be intimidated. Pep was never intimidated. Pep was afraid of nothing and no one. And Helen Reles was jealous. And it was Pep who made the suggestion. She felt as if she was winning the argument with herself, although she still held back.

“Maybe if we just rehearsed,” Mickey pleaded. “You’ll feel better and you’ll still have time to change your mind.”

“I’m not sure, Mickey.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Very much.” Their eyes locked again.

“Then do it. Be you.”

He sang the last line, getting down on one knee.

Getting up, his eyes fixed on hers, he moved toward a table and made a make-believe telephone out of his hands. He made a ringing sound.

“Is Mr. Berkowitz in?” he said.

Mutzie smiled.

“I said, ‘Is Mr. Berkowitz in?’”

Mutzie giggled, feeling as if a weight had been lifted. “No. This is Yom Kippur,” she replied, as if it were a reflex.

“Well, when do you expect him, Miss Kippur?”

She laughed and Mickey made another ringing sound.

“Hello, is Mr. Berger in?” Mickey said.

“No. He’s off to the United Kingdom,” Mutzie replied.

“Oh my God. I’m sorry to hear that. Is it too late to send flowers?”

“See. See,” Mickey said. “You’re a natural. A trooper.” Without missing a beat, Mickey said, “You want to hear a song I just composed?”

“What’s the name of it?”

“Irving the Fork.”

“Irving the Fork. What kind of a name is that for a song?”

“Mack the Knife did bad?”

Before she knew it, she was responding with perfect timing. They did the Sadie routine flawlessly. Then they did a parody of “Making Whoopee” and “Sam You Made the Pants Too Long.”

“You’ll knock ’em dead,” Mickey said.

“Oh, Mickey, I do hope so,” Mutzie said embracing Mickey in a friendly hug from which she quickly retreated.

They worked at rehearsing for two hours. It helped Mutzie finally to dispel her anxiety. It was silly to be upset. Pep will love her doing this, she decided, and she’d show him exactly what feeling happy can do.

“What’ll I wear?” she asked.

“What’ve ya got?”

She described the various dresses that she had in her closet. Pep had bought her clothes that showed off her curvy figure. Lowcut dresses, spiked heels, some slacks outfits.

Mickey debated the various costumes she described.

“Come and look,” she said, moving to the corridor.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” Mickey said.

By then she was feeling stronger, less worried. Her heart and body were absolutely faithful to Pep. Surely Pep knew that. “Don’t let ’em pushya around,” Pep had told her countless times.

“Won’t bother me.”

She started up the stairs, eschewing the elevator, knowing that the help was not supposed to use the elevator. Mickey, obviously still frightened, followed a few feet behind. Mutzie and Pep’s room was on the second floor overlooking the lake. She opened it and went in, leaving the door open. When he came in he didn’t close it.

“There.” she said, leading him to her closet. “You pick.”

He studied her wardrobe carefully, then pulled out a white silk pantsuit with a flowing neckerchief under a large sailor collar with a blue ribbon trim.

“I saw Ruby Keeler wear one like that once in the movies,” she said. “Too bad I dance like a klutz.”

Mickey did a jumping heel click. “When do ships grow affectionate?” he asked.

“Give up,” she said, having picked up his riddle timing.

“When they hug the shore.”

She held her nose then held the pants outfit in front of her.

“Looks great,” Mickey said. He smiled, winked and kissed her forehead. “Break a leg,” he said.

At that moment, her eyes wandered to the open door of the room. In the doorway was the redheaded young man that she had seen working around the hotel. He lifted his hand in a mock salute and moved away. Seeing her eyes engaged, Mickey looked behind him.

But by then Irish was gone.