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“It’s over here,” she said and handed him a screwdriver. “If you could get that bearing back on track, I’d owe you.”
Jake saw the problem right away. He grimaced; his hand was too big to fit comfortably, but she was right. All it took was brute strength to get the bearing reset. When it snapped into place, the woman’s face lit up.
“Oh, thanks a million! I’d just gotten the-well, I can’t really say. But if you hadn’t been there, a lot of hard preparation would have gone down the drain, and some of our boys would have been in a real jam.” Satisfied the machine was in order, she ushered Jake back to the administrative area.
The door safely shut behind her, she exhaled. “Phew! Thank goodness you were there. Those machines are so twitchy! Anyway, thanks.”
“My pleasure.” An idea blossomed. “Say, how do you manage when I’m not here?”
“Oh, I’m usually on the day shift. There’s a supervisor to help out then. And fu
Jake shook her hand, being careful not to crush her delicate fingers. “Stuart.” He gri
“Well, Stu, I’d be happy to buy you a cup of coffee. I’ve got a ten-minute break coming up.”
Good thing he’d hidden his wedding band under the lining of his bag at the boardinghouse. “Why, thanks, Gi
They drank the coffee, didn’t even miss the sugar. Gi
Sighing deeply, Jake said, “I sure am glad we met! What a treat.”
Suddenly shy, Gi
Jake perked up; he was a fan of jazz and the local bands. “The boyfriend’s either missing a leg, an eye, or is about a hundred and forty-seven.”
Gi
There was such a wistfulness in her voice, Jake asked, “And your young man?”
“It shows, huh?” She nodded. “ Italy. Or last I heard, two months ago.”
“That’s tough. War won’t last forever, though.” Jake thought a minute. “Ida and Eddie must get to take lunches, breaks, together, though. He helps her out with the, er, machinery in there?”
“Oh.” Gi
“Mum’s the word,” Jake said. He mimed turning a key in front of his lips, then throwing it away.
“But you and he couldn’t even be in this building if you didn’t check out, right?” she said, now obviously wondering whether she’d made a mistake. “And I’m usually pretty good at telling the good eggs from the bad.”
Jake believed her; he was good at reading people, too. He laughed. “I got more papers than a show dog, and to do what? Push a broom, wash windows. Even with these cheaters, I can barely see three feet in front of me. Nah, just be careful with everyone else.” He stood up. “Thanks for the coffee, Gi
“Thanks for the company,” she replied. Then she winked. “And the help.”
Jake finished his shift, then went back to the boardinghouse. He had warmed-over di
It was all just a little too easy, like it had all been laid out for him. And that made him nervous. He decided he needed to go to Le Club Martinique that evening.
JAKE crossed the bridge over the Charles River to Boston and walked down Massachusetts Avenue. The neighborhood was still bustling six hours after the close of regular business. The clubs and bars on this end of town drew whites and Negroes, all dressed in their finest. Music seemed to create places where Jim Crow occasionally blinked. Jake appreciated that; he knew something about not fitting in.
Down toward Columbus Avenue, past the Savoy and the Hi-Hat, was the place Jake was looking for. Le Club Martinique might not have had the size or the garish splendor of the Roseland Ballroom, but it was hopping. Every time the door opened, a blast of swinging trumpet music threatened to knock passing pedestrians off their feet. Jake put it on his list to visit, after this job-maybe he’d even be able to talk the tin-eared Harry into coming with him. It was the kind of place where famous musicians would come after their sets to jam until morning.
A uniformed doorman tipped his braided hat as Jake entered. A big band was playing on the stage; they were good, not cluttering up the music with an u
Inside the club, Jake saw a number of extravagantly long and baggy zoot suits. He wondered whether the uniformed soldiers there would call out the wearers as unpatriotic and wasteful as the beer flowed and the evening grew more raucous-
Jake’s attention was drawn suddenly to a couple sitting alone. They matched Gi
The band tore into a version of “Cotton Tail” that would have done Ellington proud. Drinks were set aside, and the dance floor was mobbed.
The couple sat still, though Ida looked like she wanted to dance, too. Eddie, a weasely-looking fellow, said something to her. She pouted; he refilled her coupe with champagne-Jake could see the French label-and patted her hand. Ida smiled, and Eddie limped over to another table.
Jake thought about Eddie the groundskeeper pouring French champagne.
Unless the dolly sitting at the table was Eddie’s sister, Jake thought Ida was right to pout. The other girl was all done up in blue satin and had on more rouge than was smart. Jake couldn’t really tell-the smell of beer and chicken mingled with cigarettes and liquor sweat-but he would have bet she was wearing too much perfume, too. Eddie was leaning in a little too close; she let him. When their hands disappeared under the table simultaneously and stayed there for too long, Jake began to understand.
The drum solo ended, the horns jumped in, and a burst of energy surged through the club. Eddie stuck something into his pocket. The girl put an envelope into a satin clutch with rhinestones bigger than a Packard’s headlights. Everyone’s eyes were on the dancers or the band; Jake was the only one who’d seen the transaction.
The couple, Eddie and Ida, left then; she was protesting, but he was having none of it. Jake thought about following them, but realized there were bigger fish to fry. He had to keep his eyes on the glamour puss in blue satin. He waited about twenty minutes.
When Harry came into the club, Jake cussed and ducked behind a pillar.
If things had been so plain to him-how Eddie was working and why-why hadn’t they been plain to Harry? And what was he doing here now? He hated jazz.
Afraid he’d queer his friend’s plans, Jake stayed hidden, watched his friend go through a similar routine with Glamour Puss, hands under the table, swapping envelopes. Only this time, the girl wasn’t so pleased. She and Harry exchanged heated words, to judge by their expressions. They were lucky the band had started in on a rowdy version of “Bugle Blues,” drowning them out. Finally, Harry left, the girl looking more irked than ever.