Atty grumbled but left the shop with a sharp click of the front door.
Dash turned to Joe. “We got a terrified little lamb in there. Doesn’t want to go home.”
“He can’t stay here!”
“I know, I know. At the moment, he’s not budging. Hopefully in a drink or two, he’ll be on his way.”
“Hope so. We don’t need any more trouble tonight.”
Only I can’t send him back to a dangerous place. But where else can he go?
Dash nodded towards the club. “You better get back to your post, Joe. Our boys might start picking the bar clean.”
Joe swore under his breath, turned, and pushed open the secret door, disappearing into the shadows.
Dash sighed and followed after him, saying aloud, “Happy birthday to me.”
4
Back inside Pinstripes, Joe was urgently taking orders from the impatient and thirsty. Dash pushed his way through the noisy throng and crossed over the idle dance floor. The band had returned to their instruments, readying themselves to start again. He gave them a nod as he passed.
When he opened the WC door, he found Finn standing in front of Karl.
Oh no.
“Finn.” Dash shut the WC door behind him. “Shouldn’t you be attending to your tables?”
The three of them barely fit in this space, what with Finn and Karl pressed against the walls near the toilet and Dash practically overflowing into the sink.
Finn smiled. “Only if you let me have next Sunday night off.” He held up a blue card. “This lovely boy told me of the most excellent party.”
“I see.” Dash flicked a look towards Karl, who averted his gaze.
Finn continued. “Yes! It’s in Harlem.” He said to Karl, “Don’t worry, Dash isn’t a whites-only kind of fellow. Why, one of his good friends is a famous bulldagger up there—”
Dash held out his hand. “May I see the card, please?”
Finn slipped the blue card in between his fingers. Dash squinted to read the black type in the jaundiced light:
Come on Boys, don’t be Ruff, go from Heaven to Hell and Strut Your Stuff—AT—a Social Whist Party.
Given by Zora Mae at corner of 150th Street & St. Nicholas,
Sunday Evening, August 22, 1926.
GOOD Music. Refreshments Served.
The party was one week from tonight in Sugar Hill, Harlem’s rich neighborhood full of castle-like mansions.
Dash said, “Impressive.” He tilted his head towards Karl, “Do you know this Zora Mae?”
The kid shrugged. “Perhaps.”
Dash looked at Finn. “And this came up in conversation how?”
Finn rolled his eyes. “Look at you, being all suspicious. I find this beautiful boy in here, so naturally I strike up a conversation.”
“And Harlem rent parties was what you were conversing?”
“Not initially, dearie. The boy was nervous—and you’re making him more so, shame on you—and so I just asked if he knew where there was a good party. It is 1926, and the champagne is flowing, praise goddess.”
Dash looked at Karl. “Kid, is that what happened?”
Karl nodded meekly.
Finn put his hands on his hips. “Now that you’re done interrogating him, can I have next Sunday off?”
“Most Harlem rent parties aren’t for whites, Finn.” Dash then said to Karl, “Your brother has left. My doorman is making sure he’s gone from the block.”
“Thank you.” Karl hesitated. “Although, I don’t know where to go. I don’t . . . I don’t think I have a home anymore.”
The kid had the face of someone too anxious to stay but too fearful to leave. The last time Dash saw such an expression, it was in his bedroom mirror at his family’s sprawling townhouse.
“What about your friends?” Dash asked. “Surely you can stay with them?”
Karl began fidgeting with his hands. “I wouldn’t call them close friends.”
“I see. And there’s no one else you can go to?” Dash looked down at the blue card in his hand. “This Zora Mae perhaps?”
“She doesn’t take in strays. Or so she said the one time I asked her.”
“A . . . lover then?”
Karl’s tone was low and flat. “Not anymore.”
Finn stepped towards Dash and whispered in his ear, “He can stay in my room.”
“And invite more trouble to our apartment?”
Finn flicked a look at the kid. “We can’t just throw him out. That’s heartless.”
“I am aware, Finn.” Dash looked from Finn to Karl, thinking, what am I going to do with you? He glanced down at the blue card again. If not Zora, then maybe . . .
He held up the card. “You’re comfortable being in the black part of Harlem?”
Karl nodded.
“And your brother? Is he comfortable being there as well?”
“No, sir. He said he’d rather be shot dead.”
Finn narrowed his eyes at Dash. “What are you doing?” he murmured.
Dash just smiled. “Helping.” He pocketed the blue card and looked at Karl. “I know just where to hide you. There’s a friend of mine in Harlem who can assist you. If she agrees, that is.”
Finn’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t mean—”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you think she’ll do it? Hide him, that is.”
Dash blew out a breath. “I can convince her.”
“She won’t be happy about it.”
“No. No, she will not. Will that suffice, kid? It’s not permanent, mind you, but it will allow some time for you to find another place to live.”
Karl hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you. Thank you very much, sir.”
“You are most welcome. Once the coast is clear, we shall journey uptown. Now, gentlemen, if you continue to hide out in the WC, everyone will think the good time is in here instead of out there.” He gestured towards the door. “Away we go.”
In an aside to Karl, Finn said, “He thinks he’s the boss of us. It’s adorable.” He grabbed the kid’s hand. “Come with me! I’ll show you how to do the Black Bottom!”
The two men brushed past Dash and exited the room. Dash shook his head and followed them. What a night this was turning out to be. And what a lesson to be reminded of. For every person striving for freedom, there was always another trying to take it away.
The band had started up again and was in
