“A keen observation. Would you ever go back?”
“Why should I return to a place I do not know?”
“Fair point. Is your family in America as well?”
“Only my mother.”
“Your father stayed behind?”
“In a manner of speaking. He died.”
Dash frowned. “I’m so sorry.”
Karl replied, “It’s alright, I didn’t really know him. I was still young when it happened.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was attending a cabaret and was mugged on his way home. They beat him and took his money and some other belongings. He had hit his head on the curb. The doctors told my mother his brain had swelled and that it caused his death.”
“That’s terrible! How can people be so needlessly cruel?”
Karl gave a bitter smile. “Cruelty is in our nature more than kindness, I’m afraid. Ever since my father’s death, my mother has been very much against cabarets, saloons, clubs. She says it took her husband and she would not allow it to take her sons as well.”
“I see,” Dash said. “An overreaction, but an understandable one, given her circumstances. And you, your brother, and your mother came here after that?”
Karl nodded. “In 1924, a few years ago.”
“And what do you do for a living?”
Karl’s reply was slow in the making. “I work with my brother.”
“Walter? I can see why you don’t want to go home again. Living and working with him must be a nightmare.”
“If you only knew. If only anyone knew.” Karl didn’t elaborate further.
Dash tried to reel him back in. “Where do you and Walter work?”
“The Committee of Fourteen. Walter helps manage the money. He’s always been good with numbers. Meticulous. Keeps perfect records and diaries. Says it’s important to know what came from whom, for you never know when that information will be useful again. He bragged that the Committee never saw a more thorough, detailed report than his.”
“I see.” Moral views aside, Dash thought Walter sounded insufferable. “And what do you do?”
“What do I do? I . . . offer him support. Help him with the books.”
Dash took another sip of his cocktail. The kid was a terrible liar. “And your friends? The people you came with to my club. How do you know them?”
A cautious look. “What do you mean? How do you know about my friends?”
Dash shrugged. “I saw them at your table. A female impersonator and a woman in men’s clothing, now that’s some interesting company. Especially given your mother’s and your brother’s personal views on cabaret nightlife.”
Karl rubbed nervous fingertips up and down the sides of his glass, the surface already beaded with condensation. “One cannot change one’s nature. On either side. As for my friends, I met them in other places—places like this.” He shook his head. “But we are not very good friends.”
“Casual acquaintances?”
“I suppose.” Karl’s face darkened again.
Dash gave what he hoped was a friendly smile. “Not every person in this city needs to be a confidante. Sometimes you just need superficial company. Do you go out with them often?”
Karl shook his head. “Tonight was special.”
“Wonderful! I feel honored you chose my club for a celebration.”
“It wasn’t a celebration.” He left it at that.
“Well, whatever it was,” Dash said, “I’m still honored.” He paused, thinking of how to ask his next question without scaring off the kid. “Did you choose my club? Or was it someone else?”
Karl stopped rubbing the slick sides of his cocktail glass. “Why do you ask that?”
So suspicious, so nervous. What are you afraid of, Karl?
Dash kept his manner and his voice nonchalant. “I’m a business owner. I like to know how my patrons learn about my place. That’s all.”
He sipped his Gin Rickey and let Karl work out his response.
The kid thought for a moment. “It was Miss Avery. She lives nearby and heard of it from a friend of hers.”
“Glad to see the Village Grapevine is just as strong as ever. Miss Avery, was she the one in the blue and gold dress? Or the suit?”
Karl’s eyes widened. “Why are you interested in them?”
Careful here, Dash.
He shrugged. “I’m not, really. Just making conversation. I ask you questions, then you ask me questions.” He took another sip of his gin, then nudged Karl’s elbow. “Ask me something.”
The kid quietly debated with himself, then said, “Alright. Who is your friend we’re about to see?”
“Ah, yes.” Dash set his glass down. “I met her in a Harlem speak once upon a time. Not this one, some place I don’t think I could find again. This incredible woman at the bar was just so lively, so fiery, so funny. A true bearcat in the best sense of the word. One couldn’t help but be drawn to her. Naturally, I introduced myself, and we spent half the night and half the morning talking. Well, arguing mostly.”
“Arguing?”
Dash grinned. “Why, yes. I had mentioned I loved jazz music and just adored the band who had invented it, the Dixieland Jass Band. It was the first record I ever heard and of course, in my naiveté, I thought it was the first one ever made.”
He laughed at the memory.
“Oh my, she about levitated off her barstool. ‘Those white boys did not invent jazz!’ she said. ‘They stole it from us, and anyone who says differently is a goddamn liar!’ She set me straight and gave me new music to listen to. That’s when I discovered Louis Armstrong and his band, who will change your life if you ever hear them in person. She and I have been friends ever since.”
Karl’s brows lifted with disbelief. “Friends with another race? Is that even possible?”
Dash gestured to the room around them. “Anything is possible in these modern times! And if it isn’t, then it ought to be, and we’re
