At the undertaker’sapproach, he quickly removed his fedora. Used to white men with moneyin her line of business—she’d been courted by quite a fewand even entertaineda proposal froman Italian duke—Celeste dismissed him.
Shane Brennan extended hishand to the undertaker hustling toward him. Instead of clasping hishand, the other man stopped short and latched his hands onto thelapels of his coat jacket. Notsurprised bythe man’s rathercold greeting,Shane droppedhis hand.
“Was the amountwrong?”
Confused, Shane just stareddown at the man. Not much of a talker, he allowed othersto monopolize the conversation. They usually hung themselves thatway.
The undertaker steppedforward. “Your man came by earlier in the day and picked up theweek’s dues. If the amount’swrong, you shouldtalk with Mr.Kelly.”
Shanestiffened. Themention of dues clarified the mystery. The man assumed he was ahatchet man. The automatic association and the underworld’sunwavering proliferation even into the black community filled himwith distaste.So much so, he replied with more veracity than he’d intended.“I’mhere for the viewing,”he corrected, setting the man straight.“Iknew Mr. Newsome.”
Again, Shane wasn’tsurprised the other man’s eyes widened in shock. “Friendof the family?”
“You could say that,”Shane supplied, but nothing more. The extent of his relationshipwith Cecil Newsome wasn’t any of this man’s business.
The undertaker eyed him upand down, but then stepped aside. “If you’re really hereto offer condolences, Mr. Newsome’s daughter and niece aresitting up front.” He palmed a pocket watch and eyed it. “Weclose in ten minutes.”
Shane nodded inacknowledgement as he passed. He could accomplish what he’dcome to do in less than five. Too bad the man in the casket wouldhaunt him for far longer.
“I better maketracks.” Trudy gathered up her topcoat as she stood up. “Ihave a late set at Café Society.”
“I should probablycall it a night as well.” Celeste sighed heavilyas she pinched her brow, temporarily staving off a pounding headache.“Tomorrowis going to be a long day.”
But shedidn’t move orcollect herbelongings. Funny, she’d dragged her feet all afternoon and now she didn’twant to leave.
Sensing her predicament,Trudy sat back down and enfolded one of Celeste’s hands withhers. “I know there’s a funeral in the morning, but howabout you come with me and paint the town red? Most of the oldplayers from the Plantation Inn migrated to Café Society aswell. It’ll be like a reunion.”
Normally, Celeste would’vetaken her cousin up on her offer. Hooch, men and good times were herpersonal kryptonite. And if sheadded in freecover to NewYork’s first integrated night club her offer became beyondmighty tempting.
Still, Celeste couldn’tdredge up any of the usual excitement a night on the town generallyincited. Somehow seeing tangible proof of her daddy’s deathhad quenched her personal demons. Well, for now at least.
“I’llpass, Tru. What I really need right now is a good night’ssleep.”
Celeste expected at leastone more protest. In the past, her cousin would never let her get offso easy. But Trudy no longer seemed interested in dragging her acrosstown. Something or rather someone else had captured her attention. Her curiosity piqued, Celeste swivelled around.
The egg and butter manhadn’t left after all. Instead, he strode down the funeralparlor’s center aisle and right up to her father’scasket. While he paid his respects, Celeste studied him.
Standing well over six feet,he was athletically built with arms that strained the jacket sleevesof his tailored navy blue suit. He possessed a deep tan and darkbrown hair clippedhigh on the sides and back.
His profile was classic yetbroken up by a crooked nose,whichkept him from being perfect. Big as you please, he oozed a ruggedconfidence that would make a lesser man think twice about crossinghis path and a woman beat herself up for dismissing him.
“Who do you think heis?” Trudy whispered as he sat in thepew across from them.
“He’s definitelynot a neighbor.” Her father’s brownstone was located inthe heart of Fort Greene’sblack community.“More likely a customer,” Celestededuced.
Nestledon the southeastcorner of a three-way intersection, her father’s confectionarystore sat in a triangular building,which straddledthe border between Fort Greene’s Negro community and ProspectHeight’s predominately Italian one.
As if sensing theirregard, heglanced overat themand smiled. Celestesucked in a breath. Hisprofile dimmed in comparison tothe full onpicture.Although his nose appeared broken in a couple of places and shouldhave been distracting, it accentedhis other attributes—the heavy slash of his eyebrows,his high cheekbones, angularjaw and dimpledchin.
Like the moment before shewent on stage, Celeste’s heart racedand a rush of adrenaline tore through her body. Celestefrowned. Shewas acting like a naïvekid. Not aseasoned entertainer who ate men’s hearts for breakfast, lunchand dinner. To say she wasn’t any good was an understatement.
“Either say somethingor shut your mouth cause you’re letting in flies,” Trudysnickered.
Embarrassed, Celeste clampedher mouth shut. For good measure, she swiveled aroundcompletely,shunninghim, yetnot forgetting him entirely. He was hard to ignore.
“The cold shoulder’snot working either.” Trudy whispered a little too loudly forCeleste’s liking. “Daddy-O’ssweating you like acop on FifthAvenue.”Her cousin leaned up and peered over Celeste’s shoulder. “I’mnot sure if he wants to kiss you or slap you silly.”
In allhonesty, thesetting was inappropriate. Yet as a self-avowed glutton for maleattention, another sad effect of her father ignoring her for most ofher life, Celeste couldn’t help looking over her shoulder.
Sure enough, Trudy’sobservation was spot on. His gaze unwavering and devoid of emotion,her egg and butter man’s expression was unreadable. Still, itdidn’t set off any of Celeste’s internal alarms.
As far as she knew, shewasn’t wanted for anything in New York. She’dchecked before she boarded the train in Cleveland. Curious as towhat made this man tick and in what capacity he knew her father,Celeste turned around completely.
The moment their eyes met,Celeste experienced a knee-jerkreaction likea swift kick to the shin. Pleasure,not pain,rushedthrough herveins and emptied out between her thighs. Thesensation increasedwhen he rewarded her with a slow smile. Celeste knew if she had atail, it would be wagging. And like a well-trained pup, she returnedhis in kind.
Of course, for a hedonist
