“Good luck,”Shane countered. “Theplace ispacked.”He looked at her and goose bumps ran down Celeste’s arms. “I’mfine with the table if you are.”
Eventhough she secretly liked that he’d asked her opinion, Celesteshrugged,feigning anair of nonchalance. In an hour she wouldbe so sauced,their table could be in the gutter and she wouldn’t care awhit.
As long as the liquor keptflowing, she hopedit would gether mind off the bruiser sitting next to her and how every time theireyes met she became jumpy and hyper aware of his every movement.
“About time you showedup,”a dark-skinned waiter carrying a table service,drawled. Smilingbrightly, he set a bowlof ice,three high ball glasses and a complimentary bottle of water on thetable. “Mr.Josephson sent word to the Buffalo Soldiers.”
“Hiram, you oldbuzzard.”Trudy sneered. There had never been any love between the two. “You remember my cousin Celeste?”
“How could I forgetsuch a vision of loveliness,” Hiram purred, flashingCeleste a toothy, yet crooked grin. His gaze darted to Shane, buthis smile never faltered.
“What libations can Iget you folks tonight?” He handed each of them the club’sleather-bound drink menu. A bourbon-on-the-rocks kind of girl,Celeste set the drink list aside and placed her order. Trudyfollowed with a Manhattan, shaken not stirred.
When the waiter turned toShane for his order, Celeste found herself waiting as well.
Over the years, she’ddeveloped a popular parlor trick where she could accurately guess aperson’s personality by the libation they favored. Spot on inits accuracy, she’d also chosen and rejected quite a few loversusing her expert discernment of hooch.
Celeste chalked it up tosimple curiosity. She didn’t want Shane Brennan as a lover. Absolutely and positively not! Theirbackgrounds couldn’t be more different. Plus, he didn’thave any real interest in her. Her daddy probably made sure of it.
Botheredby her acute interest in the man’s taste in liquor, Celesteturnedher attention to thedance floor. Unfortunately,thestraining bodies, in the throes of a beguine, didn’t helpmatters andshe remained abhorrently attuned to the man to her left.
“I’ll have twocents plain with a lime.”
He was ordering sodawater? Everyoneincluding Celeste looked at him. Well, that nailed his coffin. She’dnever been with a dry man or a holy roller. Her father ruined anyhope of that ever happening. Relieved Shane no longer fell into herrealm of interest,Celeste filled herglass with ice. She liked garnishingher brandy with a splash of ice-cold water.
“You know Prohibitionis over.” Celeste pointed out.
“Exactly sixyears ago.”
“Then why the drought,Daddy-O?”Although not a heavy drinker, Trudy soundedbaffled.
With a half-smile, Shanerolled his beefy shoulders. “Training for the Garden.”
“The Garden?”Hiram cocked his head. “You a boxer?”
Shane nodded, but didn’tprovide any additional information.
“I know who you are!”Hiram’s eyes widened with sudden clarity. “You’re‘Sugar’ Shane Brennan. The million dollar man.”
Shane’s smile faded.“I’m not worth a million dollars,” he ground out.For some reason Hiram’s letting the cat out of the bag set himon edge. Interestpiqued, Celeste leaned forward.
“But all the write upssaid you earned that and then some from all your boxing exhibitions.See if I can remember the number?” Hiram glanced up at theceiling as if the answer was written there. “I think thearticle said you’vefought in onehundred and fiftygive or take a few.”
“Two hundred andfour.”
“Eww wee,” Hiramgushed. “You have to be sitting on a cool million,Mr. Rockefeller.”
Shane’s expressionturned motley. Thankfully, Trudy saved the day. “One millionor five dollars, you’re not talking yourself into a bigger tipby yapping all night.”
Put in his place, Hiram’sgrin faded.“Bourbonfor the lovely lady. Soda water garnished with a twist of lime forthe gent. And a Manhattan for the chickwith a dick,stirred and not shaken.”
“I said shaken notstirred you old son of a”Trudy’s curse trailed off into an improper snortand thin air as Hiram hurried off.A creature of habit, she never wasted an insult. “I guess Iwon’t be having a refreshment after all. I’ve neverliked the taste of turpentine.”
Knowing her cousin had donesomething to ruffle the man’s feathers, Celeste asked, “Whyall the salt between you two?”
“I didn’t doanything. That ole’ goat’sstill sorefrom the letdown I gave him after he tried pitching me some woo. Iguess he didn’t like it when I told him, ‘old men giveyou worms’.”
Finding humor in her crack,Shane chuckled. Deep and robust in tone, his laughter rolled downCeleste’sspine and madeher jittery. Irritated by her body’sresponse,considering he should no longer be on her radar, shesilently wished she’dordered an entire bottle instead.
Dubbed “the wrongplace for the right people”, Café Society surpassed allof Celeste’s expectations. Brimming with folks of all colorsand persuasions,the Greenwich Village nightclub had quickly become a populardestination for the bohemian crowd to congregate.
At the top of CaféSociety’s food chain was resident band leader Pops Morgan andhis twenty-member orchestra. In full swing, they controlled themultitudes of sweating couples pivoting and swaying to their swingingchords. Pop’s signature cow lick waved up and down with hisband’s frenzied tempo, his baton moving like lightning whilehe kept time. Without missing a beat, he swung around and approachedthe microphone.
“Mybrothers andsisters, ya’ll look mighty fine tonight! How you all feeling?Solid?”
As expected, hoots andhollers poured from the crowd. “Café Society has awonderful, marvelousshow planned. For you cool chicks, we have the smooth tenor vocalsof Michael Stuckey. For the fellas, we have the lovely ladies ofMidnight Magnolia. For everyone’s delight, we have the raunchyantics of Trudy Leroux and the canary of all canaries, VerniceJackson.”
With each introduction, theaudience’s approval grew in intensity. EvenCeleste found herself caught up in the excitement. She clapped foreach act and whistled the loudest for her cousin.
“Grabonto your seats or a willing partner,but put your hands together for Michaeeeel Stuckeeeeey…”
Couples melted onto thedance floor as the band cued up for Stuckey’s set. After ajovial hello to the crowd, Michael launched into one of his signaturepieces, a song of lost love. His honeyed vocals dipped and parriedwith each chord of music.
“Sing it,honey,” Trudy mumbled. She dipped her head, lighting the Camelcigarette hanging from her lips.
Slowly, the bud took light,glowing with an intensity that matched the crooner’s love forhis woman. She inhaled then exhaled. Smoke circled around hercousin’s angular features and mingled playfully in the ebonyrecesses of her deeply waved
