The Winter of Her Discontent (29 page)

M
Y ANGER HAD FADED ENOUGH
by morning that I was prepared to put Operation Gloria and Garvaggio fully in place. We weren't planning on initiating the mission until the lunch hour. Friday had had the stage manager call everyone the night before and tell us to be at the theater that morning to begin rehearsal. We had much to make up for, he said. And, I suspected, by changing the rehearsal time at the last second, he was hoping to foil any other accidents Garvaggio might have planned.

“You look low, Rosie.” Zelda joined me in the audience, where I was watching the dancers strut their meager stuff.

“I've been better.” I sighed and the night before's tears returned. There was no point in hiding them. “Last night I found out that one of Jack's shipmates called. He was in town and he'd promised he'd get a hold of me and tell me what he knew about Jack's disappearance. Apparently he'd been here for a few days, only nobody bothered to give me the messages, and now he's left again and who knows when he'll be able to reach me.”

“Gosh, I'm sorry. I'm sure it wasn't deliberate. Whoever took the calls probably didn't realize how important it was.”

“You sound like Jayne. I, on the other hand, think whoever it was probably didn't think at all. I'm really getting tired of paying to live someplace where my every move is monitored and my basic rights curtailed. Sure the rent is cheap, but does that mean I don't deserve to get my phone messages?”

“You could always move into Olive's house.”

I hadn't expected the offer. As much as I liked Izzie, Zelda, and Olive, I always assumed the feeling wasn't reciprocated. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“I'm serious. We have the room.”

The Shaw House I could bear to part with, sure, but Jayne? We were two peas in a pod. “I'll think about it. When I calm down. Now's not the time to make drastic decisions.”

By the time lunch rolled around I'd put Zelda's offer out of my mind so I could focus on the task at hand. Jayne offered me a wink and a nod from across the room before disappearing into the lobby, where she hoped to find Vinnie Garvaggio. I prayed for patience and approached a cluster of dancers who were pulling sweaters and skirts over their leotards.

“Hiya, Gloria,” I said.

She turned to me and smiled. She'd painted a beauty mark to the right of her mouth, and it had begun to grow taller and wider from the dancer's dew that covered her face.

“Hi, yourself. Where's Jayne?”

“I thought you'd know. We were hoping you might want to join us for lunch again. We enjoyed your company so much the last time.”

She beamed at the invitation. She may have had plans with the other dancers (or had at least inserted herself into their group whether invited or not), but there was something to be said for palling around with one of the leads and the best hoofer in the show. While we were chopped liver by everyone else's standards, we were royalty by hers.

“Why, I'd just love to,” she said in her best Shirley Temple voice. Her ringlets were pulled back in a ribbon, and I was reminded of a friend's grandmother who'd gone so goofy she insisted on dressing in the ornate gowns she'd worn during the Civil War. “I've been thinking you two might be the perfect people to help advise me on my career. I've decided I don't just want to just be a dancer—I want to be an actress and singer too. Where should we go to eat?”

“It's your pick.” I started down the aisle and toward the doors.
“Oh, nuts—I forgot. I still don't know where Jayne is. If we leave her behind, she'll never forgive me.”

“Maybe she's in the ladies' room.”

I made like I was thinking hard about her whereabouts. “You know what? She mentioned that she needed to take something up to Walter's office.”

“Oh. So let's wait for her in the lobby.”

“I think it may be better if we go up there and get her. The last time she was alone with Walter he chewed her ear off, and I have a feeling she'd appreciate a rescue.”

Whether bolstered by her desire to help Jayne or by the chance to see Walter Friday and remind him of her assets, Gloria followed my lead into the lobby and up the stairs. We approached Walter's closed door. Just as I was about to raise my hand to knock, Jayne's laugh rang out two doors down. She was with Garvaggio and her timing, as always, was impeccable.

“That's strange,” I told Gloria. “That's Jayne's laugh.”

The squeal of delight repeated, followed by “Oh, Vinnie—you're terrible.”

I put a finger to my lips and motioned for Gloria to quietly follow me. She slipped off her pumps, but in her heavy-footed, graceless way still managed to make noise. We crept close to his door, which had conveniently been left cracked open. We couldn't see what was happening, but we could hear every word.

Garvaggio's cigar smoke greeted us, and I found myself fighting a sneeze. I squeezed my nose shut as he murmured, “It's the God's honest truth. She couldn't dance her way out of a paper bag. And get this: she wants to be an actress. Can you imagine? I got socks that are more convincing than her. She'll find out soon enough, though. Ain't nobody going to work with her unless she can get someone else to do her a favor.”

“If she's so bad, how come you cast her?” asked Jayne.

“At the time, it was because I wanted to make her happy. That's what I do for my girls: they want something—anything—I try to get it for them.” I didn't have the courage to look at Gloria. She hadn't
made a peep, and I didn't think it was beyond reason that she hadn't figured out who they were talking about yet.

“That's awfully sweet,” said Jayne. “But what's the matter—you don't want to make her happy anymore?”

“Gloria and me are two steps from the finish line. It's time I start making another girl happy.”

Gloria dropped her shoes to the floor, pushed me out of the way, and entered Vinnie's office like King Kong entered Fifth Avenue. I rushed behind her to make sure she directed her rage at the right person. Vinnie was tapping the ash off a cigar into a souvenir ashtray from the Stork Club. Jayne sat on the edge of his desk, too far away for Vinnie's chubby arms to reach her. Her legs were crossed, her skirt astray, and the show she was putting on was just conservative enough to keep the MPAA away.

“How dare you!” sputtered Gloria. Shirley Temple was gone, and in her place was a girl born and raised in the Bronx. “After all I've done for you!”

Jayne leaped off the desk just as Gloria swept her hand across it and sent the ashtray tumbling to the floor. It broke apart with a thunderous crack as Gloria approached Vinnie and shoved his shoulder. His chair was on wheels, and she sent him into a spin—an amazing feat considering his size.

Vinnie completed one revolution and started another. “Gloria, baby—take it easy. You misunderstood…”

She wasn't having any of it, thank God. “No talent. You said I had no talent! Why I oughta…” I thought she was going to belt him, and I think she did too. Instead, she stopped his chair mid-spin, plucked his cigar from his hand, and extinguished it on the sleeve of his $500 suit. “We are finished! And let me tell you, Vinnie Garvaggio, I'm gonna make it, and when I do, you're going to hear me laughing all the way from Hollywood.”

She stomped out of the room and into the stairwell. A sound like a moose mating began strong and grew increasingly faint as she tramped down the stairs. She was crying.

“We better go to her,” I said. Garvaggio was rendered mute by the unsightly gash in his suit sleeve, to say nothing of the angry red boil on his arm. I looked to Jayne, and she shrugged and followed me out the door.

We retrieved Gloria's shoes and found the woman herself in the lobby ladies' room, crying so hard she was choking on her own tears. I freed a roll of toilet paper from the wall and passed it to her, while Jayne huddled beside her and rubbed her back.

“I'm so, so sorry,” Jayne whispered. “I went to see Friday and he wasn't in his office. Vinnie called me into his, and the next thing I know he's saying all those awful things. I would never steal another woman's man. Honest.”

Gloria noisily blew her nose. “Is it true? Am I an awful dancer?”

Jayne and I looked to each other for help. What did you say in a situation like this? I'd thought Vinnie would make a pass at Jayne and Gloria would hear it, not that he'd mock her dream to another woman. We could lie to her to make ourselves feel better, or…

“You're not awful,” said Jayne. “You're new, that's all. You should've seen Rosie when she was in the chorus.”

I blushed and dropped my head to the floor. It was only fair that my humiliation become an object lesson to make someone I hurt feel better.

“She was awful at first, but the harder she worked, the better she got. You will, too—you'll see. You're out there with dancers who've done twenty, thirty shows before, most of them with years of ballet under their belt. Of course that's going to make you look bad.”

Gloria snorted. Or hiccupped. Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant. “Do you really think I'll get better?”

Jayne bit her lip and tossed me another look. We both knew what had to be said. “Absolutely. And I'll help you.”

“We both will,” I said. “I mean, I'm not going to help you dance, since clearly it's not my forte, but I'll gladly help you out with the acting thing.”

Gloria smiled through splotches of ruined makeup and sighed heavily. “Thank you.”

We weren't awful people. We'd turn this around for her or die trying. “You know, Gloria,” I said, “I can't get over the way he talked about you in there. If my boyfriend did that—”

“Shhhh…” said Jayne.

“No, she needs to hear this. You have to stand up for yourself. If the relationship is over that's fine, but you deserve better than him throwing himself at another woman and telling her those kinds of things about you. I mean who's to say, he hasn't been going all around town doing the same thing since you two met?”

Her tears stopped and her chin rose. “That might be why I hadn't been able to get work until now.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Vinnie's a powerful guy, and when you combine that with a big mouth, you've got trouble.”

Gloria raised her chin further, giving us full view of her nostrils. “It's not fair. I was always good to him.”

“He needs to pay,” said Jayne. “He needs to know that he can't treat a woman this way.”

Gloria's eyes narrowed and she nodded. “I should call his wife.”

That wasn't the answer we were looking for. “Do you really think he'd care?” said Jayne. “Chances are she already knows he steps out on her.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Hit him where it hurts,” I told her. “Aim for his pocketbook.”

 

Over egg salad sandwiches at Mancuso's, we gave Gloria the lay on the meat trade going on after hours and who she should call to shut it down. Like us, she was mortified at the thought of horse meat being sold as beef. It wasn't the cruelty that bothered her so much as the inconsiderateness of the act. And the frugality.

“He's brought me tons of meat before. I'm sick just thinking about it. I mean, Vinnie won't wear the same shirt twice, yet he has no problem feeding people horse? That's just like him.”

We didn't argue. Instead, we told Gloria to call the police as soon as she got home and report what was going on. She was angry enough that she didn't want to wait that long. Instead, she abandoned her sandwich and told Jayne she'd see her later.

“Did Vinnie say anything else useful before Gloria and I arrived?” I asked Jayne. I searched my egg salad sandwich to make sure there was nothing meat-colored lurking inside it. The inspection complete, I placed bread on bread and took a bite.

It may have been meat-free, but that didn't mean it was edible.

“Not a word,” said Jayne. “I told him I used to date Tony just like you said, but aside from a few choice words about the remarkable Tony B., he didn't say anything about Al or why he might still be at Rikers.”

That wasn't good. Vinnie was the easy way to information, and if he wasn't budging (and he certainly wouldn't be after Gloria's phone call), that left only two equally painful paths to follow: talk to Al again or talk to Tony.

“At least we saved the show,” said Jayne.

I fought to swallow a mouthful of surprisingly dry egg salad. “No, we saved the funding. The show may still flop, but our days of random accidents are over.”

E
VERYTHING WENT DOWN LATER THAT
night. The police raided the theater and caught Vinnie red-handed with a supply of freshly butchered horsemeat being packaged by his lackeys. He was taken in, though it was clear he wouldn't be held for longer than a couple of weeks. Men like Vinnie had good mouthpieces who saw to it they kept their hands clean and their time minimal. That was good enough for us, though. As long as Vinnie was locked up when the show opened, Walter would stand a chance to recoup the money he'd borrowed.

Gloria was jubilant the next day. Having done something to punish Vinnie, and having our promise to help her become a better performer, she was ready for the next stage of her life to begin. We still needed one more favor from her: she had to let Vinnie know she was the stoolie who'd squealed and that she'd be all too ready to testify to that effect if he made one move to hurt Walter Friday in the future. She agreed to do so, and while we weren't there for that conversation (she insisted on doing it face-to-face), it was clear Gloria walked out of the 19
^th
Precinct a changed woman. Vinnie Garvaggio would not be a problem in the future.

While Jayne and I were feeling pretty good about ourselves, nothing we'd done had helped free Al. There were only two ways that was going to happen: convince Tony to spring him or find out who really killed Paulette and let the coppers know they had the wrong man. Two days after Garvaggio was hauled off, I was back at rehearsal trying to figure out how to solve the unsolvable problem. The most logical person to have murdered Paulette was a jealous boyfriend or
fiancé, but I couldn't buy that George Pomeroy was capable of something like that. He was too soft, his pain too palpable to have smashed a lamp over the head of the woman he loved.

The other possibility was that someone had killed Paulette to improve her career. As much as I hated to admit it, murder wasn't Ruby's style. She didn't need to kill someone to get a good role. Minnie, on the other hand, may have thought she would be bumped into Paulette's role after she died. When that didn't happen, she may have sabotaged Ruby in hopes that she could still secure the part. Perhaps she even caused Olive's accident, hoping for the same. But Minnie wasn't that motivated. She didn't seem to care much about the production, and she'd never said anything to indicate she had high aspirations.

Walter instructed us all to take our places, and I joined Ruby backstage right, where she was pretending to look over her script. Since it was obvious she didn't want to speak to me and since the feeling was mutual, I kept my distance from her and tried to concentrate on my own lines.

It was a surprisingly good rehearsal, until the first musical number. Then, as always, the tight acting, strong characters, and amusing songs were felled by the still sloppy dance routines. I watched from the wings, alternating between cringing and laughing. Jayne was still Jayne, doing her best to make magic from muck, but the rest of the crew seemed to have abandoned hope that they could elevate this production from anything more than a farce. As they cleared the stage to make room for the next scene, I crept behind the scrim to kvetch with Jayne, leaving Ruby alone to wait for her entrance. I made it to the rear of the stage when I heard a snapping noise. I looked upward for the source of the sound and was instantly felled by the heavy black velvet drape that had been hanging above me. As I struggled to free myself from the fabric, something landed with a thud several feet away.

Ruby screamed. An enormous metallic clatter followed her yelp of distress, and I thrashed about until I found light. I wrestled myself
loose and half-ran, half-stumbled to offstage right. There I found Ruby on her back in a pile of metal folding chairs that had been set up for our use.

“Are you okay?” I asked. The other actors huddled around us, uncertain how to react. Walter Friday made it to my side and offered Ruby his hand. He pulled her to her feet, and we watched in silence as she assessed her injuries. Sore and bruised, perhaps, and mute from the shock of the fall, but otherwise she was fine.

Now that the victim's condition was known, we all hunted for an explanation for what had happened. I searched the fly space for the source of the noise and the reason for the curtain's abrupt fall. As I looked, Jayne grabbed my arm and directed my attention downward. A sandbag lay to the left of the folding chairs, its fabric stamped 120
POUNDS
. It had burst on landing, and now the stage was littered with fine white grains.

Jayne took hold of my arm and pulled me down until her lips could meet my ear. “Garvaggio?”

I shook my head. “No way. Gloria put the fear of God in him.”

We scanned the crowd, trying to eyeball the culprit. If anybody on the stage was behind this, they didn't tip their hand. They all looked shaken, aware that it easily could've been any one of them standing where Ruby was.

The stage manager appeared with a broom and dustpan and Friday momentarily closed his eyes and rested his fingers on his eyelids. When he'd summoned the courage to move forward from this moment, he clapped his hands and announced that we were going to take a one-hour break.

Ruby rushed out of the auditorium, and I followed behind her. Her usually confident stride grew hunched as she propelled herself onto the rain-soaked street. She hadn't brought her coat or purse with her, and like a wild-eyed dog she searched out a safe place to hide from her invisible pursuer.

“Ruby, wait!” I called out.

She spun toward my voice. “I don't want to talk to you.”

“Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” She turned again, determined to move as far as she could from what had just happened in the theater.

“I think we need to talk about what happened.”

“It was an accident. Just another accident.”

“What about the notes?”

If she was surprised that I knew about them, she didn't show it. Instead, her face lit up with embarrassment as if I'd just revealed that I knew that she had a crush on someone who didn't return it. “It's someone's idea of a joke. That's all. Please—leave me alone.” She left the safety of the awning and rushed back into the rain. Before I could follow her, a hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to the theater.

“Let her go,” said Izzie. “She had a scare. She wants to be alone.” She pulled me into the lobby, where Zelda sat reading an issue of
Liberty Magazine
. The cover asked, “How Strong Is Hitler's 1943 Air Force?”

“These accidents have got to stop,” Zelda said as I came in. “Someone needs to talk to Friday about it. She could've been killed.”

“This isn't Friday's fault,” I said. “And this isn't just another accident.” I gave them the lay on Vinnie Garvaggio and what we'd done over the last two days.

“Maybe he sent someone else,” said Izzie. “It's not like he doesn't have people working for him.”

“Believe me—the last thing he wants is Gloria to testify about what was going on here. If she doesn't come forward, he goes free. It's not worth it for him to continue messing with Friday. Besides…Ruby's been getting notes.”

Zelda and Izzie exchanged a look before they both tipped their heads toward the floor. “What kind of notes?” asked Zelda.

“Threatening notes. About Donald Montgomery. Someone isn't too happy she's engaged, and they made it clear they'd rather she break it off now.
Or else
. I think what we just witnessed was their ‘or else.'”

Another look passed between them. It was getting maddening being around them, like I was a foreigner forced to listen to them speak a language I didn't understand.

“Do you two know something?” I asked.

“No,” said Izzie.

Zelda put her hand out to stop her. “Maybe—”

Izzie widened her eyes and increased her volume. “No. We have to talk to Olive first.”

I was seconds from screaming. “If you guys know who's after Ruby, you owe it to her to tell her. If she ends up hurt or worse, it's on you.”

“We don't know who's threatening her,” said Izzie.

“Is that true?” I asked Zelda.

She nodded. “We have no idea who it could be. But we've all been getting letters from whoever it is.”

 

Zelda and Izzie agreed to take me to the hospital to see Olive as soon as rehearsal was over. The remaining hours dragged by, their length increased by the sense of doom I suddenly felt. If they'd all been receiving letters, then it was safe to surmise that Olive's accident was no accident. And if that was the case, whoever was threatening them clearly wanted to do more than scare Ruby. Try as I might to focus on the show we were trying to save, my eyes kept wandering upward to where the remaining sandbags hung, waiting for release. Ruby remained skittish, continually searching the air above her to make sure nothing lingered there that might suddenly be set free.

When rehearsal came to an end at seven, we were all still unscathed. I let Jayne know I'd be home later but didn't tell her why. As much as I wanted her with me when I went to see Olive, she wasn't one of their confidantes, and I couldn't depend on them to be open with me with her in the room. Besides, she had plans to rehearse privately with Gloria and Lord knows that was as important as anything I might learn that night.

Zelda, Izzie, and I took a hired hack to East Seventy-eighth Street and filled the ferry trip to Welfare Island with idle chitchat about the show. Upon our arrival, the three of us set aside the casual air we'd tried to maintain and sulked our way into the building and up to Olive's floor.

She had been moved into a private room since our last visit, though how she could afford such accommodations was anyone's guess (her deceased husband, most likely). Her leg was out of traction and she was sitting upright. Dinner had just passed, and the remains of what looked like a pork chop sat glistening on the hospital tray.

“What a lovely surprise!” she said as we entered the room. She took in our solemn faces and toned down her enthusiasm to mildly pleased. “What's with the long pusses?”

“Ruby narrowly escaped ending up here with you today,” I said. “She's been getting threatening notes for weeks now, and your pals just told me that all of you have been receiving the same.”

Olive frowned and turned toward Zelda and Izzie. Izzie mouthed an apology, but Zelda stepped forward with her head high. “We had to tell her, Olive.”

“They're just threats,” said Olive. “Someone wants to scare us.”

“You could've been killed,” said Zelda. “Ruby could've too. That's not someone trying to scare either of you.”

“It's a coincidence,” said Olive. “I wasn't looking where I was going. I should've known better.”

“And what about Paulette?” I asked. “Should she have known better too?”

“Paulette has nothing to do with this,” said Olive. “Her killer's in jail.”

Zelda put a hand on Olive's leg. “They got the wrong person. The guy in jail didn't kill Paulette.”

Olive's mouth opened and closed so quickly that I expected to find she was controlled by marionette wires.

“What do the notes you've been getting say?” I asked.

Izzie and Olive looked away from me as though they feared I
could read the truth in their eyes. Zelda looked like she was about to do the same, then stopped herself. “They're about the men we've been seeing.”

“Zelda!” Izzie took a step toward her.

“Honestly, Izzie, it's dumb not to say something. Maybe Rosie can help.”

“How?” asked Olive.

“I used to work for a detective,” I said. “And earlier this year I got to the bottom of another murder, one the police dismissed as suicide. Here's the crop—either you can put up with me or you can get on the horn and tell the coppers, but one of those two things is going to happen before I leave this room.”

“Can we have a minute?” asked Olive.

I agreed and left the three of them alone while I wandered the hospital corridor. Every once in a while a voice rose loudly enough that I could hear it from my roost twenty feet away, but the content of the conversation was unknown to me. My curiosity was approaching boredom when Zelda poked her head out the door. “We're ready.”

Izzie was seated beside Olive, holding her hand. Zelda took her place at the foot of the bed. “We want you to help us,” said Olive. “We don't think the police would understand.”

I pulled up a chair and made myself comfortable. “You've got my ear.”

“Will you keep everything we say confidential?”

“Absolutely.”

Olive nodded at Zelda and gave her the reins.

“We've been getting the notes since Paulette died,” said Zelda.

“And what about Paulette? Was she getting them before she was murdered?”

Zelda left the bed and moved to the window. “Hers started in California. We don't know how long she was getting them before she moved here, but it was at least a few months. That's why she decided to move.”

“She was scared?”

“She wanted to make a fresh start,” said Olive, “and she thought that by moving she might be able to lose this pen pal as well.”

“But she didn't?”

“We didn't know, until after her death…and even then, we didn't think…” Izzie's voice trailed off. “A few days after she was killed we were cleaning up her room and we found the notes and the envelopes they'd come in. She'd told us about California, but she hadn't mentioned she'd received anything here. There they were, though, with recent New York postmarks.”

“And then we started getting them too,” said Zelda.

I paced the length of the room, trying to make sense of what they were telling me. “Paulette I can understand. I mean, from what I picked up at the memorial she had two dead husbands, a new fiancé, and probably a boyfriend or two floating around.”