Funny Boys (13 page)

“That dumb?”

Mickey got up.

“Anyway, think about my offer. Mr. Strauss would be proud.” He looked at her and their eyes met. “And you’d be happy.” He paused. “I know I would be.”

Why not? she asked herself. She could tell Pep that it would make her real happy. Mickey started to leave, but before he moved away she held out her hand. He took it. She noted that it was moist, not clammy, but warm moist.

“As the one-legged hitchhiker told the guy who gave him the lift. Got to hop off now.”

“It never stops, does it?” she asked. She liked Mickey, felt a sense of sincerity about him. Yes, she told herself, she would tell Pep that she wanted to do this. She was sure Pep wouldn’t mind.

That night she called Pep at the candy store.

“Who is this?” the man who answered said. She recognized the voice as that of the young man behind the fountain at the candy store, Moe, the son of Midnight Rose.

“It’s Mutzie,” she said. “Pep’s girl.”

“The one at Gorlick’s?”

“Yes,” she said. The Number One, she thought. She was beginning to hate the reference and what it implied.

“Pep’s gone away for a coupla days,” Moe said.

“Where?” she asked. It was a reflex. She had not meant to ask the question, but she had been surprised.

“On a fishing trip,” Moe said laughing.

“Oh, yes,” she said, trying to take the sting out of the inquiry,
hoping he wouldn’t tell Pep. “Just tell him Mutzie called. Nothing important. And tell him I’ll see him Friday night at Gorlick’s.”

Pep’s business was his business and her business was her business, she told herself. Besides, she didn’t think he would mind. Hadn’t he told the tumler to keep her happy? This was all part of it.

The next day after lunch she and Mickey began to rehearse in one of the private card rooms that were deserted on sunny days. At first she was nervous and mumbled the lines he had given her.

“You look like you’re suffering,” Mickey told her.

“I am.” The paper on which her lines were written shook in her hand.

He tried to relax her by telling jokes. “Hear about the lady who saw her name in the obituary and called her friend in hysterics?”

Mutzie shook her head.

“She says, ‘Did you see my name in the obituaries this morning?’ The woman replies, ‘So where are you calling from?’”

Mutzie giggled, but mostly out of nervousness.

“Feel better?” Mickey asked. She nodded. “Now read.”

“Hello, Sam.”

“Who is this?”

“This is Sadie.”

“With which Sadie am I having the pleasure?”

“This is the Sadie with which you had the pleasure.”

“Oh that Sadie? I remember you and that weekend we spent together. What a weekend. I’ll never forget you. And I forgot to tell you, you’re a good sport.”

“That’s why I’m calling you, Sam. I’m having a baby. I’m gonna kill myself.”

“Say, you
are
a good sport.”

She started to giggle.

“There you go. Get into the spirit. You can’t make people laugh unless you’re having a good time yourself.”

“Yes. I see that.” She agreed. In the next hour he handed her script after script of funny lines. She felt herself getting better and better.

“Later we’ll do song parodies. The guests love that.”

Mickey decided that the show would be put on Thursday night and, maybe if it went over well, they would do it again for Pep when he came up. They worked for three days in the afternoons getting the lines right. She spent every evening in her room memorizing them.

“They’re all talking,” Helen told her at breakfast Thursday morning.

“About what?”

“You and the tumler,” Helen said. “It doesn’t look too good. You step out on Pep and you’ve got a problem.”

“Pep?” She felt insulted and confused. “Pep asked Mickey to look after me.” She could not say, To make me happy.

“I’m not saying it’s true,” Helen said. “I’m only saying how it looks.”

“I’m merely helping him out with some skits. And they’re real funny. You’ll see tonight.”

“Look, I’m not accusing. It’s how it looks. Ya know what I mean. Yeah, business is business. The boys don’t hurt nobody cept when it comes to business. One exception, lady. You don’t step out on Pep. No way. Pep can be very hard on his girls if they step out on him. I seen it. Ya lucky if your face don’t look the same or … ya know.” She made a throat cutting gesture with her hand. Mutzie felt her stomach lurch.

“Well, I’m not stepping out on him. I wouldn’t do that to Pep. I’m Pep’s girl and you know it. Don’t make trouble, Helen.”

Helen put her mouth to Mutzie’s ear.

“And the boy will be singing soprano,” she whispered.

For a moment, she felt as if her heart had stopped. Helen persisted.

“Word to the wise, kid. I been around these punks a long time. This Pep follows his shmekel. You give that magic wand your undivided attention. Save yourself a lot of grief. Get my drift.”

“I would never …” Mutzie began, swallowing hard.

The two women exchanged glances.

“Glue them legs together, girlie. One thing more. Sometimes. …” Helen’s voice dropped to a whisper again. “Sometimes … I’m not saying for sure. But sometimes you gotta help him out. Ya know. Like doin a fava for an important friend. Ya know what I mean.”

Mutzie froze, recalling her previous humiliation. Not Pep, she thought. He promised. This Reles woman, she concluded, could make real trouble. She had better not push her luck.

At that point little Heshy arrived, his face and knees covered with mud.

“Look at you, little putz,” she shouted twisting his ear. “Schmutz everywhere.”

After lunch she went to the card room, but she no longer felt comfortable about working with Mickey. As much as she resented the idea, she was not a fool. These women could be very vicious and hurtful. Nevertheless, Helen’s warning had found its mark.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she told Mickey.

His jaw fell, a nerve in his cheek began to palpitate and his expressive blue eyes told her of his disappointment.

“But Pep said …” he began.

She put a finger over his lips.

“People see things differently,” she said. “The women are saying things.”

“Hey, Mutzie. Gossip are the spies of life. They’ve got nothing else to do.”

“I don’t want to make trouble, Mickey.” For you either, she thought.

“What’s the harm in making people laugh?” Mickey said. “It’s one of the best things you can do for yourself, too. Besides, you got Pep’s go ahead.”

“Well, I …” She paused. “I didn’t. I thought I should make my own decision.”

“Do you think he’ll mind?”

“About the show, I don’t think so.”

“So where’s the problem?”

“I told you, Mickey, people can be cruel.”

Mickey studied her with what seemed like great intensity, looking into her eyes. She turned away, hiding them from him. Maybe she was overreacting, she thought, allowing herself to be intimidated. Pep was never intimidated. Pep was afraid of nothing and no one. And Helen Reles was jealous. And it was Pep who made the suggestion. She felt as if she was winning the argument with herself, although she still held back.

“Maybe if we just rehearsed,” Mickey pleaded. “You’ll feel better and you’ll still have time to change your mind.”

“I’m not sure, Mickey.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Very much.” Their eyes locked again.

“Then do it. Be you.”

He sang the last line, getting down on one knee.

Getting up, his eyes fixed on hers, he moved toward a table and made a make-believe telephone out of his hands. He made a ringing sound.

“Is Mr. Berkowitz in?” he said.

Mutzie smiled.

“I said, ‘Is Mr. Berkowitz in?’”

Mutzie giggled, feeling as if a weight had been lifted. “No. This is Yom Kippur,” she replied, as if it were a reflex.

“Well, when do you expect him, Miss Kippur?”

She laughed and Mickey made another ringing sound.

“Hello, is Mr. Berger in?” Mickey said.

“No. He’s off to the United Kingdom,” Mutzie replied.

“Oh my God. I’m sorry to hear that. Is it too late to send flowers?”

“See. See,” Mickey said. “You’re a natural. A trooper.” Without missing a beat, Mickey said, “You want to hear a song I just composed?”

“What’s the name of it?”

“Irving the Fork.”

“Irving the Fork. What kind of a name is that for a song?”

“Mack the Knife did bad?”

Before she knew it, she was responding with perfect timing. They did the Sadie routine flawlessly. Then they did a parody of “Making Whoopee” and “Sam You Made the Pants Too Long.”

“You’ll knock ’em dead,” Mickey said.

“Oh, Mickey, I do hope so,” Mutzie said embracing Mickey in a friendly hug from which she quickly retreated.

They worked at rehearsing for two hours. It helped Mutzie finally to dispel her anxiety. It was silly to be upset. Pep will love her doing this, she decided, and she’d show him exactly what feeling happy can do.

“What’ll I wear?” she asked.

“What’ve ya got?”

She described the various dresses that she had in her closet. Pep had bought her clothes that showed off her curvy figure. Lowcut dresses, spiked heels, some slacks outfits.

Mickey debated the various costumes she described.

“Come and look,” she said, moving to the corridor.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” Mickey said.

By then she was feeling stronger, less worried. Her heart and body were absolutely faithful to Pep. Surely Pep knew that. “Don’t let ’em pushya around,” Pep had told her countless times.

“Won’t bother me.”

She started up the stairs, eschewing the elevator, knowing that the help was not supposed to use the elevator. Mickey, obviously still frightened, followed a few feet behind. Mutzie and Pep’s room was on the second floor overlooking the lake. She opened it and went in, leaving the door open. When he came in he didn’t close it.

“There.” she said, leading him to her closet. “You pick.”

He studied her wardrobe carefully, then pulled out a white silk pantsuit with a flowing neckerchief under a large sailor collar with a blue ribbon trim.

“I saw Ruby Keeler wear one like that once in the movies,” she said. “Too bad I dance like a klutz.”

Mickey did a jumping heel click. “When do ships grow affectionate?” he asked.

“Give up,” she said, having picked up his riddle timing.

“When they hug the shore.”

She held her nose then held the pants outfit in front of her.

“Looks great,” Mickey said. He smiled, winked and kissed her forehead. “Break a leg,” he said.

At that moment, her eyes wandered to the open door of the room. In the doorway was the redheaded young man that she had seen working around the hotel. He lifted his hand in a mock salute and moved away. Seeing her eyes engaged, Mickey looked behind him.

But by then Irish was gone.

T
HEN IT WAS
M
ICKEY
F
INE WHO WAS HAVING SECOND
thoughts. Maybe he had gone too far with Mutzie. After all, she was Pep’s girl. He must never forget that. But wasn’t it Pep who suggested it?

He explored the logic in his own mind. Pep had commanded him to do a job. Make Mutzie happy. But the women’s gossip was not making her happy. Therefore, Pep would blame him, and maybe because Mutzie was not being made happy, he might lose his job —which was to make people happy. Especially Mutzie.

The truth was that his being with Mutzie made him the happiest he had ever been in his life. But sirens sounded in his head. When Mutzie offered to back out, he should have accepted the offer.

Accept the reality, schmuck, he begged himself. Mutzie was nothing more than a bird in a gilded cage and he would forever be a spectator. From the moment he saw her, he had felt something break inside of him. Naturally, he resisted it. She was the girlfriend of Pittsburgh Phil Strauss, a ruthlesss gangster, a man with no conscience. He had seen him at work, seen his mean, sadistic streak. Thinking about it recalled the sensation of near-drowning
he had had when he got the “toilet” treatment from Pep.

He believed all of the stories he had heard about Pep and his buddies, Kid Twist, Bugsy, Albert, Lepke, Costello and the others in the so-called combination. Gorlick’s hotel was a goldmine of “inside” gossip. He heard it from the waiters, waitresses, chambermaids, busboys, even those guests who were not part of the extended family of these gangsters but enjoyed their proximity. To them, the gangsters were celebrities, invincible, even heroic, people whose influence on cops, judges and polticians prevented them from incurring any punishment for their actions.

It was in the air, an open secret, their exploits more than just whispered gossip. These boys from Brownsville and Ocean Hill didn’t play around. Get in their way, they rubbed you out. In fact, that was their business. Murder Incorporated. You wanted someone wacked you got Bugsy Goldstein or Pep or Kid Twist or Dasher Abbandano or Tony Pro and they did the job with efficiency and dispatch. Pep, they said, was the best. He had a natural talent for killing. A quick job. Never left a clue. According to the whispers, the orders came from Albert Anastasia. He passed them down from guys like Lepke Buchalter or Frank Costello, who they called the Prime Minister, or leaders of other gangs in Detroit, Chicago or New Orleans.