Prohibition is the law of the land, but Nellie needs cash - after socking a gangster in the face, she's got ten days to make it right. Frightened and caught empty-handed, Nellie turns bootlegger.
She accepts a job from her sly friend Lola to pick up...
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WEDNESDAY, JUNE 3 1925
Lola and I wait to celebrate until we're both well-rested. We go out to the Lynx together dressed to the nines and she pulls me onto the dance floor.
"Joey will cooperate," she says, "I convinced him. And Cunningham will do everything he can to make sure there's a conviction."
John Travers is going away to prison. It'll take him not one, but two miracles to get him out of this one. After uncovering one of his hiding places for all his ill-gotten goods Travers experienced a raid of his very own.
Lola exclaims that she's going to lead this number but I tell her I have to lead the next one, then, and we laugh as some fella stumbles across our path, his tie undone.
"Is Lester going to be joining us later?"
Lola smirks. "Maybe. He'll probably get a commendation out of all this."
"Don't sound so disgusted," I say, "I know you like him."
She spins me around but I see her blush. She's not fooling me any.
"You can work for me," Lola says.
"I appreciate it," I say, "But I think I need something a little quiet now."
"You're going back to that dance hall, aren't you?"
I nod and she laughs. "Well, I hear the pay is decent."
"I'm also going back to the Müllers," I say, "To help out until—"
Until Felix comes back to town.
"I'm sure he's fine, Nellie," Lola says, "He can take care of himself." I still haven't heard from him, and he'll be called as a witness at the trial. I just need a way to get a hold of him, to tell him that everything's safe. Thinking about Felix makes me falter through the steps. When the song's over we head back to a table. Lester does show up. He's a mixture of peeved and respectful of us both. Lola fusses over him and that's when I take my leave.
It's nice to be out in the fresh air. I take a cab home. The place is still a mess—I barely cleaned anything up after I was arrested and let free. I sink onto the bed and assess the chaos.
I have a record. I don't quite know what that says about my reputation, but the Müllers don't seem to mind.
Police sirens outside wake me from my silly daydreaming. I change into my night things and right the wrongs in my apartment. The scratches and nicks in the furniture are permanent, but the mess all over the floor isn't.
It takes me two hours. I dust the place, too, careful not to step on any boards that are too loose lest I wake the baby downstairs.
Rent's due soon. I hope that a week's worth of dancing will cover it.
I don't mean to, but I cry myself to sleep.
* * *
Going home is the easy thing to do. I stop at the corner outside the diner, weighing my options. I do need to head back to the dance hall and convince the manager to take me back. I made them a decent amount of money, and there are other halls if they won't have me.
