Goldine Brown (A Crime Noir)

A Proposal Ms. Brown

Goldine strutted backstage as quickly as her pinching heels and aching feet would allow.

The brassy jazz music grew muffled the deeper she ventured into the shadowy corridor. The golden spotlight faded behind the black velvet curtain as it swung back in place.

Her clicking heels echoed jarringly loud in the near emptiness of the backstage hallway. She nodded to a small gaggle of tap dancers having a smoke before curtain, and ventured to the door marked with her name in bold black letters.

Sighing, Goldine entered her dressing room, the sweet scent of vanilla and lingering cigar smoke soothing her nerves.

She made a beeline for the vanity, kicking off her silver kitten heels on the way. The heavy diamond necklace and matching earrings were quickly discarded as well.

Before she could undress, a gentle knock sounded at her dressing room door before it swung open.

Goldine had expected it to be her hair dresser or assistant coming to see if she needed help. Instead she saw a familiar but unwelcome visitor. A frown tugged at her red lips. She glared at her guest through the vanity mirror.

With his olive skin, green eyes and thick mop of dark hair, Carlyle Milano was an undeniably handsome man. His powerful physique flexed beneath a perfectly tailored blue suit and a gold watch and ring glinted against his swarthy skin.

It was too bad—in Goldine's opinion—that such good looks were wasted on a no account gangster.

"Evening, Ms. Brown," Milano said, wearing a jovial smile, "I Hope I'm not interrupting any—"

"How did you get in here?" Goldine asked.

Unbowed by the interruption, Milano continued; "Well Ms. Brown, I'm a big fan," he inched his way through the door. "I just wanted to stop by and congratulate you on your show-"

"I asked how you got in here, not why."

The man chuckled.

"My apologies Ms. Brown, I'm bein' rather rude aren't I?"

"Quite."

"You see, I asked your manager if it would be alright to stop by for a visit, and he assured me it was OK."

A lie. Bobby would never allow a visitor without sending Mikey to alert her first. Especially not one like Carlyle Milano.

Milano produced a huge bundle of red roses from behind his back and handed them to Goldine with a grin.

"Why don't we start over? I wanted to bring you these, and again, to congratulate you."

Goldine padded toward's Milano, and gingerly accepted the flowers from him.

"Thank you."

"You deserve them, Ms. Brown," he stuck his now free hand in his pocket. "I suppose I should introduce myself proper, my name is—"

"I know who you are, Mr. Milano," Goldine cut in, heading back to her vanity to set the roses down, "you own the Monseigneur in Vegas."

"You've heard of it?" He perked up.

"I have." Goldine replied. "Everyone whose anyone in this town has."

"Well, I'm glad, to hear that. We'll skip the introductions then." Milano eased even further into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Goldine followed his every movement warily through the mirror. She turned around to stare down the mobster, keeping one hand gripped to her vanity.