Читать книгу Divided Houses - Janice Paull - Страница 5

After he had locked the front door of Harry’s Jazz Club, Eddie leaned against it and watched Vivien dancing; her black curly hair bounced, long jet necklace swung, hips swivelled. As the tempo increased, her movements grew faster, wilder. Reflected in the mirrored ball spinning above, her red flimsy dress revealed glimpses of her slender body.

After he’d landed the job as head doorman, he’d been bored until Vivien showed up with Doug Roberts, that flaming toffy-nosed snob. A girl like that needed a real man; if she belonged to him, he wouldn’t stand for her wearing clothes that showed all she had. He glanced at the toff’s table. Maybe things were up the creek. Roberts and Harry had their heads together. Harry’s girl, Gladys, couldn’t keep her paws off Doug.

As the trumpet reached its highest note, it faltered. The door crashed in. Bellowing coppers stormed the club, batons cracking heads. Whistles shrieked; punters tumbled. Drums and cymbals went spinning as the musos bolted. Eddie charged through the panicking crowd, up-ended tables and jumped fallen chairs to reach Vivien. He grabbed her hand, towed her through a door near the bandstand and up a flight of stairs to a room at the top. He pushed a window open, pulled her behind him up the fire escape to the roof. Eddie sat, leaned against the parapet and drew her down. Away from the smoke-filled club, the smell of booze, sweat and heavy perfume, the night air was cool and fresh. Vivien shivered; Eddie took off his coat and, as he tucked it around her shoulders, saw the rise of her breasts, her nipples erect with cold, the way the clinging dress hugged her body.

Vivien stared at him, then whispered, ‘What in God’s name happened in there? She paused and pulled the coat tight. ‘Why did you help me?’

‘I saw the coppers nab Doug.’

‘How do you know Doug’s name?’

‘I asked around.’

‘Why?’

‘I wanted to meet you.’ He saluted. ‘Eddie Bertoli at your service.’

She frowned. ‘Why did the police raid the club?’

‘Some sore loser tipped off the rozzers, I reckon.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what Harry does?’

‘He owns the club.’

‘And he’s up to his eyes in the rackets, runs the biggest two-up game in town, sells dodgy booze cheap. Probably a bit of snow.’

‘Snow?’

‘You’ve heard of opium?’

‘It’s used for pain.’

‘Well, the crims make it into a powder, cocaine; they call it snow.’

‘Why do people want that?’

‘You really are green. They sniff it and it makes them real excited. A bit mad like.’

Vivien chuckled. ‘Have you ever sniffed this snow?’

Eddie cleared his throat. ‘Not so you’d notice.’

‘Admit it. Did you go really mad?’

Gruff now, Eddie muttered. ‘Look here. I did it once or twice, hated the stuff. I’m not proud of doin’ it, so can we forget it now?’

Vivien tried and failed to look serious. ‘Tell me, how does Harry get away with all his dirty deeds?’

‘Slings a few quid to the right blokes. Must have picked a wrong’n tonight.’

‘But he’s always so nice.’

‘He’s as crooked as a dog’s hind leg and his booze’ll rot your guts.’

Vivien’s voice dropped. ‘I hate the way it makes me feel.’

‘You’re better off without booze, even the good stuff.’

‘What will happen to Doug?’

Eddie tried to look as if he gave a rat’s arse. ‘He’ll be charged, but he’ll bail himself out. He’s got it comin’ for bringin’ a girl like you to this dump.’

Vivien stifled a giggle. ‘Have you worked here long?’

‘A few weeks.’

‘Where do you live?

‘Ma Peter’s flea pit at the Rocks. I’ve been on the road a couple of years. Now, I’m workin’ me way back to Melbourne for me gran’s seventieth next month.’

‘You must be close.’

‘Too right. She brought me up after me mum died.’ He paused. ‘Gran still chops her own wood. Keeps a few chooks.’

Vivien smiled and shook her head in admiration. ‘Will you be able to get another job?’

‘Yeah, but I don’t want one. I’m gunna buy a milk bar. What about you? I don’t suppose the depression’s worried you much.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘You dress like a film star and Doug’s not short of a bob.’

‘Well, Eddie Bertoli, you’re quite wrong. Pa lost his business when I was still at school.’

‘What sort of business?’

‘He was a carrier, had a fleet of horses and drays; employed eight men. I used to have lessons in ballet, music, elocution, drawing, but we lost everything, including our house in Lane Cove.’

‘Where do you live now?’

‘Balmain.’

‘A bit of a come down.’

‘Mum hates it. We’re better off than a lot of people.’ She paused, thinking of thin, barefoot children, families who were evicted.

‘What does your dad do now?’

‘Nothing. He disappeared for a while. Then one day he came home—different.’

‘How? Was he sick?’

‘No. Changed. I think when he had to sack his workers, something in him died. That might sound strange, but he really cared about them, knew they wouldn’t find other work.’

‘He sounds like a real good bloke.’

‘He is. He kept one horse and dray and sold the rest. For a few weeks he’d leave sixpence on the kitchen table every morning before he went out. One night, he didn’t come home. He was away for two years. Maybe he went bush like you.’

Vivien looked up at the night sky where the stars still flickered in the blackness, drew in her breath sharply then shook away the feeling. ‘Anyway, he came home a few months ago, very ragged and silent. He has awful nightmares.’

Eddie could see how sad she’d become. There be a lot more to her dad’s story. ‘You’ve had it rough. How’re you managin’?’

‘Mum’s very,’ she paused, ‘forceful and determined. I think she saved some money before the business lost its last big contract, just before Helen—my sister, got married. Helen designed all the dresses for her wedding, including a special flower girl’s dress for me. Mum soon had Helen making up more of her designs. She showed them to some of her old friends who were happy to order, Doug’s mother included. They’d all been at the wedding, so they knew Helen’s work. It’s a good business now.’ She smoothed the skirt of her dress. ‘This is one of Helen’s.’

‘Flash, but a bit skimpy.’

‘You sound just like Mum,’ she snapped. ‘There’s a short cape I wear with it. It must be in the club somewhere.’

‘How do they buy the material and stuff?’

‘At first, Mum cut up some of her own stylish clothes, beautiful silks and satins. Helen sketched some designs, mainly evening wear, and made samples. Enough orders come in to keep the business going. The back veranda is stacked with bolts of material.’

Eddie looked impressed. ‘Do you help with the sewin’?’

‘No. Mum said I get in the way, so I was their dressmaker’s dummy for a while, but I fidgeted too much. Mum took me to Grace Brothers and bullied them into giving me a job. I do some modelling there.’

‘Do you like that?’

‘I love the ferry ride, sea air blowing in my face, the shop. Two or three times a week, customers ask me to model clothes for them. They often give me tips.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Eighteen. You?’

‘Twenty-two next month.’

‘Doug just turned twenty-two.’

‘Where did you meet him?’

‘I’ve always known him. We were next-door neighbours. When Mum visited his mother, I tagged along. At Helen’s wedding he showed me how to do the Charleston. I was only twelve, but I think I fell in love with him then. A couple of years ago, he turned up and asked me to go to the pictures with him.’ She paused. Eddie could see her gentle smile. ‘He held my hand in his pocket to keep it warm.’

‘Sounds like some soppy film.’

‘It was romantic. After we’d been out a few times, he kissed me. I thought I’d faint.’

She was stuck on Doug, all right. No hope for Eddie Bertoli there. ‘Gettin’ hitched?’

‘Vivien looked doubtful. ‘I hope so … we’ve talked about it, but he’s still at university.’

‘What’s he studyin’?’

‘Law.’

‘A brain, eh. And he’s lucky ... havin’ a girl like you.’

Vivien flashed a smile at him. ‘His mother thinks I’m not good enough.’

‘How do you know?’

‘By the way she looks at me. Doug’s an only child. When her husband died, he left her a fortune. She thinks she’s better than she is.’

‘You’d make any man proud.’

Vivien squirmed. ‘I should be getting home.’

‘We’ll give it a bit longer. They’re still clumpin’ about. Let’s have a squiz.’

They stood and leaned over the edge of the balustrade and watched police herding people into three black Mariahs. Doug was at the end of one of the lines with Harry and Gladys. Police barked directions, women wept and wailed; men blustered.

Eddie sat and hugged his knees to his chest and Vivien sat beside him. He looked up at the midnight-blue sky where the Southern Cross seemed close enough to touch.

‘Look up, Viv. You can see all the stars this side of the flamin’ world.’

Vivien followed his gaze. ‘There’s a falling one. It’s good luck! Let’s make a wish.’

Eddie looked down at Vivien’s sweet face. She’d be thinking of bloody Doug, her eyes closed, wishing or praying.

She huddled deeper into his coat then smiled at him and said, ‘I’d love to hear what you did on the road?’

He knew she didn’t really care, but it’d pass the time—maybe get his mind off his dick. ‘I’d had some rotten luck in Melbourne when I met a cove called Tom. We went bush, repaired a few fences, bought a couple of rifles, tried shooting wild boar and nearly got killed, so we shot some bunnies and sold them, panned for gold. One day, we ran into a travelling circus. It was pretty shabby. We took a squiz at the side shows: the fat lady, five-legged calves, midgets, a snake charmer, all that. There was this boxing tent with a bloke daring someone to take on Mighty Malone “famous Irish heavyweight.” Mighty looked punchy to me, so when I heard there was a couple of quid for anyone who could go three rounds, I had a go, knocked him out in the first, joined the circus and got top billing The Killer Kid.’

‘What happened to Tom?’

‘Poor bugger. Still trying to strike it lucky, I reckon.’

‘Did you like boxing?

‘Nah. The challengers were usually drunk or stupid, but I had to put on a bit of a show. If one of them looked as if he might have a chance, maybe landed a couple of decent punches, I’d stand back for a sec or two, cool down before letting him have it ...’ Eddie paused. ‘I lost me head a couple of times.’

Vivien imagined what might have happened to the challengers and drew away from Eddie. She swallowed and asked, ‘How long were you with the circus?’

‘Long enough to make a bit of money. I’d get one of the crew to bet on me when the punter was pie-eyed. We’d go halves. Cleaned up that way. I liked the circus crowd—outsiders like me. Sometimes I miss them, but they’re still heading north. I want to get back to Melbourne.’ He laughed. ‘After I left I did a bit more pannin’; found a flamin’ nugget.’

‘So you struck it lucky.’

Eddie was dismissive. ‘A bit. It’s not a real big one, but enough to buy a truck and set up a little business, like a corner shop; so many empty ones, rents’ll be dirt cheap.’

‘Good for you.’ Vivien glanced at Eddie, the way his fair hair was slicked back and how one of his even white teeth was chipped. He caught her glance, leaned towards her, eyes fixed on her face, a hungry look. She pulled his coat closer around her shoulders. ‘It’s quiet now. I’d like to go.’

‘Yeah, I’d better get you home. I’d like to see a bit of Sydney before I leave. A man’s mad to even think it, but … would you do the honours? Maybe show me round?’

Vivien hesitated before answering. ‘Maybe Doug and I could do that.’

As Eddie’s old Buick disappeared in the distance, Doug pulled up, got out of his car and shouted. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

Vivien tossed her head. ‘Hiding from the police.’

Doug scoffed. ‘All this time?’

‘Don’t get high-handed. You left me.’

‘I couldn’t find you.’

Hands on hips, Vivien mocked. ‘Too busy with someone else.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Jean Harlow.’

He gaped. ‘What are you talking about?’

Her voice rose. ‘That blonde.’

Doug laughed. ‘Gladys? She’s Harry’s girl. You know that.’

‘Why wouldn’t you dance with me?’

‘Harry wanted some advice. Anyway, you didn’t get caught.’

‘Thanks to Eddie.’

‘Who’s Eddie?’

‘You know, the doorman at Harry’s.’

‘You’ve been with him?’

‘You should have looked after me.’

‘You’re shouting.’

‘I want to shout. You desert me then show up complaining. What do you want me to be? A wife or a ... harlot like Gladys?’

‘We’ll talk about this when you’re sober.’

Vivien’s voice rose higher as she yelled. ‘I haven’t had one drink, and you know it. Eddie says Harry serves rotgut and he’s a gangster. Do you give free advice to criminals now?’

One by one the neighbouring terrace houses lit up. Through a raised window a woman shouted, ‘Cut the flaming racket.’ ‘Waking decent people.’ ‘Stop the shouting.’ ‘Let a person get some sleep.’‘You and your noisy cars.’ ‘I’ll have the law on you.’ ‘Shame on you, shame on you, shame on you, shame on you.’

Vivien shouted back. ‘Shut up. Miserable old biddies. As for you, Doug Roberts, I’m tired of you and your complaints. Don’t drink, Vivien. Don’t smoke, Vivien. Don’t breathe, Vivien. Kiss my foot, Vivien. On and on and on. Go back to your mother, you weak-kneed ninny.’ She took off a shoe and hurled it. Doug put up his arm to shield himself, but the heel of the silver-painted shoe struck his cheek. He wiped the blood from it with his white silk scarf, tossed that around his neck and drove away.

Vivien sank to her knees, put her head in her hands and sobbed until Helen helped her stand. ‘Come on, Mum’s waiting.’ At the bottom of the stairs, her mother stood clutching at the neck of her dressing gown, her shoulders stiff, lips a thin, straight line. Her face loomed large and close in the spinning hallway. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Have you no shame? Look at the state you’re in. Where have you been?’

Vivien hung her head.

‘Cat got your tongue now, has it?’

Helen intervened. ‘Can’t this wait?’

‘You’ll be sticking up for her next. She’s a disgrace. What have you got to say for yourself, miss?’

‘Oh, Mum.’

‘Don’t you “Oh, Mum” me. You should see yourself. Muck all over your face. You make me sick.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry’s no use. You’ll be the death of me. Out all hours of the night, drinking and smoking and goodness knows what else. Where’s your pride? You’re a shameless wretch with no thought for anyone but yourself. Don’t fool yourself. Mrs. Roberts will never allow Doug to marry you. Disgusting, that’s what you are. Disgusting. Get out of my sight.’