Jazz Age Ch. 02

The Jazz Age Chapter Two: The Love Nest

Charlie Desmond, the husband of Nancy Desmond, had a great faith in the future of America. Along with most of the men he knew, he thought the business of America was business and that was that. The business of America was business and the future of business looked good. No, he thought it was better than that. The business of America was business and the future of business looked smashing.

In the year 1928 that darling of the business community Mr. Bruce Barton announced to the country that Jesus Christ was the greatest businessman who ever lived. Hadn't Jesus brought together twelve top salesmen to sell religion to the world? Jesus would understand, Barton said. Jesus would understand, all right. Jesus would understand that business was something good. Business was the business of America. People had to understand that promoting American business was not only patriotic but enobling and virtuous.

Give of thyself to thy brethren by sharing in the consumption of what this great land produces. Salesmen were whipped into a fervor to get the people to buy, no matter how, get the first installment and a contract for the rest of the cost. Get them to buy. Get in the door and sell, sell, sell. And it worked. People bought. One company after another grew fat with profits. And there was cash aplenty, all the cash any business might need. Gold poured in from abroad in payment of loans to foreign countries and the banks were awash with cash. The bankers of America quickly loaned the money out to the American businessman to pump up the business boom even further.

Stock market speculation was now feverish, broker loans to investors greater than ever before in history. The country seemed headed for unlimited prosperity, the number of millionaires doubling each year, paradise just over the horizon. The Secretary of Commerce Mr. Herbert Clark Hoover proclaimed: "We in America today are nearer to the final triumph over poverty than ever before in the history of any land. The poor-house is vanishing from among us."

In the meantime Charlie and Nancy Desmond's townhouse in Gramercy Park was anything but a poor-house. Charles Earnest Desmond achieved his dreams of success in the five years between 1923 and 1928. He was among the first of the new generation of Wall Street attorneys to specialize in consolidations, mergers, malgamations, and absorptions of American corporations, the fusion of property, ownership, and management of business concerns. He chose well. By 1925 American business was already showing signs of merger fever, mergers and more mergers of corporations and public utilities and banks resulting from the enormous amount of cash available. By 1928 Charlie Desmond was a senior partner in the law offices of Haskins, Mason, and Shibley, and at the age of thirty-eight he had a net income of nearly eighty thousand dollars a year. In 1928 that was enough to make a man feel rich. That was enough money to buy ten fully equipped Lincoln towncars. In addition to the income from Charlie's law practice, the Desmonds had by way of Nancy's money substantial stock in the Chrysler Motor Company. In 1928 the stock was worth twenty times what they'd paid for it in 1923.

Now at the end of a long day in the middle of October, Charlie was in his office thinking about relaxation. His desk was clean and in ten minutes the driver provided by the firm would have the Cadillac waiting for him on Broad Street. Charlie pulled the telephone toward him, lifted the receiver and dialed a number.

"Garage," a voice on the line said.

"This is Mr. Desmond. Tell Dugan I'm using a taxi this evening. Tell him I'll see him in the morning as usual."

"Yes, Mr. Desmond."

And that was that. Charlie felt better now. Once a decision was made he always felt better about it. He left his briefcase on the desk because he knew he wouldn't be needing it tonight. He put on his coat and hat and a few minutes later he was down on the street waving his arm at a cab.

"220 West Forty-eighth Street," Charlie said.

He checked his pocket to make sure he had the key. That was one key he never kept in his key-case.

* * *

The building had a doorman, a clean lobby, and two elevators. Charlie rode one of the elevators to the eighth floor and then he walked down the corridor to the door he wanted.

He pushed the buzzer and waited, and when he decided she wasn't home he used his key. He opened the door, walked inside and closed the door behind him.

"Rita?"

Just to make sure she wasn't in the bathroom or asleep on the bed. But after a quick glance into the bedroom, he was certain she was out. Maybe shopping or at the hairdresser. This was one of the days she expected him and he had no doubt she'd arrive soon.

He slipped out of his coat and he hung it in the hall closet. Then he brought some ice out of the refrigerator and he carried it to the living room to mix a Scotch highball. He sipped the drink and he felt better. When he visited Rita the first drink always made him feel better.

The furniture still looked good. She'd been in the apartment six months now, but she took care of things. She was a neat girl, no sign of a mess, no ashes in the ashtrays. He'd bought some of the furniture second-hand, but it looked good as new and Rita said she liked everything.

He took his jacket off, and then he removed his tie and opened his collar. Then he heard the key in the door, and when he turned around the door opened and Rita came in.

"Charlie honey."

"Hello kitten."

She slipped her coat off and smiled at him. She wore red lipstick, a necklace of black beads, a red dress with a pleated skirt and red shoes with high heels. She was a dark-haired girl with a big bust and long legs, just his type. Nancy had no bust at all, but Nancy was his wife and he didn't mind it. Rita was something else.

She came over to him now and she leaned forward to kiss his lips.

"I love Manhattan," she said.

She'd arrived in New York two years ago from Easton, Pennsylvania.

"I guess you had a nice time today," Charlie said.

"I'm getting an audition at the Harem Club."

"You're not serious."

"No, I mean it. I have a friend who works there and she's fixed it for me."

"Well, that's fine. We can drink to that."

After she poured some Scotch into a glass, they drank a toast to the audition at the Harem Club. He'd been in the place once or twice, and he remembered the chorus girls didn't wear much when they came out to do their number.

"Will you come to see me if I dance there?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you'll come to see me."

Then she came into his arms and he kissed her. She pressed against him and he could feel her breasts against his chest. She still had her heels on and she was a little taller than he was. He put his drink down on the closest table and he kissed her again. Her mouth had a sweet taste and he always liked it. He ran his hands over the curves of her ass and then he squeezed her buttocks while he had his tongue in her mouth.

She pulled her mouth away and tickled his ear with her lips. "I think you're hot," she said.

"You can find out."

"I already know it."

"I can't stay long."

She pouted at him. "You always say that."

"Well it's true."

She touched him then. She passed her right hand over his fly and pressed against it. "I hope I get that job at the Harem Club."

"Maybe you will."

Her fingers worked at the buttons. Then she slid her hand inside his fly and she brought his penis out in the open. "Mmmm, he's ready for it, isn't he? Let's get some of your clothes off. You just sit down on the sofa."

He sat down and watched her while she removed his shoes. She was a sweet girl and he liked the way she treated him. He wasn't that happy about the Harem Club. She'd be out there dancing half naked and maybe soon he'd find himself with competition. He had enough competition downtown and he didn't need it here too.

After the shoes were off, she pulled his suspenders down and then she pulled his trousers off his legs. And then his undershorts. Now all he had on was the white shirt and the black socks held up by garters on his calves. His cock stuck out like a pink flagpole. She smiled at it, used two fingers to pull the foreskin down to expose his glans, then lowered her face to get the knob in her mouth.

Nancy did it once in a while, but she was never as good as Rita. When Nancy did it there was always a reason for it, something she wanted from him, a promise about something. It was never money because she had money of her own and she could buy nearly anything she wanted. Whatever it was, she never told him about it until later, maybe the next day, and then he would learn what it was and why she had done it in the first place. With Rita there was never something he was going to find out tomorrow. She did it because she knew he liked it. He paid the rent and he gave her money to live on and he'd put the furniture in the place and if he liked it she would do it. They never talked about it but they both understood it. It was honest, wasn't it? Maybe it was more honest than what he had with Nancy.

Rita gave a last lick with her tongue and then she rose up. "You always taste so delicious. Now it's me that's hot."

"Well, come on," he said.

"Here?"

"Sure, why not?"

She giggled. She was hot all right. He could tell it by the sparkle in her eyes. She pulled her dress up and dropped her step-ins, stepped out of them and tossed them away. She wore flesh-colored stockings held up by pink garters. The tuft of dark hair at the joining of her thighs didn't do much to cover anything. She came forward to straddle his knees, and as her thighs opened he looked directly at her cunt.

"I think you still like me," she said.

"Can't you tell?"

"Yes I think so."

Then she sat down on his cock. She used a hand to get him inside, and then she pushed down and the warm glove of her vagina gripped his penis.

"Charlie sweet..."

"Keep moving."

"I'm never going to stop."

At the end he closed his eyes and he just let go of everything. He felt as if all day had been nothing, just something leading up to this. He came inside her with a long groan, let go of everything, and then she climbed off him and he stretched out on the sofa and he went to sleep.

Later, when he opened his eyes again, he heard her singing in the bathroom. He lay there on the sofa and he looked at the yellow ceiling. Stupid color for a ceiling, he'd never liked it. Maybe in a month or two he'd have them paint it again. His left hand was wedged between the sofa cushion and the back of the sofa, and now his fingers felt something. Whatever it was, he pulled it out and held it up to his face. What he saw was a gold cufflink. He looked at it and looked at it and he knew damn well it wasn't his.

* * *

A few days later a man called Malone sat in Charlie's office with his right leg crossed over his left leg. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Go right ahead," Charlie said. He pushed the ashtray out to the corner of the desk where Mr. Malone could reach it.

Charlie was standing at the side of the desk and he could see Mr. Malone's scuffed black shoes. Mr. Malone wore a starched white collar that looked to be a size too small for his neck. He had an open notebook in his lap and a cigarette in his mouth.

Charlie sat down behind his desk and now, thank God, he could see less of Mr. Malone.

"Confidential," Charlie said.

Mr. Malone nodded. "You know me, Mr. Desmond. I've worked for this firm a long time."

"This is personal."

Mr. Malone nodded again. "I've done a few of those here. Sometimes people think they need a man they haven't used before, but it's always better to work with someone you know."

"That's what I've been thinking."

"I'm very good with personal stuff."

"No talk about it to anyone, Malone."

"You have my word, Mr. Desmond."

Charlie sighed. "It's not my wife."

Malone nodded again. His face was blank, a blank red face, a round head, the dark hair combed straight back and plastered down with Vitalis.

"It's not my wife," Charlie said again. "It's a woman I know."

Malone pulled a fountain pen out of the breast pocket of his jacket. He uncapped the pen and he held the pen poised in his right hand over the open notebook on his lap.

"Her name is Rita Marascho. M-A-R-A-S-C-H-O. She uses the name Rita Murray when she works as an entertainer. Dancer, chorus girl, whatever. She's not working at the moment. The address is 220 West 48th Street and I'm the one who's paying the rent."

"I get the picture, Mr. Desmond."

"In confidence, Malone."

"You have my word, Mr. Desmond. What is it you want to know about her?"

"I want to know who visits her when I'm not there."

Malone nodded as he wrote something down in his notebook. "Do you want just the visits to her place or the whole show? Maybe she's the one who does the visiting somewhere else."

"The whole show."

"Okay."

"Fine."

"Do you have a photograph?"

"No, I don't have a photograph."

"That's okay, we'll get one ourselves. No problem, Mr. Desmond, it'll take maybe a week or ten days. Unless you want more than that. On a job like this I use three people, so it can get to be expensive if it runs past a week or two."

"Never mind the money, just get me the information."

"Don't you worry, you'll get it, Mr. Desmond."

* * *

Malone was back in eleven days.

"Close the door and sit down," Charlie said.

Malone closed the door. He sat down in the same chair he'd sat in eleven days ago and he opened the manila envelope he'd brought in. He pulled out a stapled sheaf of onionskin pages and he put the pages on the desk.

"That's the report, Mr. Desmond. We've been on her for ten days."

Charlie ignored the report. "And what did you find?"

Malone shrugged. "Nothing much. She's got a few people that she sees. Sometimes they come to the apartment and sometimes she meets them in a speak on Eighth Avenue. Most of them are women. There's no boyfriend that she sees, not in the past ten days. There was one guy who came to the flat, but he came with a girl and he was the girl's husband. Seems they were visiting from out of town. As far as I can tell, there's nobody else but you."

"At least in the past ten days."

Malone nodded. "At least in the past ten days."

After Malone left, Charlie sat there staring at the closed door to his office. Then he reached for Malone's report and he put it back inside the manila envelope Malone had left on the desk. Maybe sometime later he would look at it, but not now.

What now? he thought. She wasn't working, the audition at the Harem Club had turned out to be nothing. He'd had the cufflink looked at by a jeweler and it was solid gold. Someone in the apartment with solid gold cufflinks. Maybe he visits her only once or twice a month. Or maybe she's honest, Charlie thought. Maybe she was honest and there was no one.

* * *

The Desmonds were having another party.

"The Driscolls won't come," Nancy said.

Charlie looked in the mirror over the bureau and straightened his tie. "Good riddance."

"I thought you liked them."

"He's a dunce."

"Oh my."

"Don't you think so?"

Nancy laughed. She kept her eyes on her face in the dressing table mirror. "It's her I don't like."

"You never did."

"No, I never did. I don't know why we ever invite them here in the first place."

"The first time was business."

"Yes, darling, you said the first time was business, but then why the second time?"

Charlie turned to look at her. The blue silk evening dress she wore showed nearly all of her back between her shoulder blades, the expanse of smooth skin broken only by the string of white pearls at her neck. "You're thinking it's because of Lily."

"Well yes."

"You ought to be more trusting."

"Should I?"

"I should think so, yes."

An hour later they were downstairs in the middle of their crowded living room. It was more a ballroom than a living room, but they called it a living room anyway.

The party was large enough to have the liquor served by a bartender hired for the evening. Two waiters from a catering service were at another table handing out the hors d'oeuvres. The four-piece band was at the opposite end of the long room. They were now playing *What'll I Do?* and some of the guests were dancing.

A woman near one of the tall windows laughed in a high pitch as a man whispered something in her ear.

Charlie glanced idly around the room, and then his eyes fell on Claire Belfield. She was standing with George Belfield and another couple, some people who looked familiar but whose names escaped him.

She looks blotto, Charlie thought.

He was surprised because he couldn't remember ever seeing Claire Belfield like that. Not cockeyed. She had a flushed face and she appeared to be giggling drunk. He liked the way the dress she wore showed the sleek lines of her body. Lucky George to mount a filly like that. You're cockeyed yourself, Charlie thought. He'd lost count of how many glasses he'd filled.

* * *

At one o'clock in the morning Charlie lay on his bed and watched Nancy undress. He could tell she knew he was watching her. After twelve years together he could tell everything about her.

She stood before the vanity mirror as she slipped the dress off her shoulders and dropped it below her hips. She wore nothing on top and only step-ins and stockings below her waist.

She raised both hands to the back of her neck to unclasp the pearl necklace. At this point she would either go into the bathroom to finish undressing or drop the step-ins in front of him. If she dropped the step-ins in front of him it meant she wanted him to do something in bed.

She dropped the step-ins in front of him.

She stepped out of the panties and stood there facing the mirror wearing only her stockings. She had the stockings gartered in the middle of her thighs and it occurred to him she was like one of those French postcards he'd bought in Paris in 1917. She had hardly any breasts in front and firm little buttocks in the rear. You couldn't tell by looking at her that she'd already had three children. There was no sign of it in her figure. Maybe she was a little wider in the hips than when they'd married but it wasn't much. Rita had bigger hips. He thought about Rita again, Rita laughing, laughing at him maybe, Rita's ass when she teased him in her bedroom. He didn't care what Malone said, he knew damn well she was two-timing him.

"I'm looking at you," he said to Nancy.

She raised her arms again, this time to pat her hairdo. "I'm aware of that."

"Come to bed."

"Do you want this light off?"

"No, leave it on."

She left the small lamp burning on the dressing table and she came to the bed. Charlie switched off the lamp on his side of the bed as she pulled the covers down.

He was already naked. He always slept naked after a night of drinking. Nancy lay down on her belly and rested her head on her folded arms. Charlie rose up on his knees and crawled around to get between her legs. He pushed her legs apart and then spread her buttocks open with his hands.

"Can you reach the oil?" he said.

"No, I don't want that tonight."

"Why not?"

"I just don't want it. Do it the other way."

"With a pillow."

"All right, with a pillow."

She pulled one of the pillows under her belly to raise her hips. She had an exciting ass, round and firm, the skin as smooth as silk. Leaning forward, supporting himself with his left arm, he used his right hand to wedge the head of his cock into the socket below the split between her buttocks. He had a fierce erection now, and as he pushed inside her he told himself never mind, it didn't matter, one place was good as the other, but she was a bitch wasn't she? a nasty bitch and she did know it.