Jazz Baby Page 3

  Wondering if anything at all had changed he shut the door behind him and nodded to the beefy bouncer. Not that he really cared, just as long as he could find something to take his mind off Dolly and Ted. Stop thinking. Stop harping on about what might have been. All he wanted was to turn a few hands of cards and not have to talk and pretend he was something he wasn’t.

  He elbowed his way past a rowdy group lounging against the wall laughing uproariously at nothing and attracted by the ‘Come in Spinner’ call, he headed out the back. The last time he could remember playing two-up was on the ship coming home and the loud groans and shrieks as the coins fell reminded him of more optimistic times.

  This place was nothing like the swanky green baize of Millie’s tables — where wads of pound notes replaced the pennies and there wasn’t a whiff of the rotgut Susie served. French champagne and Johnnie Walker for Millie’s patrons, nothing but the best. Although this side of town gave him a strange comfort: at least when he lost his money it might find its way back to someone who needed it.

  He hovered behind the crush of men ringing the sheet of canvas spread on the ground and waited for a space. Sooner rather than later one of the gamblers would stomp away with a raging thirst brought about by guilt, his empty pockets, and the prospect of facing his wife and kids when he got home. Jack didn’t have to wait long.

  ‘Ssall yours. Bunch of bloody sharks. Game’s fixed.’ The bloke rammed his cloth cap on his head and wiped a weary hand over his bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Thanks, mate.’ Jack eased his way into the group. The circle of men craned forwards around the canvas as the Spinner raised the kip and gave it a toss. The two pennies twisted and twirled, the golden side with the sovereign’s head twinkling in contrast to the blackened tail.

  Silence fell as the Ring Keeper stared up, checking the height of the toss for a foul. ‘Throw’s clean.’ The coins hit the sheet with a thud and he leant over and made the call. ‘Heads.’

  A mixture of groans and hoots ran around the circle as money changed hands and the punters searched their pockets for their next bet.

  Wrapping his fingers around a handful of coins in his pocket Jack pulled them out and held his arm high, waiting to catch the eye of the Boxer who was busy taking bets. A couple of blokes in front of him turned and pushed their way past, leaving him at the edge of the tattered canvas.

  The Boxer approached and tilted his chin. ‘What’s your bet, mate?’

  Jack took one step forwards. A grimy hand reached out from the overly long sleeves of the Boxer’s battered greatcoat and rested heavily against his chest.

  ‘Stay out of the circle.’

  Jack opened his palm and held out the coins.

  ‘Flush tonight, hey?’

  The jibe riled him and he stared at the Boxer, the wide brim of his battered hat hiding his eyes. ‘What’s it to you? Taking my bet or not?’

  He lifted his head and squinted at him, one eye socket horribly disfigured and the other a bright shiny reminder of what he’d lost. Clear and bright as the winter skies over Wollombi. Clear and bright as the eyes that had defied him earlier in the evening. His stomach churned and he clamped his palm closed.

  ‘Changed your bloody mind? Haven’t got all night.’

  Jack swallowed, his mouth as dry as a vicar’s birthday party and a shiver of horror sliced through him. ‘Ted?’

  The Boxer dropped his head, shielding his face, and pushed Jack’s outstretched hand away before disappearing into the crowd on the other side of the circle.

  ‘Ted!’ Jack rammed the coins back into his pocket and stepped onto the mat, intent on following. A burly figure with bunched arm muscles that stretched the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt blocked his path.

  ‘Out of the bloody circle.’ He gave Jack a hefty push and turned his back on him. ‘All bets done. Come in Spinner.’

  With the two-up cry echoing in his ears Jack forced his way through the crowd, determined to catch up with the Boxer and see if he’d been dreaming. A scuffed brown boot stretched out in front of him. He toppled and landed flat on his face. The menacing eyes of the mob of aggressive drunks glared down at him.

  ‘Goin’ somewhere?’

  ‘In a hurry?’

  ‘Watch yourself.’

  He hauled himself to his feet. Ignoring the taunts he searched the outskirts of the two-up circle. There was no sign of Ted. Everyone looked pretty much the same: down at heel, drunk, dirty and impoverished. All the things he wasn’t. What in God’s name had possessed him to come here kitted out like this?

  Jack straightened his cashmere coat and left the backyard. Bodies littered the smoky interior of the shop and lined the hallway. Surreptitiously he checked each face. None carried the disfiguring scar or the piercing blue eye.

  Inside the old shopfront the bottles of grog neatly wrapped in brown paper bags continued to change hands. The clink of coins and mumbled thanks filled the air. Casting one final glance around, Jack followed a line of customers to the door and squeezed his way past the bouncer.

  ‘You didn’t stay long. Not good enough for the likes of you?’

  Jack ignored the barb and stepped out into the street. The soft rain had turned into a regular downpour and he rammed his hat further over his eyes and shrugged deeper into his coat.

  Without a shadow of a doubt he’d come face to face with Ted. He’d know him anywhere, even if half of his face looked as though it had been put on hot and spread. Jack’s breath burnt as his lungs filled with self-loathing. He’d left his mate for dead once — he’d no intention of doing it a second time. To have survived the flaming inferno when Ted’s plane hit the ground beggared belief…and why didn’t Dolly know her brother was alive?

  After the ruckus he’d caused he couldn’t go back to Susie’s tonight. Tomorrow evening he’d return, and every evening after that until he found Ted; only next time he wouldn’t be dressed like a toff, sticking out like a pimple on the arse of Darlinghurst. Big mistake. In working clothes he’d blend into the crowd and no one would take a second glance at him.

  Sidestepping the overflowing drain he squinted down a rain-slicked laneway past a crowd of staggering drunks and his thoughts drifted back to Dolly. She’d be thrilled to know Ted was alive and that she wasn’t alone. She’d always been her brother’s biggest admirer; he was a hero in her eyes long before he’d ever considered signing up. The image of her face with her big wide-open grin and excitement lighting up her bright eyes filled his mind — eyes just like Ted’s.

  ‘Jack!’

  His name ripped into the silence of the deserted street stopping him in his tracks.

  ‘Ted?’

  ‘Over here.’

  Jack peered into the side alley. A figure loomed in the shadows. ‘Ted?’

  ‘What d’you want?’ Ted’s belligerent tone held nothing of their shared past, only his pain.

  Jack didn’t know where to begin. What did you say to the mate you’d deserted and left for dead? He pulled his hat off and wiped the sweat from his forehead. No matter how difficult it was, he owed Dolly. He’d already failed Ted and he had no intention of failing her. Ted was all the family she had and if she knew he was alive she wouldn’t be working at a place like Millie’s.

  ‘Dolly’s in town,’ Jack began, ‘she’s —

  ‘I don’t want to see her.’ Ted turned aside giving a clear view of his scarred face.

  The ragged cicatrix sliced through his empty eye socket, traced an angry line down his face, curled under his jawbone and disappeared. Jack wanted to reach out and hug the man close. Tell him he’d fix everything. Make it up to him. Turn the clock back. ‘Dolly thinks you’re missing, dead…’

  ‘Might as well be fucking dead.’

  Ted’s fist filled his vision. Cartilage crunched against bone. Pain exploded. The rough brick wall slammed into his spine. His knees buckled. The stench of Ted’s rank body and his own blood mingled in his throat. Then the piercing blue eye blurred and darkness swirled.

>   ‘Bugger off. I’ve got nothing to say to you.’ Ted’s words bounced around inside his skull as his footsteps retreated.

  Chapter 5

  Dolly pulled the blankets up and buried her head under the pillow, trying to force her mind to settle and sleep to come. She failed. Pushing the cotton blanket away she swung her legs to the floor and listened to the muted sounds wafting out into the lean-to.

  Ragtime, played on a piano, vied with the dull rumble of conversation. A shriek of hilarity sounded and the thunder of footsteps up the stairs and then the slam of a door. The gentle splash of rain against the window gave her a sense of security and she wrapped her arms tightly around her body and squeezed, excitement still bubbling inside her. Less than twenty-four hours ago she’d clambered into Alf’s Model T in Wollombi for the trip to the train station at Cessnock. Now she sat in her room in Sydney, albeit shared with Alice and Rosa, on her own bed with a full tummy and a grin that refused to stop creeping across her face.

  She yawned and flopped back on the narrow bed, staring up at the pressed tin ceiling, following the intricate patterns. Jack had been the only unexpected occurrence; the rest of her plan had gone like clockwork. For a moment she thought she’d been mistaken when she’d walked into the room and seen Jack, although she’d know his voice anywhere. Dolly-girl. The name hardly suited her anymore. It belonged to her childhood, to a time before her Ma died. She sighed. So many people gone. Seeing Jack was almost as good as seeing Ted. Maybe she’d be able to spend a bit of time with him and she could ask about everything that happened after he and Ted had signed up. That’s if she could get him past the ridiculous idea she shouldn’t be working at Mrs Mack’s. Jack would have to realise she’d grown up and was capable of making her own decisions. Maybe even see her in a different light, look at her the way he looked at Cynthia: as a woman, the way she’d always dreamt he would.

  Snuggling back under the blanket, Dolly sighed and yawned again. Tomorrow Mrs Mack would tell her what her duties entailed and she’d start earning some real money. The first thing she was going to do was go out and buy a step-in and a petticoat and then she wouldn’t feel as though everyone could see straight through to her bare skin. What she wouldn’t give for a frock like the one Cynthia wore with the low back and the little beads that rattled when she walked.

  Hands grasped her shoulders and Dolly leapt up. ‘No, leave me alone…please don’t.’

  ‘Don’t shout. You’ll wake everyone up. It’s me, Alice. It’s time to get up.’ Alice let go of her and stepped back, and her face came into focus. ‘Calm down. No one’s going to hurt you. You need to get downstairs and see Mrs Mack. She’ll be in the kitchen. It’s six o’clock in the morning and she’ll be going to bed soon.’

  As the pounding in Dolly’s heart settled she looked around the room trying to remember where she was. Seeing her suitcase on the floor beside the bed Alice’s words began to make sense. Get up, get dressed, get downstairs and find out what she had to do. Of course she would be up before all the other girls. They’d all worked late. She hadn’t heard Alice come into the room and she hadn’t even met Rosa. She glanced at the lump in the other bed. It seemed only the devil could wake Rosa.

  Dolly shrugged into her clothes and pulled her tangled black hair back into some semblance of a bun at the nape of her neck.

  ‘I’m going back to sleep now. Close the door on the way out and try not to make a noise or you’ll cop it from the other girls,’ Alice mumbled, burying her face in her pillow.

  The door clicked shut and with one hand against the wall she made her way to the kitchen. A bright light shone under the door and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted out into the passageway, making her mouth water. Straightening her skirt she walked in and the blast of heat from the oven hit her like a wall.

  Mrs Mack sat at the scrubbed kitchen table, a pile of ledgers open in front of her and a pencil tucked behind her right ear. Her black cloche hat hung on the chair next to her and she’d removed her coat. As Dolly made her way to the table Mrs Mack lifted her head and smiled. The warmth of the room had brought a rosy flush to her cheeks and her brown eyes sparkled with good humour. Dolly realised she was nowhere near as old as she imagined last night.

  ‘Ah! Dolly-girl.’

  Mrs Mack’s use of Jack’s pet name made Dolly start and her stomach flipped. Surely Jack hadn’t tried to talk Mrs Mack out of employing her.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Mack,’ Dolly said, trying for a tentative smile. If Jack had said something to wreck her job she’d kill him.

  ‘Come and sit down next to me and tell me a bit about yourself while you have some breakfast.’

  As if by magic a large cup of steaming tea appeared in front of Dolly, and a thick doorstep of crusty bread on matching green and cream crockery.

  ‘There’s jam and butter on the table. Help yourself,’ Mrs Mack said.

  Dolly turned and nodded her thanks to the heavy-set woman in a big white apron.

  ‘Go on. Tuck in. I’ll talk while you eat.’ Mrs Mack pushed her chair back from the table and pulled the pencil from behind her ear. She sat twirling it around and around in her fingers as if she had bad news to impart. ‘Now. Let’s get this straight right from the start. I’ve employed you as a cleaner. I don’t want you getting any highfalutin ideas about having anything to do with the customers.’

  Dolly almost spat her tea back into the cup. She swallowed and lowered the cup to the table. ‘Oh no, Mrs Mack. Definitely not.’ Relief cascaded through her. Jack hadn’t let her down. She must still have the job.

  ‘Your job’s to see to the upstairs rooms. Sheets changed every day. Laundry brought downstairs. Rooms clean and dusted then the washing, and iron the sheets for the next day. And if you’re at a loss for what to do next, speak to Annie.’ Mrs Mack nodded to the woman prodding the wood-burning stove. ‘If I’m not here, Annie’s in charge.’

  Dolly’s head bobbed up and down as she buttered her bread and spread the thick strawberry jam. Mrs Mack’s shrewd eyes studied her closely and she didn’t dare look up.

  ‘It’s a bit of a waste. We’ll see what the next few weeks bring.’

  ‘Bit of a waste?’ Dolly covered her full mouth with her hand.

  ‘You’re a pretty girl. Good bones. However, a promise is a promise. We’ll see what Jack has to say later on.’

  The bread and jam lost its appeal and she pushed the mouthful around and around in her mouth, incapable of swallowing it. So Jack had spoken to Mrs Mack.

  ‘Finish your breakfast and I’ll see you at tea time. You can ask any questions you have then.’ Mrs Mack reached for her hat and pulled it down low over her eyes then stood and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her coat. She cast another quizzical look at Dolly then asked, ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty next month.’ Dolly fingered the remains of the crust on her plate while

  Mrs Mack buttoned her coat.

  ‘Hmm. We’ll see,’ Mrs Mack said, then nodded to Annie and left the kitchen.

  Leaning back in the chair, Dolly let out a long and rather loud sigh, her heart thundering as though she’d just done five laps of the paddock on Alf’s half-broken gelding. Obviously Jack had stuck his nose in and spoken to Mrs Mack yet she still had her job. As to the comments about her bones and her age she had no idea. Good bones! She cupped the steaming tea. They’d be looking at her teeth next. Did it matter how old she was or what she looked like as long as she was clean and got the job done? Trying to second-guess Mrs Mack would make her new life difficult. Given half the chance she’d like to bail Jack up and find out what was going on.

  ‘Don’t worry, love.’ Annie’s words broke into her thoughts. ‘She likes you, otherwise you would have got porridge and not bread and jam. There’s an apron out in the scullery and a pail with dusters and polish. You get upstairs and strip those beds, clean up, and bring the sheets down to me then I’ll tell you what to do next.’

  Smiling her thanks she tipped back the remains of her
tea then reached for her plate.

  ‘Let it sit, I’ll sort it out.’ Annie smiled. ‘You’ll be right.’

  Leaving the kitchen in the direction of Annie’s pointed finger she found the scullery and collected the large enamelled pail and bits and pieces, then shouldered her way through the kitchen door and out into the hallway.

  The stench of stale smoke, perfume and alcohol permeated the air and caught in her throat as she crept along. In the dim morning light, without the background noise of voices and music the brooding atmosphere made her flesh crawl.

  Pushing open the door to the Red Room she lowered the bucket to the ground. The glowing embers in the fire, the tray full of dirty glasses and a series of overflowing ashtrays were the only remains of last night’s cosy room. She drew back the heavy velvet curtains and peered out into the rain-slicked street. The streetlights shone diagonally across the still dark footpath and the dunny man’s cart clattered down the road.

  Picking up a cloth from her bucket she ran it over the brass fender surrounding the tiled hearth. Get upstairs and strip those beds. Annie’s words rang in her ears making her start. What was she doing here? She wasn’t even supposed to be in this room. Such blatant disregard for her instructions before even starting work begged for trouble. Picking up her pail she closed the door behind her and tiptoed up the stairs. The beautiful chandelier of last night hung dull in the morning light and the doors to all the rooms stood ajar.

  Dolly took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the room Alice had shown her yesterday. No sound came from behind the painted timber, so she pushed it open. A jumbled mess of sheets replaced the beautiful bed of last night. Cushions lay strewn across the floor and one of the glorious golden curtains hung askew. The wingback chair close to the fireplace had disappeared beneath a mess of…she dropped the pail and darted across the room. Draped across the chair lay a wrap, as fine as a spider’s web and fringed with purple feathers. With her thumb and forefinger she lifted the wonderful garment. A waft of something sweet and flowery rose from the material as it floated in the air like angels’ wings. Holding it in both hands, she dangled it in the air before clasping the astonishing creation to her shoulders, then made a series of dramatic twirls and drifted to the bed and sank down. An empty bottle of champagne stood on the bedside table next to two crystal saucers. The imprint of lipstick plainly showed on one. Where were the guests who had spent the night at Mrs Mack’s boarding house? Why had they left so early and why hadn’t the woman taken her beautiful wrap?