Chapter Thirty-Nine
Polly
New York, New York
No more so-called clandestine tête-à-têtes in Central Park for me.
I made that clear when I received Mrs. Carter’s note and agreed to a meeting.
Not after getting swept up by the Mob just as I stepped out of the park, even though I’d kept the details of my encounter with those mafiosi to a minimum, other than to tell her to keep Mildred protected so no one would slip her Cadillac.
Knowing that I’m in those gangsters’ sights makes it imperative we meet elsewhere; my nerves can’t stand it otherwise.
Particularly since those nerves are being taxed to the limit with regularity as I toggle between Brooklyn and my family, where I playact as the dutiful daughter who manages a corset factory, and Manhattan, where I arrange hotel assignations for my girls so I can stay afloat until I assume my full madam mantle again—all the while praying that never the twain lives shall meet.
All that apprehension is worth it, of course.
All for that moment when I first saw my mother’s face again.
My hands shook as I knocked on that apartment door in Brooklyn where she was staying.
When Mama herself opened that door—her brown hair now gray and her face lined with wrinkles of worry and time, but otherwise the same—I collapsed in a heap of tears and emotion. And so did she.
So the crowded anonymity of Grand Central Station it is for this meeting.
I sidle up next to Mrs. Carter in front of the departure board.
I study the changing train times and compare them against the timetable in my hand, as if I don’t know which to trust. We are not alone.
Throngs of travelers flank us, which is the point.
Why would we draw any attention if we are just two middle-aged women on our way to somewhere else? Just like so many others here.
“This will be our last meeting, Miss Adler,” Mrs. Carter says, her eyes fixed on the board as well. “So anything you’ve got to share, now is the moment. Speak now or forever hold your peace and all that.”
With all the hullaballoo around us, I wonder if I heard her correctly. Surely she did not just agree to end these meetings. But I cannot look at her directly to suss out her expression.
“Are you pulling my leg?” I ask.
“No, I’m not,” she says with a sigh.
I’m worried, if a little relieved, that this precarious chapter in my life has come to an end.
Is there no need for more meetings because the case against Lucky is all set, or because it is falling apart?
The trial must proceed soon and end with Lucky behind bars so I can get back to business and pay for my family to have their own apartment in Brooklyn with all the modern fixings and clothes.
I don’t want them to start suggesting they live with me.
Mama has decided the whole family should settle in New York closer to me, since I’m the one with the “best job.” If only she knew.
But getting them settled will be expensive.
And the fear of discovery has me scouring the newspapers every day to make sure some snapshot of me hasn’t made the front page.
“What has changed?” I ask. “I thought the information I’ve been giving you has been helpful.”
“You’ve done your best to deliver supportive information.” I hear Mrs. Carter amidst the cacophony.
I freeze. Now I’m really concerned. “Is the case against Lucky too weak to proceed?”
“No,” she replies.
“Then what’s happening?”
“I’m not going to be part of the trial team.”
I’m not sure what that has to do with anything. “But the case itself is strong enough to go ahead, right?”
“Yes. Just largely without me. Since I will not be one of the attorneys at the trial, I don’t feel any obligation to gather more information from you.”
Never mind the risk, I turn to look at Mrs. Carter. Fury courses through me, and I don’t care who sees me talking to her at this moment. “You’re abandoning your quest for the best evidence because you won’t be at the trial table next to Dewey? So all you’ve ever cared about was your career?”
“No—”
I don’t let her finish. “You don’t care about the girls.
About what will happen to them when the Mob makes every prostitute in this city—maybe even the country—part of one big organization under their control?
” I try to keep my voice low, but I notice at least one person turning toward me at the words “Mob” and “prostitute.”
Now she glares at me and seethes. “That is rich, Miss Adler. Coming from you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You are putting on quite the show—that you are concerned about each and every prostitute in this city. All you care about are your brothel and your girls and the money they bring in for you.” She squares her shoulders, raising herself to her full height, and stares down at me.
“You don’t think I know that you’ve got your own personal experiences with Luciano that you could share with me?
That you probably have more firsthand testimony that could bring Luciano down than any of the girls or madams or bookers that you’ve named for me?
But no, you’d never tell me about those conversations or observations, because that would put you at risk.
And Polly Adler would never risk her own hide.
Even for the precious girls you pretend to care so much about. ”
I almost gasp at her statements. Not only because they’re so offensive but because they’re true.
And that truth has begun to plague me, as I hear tales about what the girls and madams are suffering in the slammer and the way they’re putting themselves in harm’s way to provide testimony against the Combination.
When in fact, I do have a wealth of personal information about Lucky; I could describe countless interactions and overheard conversations between Lucky and a slew of known gangsters at my Majestic house and set out his involvement in Virginia’s disappearance.
Not that I could ever admit that to the all-too-righteous Mrs. Carter—or anyone else for that matter—without writing a ticket for myself to the witness stand. And anyway, how did she know?
We face one another, no longer pretending we don’t know each other.
Our feelings are too heated for feigning.
Up until this point, we’ve been working together toward a common goal, albeit reluctantly and awkwardly, and I’ve been too focused on getting Lucky behind bars and shutting down his wretched Combination as soon as possible to think about whether I like Mrs. Carter.
She’d certainly evoked irritation and admiration at different points—and I appreciated her empathy about my long separation from my mother.
But at the end of the day, she was a means to an end. Now I feel real anger, though.
“As if you aren’t motivated by yourself and your own career.
” I am fuming. Then, instead of falling on my sword, I get on my high horse.
“Anyway, how dare you condemn me? Your life has been easier than mine or my girls’.
You had family who cared about you, and you got an education that gave you choices.
You know hardly anything about me—or my girls!
You have no right to judge me. I’ve done everything I can to protect my girls—even Virginia,” I hiss.
Guilt is mixed into my self-righteous anger, and Virginia’s name pops out.
It’s almost comical how quickly Mrs. Carter’s expression changes from anger to surprise.
“Did you say Virginia?”
“Yeah,” I answer warily, crossing my arms protectively across my chest, trying to pull myself together, caught off guard by the shift in Mrs. Carter. “What of it?”
“It’s just that a prostitute with that name was arrested in January. She’d been found in a nasty part of town in an unusually elegant robe and nightgown. Not your typical streetwalker attire. And she was banged up.”
Virginia! Is that even possible? “Was she all right? What happened to her?”
Mrs. Carter’s gaze softens. “Do you know her? I thought she looked familiar.”
It’s all so surreal. I have the oddest sensation, like I’m floating up above, looking down on me and Mrs. Carter.
Then, in a rush, I’m back in my own body, and tears come, unbidden and unfamiliar.
My line of work doesn’t allow for vulnerability, especially not sadness.
“I do. She was one of my longtime girls. Then one night—” I clear my throat, and I don’t hesitate to tell one of my own Lucky stories for the very first time.
“Lucky took her to meet with some gangster he wanted to impress. And I never saw her again. She must have escaped from Lucky or the other guy, running down the streets in her nightgown—and that’s when the cops must have found her and brought her into the station.
But I’ve never seen her again, and I’ve been looking for her ever since.
” More tears threaten, but I choke them back; I want to get this story right.
“Up until that time, I’d always been in control of my house and my girls, and I had the ability to take good care of them, to run a different sort of house than all the other madams. But that control was taken away from me as the Combination came onto the scene, and I swore I would never let that happen to me or my girls ever again.
That’s why I reached out to you. To put an end to this evil Combination. ”
She nods, understanding more about what drove me to meet with her in the first place, even as my explanation reveals much about my personal knowledge of Lucky.
To my surprise, she says nothing about my encounter with Lucky, even though it confirms her suspicion that I know more about him than I’ve let on. She doesn’t press me for more.
Instead, she gives me a good long stare, as if she’s making up her mind about me. Then she finally speaks. “I met with Virginia soon after her arrest. I’d just started to interview her when her lawyer appeared to post bail. An attorney whose name we both know—Abe Karp.”
“What? She didn’t have Abe Karp as her lawyer.
My house wasn’t officially part of the Combination that he covered.
I didn’t even really know much about it at that time, but I learned more as I went out in search of Virginia, talking to every madam, girl, pimp, and streetwalker I know.
All of whom were getting strong-armed by the Combination. ”
Mrs. Carter nods. “Virginia told me that Abe Karp wasn’t her lawyer. And that’s why she became so panicked when the police officer announced Karp was there for her.”
All the elements of Virginia’s situation click. “Karp was there to threaten her. Lucky had sent him to the station to inform her that they knew where she was.”
“Exactly. And that she better keep her mouth shut.” She hesitates. I sense she wants to tell me more. But something is holding her back.
“What happened then? Did she meet with Karp? Did she end up going before the judge?” I blurt out, panic rising within me. “Do you know where she is now?”
Mrs. Carter looks at me—really looks at me—and makes a decision. “I let her go. Even though I knew she had information linked to Luciano that I could really use.”
“What? You let her go?”
“Virginia was terrified. She told me that if I gave Karp access to her and he got her out on bail, she’d be killed. And I believed her.” She takes a deep breath and makes a full confession of how she got Virginia out of there.
I’m shocked. I cannot believe that law-abiding Assistant District Attorney Eunice Carter released Virginia from jail—for the girl’s own protection. And to the detriment of her own case. My perception of her has utterly changed.
“Thank you, Mrs. Carter, for doing that for Virginia. And I apologize. You are not who I believed you to be.”
“And neither are you, Miss Adler. Now I understand why you came to me and how much you genuinely care about your girls. It isn’t all about the money after all.”
We stand in silence under the departure board, trying to compose ourselves as we pretend interest in the train schedule.
I breathe deeply of this new understanding, and finally speak.
“You know, Mrs. Carter, I am going to do something about getting you a spot on that trial team. I’ll find a piece of evidence for you to exchange for a seat at that table. ”
She looks even more surprised than when I blurted out Virginia’s name. “Why would you do that?”
“Who else will protect the girls? All the girls.”