Chapter 11
BIANCA
Three bucks, two bags, one me.
The girl whose dreams were too big for her has landed back in Chicago.
She took the job her big sister dangled under her nose right after she hit rock bottom in her attempt to climb to the top.
A leading role in a Broadway show was in her grasp, and then she put her own body on the line to clinch the contract.
But it wasn’t enough.
So here I am, tail between my legs, officially giving up. Falling back on my family’s wealth and businesses in the Windy City.
It feels particularly windy today. There’s a bite in the air as chilly gusts burst from Lake Michigan. It’s early summer, but dark clouds hang in the air blocking the sun, so the air is unusually icy for June.
Perfect weather for a girl to hang up her dreams and call it a freaking day.
It’s my first night working at Rouge’s club, Aces Underground.
I follow her directions to the letter, to the alleyway off Randolph and State, to the discreet black door adorned with the four playing-card symbols, and into the foyer where I’m greeted by fur-lined couches and the strangest-looking man I’ve ever met in my life.
His snow-white eyebrows rise as I walk in. “Miss Bianca. We’ve been expecting you.”
“H-Hi.” I cross my arms, running my hands up and down them. “Yes. I’m the new singer. And you are?”
“Chester Tabbitt, Miss Bianca. But you can call me Chet.”
“And you’re…what? The bouncer?”
He grins. “Something like that. I’m new to this post myself. Still learning the ropes.” He checks the watch on his wrist. It’s misshapen like the clocks in that Salvator Dalí painting. “We have fifteen minutes before opening. Come. I’ll show you around.”
Chet takes out a ring of keys and opens another door that leads to a staircase lined with mirrors. For a second I’m concerned that my sister has sold me into sex slavery—it wouldn’t be the worst thing she’s done to me—but then Chet flicks on a light switch, illuminating the way down.
He gestures to an emerald door at the bottom of the stairs. “This is the Green Door.”
“Thank you. I was able to tell that for myself, actually.”
His eyelids twitch. “I see you’re a regular comedienne, Miss Bianca.” He runs his yellowed fingernails up and down the wood of the door. “There are many entrances to and from Aces Underground. This one is Green. Another is Red. Find the third and you’re already dead.” He lets out a wheezy laugh.
What the fuck?
He opens the door and leads me into the main area of Aces.
It’s gorgeous. Different colors illuminate each section—one for Spades, Diamonds, Clubs, and my domain, Hearts.
The floor is a checkerboard floor in black and white.
The waitstaff dart about, making preparations for the evening.
The women are in bikinis and the men are shirtless with tight shorts.
Both uniforms, if you can call them that, are speckled with the symbols of their respective section.
“And this, Miss Bianca, is your stage,” Chet says, gesturing to a glittering pink stage in the center of the Hearts section. There’s a standing mic right at the center and a pink baby grand to the side along with chairs for the other musicians.
I’ve practiced with them already. They’re nice guys. Rouge booked us space at the Fine Arts Building downtown. I’m not sure why we couldn’t practice here, but then again, I’ve never been able to wrap my head around my sister’s mind.
“Your dressing room is through that pink door,” Chet says, pointing. “There’s a private bathroom, as well as a bed.”
I cock my head. “A bed? Why on earth would I need a bed in my dressing room?”
Chet’s eyes shine. “In case you’d like to…lie down, I suppose.” He lets out that wheezy laugh again before turning his gaze back to me. “I’ll leave you to it. Your sister will be starting out at one of her other clubs this evening, but she assured me you will be exquisite.”
“I’m sure I will be.” I extend my hand toward Chet. “Thank you, Chet.”
He stares at my hand a minute and then wraps his long fingers around my thumb—only my thumb—before scampering back through the door to the mirrored staircase.
What a weird little fucker.
Not so little. He’s at least six-seven.
Certainly not a guy I’d want taking care of my kids, if I had any.
I have a book of sheet music for the band, which I told them I’d lay out on their music stands before they got here. I guess I’ll do that now. I open my notebook, and—
Shit!
The rings popped open. Looseleaf paper flies everywhere.
I get down on my knees to gather the music as best as I can, but it’s strewn all over the dance floor.
I look up just as one of the waiters approaches.
He’s wearing the same outfit as the other men—tiny shorts and a bare chest. On the black shorts are little hearts, and on his right shoulder is the letter J.
I grin. “The Jack of Hearts, I presume?”
He nods, his eyes bright.
I extend a hand. “I’m Bianca. The new singer.”
Again he nods as he shakes my hand.
I narrow my eyes. “Are you not supposed to speak?”
He shakes his head, pantomiming locking a key against the corner of his mouth.
“Why?”
He shrugs.
“Well… Nice to meet you.”
The more I get to know this club’s culture, the less I like. Chet’s a freaking weirdo, and now the waitstaff can’t speak.
The pianist might have mentioned that when we rehearsed the other day, come to think of it. I wasn’t listening much. I think my musicians aren’t allowed to speak either. Maybe that’s why we had to rehearse offsite.
Jack—I guess that’s what I’m supposed to call him—kneels and helps me collect the rest of the sheet music. He points to the title of one of the pieces—“I Put a Spell on You”—and pats his heart.
“You like that one? I’d only ever heard of it because of Bette Midler singing it in Hocus Pocus.”
He drops his jaw into an open-mouthed smile and pats at his heart again.
“You like that movie?”
He nods vigorously.
“Well, maybe we can hang out sometime. Have a movie night.” I smirk. “I realize it’s June, but you don’t need to wait until October to watch Hocus Pocus. Or we can watch something else. I don’t have any local friends. Maybe tonight?”
He nods again.
“Perfect.” I rip off a corner from one of the pieces of sheet music and jot down my address. “This is my apartment. It’s not too far from here. Walkable.”
He frowns for a moment, but then takes the paper and gives me a thumbs-up.
It’s a date.
* * *
Well, that wasn’t a complete disaster. I sang through my set half a dozen times this evening, and I received a warm ovation from the Aces patrons. My voice is tired, but I’ll steam when I get home tonight.
Except I invited Jack over. Right.
He seems nice enough. Hopefully he isn’t a complete weirdo. I probably should have determined that before inviting him to my place.
I’m walking out, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Chet, when Jack waylays me in the alleyway. He’s changed into a tight T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts.
“How’d you get here? Were you behind me?”
He shakes his head. “Waitstaff entrance. Around the corner.”
He speaks with a heavy accent. Russian, I think. Makes sense. Rouge told me a lot of the Aces waitstaff are immigrants from Eastern Europe or South Asia.
“Okay.”
He cocks his head. “I can still come? Movie night?”
I smile. “Of course, Jack. Or… I suppose that isn’t your real name.”
He shrugs. “Jack is fine.”
On our walk, I get to know Jack a little better.
He is indeed from Russia and has worked at Aces for a few months.
He started toward the end of March, and so far he likes it, says that the tips are great.
He’s gay, which is a relief. I’m not exactly hurting to get hit on anytime soon after the fiasco that was my Reflections callback.
He came from a poor village in rural Russia, so he’s excited to live in a country where his sexual orientation will be more accepted, where he can live the American Dream.
I don’t have the heart to tell him I tried to take my slice of the American Dream for the better part of a decade in New York City and failed miserably. Maybe things will work out better for him.
We get back to my apartment. Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy of Hocus Pocus on DVD, and I can’t seem to find it on the few streaming channels I subscribe to.
We finally settle on watching The Devil Wears Prada.
Jack’s English is limited, so I’m not sure how much he’s getting out of it.
We spend most of the film chatting, anyway.
“Meryl Streep. I love,” he says.
“Yes, she’s great.” I lean back on the couch. “So tell me, Jack. What are your hobbies?”
“Hobbies?” he asks. It must be a new word for him.
“Sorry. What do you like to do for fun?”
“Fun? Oh, yes. I love to bake.”
“Oh really? What do you bake?”
“Lots. Cakes and cookies. Pirozhki, vatrushka.”
“What are those?”
“Very tasty. I make for you.”
“That’s very kind.” I smile. I like Jack a lot. It’s nice to have a friend. “Do you have a specialty? Something you make that is the best?”
“Oh, yes. Cherry tart.” He rubs his belly. “Delicious.”
“Really? You know, that’s one of Rouge’s favorites.”
He widens his eyes. “Rouge likes cherry tart? Perhaps I make for her?”
I laugh at that. “I’m sure she’d appreciate the offer, but I doubt Rouge would ever eat anything she didn’t make herself.”
* * *
Jack.
I hate how things ended between the two of us. We were such good friends those first couple of months when I worked at Aces, but then we had a falling out a year or so after we met. I can’t imagine how much fun we would have had if we’d stayed friends for the nearly five years I’ve worked—
Wait.
Five years.
Jack started just a few months before me. In March of that year.
“Oh, my God.” I spring to my feet, pace around Alissa’s bed.
“What is it, babe?” Harrison asks.
“The Jack of Hearts. He’s an employee at Aces. In the Hearts section. And his five-year contract is about to end.”
Alissa’s eyebrows shoot up. “So you think…”
I nod gravely. “He’s the next one on my sister’s list. The next person she’ll kill.”
“Then this music box is telling us to keep an eye on him,” Harrison says. “Maybe we’re supposed to follow him after he finishes up his last day. See if we can save him.”
I bite my lip. “There’s only one problem with that plan.”
“What?” Alissa asks.
“The Jack of Hearts… He kind of hates my fucking guts.”