Chapter 45 Geraldine
Geraldine
Calvin had offered to pull up directly in front of the club to save them from a longer walk in their high-heel shoes, but Geraldine insisted that they park in the parking lot at the rear of the building.
They were taking enough of a risk of being recognized just by appearing at the club.
There was even less chance of remaining anonymous if a chauffeur stopped at the front door and handed them out of the vehicle, as his training demanded.
Vivian grumbled something about skulking about like criminals, but Geraldine simply ignored her and tucked her arm through Marjorie’s after assuring Calvin that they would not prefer he wait in the car.
Vivian took his arm with one of the predatory smiles that had made her a famous femme fatale, and in only a few moments’ time, the four of them were seated at a dimly lit table near the back of the club.
While it didn’t hold a candle—not even a match—to the clubs she had frequented in Boston or even Portland, there was something undeniably charming about the large room.
Tables for two, four, or even six were clustered closely together, their faux-marble tops ringed by vinyl upholstered chairs.
Small cut-crystal vases filled with fresh flowers adorned the center of each table, and the chairs were comfortably padded.
Crystal ashtrays that matched the vases sat at the ready, emptied of all signs of previous occupants.
Vivian snapped open her evening bag and withdrew a cigarette case from within almost as soon as her backside touched her seat.
She had chain-smoked throughout the entire journey, and even with the windows left open to the cooling evening air, Geraldine’s throat still burned from the scent of them.
Calvin flicked open a lighter and held it out for her.
Geraldine wasn’t sure whether to be amused or embarrassed at Vivian’s overtly flirtatious behavior.
She grasped Calvin’s hand as she leaned in to press the tip of her cigarette into the waiting flame and held his gaze long enough that even with the low light, Geraldine thought she detected a blush rising to Calvin’s smoothly shaved cheeks.
Perhaps she should have accepted his offer to remain in the car.
Maybe it was a plea for help proffered as a servant knowing his place.
She had found herself in a similar situation on many occasions as a young, and even not-so-young, woman.
She would have been grateful to have had anyone step in on her behalf whenever she had been subjected to unwanted interest. She could not bring herself to leave Calvin to manage it all on his own.
She glanced over at Marjorie, wondering if she had noticed Calvin’s discomfort too.
Her friend swiveled her head this way and that, enthusiastically taking in the surroundings.
Below the table, she could feel the floor bouncing in time to the music.
Marjorie’s whole frame jiggled as she wriggled to the beat of the band, which was positioned on a slightly elevated stage at the front of the room.
Between the stage and the clusters of tables sat a highly polished wooden dance floor.
“Calvin, wouldn’t you love to take Marjorie out for a turn round the floor? From the way her foot is tapping, I am sure she would be a fantastic partner,” Geraldine said.
Calvin withdrew his hand from Vivian’s clasp and scraped back his chair before Marjorie found her voice.
“I’m not sure that my husband would approve of me dancing with another man,” she said, her chin wobbling ever so slightly.
“Then we shan’t tell him,” Geraldine said, giving Calvin a nod.
Marjorie shrugged her plump shoulders and got to her feet.
As Calvin led her away, Vivian watched them through the haze of smoke rising from her cigarette end.
She raised her free hand to signal for a waiter.
One arrived like a genie from a bottle, his red cropped jacket and tuxedo pants marking him out as a member of staff.
“I’ll have an old-fashioned. We’ll also need a beer. What do you think your sidekick will want?” Vivian asked, waving her cigarette towards Marjorie’s empty seat.
“How about a French 75 for each of us,” Geraldine said with a smile for the waiter. He squinted at her, and she wondered if he had recognized either of them.
Vivian kept her eyes fixed on the dance floor as the band struck up another tune, and Geraldine was glad of the reprieve from conversation.
She didn’t want to talk about the Maine Chance, and she couldn’t think of anything else she and the other woman had in common.
Calvin and Marjorie made a good-looking pair as they swirled and twirled across the floor.
Vivian downed her first drink and was well into a second before the couple made their way back to the table.
Marjorie bounced into her seat with all the enthusiasm of a primary school child on a field trip to the zoo.
Calvin raised his beer bottle in a semblance of a toast, and Marjorie squealed as soon as she spotted her drink.
“What is this?” she asked after lifting the glass to her lips and taking a tiny sip.
“A French 75. I thought you might like something sparkly,” Geraldine said. “Did I guess correctly?”
“I love it,” Marjorie said. “Is yours the same thing?” Marjorie gestured to Geraldine’s still-untouched glass.
“Yes, it is. I was simply so diverted by the pleasure of watching the dancers that I forgot all about it.”
Marjorie leaned towards her and spoke directly into her ear. “I don’t think much would distract Vivian from her drinks. Do you?” she asked as the waiter arrived once more at the other woman’s signal.
“Perhaps not. It is just as well that Calvin is here to help get her back to the car when the time comes,” Geraldine said.
The waiter quickly returned, this time with two drinks instead of one.
Vivian indicated he should leave one in front of Calvin, but no sooner had the waiter stepped away from the table than she downed first her own drink and then the one meant for him.
As soon as she had done so, she wobbled to her feet and grabbed Calvin by the hand.
She propelled them both out onto the dance floor, weaving as she did.
Calvin flinched as she pressed herself against him.
Geraldine watched as every eye in the room turned towards the pair.
From what she had read in the newspapers, stars came in two varieties: those who craved the spotlight not only in front of the camera but also away from it, and those who preferred to remain in the shadows when not on set or engaged in promotional activities for their careers.
Vivian was obviously one from the first camp.
Something about the way Calvin moved reminded her of Anselm, and a lump rose in her throat. He had been a moderately skilled dance partner but had still never missed the opportunity to accompany her on the dance floor even into their senior years.
A man in a dark suit threaded his way between the tables and stopped at Marjorie’s side. “I don’t suppose you would do me the honor of accompanying me for a dance, would you?” he asked.
Marjorie turned towards Geraldine, her eyes wide with disbelief. She nodded at her encouragingly.
“Go on. I’ll be fine here on my own,” she said.
“Are you sure?” Marjorie asked.
“Completely,” Geraldine said. She watched as the man led her companion away from the table and to a spot right in front of the stage. A shaft of light beamed down on Marjorie, highlighting her shiny hair and dewy skin. Marjorie did not give herself enough credit.
The man was a far more adept dancer than Calvin, but Marjorie had no trouble whatsoever keeping up with him.
As he confidently piloted her around the floor, Geraldine took the opportunity to add most of the contents of Vivian’s glass into Marjorie’s.
She thought it best to slow down the starlet’s guzzling, if possible.
To her dismay, it seemed Vivian had no intention of slowing down.
She leaned towards an unoccupied table at the edge of the dance floor and snatched a partially empty glass from it.
She downed the contents as Calvin struggled not to careen into another couple.
He turned his head towards Geraldine, a look of humiliation on his face.
Other dancers, as well as diners, were pointing and laughing.
Vivian was not done calling attention to herself.
She stepped back entirely from Calvin and into the path of an approaching waiter bearing a tray holding an order.
She reached out and plucked two tall glasses from the tray and downed first one and then the other in rapid succession.
Calvin attempted to take her by the arm to steer her towards their table, out of sight of the other guests, but she shrugged him off with such vehemence that one of the glasses slipped from her grasp and smashed to the floor just as the band wrapped up a number.
A hush fell over the room, and Geraldine could feel heat rising to her cheeks. Marjorie took a step back from her dance partner as if to shield him from association with them all. Vivian raised her hands in the air and spun around.
“Quiet on the set. Take two,” she called out. She waved at a nearby waiter. “What I meant is that I’ll take two. Two more drinks, that is.”
An older man in a black jacket left his post near the door and crossed the room. “I think you have had enough for one evening, madame,” he said.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” Vivian asked.
“It doesn’t matter your name or your position. I would be remiss to allow you to be served more. If you continue to cause a disruption, I shall have to ask you to leave.”
Vivian threw her hands up in the air once more. “Are you implying that I cannot hold my liquor?” she asked.
“I am afraid that is not the point. Regardless of your level of intoxication, you are spoiling the atmosphere for our other guests.” The man pushed out his chest and widened his stance.
“I’ll have you know that I have been thrown out of places all over Hollywood far classier than this.”
“If you say so, madame.” The man gestured to several waiters hovering nearby. They advanced slowly, as if Vivian were a wild animal who might behave unpredictably if cornered.
“You can’t throw me out. I’m Vivian Shaw.”
She placed her hands on her hips and twirled around, losing her balance. Calvin grasped her by the arm before she fell to the floor. A pop of flashbulbs erupted around the room. So many people didn’t go anywhere anymore without their Kodak Brownies.
Marjorie moved across the room and came to stand beside her. “Are you ready to go?”
“We had best get her out of here before the police are called.”
Marjorie’s hand flew to her throat. “I don’t know what my husband will do if I am involved with the police.”
“You head out now and meet us at the car. Calvin and I will deal with Vivian.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
Marjorie did as she was told. Before Geraldine had time to catch a waiter’s eye and wave him to her side, Marjorie had disappeared from view.
“How may I assist you, madame?” he asked, barely managing to stammer out the question as his gaze slid past her, not sure he was seeing the real Vivian Shaw in the flesh.
“Could I count on you to make sure that my friend Vivian makes it out to our car in the back parking lot as quickly and painlessly as possible?”
The waiter glanced over at Vivian, who had sunk to the center of the dance floor, her lean legs stretched out in front of her despite Calvin’s efforts. The poor boy stood nearby, waiting for some sort of direction.
Geraldine reached into her evening bag and held out two twenties and a ten. “Distribute this to your colleagues as you see fit in order to get the job done. The young man standing beside Vivian looking mortified will show you which car is ours.”
“She won’t be getting behind the wheel, will she?” he asked.
“Certainly not, but it is very kind of you to be concerned.”
She thrust the bills at him before gathering up her evening wrap and strolling towards the door with her head held high.
More flashes flicked in her peripheral vision as she made her way across the still-quiet room.
She turned and pointed a slim finger at the band leader.
He took the hint and struck up a rousing tune.
It would be a miracle if they hadn’t all made the gossip columns within forty-eight hours.