Chapter 6 Chicago, 1928—Marcelle #4
“The rumor is that he dropped his song sheet during a recording session and resorted to scatting on the album.”
Skye chuckled. “That’s funny. I want to try it while you play the trumpet.”
“We can rehearse at your house and come up with something.”
When they reached the mobster’s table, he stood and pulled out chairs, seating Skye on his right and Marcelle on his left.
Capone’s back against the wall, the position of a man who trusted no one.
He filled two shallow champagne coupes—the liquid fizzing softly as he set one before each woman.
“You are two talented girls,” he said, his smile more performance than warmth.
Marcelle took a sip of her drink. It was excellent champagne, but she was still dehydrated. “I need ice water before I drink too much of this.”
Capone snapped his fingers. “Bring Miss LeBlanc a pitcher of ice water and a glass.” When the server delivered the pitcher and glass to the table, Capone filled the water glass. “Is there anything else? Are you hungry? We can go to the Sunset Café for dinner.”
Skye glanced at her, licking her bottom lip as if she were starving. Marcelle smiled. “Sounds lovely.”
“Drink your champagne, and we’ll go.” He looked at Marcelle’s face carefully. “Why have I never heard you play, Miss LeBlanc?”
Be careful. He’ll check out your story.
“I just arrived in Chicago.”
“From where?” His head tilted slightly, the question light but precise.
“Richmond, Virginia.”
A flicker of interest crossed his face. “Did you play there?”
“Only private functions.” She set the glass down gently, keeping her posture loose, unthreatening.
“It’s time the world hears you play, and I can make that happen.”
Marcelle drank all the water before switching to champagne. “What about you, Mr. Capone? Where did your interest in jazz come from?”
“I know what I like. Why?”
“Jazz is the music of rebellion.”
“How so?”
She sipped from her champagne glass. “Gangsters and jazz musicians have the same goal—pursuing the American Dream starting from the gutter.”
Skye shifted into her seat, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.
He nodded. “Go on.”
“Wealthy white Anglo-Saxon Protestant society excluded Italians and Black Americans. Plus, corrupt white police officers terrorized them. Black people have less to fear from a mafioso boss than from the police. They see the mob as their protection in the marketplace. I heard Louis Armstrong advised other musicians to get the biggest gangster they could on their side.”
“That’s good advice.”
“All I know is that mobsters have kept their part of the bargain to keep performers safe.”
He was quiet, looking at her with a hint of a smile on his lips. “Do you need protection, Miss LeBlanc?”
Marcelle sat back in her chair. “Well, I’ll take Mr. Armstrong’s advice and get the biggest gangster I can. That’s you, right?”
He nodded. “And what do I get?”
Bantering with Capone wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done.
But she was tired and hungry, and based on his passion for music and musicians, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.
She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward.
“You won’t have to kidnap me like Fats Waller to play for your birthday party. Just send me an invitation.”
Capone laughed out loud. “How do you know about my birthday party?”
“From an in-depth study of jazz musicians, improvisation, arranging, and composition. Mr. Waller is one of those musicians.”
Capone took the cigar from his mouth and studied it. “I want you to play at one of my clubs. You can pick any joint on the South Side. I’ll give you four thousand dollars to open.”
Skye’s eyes widened. “Four—”
“Thanks, Mr.—”
“Al.”
Calling him by his first name was a step toward surrendering to him. “Thanks, Mr. Capone. That’s a generous offer, but I don’t know how long I’ll be in town and can’t make a commitment.” It was a reluctant no, but she could tell Bastien that she’d turned down Capone.
“That’s unacceptable. I want you and Skye to headline a new show.”
The money would help her and Bastien get settled in Chicago, but she wouldn’t make a deal like that without his input. “Thanks again. I want to repay Skye’s kindness. If she hadn’t been willing to take a chance on me tonight, you never would have heard me play.”
“That’s why I’m offering you, Skye, and the band a chance to headline at one of my establishments. After that, I see a record deal in your future.”
Marcelle inhaled the rich, delicate aroma of his cigar. “Mr. Capone, will you give us twenty-four hours to consider the offer?” The smoke drifted between them, as if Bastien was sending her a message: No, absolutely not. Run.
In her defense, her teaching curriculum included lectures on Capone’s influence on the Chicago jazz scene and his many contradictions, from mobster to do-gooder. She knew enough to handle him.
“I’ll assign bodyguards,” he said.
Bodyguards would tell Capone everything she and Skye did, including searching for Bastien. That would never work. “I don’t want to offend you, Mr. Capone, but that’s unnecessary.”
“I insist.”
Marcelle hated capitulating so easily. “Twenty-four hours.”
A broad grin spread across his face. He snapped his fingers again, and a man appeared next to him.
“Bring the car around.” To Skye and Marcelle, he said, “You may be worried about me because I break the law. But look around any of the bars, and you’ll see Chicago’s society and government leaders.
They break the law with every drink they take.
At least I don’t drink. Now, shall we go to dinner? ”
She almost asked if he believed that justified his criminal behavior, but she stayed quiet and let the moment pass. Before getting into a car with him, she and Skye needed to talk privately about the band.
“I need to grab my wrap,” Marcelle said.
Skye stood. “We’ll be right back.”
Skye and Marcelle didn’t speak until they reached the dressing room. “What happened out there? You wanted nothing to do with him. And then he offered you four thousand dollars, which you turned down. What’s going on?” Skye seemed slightly amused.
“It would be a mistake to offend Capone. I don’t want him as an enemy, and I don’t want his bodyguards or money.”
“But four Gs?”
“It comes with strings, Skye. I don’t know what those are, but the day will come when he’ll expect me to act in his best interest. I can’t be in his debt. And having bodyguards would complicate my search for Bastien.”
“But you don’t mind going to dinner with him?”
“I’d rather pick up takeout and bring it to your house, but it looks like we’re going with him.
I’m fine with that, and I noticed you drooling at the thought of eating.
We’ll have a delicious meal tonight and leftovers for tomorrow.
” Since she didn’t have a dime, someone else had to pay if she wanted to eat. It might as well be Capone.
Skye finger-combed her black bangs before twisting up a tube of lipstick and applying a ruby-red color to her lips. “You need some of this. It’s perfect for your coloring. Put some on.” She handed the tube to Marcelle. “Some rouge, too.” Skye smacked her lips.
Marcelle applied lipstick and patted rouge on her cheeks. The color brightened her skin.
Skye studied Marcelle in the mirror. “We need to tweeze your eyebrows. That shape hasn’t been in style for decades.”
Marcelle cupped her hands over her eyes. “Don’t touch my lammy brows. It takes a lot of work to keep them like this.”
“Never heard of lammy brows. Tomorrow, I’m taking you to my stylist. If you’re going on stage every night, we’ve got to do something about them.”
Marcelle rolled her eyes. If she changed her brows to look like Skye’s, she’d look horrible when she got home. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go to dinner with a tax cheat and the keeper of brothels.”
Skye slipped on her wrap and offered the extra coat she kept in her dressing room to Marcelle. “You don’t think highly of Capone.”
Marcelle smacked her lips as Skye had done. “Capone can be charitable, but he’s a ruthless killer, and we can’t forget that. I’m sure the assassins who shot his men on the street tonight are already dead.”
Skye noticeably shivered. “I’ve heard all the stories about him, but he’s generous to musicians. The band’s contract ends in four weeks, and we need another gig.”
“There’s a lot of work in Chicago. If a musician loses a job, all they have to do is walk down the street and get hired at another speakeasy.”
“But all speakeasies aren’t as famous as the Sunset Café or the Green Mill. If Mr. Capone wants us to play there, we should accept his offer and hope for a recording deal.”
“And you don’t care if you’re beholden to a gangster?”
“He owns part of this speakeasy. We’ve already been working for him.”
“But he’s never shown an interest in the band until now. Right?”
Skye reached for her pocketbook. “We were an average band until you came along.” She dropped a comb and a tube of lipstick into the purse.
“I’ve heard dozens of jazz bands, and yours is quite good.”
“We’re better now with you. Plus, no other band has a female trumpet player. You’ll draw a crowd. I bet someone called him to come hear you play.”
Trepidation tightened at the back of Marcelle’s throat. She had to find Bastien before her desire to help Skye pulled her into an impossible situation. “As soon as I find Bastien, he might want to leave Chicago, and I’ll go with him.”
Skye turned off the light on her dressing table and headed toward the door. “We’ll deal with that when we find your brother. Now, let’s go eat.”