So, someone very dear to me requested a story. Here's a start, let me know what you think!!
....
Maybe he had a point. Who, you ask?
Why, Charlie Dashing, of course. Come to think of it, I'll bet that's
not his real name. No matter, it's not important. What's that you
say? Who is Charlie Dashing? My dear, have you been living under a
rock? Oh very well, if you have to ask, you must really need an
explanation. I'll tell you, and then maybe you'll understand what I
meant when I said that he had a point. Well, maybe he had a point.
I met Charlie Dashing just downtown, at
this cute little place called Lola's. Well, downstairs it was Lola's,
upstairs it was Herbert G. Farvel's Stationary Shop. Ah, but that was
the twenties, darling, dreadfully dull on the outside and shockingly
glamorous on the inside. Prohibition was in full, ugly swing, and
everyone was living for the nighttime, when the law abiding citizens
of Baltimore would go off to bed. Of course, that left those glorious
hours of darkness to us, the ones who just wanted a nice cocktail and
maybe a dance or two.
So one of those nights, I slipped into
my feathers and sequins and headed downtown toward Lola's. I had
never been there before, you see, and had only heard the password by
chance from a dear friend of mine. What was her name? Oh it doesn't
matter, where were we? Ah, yes, Lola's. I entered in through the back
door of Herbert G. Farvel's, and walked down some rather creaky old
steps to a door at the bottom. A man was standing there, a monster of
a fellow with his cap pulled low to completely cover his hair. He
towered over me, and I remember thinking that maybe I had made the
wrong choice, heading downtown tonight.
“Password.”
I cleared my throat and licked my lips,
mentally cursing myself for smearing my red lipstick. “Dandelion?”
The monster said nothing, and for a second I was sure that I had
gotten the word wrong, and that he was going to pick me up by my
sequined dress and toss me out onto Chase Street. After letting me
sweat for a full five seconds though, he moved aside and pushed open
the heavy door. I breathed a sigh of relief, pressed my lips
together, and stepped inside.
Lola's was a cramped place, as most gin
joints were, but it had a little stage in the corner, where a negro
saxophonist was playing some decent jazz, and a bar on the far wall.
I spotted my friend, Maude, on one of the stools and made my way
over. She looked lovely as always, her bobbed auburn hair caught back
with a sparkling pin and a short, fringed black dress. I had always
been jealous of Maude because she was so slender, a true flapper. I,
on the other hand, was utterly cursed with brown hair, curvy hips and a generally
buxom figure. All of the loveliest dresses just didn't seem to fit me
the way they fit Maude.
It has just occurred to me that I have
been unpardonably rude. We've never been properly introduced, have
we? Here I am, going on about my figure, and you don't even know my
name! Ah, well, age will do that to you. My name is Cordelia Van
Hart, but in those days, most of the young people just called me
Dilly. A carryover from my childhood, you know.
Anyway, where was I? Ah right, Maude.
As I made my way over to the bar, she was deeply engrossed in
conversation with the man sitting next to her. A mobster by the look
of it, so slick he was slimy. I approached the bar, and accidentally
knocked his fedora to the floor, three feet away. He shot me a look
that might have knocked me off my heels if I hadn't already sat down
in between him and Maude. I raised my left eyebrow in challenge, and
he stalked off to retrieve his hat. The single eyebrow always seems
to work my dear, never forget that.
Maude grinned at me, her jade eyes
sparkling. “Dilly! Now what if that man was my soul mate? You may
have just scared him away forever!”
“Maude, darling, if that man was your
soul mate, I'm afraid it doesn't say much about your soul.” We
smiled in easy camaraderie.
Maude turned back to her tea cup, which
by the looks of it was full of a gin martini, her favorite. I flicked
a manicured finger at the bartender, who was miles more handsome than
the mobster, and smoothly ordered the same. My martini came in a tea
cup as well, pink and white with tiny flowers around the edges. As if
the tea cup would fool the Feds if they came knocking. I wasn't
worried though, the neon owl light outside of the Owl Bar hadn't been
blinking on my walk down, which meant that the Feds weren't in town.
“That fellow at the door really gave
me the heebie-jeebies Maude, I was afraid you didn't give me the
right password!”
“Oh Dilly, sometimes I swear you are
so easily scared. Door men are supposed
to give you the heebie-jeebies, that's what they're hired for.”
Maude rolled her eyes, which somehow made her look more attractive,
and took a sip of her martini. “So what do you think of the place?
I rather like it.”
“It's
small.”
“It's
cozy. Comfortable,
like you could really get to know everyone that comes here.”
“Why
would you want to do that? Isn't part of the fun not
knowing every sheik in the place?”
“Well
sure doll, but every now and then, I'm keen to try something new. Oh
look! There he is.”
“There
who is?”
“Why
the reason we're here, Dilly. It's Charlie Dashing! I'm practically
goofy over him already.” Maude pointed toward the door, where a
tall gentleman had just entered the dimly lit room. He looked up and
caught my brown eyes with his blue ones. Charlie Dashing, indeed.
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