Some Like it Cold Chapter 3
CHICAGO RAILROAD PLATFORM
Two somewhat unattractive women are making their way down the platform, both with hefty legs in rolled stockings, short dresses, coats with cheap fur pieces, and rakish cloche hats. One of the pair is carrying a saxophone case; the other a bull-fiddle, and each have a Gladstone bag.
The announcement of the train is broadcasted and both ‘ladies’ try to hurry up so they don’t miss the train. But evidently neither of them are too adept at navigating in high heels. Suddenly Ford mildly twists his/her ankle. He stops and faces his girlfriend, John. “How can they walk on these things?” Ford asks in a hushed voice. “How do they keep their balance?”
Though concerned for Ford, John is more concerned about missing the train. “Must be the way their weight is distributed. Come on,” he tells Ford and waits only long enough for Ford to put his shoe back on. As they proceed along the platform, a gust of wind sends their skirts billowing. Ford stops again and pulls his skirt down. “And it's so drafty. They must be catching colds all the time.”
“Quit stalling. We’ll miss the train,” John snapped quietly at Ford and once more urged him forward.
“I feel so naked. Like everybody's looking at me,” Ford whispered to John as they continued their way down the platform.
John laughs, “With those legs? Are you crazy?”
They are now approaching the Pullman car reserved for the girls' orchestra. Girl musicians, with instruments and luggage, are boarding the car, supervised by Sweet Sue and Bienstock. Ford stops in his tracks, his nerves showing on his face. “It’s no use. We’ll never get away with it, John.”
John casually grabs Ford by the arm, “The name is Johanna. And it was your idea in the first place…” he started to tell them. Just then, a member of the girls' band comes hurrying past them, carrying a valise and ukulele case. The woman is the dream girl of every red-blooded American male who ever read College Humor ™. As she undulates past them, Ford looks after her with dismay. “Who are we kidding? Look at that - look how she moves - it's like Jell-O on springs - they must have some sort of a built-in motor. I tell you it's a whole different sex.”
John is getting fed up with the stalling as he knows staying in Chicago means death. “What are you afraid of? Nobody's asking you to have a baby. This is just to get out of town. The minute we hit Florida, we'll blow this set-up.”
Ford decides he’s had enough of John’s manipulation. “This time I'm not going to let you talk me into something that...”
A newsboy approaches along the platform, peddling his papers. “Extra! Extra! Seven Slaughtered in North Side Garage! Fear Blood Aftermath!”
Ford looks a bit pale as he watches the boy go past, and then turns back to John, “You talked me into it! Come, Johanna.”
John chuckles, “Attagirl, Aida.” They hurry toward the Pullman car, imitating the Jell-O-on-springs movement as well as they can. At the Pullman car, Sue and Bienstock are checking in the girl musicians as they are boarding.
“Hi, Mary Lou - Rosella - Okay, Dolores, get a move on - How's your back, Olga?” Sue asks one of the girls as they load the train car.
Bienstock is checking the list on his clipboard. “Clarinet - drums - trumpet - trombone…”
John and Ford come mincing up to them, and know that for as long as they’re in public or in get up, they’ll have to use their ‘girl voices.”
“Well, here we are,” John says, making a conscience effort to keep a slight pucker in his lips, as he believes that’ll make him look more feminine.
Sue eyes the girls with a bit of hesitancy, “You two from the Poliakoff Agency?”
John gives a slight nod, “Yes, we're the new girls.
“Brand new,” Ford adds with a little giggle that is a bit over the top.
Weary but desperate, Sue ignores whatever is bothering her, “This is our manager, Mr. Bienstock. I'm Sweet Sue,” she says, introducing herself and her manager.
“My name is Johanna,” John states and is about to introduce Aida, but Ford speaks up suddenly.
“And I’m Teyla,” Ford says with a huge grin.
This is completely out of left field. John throws him a sharp look, but Ford smiles back brightly ignoring John’s look or discomfort at the last minute change.
“Saxophone, bass,” Bienstock said as he checked his list. Then he looked up pleased at the ‘girls’ “Am I glad to see you girls. You saved our lives.”
“Like wise, I’m sure,” John replied, trying to remember to be polite as most of the women he knew, especially his mother. John was actually a bit horrified when he looked in the mirror and saw some of her looking back.
“Where did you girls play before?” Sue asked, wanting to know what caliber of musicians she’s got before her.
Ford just giggles, for apparently all the women he’s dealt with do that a lot. “Oh - here and there - and around.”
Fearing that Sweet Sue may not think that good enough, John thinks fast, “We spent three years at the Sheboygan Conservatory of Music.”
"All aboard!" the conductor yelled.
Bienstock checked his list, “You're in Berths 7 and 7A.”
Ford, acting again on his idea of what a lady is, gives another giggle, and a slight smile, “Thank you ever so.”
Bienstock is stunned by the polite reply. “You’re welcome,” he finally replied moments later.
“It's entirely mutual,” Ford said. Since John has already boarded the car. Ford starts up the steps, he stumbles. Bienstock helps him up, with a little pat on the behind.
“Upsy-daisy,” Bienstock grined.
Ford turns with a coyly expression, “Fresh!”
John jerks Ford up into the vestibule before this nonsense gets out of hand. Bienstock watches Ford and John disappear from view and then takes off his glasses and places them in his pocket, and turns to Sweet Sue. “Looks like Poliakoff came through with a couple of real ladies.”
“You better tell the other girls to watch their language,” Sue tells Bienstock. She and Bienstock mount the steps of the Pullman. The porter picks up the yellow footstep, hops aboard as the train starts moving.
John and Ford come in from the vestibule, where John grabs Ford, holds him against the baggage rack. “TEYLA?” He asked in an angry whisper.
Ford has the decency to look sheepish, “I never did like the name Aida.”
As Sue and Bienstock appear from the vestibule, John lets go of Ford, and they move down the aisle into the Pullman car proper. The girl musicians are all there, except for the all American wet dream girl. They are removing their coats, settling themselves in their seats, putting away their instruments and baggage. They are all blonde, they are young, and most of them are pretty. They look like a band of angels - but don't you believe it! John and Ford stand out like soar thumbs with their dark colored wigs, though John’s is jet black, much like his own hair, and Ford’s is closer to a light auburn, giving him a slight exotic appeal.
Ford practically bursts into the room with a huge grin on his face, “Hello, everybody. I'm the bass fiddle. Just call me Teyla.”
John feeling anything but open and warm, gives a slight smile, “I'm Johanna . Sax.”
There are a slew of general hellos and the girls show how open and friendly they are, and make a lot of jokes with Teyla…aka Ford, while John is more than ready to get out of the room. Finally having enough of watching Ford make a silly idiot of himself, John grabs him gently but firmly by the arm and leads he out of the seating area, just as Bienstock enters and informs the others that the newcomers are from a conservatory.
There is a general horse-laugh from the girls as John and Ford have now reached their berths, which are away form the others, giving them some privacy and are taking off their coats. Ford is looking like a kid in a candy store, he’s so excited. “How about that talent? This is like falling into a tub of butter,” Ford whispers to John who isn’t looking too thrilled at the moment.
“Watch it, Teyla!” John warns.
Ford isn’t really listening and continues as if John hadn’t said a word, “When I was a kid, I used to have a dream - I was locked up in this pastry shop overnight - with all kinds of goodies around - jelly rolls and mocha éclairs and sponge cake and Boston cream pie and cherry tarts…”
John’s had enough of Ford’s stupidity. The man was his best friend, and some days he’d do anything for the man, but on days like this, he was more than willing to toss him overboard. Heaven help him if the man ever got a real brain. “Listen, stupid - no butter and no pastry. We're on a diet!”
Ford starts to hang his coat across a cord running above the window, but John stops him by grabbing his arm and pulling it back quickly. “Not there - that's the emergency brake,” John hisses.
Ford clutches his bosom, “Now you’ve done it!” he snarled quietly.
“Done what?” John asked, for all he’s aware of is he stopped Ford from doing something stupid…again.
“Tore off one of my chests,” Ford informed John.
“Ah, then you’d better go fix it,” John replied, taking a quick look around to make sure they’re still alone.
“You better come help me,” Ford said, and leads the way toward the rest rooms, which are just beyond their seat. Instinctively he heads for the one marked men. John grabs him, steers him back toward the one marked women. “This way, Teyla,” John drawls in his female voice.
Ford is now clasping his chest desperately, looking frustrated. “Now you tore the other one,” he growls in a hushed voice.
John opens the curtain, propels him inside. But there is another customer there - it’s the American wet dream. She has one leg up on the leather settee, her skirt is slightly raised, and she is about to remove a small silver flask tucked under her garter. As Ford and John come in, she guiltily pulls her skirt down.
“OH!” she gaps as soon as she realizes she’s not alone.
Ford folds his arms across his chest to keep his ‘chest’ from falling. “Terribly sorry.”
The woman looks relieved when she sees who it is. “That's all right. I was afraid it was Sweet Sue. You won't tell anybody, will you?”
John isn’t sure what the problem is, for he didn’t see anything amiss, at least not for him. “Tell what?”
Taking the flask out from under her skirt, she unscrews the cap. “If they catch me once more, they'll boot me out of the band.” She pours a drink into a paper cup. “You the replacements for the bass and the sax?”
Ford grins warmly, “That's us. I'm Teyla - and this is Johanna,” he says, going to gesture to John, but remembers he’s got to hold his chest in place, so keeps his arms folded.
“I'm Sugar Cane. I changed it. It used to be Sugar Kowalczyk,” the blond bombshell said, introducing herself to the ‘girls’.
“Polish?” Ford asked, for she didn’t look polish in his mind, anyway.
Sugar just grinned then takes a sip of her drink. “Yes. I come from a very musical family. My mother is a piano teacher and my father was a conductor.”
John seems a bit interested now, or more than he had been before. “Where did he conduct?”
“On the Baltimore and Ohio,” Sugar replied as she takes another sip from her paper cup.
John feels like groaning at her answer, “Oh,” he replied socially instead.
Sugar doesn’t seem to realize his reply and keeps talking, “I play the ukulele. And I sing too.”
Ford who is very interested, nudges John with his elbow, “She sings, too.”
“I don't really have much of a voice - but then it's not much of a band, either. I'm only with 'em because I'm running away,” Sugar explained, not seeing any reason not to pour her entire life out to two strangers.
That ugly ‘good-guy’ pops his head up and John is momentarily concerned, “Running away? From what?”
Sugar takes a gulp from her paper cup, “Don’t get me started on that.” She then extends the flask, “Want a drink?” It’s bourbon.”
As Ford reaches for it, his bosom starts to slip again, and he quickly refolds his arms. “We’ll have to take a rain check,” he told Sugar. John just shakes his head no.
Sugar shrugs and then downs another cup of bourbon. “I don't want you to think that I'm a drinker. I can stop any time I want to - only I don't want to. Especially when I'm blue.”
“We understand,” John replied, his voice even, and almost sounds like he really means it.
Sugar grins at him, “All the girls drink - but I'm the one that gets caught. That's the story of my life. I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop.” She has screwed the cap back on the flask, and now slips it under her garter. “Are my seams straight?” she asks, as there is no full length mirror around.
Ford is more than happy to take a moment to examine her legs. “I’ll say.”
“See you around, girls,” Sugar smiles and she waves and exits into the Pullman car.
“Bye, Sugar,” Ford calls after, then turns to John and lowers his voice, and is speaking normal but hushed. “We’ve been playing with the wrong bands.”
John sees Ford is getting caught up in his hormones again, and knows how stupid he gets when he was like this. John has tried to educate his friend that woman were not for getting stupid over. They were for company, entertainment, and yes sex, but John wasn’t about to explain that he wasn’t all that thrilled with most of the sex he’d ever had with them. He always seemed so detached, like it was a chore or something, not that he wasn’t good at it or knew how to please a woman; it was part of the game….one he was tired of playing at that particular moment, especially with mobsters on their tail. “Down, Teyla!
Ford seems oblivious to John as he peeks through the curtain and spots Sugar walking bouncing like jell-o on springs. “I mean, how about the shape of that liquor cabinet?”
John pulls Ford back and spins him around, and unbuttoning the back of his dress, starts to fix the slipped brassiere. “Forget it. One false move and they'll toss us off the train - there'll be the police, and the papers, and the mob in Chicago...”
Ford who is STILL not listening, continues to let his mouth run. “Boy, would I like to borrow a cup of that Sugar.”
Tired of Ford going on and on, John whirls him around and grabs the front of his dress and glares at Ford, “Look - no butter, no pastry, and no Sugar!”
Ford just looks down at his chest pathetically and then back at John, “You tore it again!”
John just huffs and spins Ford around once more to fix it so he can get out of the bathroom.
***********
TRAIN-Night
At one end of the car, Sweet Sue and her Society Syncopators are beating out RUNNING WILD. It is a special rehearsal to break in the two new girls, Johanna and Teyla. The other girls, including Sugar on the ukulele, are really swinging. But John and Ford are playing in a dainty ultra-refined manner, so as not to give themselves away. Sue, who is conducting from the aisle, raps her baton against a seat. The girls stop playing and she looks at John and Ford.
“Hey, Sheboygan - you two - what was your last job - playing square dances?” Sue asks, not pleased with what she’s hearing.
“No - funerals,” John replies honestly.
Sue shakes her head, “Would you mind rejoining the living? Goose it up a little.”
“We’ll try,” Ford replies, knowing he rather play it hot anyway.
Sue is about to give the downbeat, when her eyes fall on Ford's bass fiddle. There is a neat row of bullet holes across the face of the instrument. “How did those holes get there?”
Ford looks down at his bull-fiddle and notices for the first time the series of what he knows are bullet holes. “Oh - those. I don’t know,” he says, not sure how to explain why he had perfectly round holes in his instrument. “Mice?” he says, hoping that will end the interrogation.
John seeing Ford panic, speaks up quickly, “We got it second-hand.”
Sweet Sue is far from impressed with the new girls, but she’s in no position to complain…much. “All right - lets take it from the top. And put a little heat under it, will you?” She brings the baton down, and the girls start playing again. This time John and Ford give it both knees - John going for a wild ride on the sax, and Ford slapping and twirling the bass like a girl possessed. Sue cocks her eyebrows, amazed by the hepness of the two conservatory cats and thinks she may have been wrong about her judgment of the new girls.
Now it is time for Sugar's solo. She steps forward with the ukulele, and starts to sing a hot chorus of RUNNING WILD. Holding on to the bull-fiddle, Ford leans forward to get a better view of Sugar's backfield in motion.
As Sugar shimmies through the number, the hidden flask slips out from under her garter, and falls to the floor with a clank. She freezes. Sue raps her baton furiously against the seat, stopping the music.
“Bienstock!” Sue screams.
Bienstock, with his glasses on, is sitting father back in the car reading Variety. He leaps up and heads to see what the problem is. “Yes, Sue? What is it?”
Sue just points at the flask with her baton, looking furious as if it was Bienstock’s fault she’s seeing it. “I thought I made it clear I don't want any drinking in this outfit.”
Bienstock picks up the flask and looks at the women sternly, “All right, girls. Who does this belong to?” he asks, and isn’t surprised not to get an answer. “Come on, now. Speak up.” Again there is no answer and he looks to Sugar who is looking guilty and nervous. “Sugar, I warned you!”
“Please, Mr. Bienstock,” Sugar begins but is cut off.
“This is the last straw. In Kansas City you were smuggling liquor in a shampoo bottle. Before that I caught you with a pint in your ukulele,” Bienstock is ranting, angry and disappointed in Sugar.
Ford has squeezed himself between the girls, and steps forward, as he sees what’s happening and can’t stand by and let it happen. “Pardon me, Mr. Bienstock - can I have my flask back?” he asks.
Automatically Bienstock replies, not having expected this from such a lady as he thought of Teyla. “Sure,” he says and hands it back to her before turning back to Sugar. “Pack your things and the next station we come too…” he stops and does a double take then turns to Ford aka Teyla with wide eyes. “Your flask?”
“Uh-huh. Just a little bourbon,” Ford replies like it’s no big deal, and he starts to slip it down the neck of his dress.
“Give me that!” Bienstock demands and grabs the flask. Sugar is looking at Ford gratefully. While John glares at Ford, ready to hit him with the saxophone for almost getting them kicked off the train.
Sue looks at John and Ford with even more suspicion. “Didn't you girls say you went to a conservatory?” she asks dryly.
“Yes. For a whole year,” Ford replies quickly, too quickly.
Sue narrows her eyes, “I thought you said three years.”
John gives a charming smile, “We got time off for good behavior,” he teased, hoping to lighten the mood.
Sue is taken off guard a bit by the joke, and decides to let the matter drop and gets back to what she think is important…the rules. “There are two things I will not put up with during working hours. One is liquor - and the other one is men.”
Ford starts to blinks his eyes like a Christmas tree angle, “Men?”
John is resisting turning around and smacking the man, but remains calm as he looks at Sue sincerely, “Oh, you don't have to worry about that.”
Ford, not able to leave well enough alone, takes it one step further. “We wouldn’t be caught dead with men. Those rough, hairy beasts with eight hands…” Looks at Bienstock, “They all want just one thing from a girl.”
Bienstock draws himself up for he is insulted to have such a label placed on him. “I beg your pardon.”
Sue is more than ready to drop this subject as it’s getting late and she wants to get to bed. But the new girls need the practice. She raps her baton, “All right, girls - from the top again.” Once more the Society Syncopators wade into RUNNING WILD. Sugar, strumming the ukulele, smiles warmly at Teyla, who was a true blue pal. Teyla/Ford smiles back, his mouth watering a little, like a kid in a pastry shop and Sugar is the star of that menu. John is anything but pleased and for the first time wonders if it’s not Ford but him that’s got the problem, for here he was surrounded by over a dozen beautiful blonds, and since he didn’t need anything from them, found he had no sexual interest in them. He was more than ready to turn in by the time Sue called an end to practice.
*************
PULLMAN CAR - (Later that same night)
John settled himself on the lower bunk, giving Ford the top one and moving the ladder, for he was like a teenager at an all girl bash, literally and John didn’t trust the man to keep it in his silk PJ’s. But after seeing him settled, he was glad for the sanctuary of the berth and the little reading light. He pulled out a book he had buried among his things. He wasn’t too proud about how he got the book, since he checked it out under the name of one of the women he had been dating and never returned it. The book was about planes and the pilots that flew them, and John found it irresistible. Had his life been different, he’d have become a pilot, but, he never finished high school…officially, as he was more than capable of doing anything any high school kid could, and even some college kids. But he had to go to work and take care of his mother. He even thought about joining the military to learn how to fly, but because he had gotten into too much trouble as a kid, and didn’t finish his education, they said he could join, but he’d be lucky to become a mechanic…that wasn’t what he wanted.
Then his mother died and what little savings he had went to that, and the debt collectors took the rest and John was left with nothing but a few pictures, and his saxophone. It was then that John decided he’d stop being such a nice guy and do some taking for a change, and he was going to make it big, and get his mother a proper burial…thus all the wild schemes, as he had learned first hand, playing it straight didn’t get him anywhere. The sad part was, he wasn’t getting much of anywhere now either, and worse, he was feeling a bit guilty at some of his actions.
The little voice that told him to stop being a pansy, came a calling again. John had to agree it was right. He was a man, and if he wanted to get somewhere, he had be top dog and scrap, scheme, and steal whatever he needed. He pushed the other voice that told him his mother wouldn’t appreciate that aside, and put the book away, not wanting Ford to see it. The man may be his friend, but he’d never understand, much less be able to read half of it. John shook his head, as that was not kind to think that way of Ford. The man had a good heart, and stuck with him through thick and thin…if only…?
John wasn’t even going to analyze that thought and rolled over and fell asleep, dreaming of plans and touching the stars as he flew over vast oceans, with the wind in his face.
Suddenly, John feels himself being shaken awake. He turns sleepy eyes toward whoever is shaking and sees someone, one of the girls who was asking him something. “Huh?”
The girl, Emily, sees that John isn’t with it and decided to forget it, “Never mind.” She disappears. John starts to close his eyes, and then sits up with a jolt as it comes to him what she asked.
“Maraschino cherries?”
Slowly he becomes aware of the sounds of revelry up above. His eyes widen as he sees a girl's bare leg through the curtains. The girl steps on the edge of his berth, hoists herself into the upper one. John throws open the curtains, sees several other pairs of girls' legs dangling down from the upper, and still more legs climbing up the ladder. “Oh, not good,” he mutters to himself.
Frantically, John jumps out of his berth. He is confronted by a sight which knocks into a knot the principle that two bodies cannot occupy the same space at the same time. In a triumph of engineering, fourteen girls have squeezed themselves into Upper 7 - or to be exact, thirteen girls and Teyla - not to mention the bourbon, the vermouth, the Southern Comfort, the paper cups, the corkscrew, the hot water bottle, the crackers and cheese, and the salami. There is a seething tangle of arms and legs and blonde heads - like a snake pit at feeding time.
“What's going on here?” John demands as firmly as he can with his female voice, and not shouting. He starts trying to seek out Ford but can’t see him/her. “Teyla - Teyla…”
Ford sticks his head out of the curtain, looking frazzled. “It's not my fault. I didn't invite them.”
Knowing this is a disaster in the making, John pleads, “Break it up, girls! Teyla! Come on, help me!” He starts to tug at odd arms and legs.
Ford pulls himself back into the berth. “All right, girls. You heard Johanna. Everybody out.”
Sugar starts to back out of the berth and Ford panics, as she was the one he wanted to be alone with in the first place. “Not you, Sugar.
Sugar just smiles, “I’m just going to get some ice.”
John has slipped on his robe as Sugar comes backing out of the berth and down the ladder. “Out, out! That's right, Sugar. Now the rest of you,” he insists, as Sugar heads for the water fountain, John starts to pull the other girls out.
“Aw, don't be a flat tire. Have a Manhattan. Come on in. There's lots of room in the back,” one of the girls calls out.
John is not a happy camper as no one is listening to him. “Ssh. Pipe down. We'll all be fired,” he tells them, though he’s more concerned about being tossed off the train before they hit Florida.
Ford sticks his head out, looks after Sugar, ignoring John’s glares. “Sugar - don't you leave me here alone, Sugar.”
But Sugar isn’t listening and has pried open the panel under the water fountain, and reaching inside, drags out a huge cake of ice. Not quite knowing what to do with it, she thrusts it into John's hands, and turns quickly to the pile of instruments stashed between some empty seats.
John, unaware of the cake of ice in his hands, “Come on, kids. Give up, will you? The party's over. Everybody go home.” Suddenly he notices the ice as it’s freezing his hands. “What's this?”
By this time, Sugar has unscrewed a cymbal from the drum, and is holding the drummer's metal brush. “Johanna, over here. Before it melts,” she calls after him, then She heads for the women's lounge. John looks at her, looks at the ice, and not knowing what else to do with it, follows her through the curtains.
Once inside, she points to the sunken washbowl, “Put it here,” she tells Johanna, referring to the ice in his/her hands.
John drops the ice in the bowl, and looks at Sugar with concern, “Sugar, you're going to get yourself into a lot of trouble.”
Sugar nods, “Then you better keep a lookout,” she advises, and John just decides it’s her life and crosses to the curtain and peers out. Sugar is using the handle of the metal brush and starts to chop the ice into the upturned cymbal.
John gives a quiet sigh, as that internal voice tells him to let it be, but the other voice asks him what is wrong with just being a good friend. He use to enjoy looking after others, not just Ford, and Sugar seemed to need a friend. “ If Bienstock catches you again - What's the matter with you, anyway?” he asked, suddenly really wanting to know.
Sugar just shrugged, “I'm not very bright, I guess,” she tells them and taps her temple, then goes back to what she’s doing.
“I wouldn't say that. Careless, maybe,” John replies, as he feels that’s more the truth.
Sugar just shakes her head, “No, just dumb. If I had any brains, I wouldn't be on this crummy train with this crummy girls' band.”
John is still keeping watch, but also keeps one eye on what Sugar is doing. “ Then why did you take this job?”
Sugar shrugs, “I used to sing with male bands. But I can't afford it any more.”
“Afford it?”
Sugar chuckles and then turns to Johanna, “Have you ever been with a male band?”
“Me?” John replies as innocently as possible.
“That's what I'm running away from. I worked with six different ones in the last two years. Oh, brother!” Sugar said, as she took some of her frustration out on the ice for a moment.
“Rough?” John asks, and can see by how Sugar is attacking the ice, what her answer already is.
“I’ll say,” Sugar replies, easing up on the ice.
“You can't trust those guys,” John tells her and he should know, he is/ was/ is one of those louses that use women, and he finds he’s not liking that thought too well.
“I can't trust myself. The moment I'd start with a new band - bingo!” Sugar said, holding up the metal brush like an exclamation mark
“Bingo?”
Sugar stopped with the ice and turns more to face Johanna. “You see, I have this thing about saxophone players.”
John turns, abandoning his post, that other voice that he’s been listening too for the last few years is shouting for joy at how sweet that information is to know. “Really?” he asks her.
Sugar doesn’t see or recognize the interest in John’s hazel eyes for what it is and continues spilling her guts. “Especially tenor sax. I don't know what it is, but they just curdle me. All they have to do is play eight bars of "Come to Me My Melancholy Baby" - and my spine turns to custard, and I get goose-pimply all over - and I come to them.”
“That so?” John asks, that dark voice shouting hallelujah inside.
“Every time!” Sugar says as she hits her head a few times, indicating how stupid she feels about it.
At this point and time, friend Johanna is out the window and Sheppard wanting to fluff up his flock is present. He takes a nonchalant pose and tone as he speaks, still using his female voice. “You know - I play tenor sax.”
Sugar giggles, “But you're a girl, thank goodness.”
Reality hits hard and Johanna is back in full swing. “Yeah,” John says, as his throat is suddenly dry.
“That's why I joined this band. Safety first. Anything to get away from those bums,” Sugar tells him, proud that she finally did something right.
“Yeah,” John replies, his throat even drier.
Sugar goes back to the ice and once more is taking out her frustration on the ice as she speaks. “ You don't know what they're like. You fall for them and you love 'em - you think it's going to be the biggest thing since the Graf Zeppelin - and the next thing you know they're borrowing money from you and spending it on other dames and betting on the horses…”
“You don’t say,” John says quietly, knowing in his case, it was dog racing, and most of the money went to food, rent, and other necessities of whatever get rich quick scheme, he’d hatched. But even if he didn’t spend the money he borrowed, and never paid back, from the women he was with, on other women, he didn’t think it would matter in the least to Sugar or any woman.
“Then one morning you wake up and the saxophone is gone and the guy is gone, and all that's left behind is a pair of old socks and a tube of toothpaste, all squeezed out,” Sugar said, looking a bit defeated.
Men!” John replies, feeling that in this one area he had a bit of respite, as he never moved in with any of the women, and never made promises…but knew he’d still played them just the same. The dark voice inside, it was what was expected of him and he should stop being such a wuss over this dame, that she was just like anything else in the world, something up for grabs if you had the guts to go after it.
Sugar, unaware of the many expressions crossing John’s face, continues her story. “So you pull yourself together and you go on to the next job, and the next saxophone player, and it's the same thing all over again. See what I mean? - not very bright,” she says, this time looking Johanna, tapping her temple again.
John is once again in predator mode and does a quick scan of Sugar, “Brains aren't everything.” He doesn’t even stop to think that until it became a challenge, he wasn’t even interested in Sugar that way.
“I can tell you one thing - it's not going to happen to me again. Ever. I'm tired of getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop,” Sugar states with confidence.
Olga bursts in through the curtains, looking inpatient. “Ice! What's keeping the ice? The natives are getting restless.”
John hands her the cymbal piled with ice. “How about a couple of drinks for us?”
“Sure,” Olga replies and then she scoots out. John and Sugar are alone again. He leans like he normally does, partially aware that it doesn’t have the same effect with him in a wig and make-up, and gets Sugar to spill her plans. He listens to how she’s concerned about turning twenty-five and wants to marry a millionaire, preferably a young handsome one, with glasses; seems to believe that men who wear them are sweet and gentle by nature and would treat her right. Soon, Olga is back again, carrying two Manhattans in paper cups on the cymbal. She hands them the drinks, starts to refill the cymbal with ice.
“That bass fiddle - wow! She sure knows how to throw a party!” Olga tells the ‘girls’ before she dashes back out. John looks after her worriedly, as he’s concerned that Ford might blow it big time.
Sugar raises her cup, “Happy days.”
John turns and lifts his paper cut to hers, “I hope this time you wind up with the sweet end of the lollipop,” he lies out right, as inside he’s not thinking of what is best for sugar. As they drink, John studies Sugar like a cat studying the canary they’re about to have for dinner. That little voice inside is telling that getting himself some Sugar is just the cure he needs for what is ailing him, and to be rid of all the other bizarre and out of reach thoughts. Of course that means he needs a plan and it’s getting late and he would like to get some sleep before they got to Florida.
The fiasco with Ford hitting the emergency break didn’t help matters, and it didn’t help John’s resolve to not listen to that predator voice, as he had been tossed into Sugar’s arms. But now that everyone had scrambled back to their berths, and was quiet, John heads out of the woman’s lounge and then reappears and signals to Sugar, who is behind him, “Okay, Sugar - all clear. You better go back to bed
“I might as well stay in there. I won't be able to sleep anyway,” she sighs.
“Why not?” John asks, more out of curiosity than anything.
“Bienstock. He snores and to beat the band. We cut cards to see who sleeps over him and I always lose. Wouldn’t you know?” Sugar shrugs as it’s the story of her life.
John’s mind is formulating a plan, but it’s all tentative, and it begins with getting in good with Sugar a bit more. “Want to switch berths with me?”
Sugar’s face lights up as she can’t believe the offer. “Would you mind terribly?”
“Not at all,” John tells her as he leads her to Lower 7. The curtains of Upper 7 are
closed. “I can fall asleep anywhere, any time, over anybody,” John lies. He takes his suitcase out, stashes it under the berth.
“Thanks, honey.”
John smiles as he starts heading to her berth, “Good night, Sugar.”
“Good night, Johanna,” Sugar bids John.
Sugar gets into Lower 7, closing the curtains. John proceeds down the aisle, about to mount the ladder to upper 2, when he notices Bienstock’s suitcase. Curiosity gets the better of him, as his brain is in scheme mode, and he slips the suite case into upper 2, then climbs in. Bienstock is snoring away, and John is glad he got himself something to occupy himself for a bit. He opens the case and sees just what he needs, an grins from ear to ear. Placing the suit case at the foot of the bed, John slips out and takes the case and places it back where he got it from, for he could get it later. Then back in the bunk, John realizes he was going to pay for that lie, as the snoring was horrendous. John clamps the spare pillow over his head and prays for the best.
****End of Chapter Three****