night.
Harmony stood on the sidewalk with her coat on and her grey bell shaped cloche hat pressed down on her head, watching others come and go. Funny how the same white folk that called for an encore just seconds after her last performance, found her invisible as they passed her by. She didn’t mind. Who she was at The Cotton should never cross over into her real life. Though she had the sinking feeling this would no longer be true after tonight.
Where was he? Harmony worried over the late hour. Romano should have arrived by now. She hadn’t taken that long changing and Paulette said his men were still inside. The cars flew by. She felt a dreaded sense of hopelessness; it dawned on her that he wouldn’t show. Maybe the connection she felt when she sang to him was in her head. What did she really know of men, besides what she learned from Lewis? Why did the rejection burn so badly? Was it her pride or did she actually think she could pull this one off?
Her shoulders slumped as she turned to head home. When she crossed over 142 nd , a black chauffeured car rolled up blocking her pass. Harmony stopped, leery of the passenger who stepped out. The brim of the driver’s fedora shadowed his face, but his eyes were still compelling. He opened the back door and gave her a respectful nod.
Sucking in a breath of bravery, Harmony walked over with steady nerves. The driver took her hand and helped her inside. Like a lady . Romano patiently waited for her delivery.
“ Hello Songbird,” Romano said with quiet emphasis on the last word .
“ Mr. Romano.” She replied with levity to her voice.
“ Vinnie,” he reminded her.
“ Thank you, Vinnie for uh… for agreeing to meet with me to talk about Willie.”
Vinnie cut his eyes to the front and the driver nodded, pulling out onto Lenox Avenue. It was warm in the car but her nerves had her feeling ice water in her veins. Milo’s words and the spectre of Lewis haunted her, yet she focused. Could be he just wanted to talk. Could be.
She’s more fearless than I thought; fearless or desperate. The way she fiddles with her hands surely meant a little of both. Why I never made a move on her was simple. I pretty much stay away from birds like her. Her being a Negress wasn’t all of it. It was something about the way she put me at ease with her voice. Not looking for a dame, colored or white, wielding that kind of hold over me.
Romano’s gaze dropped to Harmony’s lap, her coat covered the tops of her knees, still his gaze travelled up and over her feminine form stopping at her face. Harmony sensed his stare and slipped him a look. He couldn’t read the meaning of the challenge blazing in her dark smoky irises, but he got the distinct impression when they found her on the corner waiting, she had entered his car by choice. Her choice. If she decided against his secret desire to touch her he’d have a helluva fight convincing her otherwise. He held her stare and felt a charge of excitement from the bold light of inner strength flickering deep in her eyes. Who was this dame?
The night would prove interesting indeed. They traveled out north. Romano saw her visibly tense as the destination dawned on her. He said little for the first half of the ride to make sure she felt at ease in his presence. Eventually the silence felt too prolonged and he spoke. “So tell me about your brother.”
“ Willie’s my younger brother. Like I told you earlier, he works at The Cotton too. He wipes down the tables and keeps the bars stocked, is even a drink waiter on some nights. He also handles small deliveries for Mickey Collins. There’s a speakeasy in Harlem that Collins supplies. Willie makes that run. It meant Willie got a little more responsibility.”
“ He a numbers runner too?”
She struggled with her answer. To confess to all the tricks and hustles her little brother was into would overshadow the claim of
Harmony stood on the sidewalk with her coat on and her grey bell shaped cloche hat pressed down on her head, watching others come and go. Funny how the same white folk that called for an encore just seconds after her last performance, found her invisible as they passed her by. She didn’t mind. Who she was at The Cotton should never cross over into her real life. Though she had the sinking feeling this would no longer be true after tonight.
Where was he? Harmony worried over the late hour. Romano should have arrived by now. She hadn’t taken that long changing and Paulette said his men were still inside. The cars flew by. She felt a dreaded sense of hopelessness; it dawned on her that he wouldn’t show. Maybe the connection she felt when she sang to him was in her head. What did she really know of men, besides what she learned from Lewis? Why did the rejection burn so badly? Was it her pride or did she actually think she could pull this one off?
Her shoulders slumped as she turned to head home. When she crossed over 142 nd , a black chauffeured car rolled up blocking her pass. Harmony stopped, leery of the passenger who stepped out. The brim of the driver’s fedora shadowed his face, but his eyes were still compelling. He opened the back door and gave her a respectful nod.
Sucking in a breath of bravery, Harmony walked over with steady nerves. The driver took her hand and helped her inside. Like a lady . Romano patiently waited for her delivery.
“ Hello Songbird,” Romano said with quiet emphasis on the last word .
“ Mr. Romano.” She replied with levity to her voice.
“ Vinnie,” he reminded her.
“ Thank you, Vinnie for uh… for agreeing to meet with me to talk about Willie.”
Vinnie cut his eyes to the front and the driver nodded, pulling out onto Lenox Avenue. It was warm in the car but her nerves had her feeling ice water in her veins. Milo’s words and the spectre of Lewis haunted her, yet she focused. Could be he just wanted to talk. Could be.
She’s more fearless than I thought; fearless or desperate. The way she fiddles with her hands surely meant a little of both. Why I never made a move on her was simple. I pretty much stay away from birds like her. Her being a Negress wasn’t all of it. It was something about the way she put me at ease with her voice. Not looking for a dame, colored or white, wielding that kind of hold over me.
Romano’s gaze dropped to Harmony’s lap, her coat covered the tops of her knees, still his gaze travelled up and over her feminine form stopping at her face. Harmony sensed his stare and slipped him a look. He couldn’t read the meaning of the challenge blazing in her dark smoky irises, but he got the distinct impression when they found her on the corner waiting, she had entered his car by choice. Her choice. If she decided against his secret desire to touch her he’d have a helluva fight convincing her otherwise. He held her stare and felt a charge of excitement from the bold light of inner strength flickering deep in her eyes. Who was this dame?
The night would prove interesting indeed. They traveled out north. Romano saw her visibly tense as the destination dawned on her. He said little for the first half of the ride to make sure she felt at ease in his presence. Eventually the silence felt too prolonged and he spoke. “So tell me about your brother.”
“ Willie’s my younger brother. Like I told you earlier, he works at The Cotton too. He wipes down the tables and keeps the bars stocked, is even a drink waiter on some nights. He also handles small deliveries for Mickey Collins. There’s a speakeasy in Harlem that Collins supplies. Willie makes that run. It meant Willie got a little more responsibility.”
“ He a numbers runner too?”
She struggled with her answer. To confess to all the tricks and hustles her little brother was into would overshadow the claim of
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