shoulders and his black Fedora resting on the top of his head. The smile in his eyes contained a sensuous flame that set her at ease until he extended his offer. “Shall we?”
Harmony hesitated. At what point did he make it clear he would help her? And at what point had she made it clear she’d pay his price for his help? The lines were blurred and her pounding heart didn’t help much. Despite the warning signs of danger she saw in his intense stare and the eyes of the men that shadowed him, he drew her in with his unspoken charm. It would be easier not to resist him.
Walking around the car, she gave a small smile and allowed him to lead her to the doors of his home. They climbed the stairs but Harmony fell back on the step when the door opened. A short dark skinned older black woman in a maid’s uniform appeared. Their eyes met. There was an arrested expression on her face. The servant quickly covered it then backed away in respect and held the door for them to enter. God help Harmony but it felt like she looked into the eyes of her Grams.
“ Welcome home Mr. Romano,” the servant said, accepting his hat and coat.
“ Mabel.” Romano nodded.
“ Good evening,” Mabel mumbled, her gaze switching to Harmony.
“ Good evening,” Harmony answered softly.
“ Your coat, Miss?”
Harmony nervously undid the front buttons then passed Mabel the coat, her hat and purse. The woman shook her head in disappointment before she walked away. It hurt, but Harmony had grown used to the sting. Singing at The Cotton had cost her the respect of many people in her old community before she moved to Sugar Hill. She could hear the snickers of the young women when she went to church. It got so bad that even the Reverend’s wife asked her not to return. So she didn’t. Since her popularity and her one night performance at the Lincoln Theater, even men that knew her Grams when she was alive had propositioned her. It was exhausting. But she’d learned to endure. Jazz is about survival, and as long as she kept it to jazz she had nothing to be ashamed of.
In the parlor, her heels clicked noisily over the hardwood floors so she slowed her walk and tried hard to appear less anxious. Romano had many fine things including his own private bar—stocked full with bootleg whiskey and hooch. He stood there pouring from a crystal decanter. When he turned, she saw he had two glasses. Dammit, I can’t drink with him. I need to keep my wits about me. Harmony only drank hooch with Lewis once or twice and hated it. The Cotton slipped it to its patrons after late hours but never the staff.
“ Thank you,” she said, accepting the drink. She sipped it but kept a straight face and the pour burned its way down her throat.
“ Have a seat.”
She did. Thankfully, he chose one across from her.
“ When does Willie run Mickey’s hooch to Red Hots? What day?”
“ I said Mickey Collins has an arrangement with Madame St. Clair so I’m not sure of how often or what days Willie did his runs.”
Romano downed the last of his whiskey as if it were water. He didn’t bristle at her sharp tongue. Hard as she tried she couldn’t humble her speech any lower. She was quite jumpy now being out of her territory.
“ Nunzio,” he called out.
A man appeared from nowhere, another Sicilian, younger than Romano, but with a unforgiving scowl permanent to his features. She thought they were alone, except for the maid. His presence made her eye the exit once more.
“ Yes, Boss?”
“ Take a run up East 96th through 125th and put the word out that I’m looking for Little Will.”
“ Yes, Boss.”
“ Oh, and get a message to Mickey Collins, that I want the kid alive. He has a problem with that tell him to see me.”
“ Yes, Boss.”
Harmony blinked through her shock. Just like that and it was done. A cold wave of relief washed over her. She smiled at him.
Harmony hesitated. At what point did he make it clear he would help her? And at what point had she made it clear she’d pay his price for his help? The lines were blurred and her pounding heart didn’t help much. Despite the warning signs of danger she saw in his intense stare and the eyes of the men that shadowed him, he drew her in with his unspoken charm. It would be easier not to resist him.
Walking around the car, she gave a small smile and allowed him to lead her to the doors of his home. They climbed the stairs but Harmony fell back on the step when the door opened. A short dark skinned older black woman in a maid’s uniform appeared. Their eyes met. There was an arrested expression on her face. The servant quickly covered it then backed away in respect and held the door for them to enter. God help Harmony but it felt like she looked into the eyes of her Grams.
“ Welcome home Mr. Romano,” the servant said, accepting his hat and coat.
“ Mabel.” Romano nodded.
“ Good evening,” Mabel mumbled, her gaze switching to Harmony.
“ Good evening,” Harmony answered softly.
“ Your coat, Miss?”
Harmony nervously undid the front buttons then passed Mabel the coat, her hat and purse. The woman shook her head in disappointment before she walked away. It hurt, but Harmony had grown used to the sting. Singing at The Cotton had cost her the respect of many people in her old community before she moved to Sugar Hill. She could hear the snickers of the young women when she went to church. It got so bad that even the Reverend’s wife asked her not to return. So she didn’t. Since her popularity and her one night performance at the Lincoln Theater, even men that knew her Grams when she was alive had propositioned her. It was exhausting. But she’d learned to endure. Jazz is about survival, and as long as she kept it to jazz she had nothing to be ashamed of.
In the parlor, her heels clicked noisily over the hardwood floors so she slowed her walk and tried hard to appear less anxious. Romano had many fine things including his own private bar—stocked full with bootleg whiskey and hooch. He stood there pouring from a crystal decanter. When he turned, she saw he had two glasses. Dammit, I can’t drink with him. I need to keep my wits about me. Harmony only drank hooch with Lewis once or twice and hated it. The Cotton slipped it to its patrons after late hours but never the staff.
“ Thank you,” she said, accepting the drink. She sipped it but kept a straight face and the pour burned its way down her throat.
“ Have a seat.”
She did. Thankfully, he chose one across from her.
“ When does Willie run Mickey’s hooch to Red Hots? What day?”
“ I said Mickey Collins has an arrangement with Madame St. Clair so I’m not sure of how often or what days Willie did his runs.”
Romano downed the last of his whiskey as if it were water. He didn’t bristle at her sharp tongue. Hard as she tried she couldn’t humble her speech any lower. She was quite jumpy now being out of her territory.
“ Nunzio,” he called out.
A man appeared from nowhere, another Sicilian, younger than Romano, but with a unforgiving scowl permanent to his features. She thought they were alone, except for the maid. His presence made her eye the exit once more.
“ Yes, Boss?”
“ Take a run up East 96th through 125th and put the word out that I’m looking for Little Will.”
“ Yes, Boss.”
“ Oh, and get a message to Mickey Collins, that I want the kid alive. He has a problem with that tell him to see me.”
“ Yes, Boss.”
Harmony blinked through her shock. Just like that and it was done. A cold wave of relief washed over her. She smiled at him.
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