Gents & Dames
Three: The Oldest Established
Nick rolled the cigarette between his fingers, but he was out of matches. He itched for the smoke, and even placed the cigarette between his lips. Bad news always made him nervous, and Nathan was not going to be pleased with this news. In forty-eight hours, their friends were going to be in town, looking for a crap game for the ages, and so far, Nathan hadn't had any luck finding somewhere to host it. Officer Brannigan had caught on to their usual spots and had cops watching them. It was obvious the man wanted to get Nathan in jail, it was like he never slept, obsessed by the goal. He was everywhere Nick had turned, waiting, smirking. No one was willing to let Nathan in to run the game, not with an obsessed flatfoot breathing down his neck.
The cig felt good between his lips. He snapped his fingers, like he could will a match to appear, or will the cigarette to light. And when the itch got bad, Nick gave up. The train terminal where he'd ended up after his last errand was close to empty, with only a few employees and a cop around. None of them looked friendly, so Nick hurried on to the next terminal over. A train was pulling in; it would be overrun by folks soon, and some of them were bound to be smiling.
Sure enough, the place flooded with people. Nick glanced around for someone who looked affable, and spotted a mark as easily as he used to spot suckers when he was selling papers. The guy was walking tall, his pinstriped suit well pressed, and he smiled in a way that almost leaked confidence. He was lighting up his own cigarette, hands in front of his face, when Nick walked over.
"Hey, sir, can I bum a match?"
"Sure, sure." The guy tore a match off his book and handed it to him.
"Thanks kindly." Nick started to wander away, then stopped, turned, and stared.
The guy was smoking now, but Nick could see him more clearly. His hair was long enough that Nick could see clearly that it was a sun-lightened brown falling from under his hat. And his profile...
Couldn't be.
But Nick would've known that profile in his sleep. He kept his eye on the man and lit the cigarette finally, took a drag, and let his head clear. The man was walking now, with a stride that matched his stance: confident, maybe even cocky. Nick started towards him, subtly, and finally maneuvered his way in the crowd. Bumped up against him, shoulder to shoulder.
"Pardon me," he said, when the man turned towards him.
And Jack Kelly recognized him the same second he was sure. His face lit up with that grin, the one Nick had seen so many times. His eyes were bright, too. Jack looked good; a little older, maybe, but wherever he'd been for the last decade, it hadn't dampened his good spirits any.
"Mush Meyers," Jack breathed, and slung an arm around him, like it was old times. "How the hell are you?"
Nick ducked out of his grasp. "We ain't friends, Kelly," he said.
Jack's expression sobered. "Fine, then." He straightened his shoulders. "But you didn't answer my question."
"I'm fine," Nick said. He started towards the door to the station, and Jack dogged his steps.
"Me, too. Thanks for askin'," Jack said.
"What the hell are you doing here, Kelly?" Nick snapped. He considered it in his mind; it was possible that someone in the gang still kept track of Jack, somehow, maybe had run into him...Maybe passed on word about the game to him. Nathan was not going to be happy about this, oh no.
"I'm just in town, awright? Just for a few days."
Nick started up the road, and Jack stayed at his side.
"Whatcha followin' me for?" Nick demanded. "You're in town, fine. Maybe I'll see you around town or somethin'."
"I'm not following you, Mush."
"Don't call me that!"
"Then what am I supposed to call you?"
Nick hesitated for a second, and finally spat out, "Meyers."
"Yeah, I knew that part." Jack rolled his eyes.
"It's Nick Meyers, an' what's it to you, anyway?"
"Nothing, jeeze. I just..." Jack hesitated. "Hey, can I buy you dinner, Nick Meyers?"
"No."
"Come on." Jack shot him that grin and Nick decided to concentrate on his cigarette, not on Jack's smile. Jack's goddamn charming smile. "It won't kill you. I just want to say I'm sorry."
"The hell you are."
"You know I am." Jack's elbowed him and nodded at some kid on the corner, holding up copy of the World. "You still read the papes, Nick? Standard Oil's out of business."
"Yeah, I know."
"What do you think about it, huh?"
"Whatever. It don't concern me... 'Cept," he added hesitantly, "you know, them fatcats. I don't mind 'em getting broke down by the government."
Jack nodded. "Yeah, right." He put a hand on Nick's shoulder and stopped walking. "Meyers, I'm serious. I didn't think I'd see you, you or no one else, while I was here. But since I did see you—I'm no weasel anymore, and I know I did a lot of stuff wrong. I just want to show you that, you know?"
The look he gave Nick wasn't a smile. It was the sincere face. Like when he used to tell Kloppman he was late 'cause he was helping some little old lady carry groceries, and that's why he should be allowed in after curfew. And Nick knew his resolve was never going to hold up against that.
"Whatever," he finally muttered. "Don't think this means I like you, or nothin'."
"I don't," Jack said. But he gave Nick's back a hearty pound. "So where does a gentleman like you get your grub, nowadays?"
Nick sighed. "I know a place."
*
Mindy's was a nice little restaurant, and Nick swore they had the best cheesecake in town. And he knew there was no danger of running into the other guys there—by this time of the evening, Nathan and Ben would be at the Hotbox, and Dave would either be working late on final details for the library dedication, or he'd be having a drink or two up at the Hotbox himself. He didn't miss new numbers.
"I only got half an hour," Nick said. "Then I got places to be."
"Sure thing," Jack said. He flagged down their waiter and they ordered quickly. "So..." Jack trailed off, then looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry, Nick."
"Yeah, it's easy to say that, I guess." Nick sighed.
"I am. An' I'd do just about anything to prove it—to make it up to you. All of you." He hesitated. "I don't suppose you know...I mean, what're the odds that you still know any of the other guys?"
Nick shrugged. "I'd lay money on 'em, if I was you. Though maybe not on me tellin' you where they is."
But Jack was grinning again. "Some of the guys are still in town?"
"Some of 'em."
And he could swear Jack sounded nervous when he asked, "David?"
Nick snorted. "Dave don't want to talk to you, Jack. No one does."
"Dave's still in New York?"
"Yeah. Sarah too. Not that you ever gave half a damn about her." Some of the anger crept back into his mind when he remembered the scene. Sarah in her wedding dress, standing there, determined. He'll be here. Jack will be here. "You good for nothing bastard," Nick added, his voice lowering.
Jack shut his eyes. "I was no good for Sarah," he murmured.
"You was never any good. Not for her, not for nobody, 'cept yourself."
"Nick..." Jack trailed off. Nick looked away. Neither spoke until the waiter arrived with food. Jack gave a mumbled thanks and started eating, then stopped. "Nick, if I could go back and make everything right between us—you and me, me and the guys, me and Sarah—I'd give anything. Do you believe me?"
And the thing was, Nick did believe him. "It ain't as easy as that, Jack," Nick finally said. "You can't just say you're sorry and have it all be right again. It don't work that way."
"I know it don't," Jack agreed. "That's why you gotta tell me where everyone else is, get them to talk to me. So I can make things right."
*
On the way to the Hotbox, Nick explained about the game. Yes, Nathan was hoping to rob their friends blind. Sure, some of them were gamblers, but most weren't serious about it. But Nathan needed the money, and anyway, it wasn't about the money. It was about the guys, about seeing everyone and having a nice reunion. Jack's timing was perfectly lucky, just like everything about him always had been. But of course, Nathan would have to say it was okay for Jack to show up. No one played without Nathan's permission—no one even got to know where the game was without it.
"And," Nick added, as he led the way in the back, "I'm tellin' you this right now, Jack. Nathan don't want to see you, and he won't let you in."
"Leave...Nathan to me." Jack said his name hesitantly, like he wasn't used to it. Which he probably wasn't, Nick thought. Jack hadn't seen any of them in so many years, in his mind, Nathan was still Racetrack. Still a kid, making wise-cracks and placing five-cent bets. He wouldn't expect Nathan, the way he was now. And he sure as hell wouldn't expect Adelaide.
Nick couldn't hide a smile. "Wait here," he said, pushing Jack into one of the back rooms. It was dim, with a cot pushed against the wall and some garish paintings hanging up to cover the peeling white paint.
"Nick—"
"I'll be right back, Jack." He shut the door, shutting Jack in, and hurried through the corridors. Nathan was out at the bar, greeting early customers and making drinks. The show didn't start for twenty minutes yet. "Nathan? We got a visitor."
Nathan's face went blank. "An official type visitor?" he asked, glancing around in paranoia.
"Not the cops," Nick said, and Nathan let out a deep breath. "But I think...it's important, Nathan. Come with me a minute."
"I'm a little busy, Nicky."
"Yeah, but..." Nick glanced around, and saw Ben down with the band in the pit, chatting. "Ben!" he hollered, and all but shoved Ben behind the bar, then dragged Nathan off.
"What the hell's going on?" Nathan demanded.
"Look. I just ran into 'im. I figured you'd want to tell him off yourself, okay?"
"Who? Nick, what's—"
"It's better if you don't know first," Nick said seriously. "Just...don't blame me, okay? I'm just trying to help out."
"Help who? Nicky—"
But Nick opened the door to the grungy room, and Nathan saw who was standing inside, hat in his hands. They stared at each other, and Nathan swung the door shut abruptly.
"No, Nick."
"But—"
"No." Nathan shook his head. "I don't know where you found him, but I want him out of here." The door jerked behind him, but Nathan held the knob tightly, keeping Jack shut in.
"You should just talk to him for a couple of minutes, he's—"
"Sorry?" Nathan interrupted. "I heard him say that before. Ain't nothing he can say that would change my mind; Jack Kelly's a liar to the core. Now you get him out of my theater."
"Ain't your theater," Nick answered.
"Don't be smart with me, you ain't good at it," Nathan said sharply. "Get Kelly out of here and I don't want to see him around again."
"He wants to see the guys."
"Too bad for him."
And with that, Nathan let go of the door, turned, and walked away. Jack slammed the door open and yelled down the hallway, but Nathan didn't stop and didn't turn around. Jack clenched a fist. "Shit," he mumbled.
"I told you." But the look on Jack's face was genuine enough, and Nick always was the sap of the group. "Look," he murmured. "I'm supposed to get rid of you, but..."
"Nick, I'll do anything," Jack said quickly.
"You might just have to. Nathan's how you get to see the guys, an' he won't talk to you. He's stubborn as hell."
"Yeah, I remember that much."
"In fact, the only person I know who can change his mind is Adelaide. You get on Adelaide's good side, you get on Nathan's."
"Okay, okay," Jack agreed. "Can you take me to see her?"
"After the show," Nick said, smirking to himself just a little. "We can sit in the back and you can see for yourself. Then when Nathan's busy with the guests, I can get you backstage. No problem."
"Great." Jack smiled. "Thanks, Nick, you're a real pal."
"I'm a better pal than you ever was." But after he took a cursory look around to make sure no one was watching, Nick gestured Jack down the hall. "Come on. I can't wait to see you see the show."
*
Jack shifted in his seat and glanced forlornly at the bar. It wasn't too far away, but Nick had made it very clear he shouldn't go wandering. So he just sat in his seat in the back row of the theater, and pulled his hat down on his forehead, hoping to hide his face in case Nathan glanced up at them.
The show had started out perfectly normal. The emcee had warmed up the crowd and introduced the first act, a group of scantily clad ladies who danced to rowdy music. The second act was a man-and-woman duet, which tried a little too hard to get the couple into suggestive positions. Jack had already figured the Hotbox was a burlesque house, and he had no problem with that. At least, not until the third act.
The third act was another man-and-woman, but they were crossdressed. And not shy, either. Through the course of the number, they both lost most of their clothes; they froze with 'him' on top of 'her' on the stage, and the lights went down. Jack shifted in his seat and applauded politely. Next to him, Nick let out a wolf whistle.
The emcee took the stage again. "And now," he declared, shouting so the back rows could hear, "the Hotbox is proud to present our very own star, appearing in a brand new number! Gentleman—Miss Adelaide!"
Jack was amazed; the crowd jumped to its feet as one, and the curtains hesitated, still closed, while they hollered and screamed. But as the band struck up and the curtains finally swept apart, a hush fell over everyone. One single spotlight came on, highlighting a very androgynous figure on the stage.
At first, Jack was pretty sure it was a woman, but given the previous act, he wasn't positive. The long blond hair could easily have been a wig. When the figure began to dance, singing a quiet song about missing her lover (gone to the army), he thought maybe it was a man after all. The song was almost entirely falsetto, but in the notes where the singer's voice rang out more clearly, it was deeper and more masculine. And though the figure on stage moved fluidly, gracefully, it was none too feminine, either.
The gag of the act was the singer explaining how she missed her lover and miming some of the sexy stuff they'd done together; as each verse went on, more clothing came off. By the time the skimpy slip had given way, Jack was positive this was a man. With the slip had gone the singer's curves—he was left in a flat-fronted corset that laced up the front. But it didn't look silly, like Jack had expected. He swallowed, uncomfortable. Miss Adelaide—not a Miss at all, it turned out—obviously expected that most of the audience not only would get a kick out of a man in a woman's underclothes, but, in fact, would find it highly appealing. And through his sheer force of will, if nothing else, it was. Adelaide projected sex appeal like the follow spot projected light.
The number ended with him faced away from the audience, arms wrapped around himself. The lights went down, the curtains shut, and the audience was back on its feet, screaming.
Adelaide did a short encore, a more upbeat number, with some backup singers and dancers who seemed to actually be female. But they were incidental decoration; Jack was certain no one in the theater was looking anywhere but directly at the star.
They did the curtain call, and the lights came back up. Jack looked at Nick, startled. Nick smirked. "Not what you expected, Jack?"
Words failed him. Jack shrugged. "Guess not," he finally said.
The crowd began to move, and Nick grabbed Jack's arm. "Come on. Quick. And keep your hat down!"
Jack followed Nick as they wove their way through the audience members, not towards the exit, but to a smaller door. Nick glanced around suspiciously, then opened it and shoved Jack through. This led back to the maze of corridors around the main stage, and Nick seemed to know exactly where to go. He kept checking his watch worriedly, but finally found the doorway he was looking for and knocked, then opened it
"I don't believe I gave you permission to come in." The voice came from behind a large screen, which had clothes strewn across the top. The voice was unnerving, Jack decided. Because it was clearly a man's, but the imitation of a woman was too perfect. The room itself looked just like Jack had expected—it was a dressing room, with a table and chairs, mirrors, and costumes and jewelry strewn all over.
"Forgive me, Miss Adelaide," Nick said. "But you have an admirer who simply could not wait one more minute to see you."
"Oh? I don't believe I agreed to see anyone tonight, Nicholas. That is you, isn't it, Nicky?"
"Of course it is, Miss Adelaide. And I would never presume upon you like this, except I feel it is a very important gentleman who wishes to meet you."
"Ah. Well, then." A hand appeared above the screen, selected a piece of baby blue clothing, and a moment later, Miss Adelaide appeared. He was still wearing the corset he'd had on stage, now with a silky blue robe over it. The wig was also still on, and the makeup he wore was much clearer now than it had been from the audience. But makeup couldn't hide his eyes.
They were blue, but one eye was much darker. It glanced first at Nick, then Jack. His other eye, however, was lighter, almost milky, and definitely couldn't focus. It saw nothing.
Which was how Jack realized exactly who Miss Adelaide was. Or had been.
"Blink?"
"Jack Kelly." Blink's voice was still feminine, still classy. He sauntered over to Jack quickly, and Jack froze, his usual confidence wavering, as he found himself completely at a loss when faced with an old friend dressed as a woman. "I haven't seen you in a very, very long time."
"It...it has been awhile."
"I always swore there was something I wanted to do if I ever saw you again." He paused, considering. "Oh. That's what it was."
At which point Jack learned that, just because a man was wearing a corset and a wig, it didn't mean he couldn't still hit like a street scrapper. The punch landed right on the side of Jack's face, slammed into his nose. Jack stumbled back, hands going to his face automatically. He felt the blood, and looked up, kind of shocked.
Blink was staring at his nails. "Drat, I just painted these," he mused, then looked up. "Nick, please do get Mr. Kelly something to stop the bleeding, and some ice, if you'd be so kind."
"Certainly, Miss Adelaide."
Jack glanced over at Nick, who was grinning widely as he hurried off to do as asked. Which left Jack alone with an ex-newsboy who had a wicked right hook and liked to wear women's clothes—and take them off.
"Don't look so shocked, Kelly." Blink's voice dropped back to its usual register, which was actually disconcerting, considering the wig and the corset. "I don't know a single guy who doesn't want to hit you—I'm surprised Nick didn't, frankly."
Jack lowered one of his hands, and used the other to pinch his nose, hoping the bleeding would stop. "I think he wanted to. I talked him out of it."
"You always were a fast talker." Blink gestured at a chair. "Do have a seat."
"Thanks." Jack sat. "So what am I s'posed to call you—Mush is Nick, now, and I guess Racetrack is Nathan."
"Adelaide will do, as long as the wig is on." He reached up and ran his fingers through the fake hair. "It's Thomas the rest of the time."
"Okay...Adelaide." Jack tentatively let his nose go, and winced. It was going to swell, and bruise, and he wanted to get the blood cleaned up. "So...how you been?"
"Excellent, for the most part." He raised a well-plucked eyebrow. "That's not what you want to ask me, is it?"
"Yeah, that's true. How the hell did you...How long have you..." He wasn't actually sure what to ask.
"I've been stripping here for eight years, now. I do it because I'm good at it—and it pays very, very well." Adelaide sat down at the table, and examined his painted nails again, looking for a flaw. "And yes, Kelly, I'm as queer as they come."
"I figured. Nick kinda implied that you and Nathan..."
"Yes, well." He shrugged. "It's all up in the air."
Nick walked back in. He handed Jack a damp towel, and then a hand towel wrapped around a few ice cubes. "I got 'em from the bar—Nathan's still out there, I said you wanted 'em."
"Thank you, Nicky. You're a gem."
"Anything for you, Miss Adelaide."
Adelaide gave Nick a coy smile, then turned back to Jack. "So what brings you back to these parts? You were so eager to abandon them, I didn't expect to see you again."
"I'm just around for a couple days. Business. But Nick said something about a game..."
"Oh, yes, that." Adelaide rolled his eye, then waved at Nick. "Nick, could you take out some pins for me?"
Nick nodded cheerfully and, as they continued to speak, began taking bobby pins out of the wig.
"I was hoping...I know I was a real jerk," Jack said slowly. "And when I ran into Nick, I realized...I've done wrong by a lot of people. You notice I didn't say I didn't deserve that punch in the face."
"I did notice that." Adelaide smiled demurely.
"But I realized—I'm here in the city, maybe I can make it up to people. At least apologize—at least give 'em a chance to say to my face what I know they've been sayin' to each other."
"I see."
"And—and Nick said it's up to Nathan whether or not I can go to that game, see the guys. And Nathan, uh, he doesn't want to talk to me."
"I'm not surprised." He gave Nick a sharp look. "Don't pull them, Nicholas; you'll hurt the wig."
"Sorry, Miss Adelaide."
"I forgive you, darling—you know I could never be mad at you."
"That's the last of them," Nick added, tossing down a final bobby pin. Adelaide reached up and peeled the wig back, revealing short-cut, slicked down blond hair. He handed it to Nick, who hung it on the side of one of the mirrors.
"So..." Jack hesitated. "I was hoping maybe you could convince Nathan to talk to me. If I can convince him I'm serious, maybe I can convince everyone else, too."
There was a knock on the door. "Adelaide, my dear?"
"Well." Adelaide—or Thomas, without the wig, Jack remembered—nodded towards the door. "This should be interesting, at least." Then he raised his voice, and pitched it back into his female impersonation. "Nathan, my darling, come in!"