“Lily!” Olivia gasped, appalled.
“What’ll it be?” Suddenly, a bored-looking waitress with wavy coal black bobbed hair appeared at our table. She appeared to be in her late twenties, though the hardness around her mouth and dark eyes—eyes that had likely seen far too much for her years—gave her a used-up appearance. Her crimson dress was in the style typical of the day, with a drop waist and hemline just below the knee. It had probably been a pretty dress at one time, but it was too small for the woman’s large frame and many beads were missing from the bodice.
“I’ll have a Highball, please,” I said. “But mix it with soda water instead of ginger ale, would ya?”
I looked over at Olivia and Francie, and their eyes were no longer fixed on the table but on our waitress instead. I nudged my sister’s leg under the table.
“Oh.” Blinking and clearing her throat, she addressed our server as if she were ordering high tea. “What would you suggest?”
The waitress smiled a knowing smile, realizing that my sister was quite out of her element. “Well, sugar, that all depends on how high you want to fly tonight, or if you’d rather keep your feet a little closer to the ground.”
“Oh, well, I’ve never had a—” Olivia began, but I cut her off.
“Bring her a Southside,” I said, and Francie ordered one, too.
The waitress walked away without another word and once she was out of earshot, I leaned across the table so that only Francie and Olivia could hear my words. “Don’t go tellin’ the waitress you’ve never had a drink before!” I hissed. “You two need to straighten up and fly right! You’re acting like teenagers.”
“Well, I am and she’s—” Olivia heatedly replied before I cut her off.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Olivia!” I said, rolling my eyes. “Live a little! You sit in that stuffy office importing and exporting Lord only knows what all day long. Don’t you want to have a little fun?”
“Well, to my mind, I’m not sure if this is having fun. I’d have been just as happy to stay home and listen to The Eveready Hour. Eddie Cantor is on tonight, you know, and I just love—”
“Hey, Olivia,” Francie said, looking past my shoulder. “Isn’t that your boss, Albert Doxley, sittin’ in the far corner of the bar?”
I turned around and saw that she was right, and then looked back at my sister and saw that she had gone even paler than she usually was.
“I…uh…I,” Olivia stammered. “Lily, I have to go.” She started to rise but I quickly grabbed her wrist.
“Easy there, girl,” I laughed, pulling her back down. “What’s he gonna do? Fire you for bein’ here? Need I remind you, he’s in this illegal drinking establishment, as well?”
“Yes…but…”
“But, what?” I replied, suddenly feeling my good humor starting to wear thin. What was supposed to be an evening of fun and adventure was starting out quite badly. “Now, look; we have drinks on the way and if y’all aren’t having any fun after we’re halfway through them, I’ll drive us on over to Jepp’s Ice Cream Shoppe, buy us all shakes and we’ll call it a night. Deal?”
Before the girls could answer, our waitress reappeared with the drinks. Much to my amazement, my sister lifted her Southside to her nose, sniffed it, took a tentative sip, and then drank a good third of it down.
“Well, I swear,” I said softly. “Olivia, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’d had quite a bit of practice at this.” Her face was no longer pale but quite pink.
“Well, I have to do something to fortify myself,” she replied as she daintily wiped her mouth with her cocktail napkin.
“Don’t look now, Olivia, but that Doxley fella is headed this way,” Francie said, averting her eyes so that the man wouldn’t catch her watching him.
Olivia stiffened, then whispered, “Oh, Lord.”
“Fortify yourself some more, dear sister. Bottoms up,” I laughed, and my sister lifted her glass to her mouth.
“Evening, ladies,” Albert Doxley said as he arrived at our table.
Olivia’s employer was handsome, but in an almost pretty sort of way. As was the style of the day, he parted his dark brown hair in the middle and slicked it back with a generous amount of Brilliantine. He greased his pencil-thin mustache as well. His dark eyes were bright and alert looking, as though he never missed a thing. “Imagine running into you here,” he laughed. Unlike my sister, Albert didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by it. As a matter of fact, everything about him seemed comfortable and at ease; including his choice of clothing, which was a pair of wide leg trousers and loose-fitting shirt.
“Mind if I join you for a minute?” Before anyone could answer, Albert sat down in the one remaining chair at the table. “So, are y’all here for a special occasion, or what?” he asked as he turned toward the waitress and signaled her over.
I gave Olivia a couple of seconds to answer, but when neither she nor Francie said anything, I jumped right in. “It’s Francine’s birthday.”
“Oh, well, happy birthday.” Albert smiled brightly, showing a full mouth of perfectly straight white teeth. Just then, the waitress appeared at his side. “A round of drinks for the table,” he magnanimously declared.
“Oh, no…Mr. Doxley, really. Tomorrow’s Monday. I have to work in the morning—” Olivia interrupted herself as though she realized how ludicrous her statement sounded.
“Miss Strickland.” Albert smiled, obviously amused. “Feel free to come in late. And I promise to keep your workload light. Now, tell me,” he said, moving on to another subject, “what’s on the agenda for your night of celebration?”
“Uh…this is it,” I said, surprised by the question. To my way of thinking, bringing the girls to a speakeasy was pretty big doin’s. Before anyone could respond to his question, Albert focused on someone just past my shoulder.
“Ah, there’s my party now,” he said, rising from his chair.
“Albert,” a deep, smooth voice said from behind me. “Every time I see you, you’re surrounded by beautiful women.”
Turning, I looked up and was startled to see Scott Monroe standing there. Though we had never officially met, I knew who he was. Scott was a pilot, and when he wasn’t shuttling people back and forth between South Florida and the Bahamas, or Cuba, he was smuggling booze in. I had read that the authorities arrested him and a passenger when they found a substantial amount of liquor onboard the plane. Though the two of them never admitted whom they were bringing it in for, I was certain that at least part of the load was for Chick Belvedere, owner of the Belvedere Hotel, which was my grandparents’ biggest competitor on the beach. I had seen Scott and Chick together a few times. The fact that the Belvedere was thriving while our hotel was dying made it clear that something was drawing people in.
As Scott listened while Albert explained that Olivia worked for him, and we were celebrating Francie’s birthday, I quickly assessed the man. It was the first time I’d been this close to him. There was no doubt about it; he was handsome, but not in the usual way. His features weren’t perfect. For one thing, his nose was slightly crooked, as though he’d seen the wrong end of a fist, and his nostrils were flared, making him look rather arrogant. He had a small scar beneath his chin, as though that same fist might have found its mark there, too. His light brown hair wasn’t styled in the latest fashion. Instead, he parted it just off-center, and it had just the slightest wave. He also wore it a bit longer so that it touched the collar of his crisp white shirt. But his eyes were the most striking feature of the man. They were slightly heavy-lidded, as though he was covertly taking inventory of everyone and everything. Just then, he turned to me, as though he sensed