Harmony Page 3

  Harmony stalked over to the vanity. She dropped down in front of the mirror. Picking up pins, she captured her loose unruly curls and pinned them back, flat to her head. If she thought about what could happen, she wouldn’t be able to pull it off. Willie's fate would be sealed then. If it isn't already.

  From the mirror’s reflection Harmony saw Milo drop in the chair behind her. She knew his fear. A colored girl in Harlem had few options and fewer choices. If your skin was medium brown to fair you might get a chance. At The Cotton they called mulattos ‘tans’ and gave them top billing. She barely passed that test. So for her, singing jazz for rich white folks by night liberated her from doing laundry for the same white folks by day. She was lucky. Milo had gotten her a brownstone in Sugar Hill, where all the other musicians, painters, authors, poets and Negro elite lived. It belonged to a friend of his. The person, whom she never met, allowed a reasonable sublease once she became a headline attraction at The Cotton Club. This is why Willie's fool hearted ways hurt her so. Here she was breaking her back to give him more, and he was running those streets.

  Milo had been Lewis’s best friend and an associate of Fletcher Henderson. Behind her back he hustled an audition for her at the newly opened Cotton Club when her washboard could no longer put food on the table without Lewis’s earnings. His reasoning made little sense then, but now it did. Singing was all she had left. It was all she was.

  “Singing jazz ain’t the sin Mony, though, what them boys do out the back door with the bootlegging and gambling is. I'll give you that. What I'm asking really ain’t no worse than singing in your church.”

  “That’s baloney. I see them girls coming from 125th street. I’m tellin’ you I ain’t no jazz singer. Singing hymns is far from it.” She spit on her heated iron and pressed back down on the linen for Mrs. Ward, running the steam over to flatten the wrinkles.

  “Hear me out. Fletch is forming his band. You know Jack Johnson done sold Club Deluxe to those gangsters. The place is called The Cotton Club now and it's big time, bigger than the Apollo. Gonna make us all famous.”

  “What that mean to me?” Harmony grunted. She set down the iron to shake out the sheet she washed clean of stains for the Wards until her fingers cramped and the skin on her hands wrinkled.

  “It mean a new start. You grieving for Lewis and I understand it, but he gone. I swore to take care of you. Best I can. That's what this deal means. And if you do it, I can get you out of here, to a better place.”

  “You talking crazy!” Harmony laughed.

  “I'm talking opportunity.”

  Harmony folded the sheet to a sensible square and set it atop of the rest of the laundry. Sweat beaded over her brow and the bridge of her nose. It was hot as Hades with both windows open. Leaving the one room flat she shared with Willie and Lewis was a dream when he was alive. She had no hope that after losing him it would be any part of her reality. Milo was feeding her a line. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I can’t tap or dance, I ain’t been no further than the church pew. This here is all I knows. So this here is where I stay.”

  “Can’t or won’t? Don’t be dense girl. What options you got? Lil Will is in them streets more and more daily. Is he doing anything to keep you in this place? I didn’t think so. You gone make it on pennies now that Lewis gone?”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Mony, that’s what I’m saying. Take care of yourself. Besides Lewis used to say you got the pipes. He worked this deal for you girl.”

  “Lewis did not.”

  “That's why I'm here. He knew there was a chance, that uh, you may need looking after. So he spoke to Henderson about you. Think on it. What harm can come of it? Sugar Hill, no more white folks’ laundry, doing what you love, how is that not your dream? I’ll watch out for you, you got my word.”

  “Milo you kept your promise. You've done a lot.”

  He had tried to protect her. Kept the paying clientele off her, and even withstood Mr. Madden's wrath. There were times she saw more in his intentions. His lingering touches and lust filled looks when she sang. But they never crossed that line and right now she felt ashamed that she knew he understood the lines she would cross for her brother.

  “I love you for wanting to protect me. I’ll be just fine. I can handle myself.”

  Milo rose and without a word walked out of her dressing closet. He slammed the door. Harmony jumped at the final message. Her eyes lifted to her reflection in the mirror. She allowed herself no illusions about what the night would bring. “I’ll be just fine. Just fine.” She picked up her lipstick to dab the ruby gloss across her lips. Her shaking fingers belied her confident words.

  Two

  Shall We Dance?

  Lenox Avenue at four in the morning wasn’t any different than the avenue at four in the evening, except for the congested mix of people. Blacks and whites drove and walked the same streets in the 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, 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 innocence she kept shoving his way. He knew she thought highly of her brother, but if he was making deliveries between Mickey Collins and that hot-tempered bitch Queenie and her band of thieves, then he was definitely no angel.

  Harmony shrugged. The passing street lamps illuminated her face giving her skin a rich copper appeal.

  “Need an answer doll. Is he a numbers runner too?”

  Under dark upward swept lashes her eyes were magnets to his soul and he couldn’t look away. “Yes, he is, or was. He learned that hustle from Lewis.”

  Romano narrowed his eyes. “What’s a Lewis?”

  “My fiancé. He dead now. Used to work for Collins too before he died.”

  “I understand.” Romano dismissed the useless information for the more pertinent nugget. Songbird had once been engaged, which meant his silent desire for her to be his was a reality. If she was widowed he doubted another man filled the space. He didn’t care about propriety; he cared more of her willingness to see the evening through, to let him finally touch her.

  Harmony cleared her throat. “Willie started under Lewis, but now Lewis gone. So he picked up extra work at The Cotton.”

  “How does Antonio fit into this?” Romano asked. When she arrived at the table she dropped his brother’s name. It was the second reason he considered this little meeting. There was no business between the Romanos and Collins.

  “I don’t think he does. I… I only know that some say your brother and Willie had words. That’s the last anyone seen of him.”

  “My brother and Collins doing business at The Cotton?”

  “I wouldn’t know these things.”

  “You sure about that Songbird? Ever hear Willie mention Antonio Romano, the Black Hand?”

  She shook her head no.

  Romano nodded. “Not wise of your brother to cross up with Collins and Queenie, no one man can’t have two bosses. The name of the speakeasy that Collins keeps wet?”

  “Red Hots. A guy named Dennis Red runs the door, but it’s owned by Madame.”

  The name sounded familiar. Romano was sure he had heard it before. “Is Willie helping Collins move in on Harlem’s turf?”

  Harmony sighed. “Mickey Collins gave him a lot more responsibility like I told ya. Not that Mr. Collins did anything wrong, I’m just saying it proves Willie's on the level for Mickey.” She shifted in her seat trying to remain collected. “If I could get to him first, before Collins's men do, I’m sure I can find out what he’s done or hasn’t done. I can clear things up.”

  “Mickey runs his business as he sees fit. I can drop a line and see if he has the boy. But if he’s stealing…”

  “Mr., uh, Vinnie, he’s not. I can assure you he’s not. I’m on the level. I checked the neighborhood and some of his friends think he may have gotten robbed the night he was working. That’s why he ran, cause robbed or not if he’s short on Collins's whiskey, you know what that means. He don’t have many options here.” Her defiant stare at last softened and he thought the dim lighting in the back seat revealed her eyes were glistening with the threat of tears. First her voice, now her damn eyes were getting to him. He decided to stop staring in them for the remainder of the ride.

  “You care a lot about your brother,” he mumbled.

  “He’s all I got in the world. Yes, I care.”

  “Little brothers, they can be quite a handful.”

  They were headed to the Bronx. Harmony mentally calculated how much it would cost her to catch the Jitney back to Sugar Hill. Too much, probably. She’d have to find a way to the Bronx Park terminal and catch the train. Things were going fast and she had come too far to turn back now.

  In front of his brownstone the car door opened and she was helped outside. She stepped into the street and stared up at the place. Romano was out of the car as well, his wool coat draped around his 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. “Thank you so much, Mr. Romano. I mean Vinnie. I really don’t know how to repay you for this.”

  Harmony rose. Romano looked up at her curiously. A tense silence enveloped and sealed the room.

  “When Willie comes home I’m sure he can clear it all up.” Harmony flashed him her prettiest smile. Her gaze switched to the exit once more.