Chapter 9

On November 7th of that year Herbert Hoover was elected President of the United States. The Democratic candidate Al Smith managed to get only 87 electoral votes against Hoover's 444. The people of the country felt secure that the Republican prosperity of Calvin Coolidge would continue. Charlie Desmond said: "Well, we're all saved, aren't we?"

He planned a nightclub celebration, a small party for himself and Nancy and his most important client Arthur Littlewood and Littlewood's wife and daughter.

Nancy was appalled. "I can't bear them."

"He's the hottest investment banker in New York. That makes him bearable."

"They're awful."

"I thought you liked Mrs. Littlewood."

"She talks too much. And their daughter is too arrogant."

"Well, if you get bored you can watch the floorshow."

The floorshow would be in the Casanova Club, and on the evening of the party the Desmonds and the Littlewoods and the young man escorting Caroline Littlewood occupied a large table in the midst of this nightclub frequented by a mix of high society and affluent gangsters.

Arthur Littlewood was a man in his sixties with a pink bald head and a fringe of white hair around his ears. He never said much. He listened to Charlie Desmond and he watched the doings in the club. Mrs. Littlewood was more talkative. She was a well-groomed woman with a sharp tongue and she liked to drink. This evening she was drinking gin and White Rock and the liquor seemed to go down in a continuous flow without any effect on her. Her daughter Caroline, maybe to show how different she was from her mother, refused to drink anything except Coca-Cola. She was an attractive twenty-two year old who seemed to enjoy taunting the college boy she'd brought along as an escort.

Nancy Desmond disliked all of them and she kept her eyes on the floor. At the moment George Raft was doing a double-jointed Charleston. He usually danced at the El Fey Club, but the Casanova Club appeared to have borrowed him and tonight he was the featured attraction. Nancy had seen George Raft before and as usual she thought he was a slick dancer. And probably slick at everything, she thought.

"Oh boy, he's good," Caroline Littlewood said to Nancy. "He's good, isn't he?"

Nancy smiled at the girl but she said nothing.

"He looks cheap," Caroline's escort said. His name was Dudley and he had the vapid face of a Princeton crewman.

"Nerts to you," Caroline said.

Nancy ignored them.

After George Raft finished his number, a girl came out to sing a song. She was introduced to the room as Libby Holman, and in a few moments she began singing a torrid torch song called "Hogan's Alley".

Nancy knew the song. It came from the musical "Merry-Go-Round"; she'd seen the show when it first appeared on Broadway.

Libby Holman knew how to sing and Nancy was impressed. The girl had slit-hazel eyes, a bee-stung mouth painted dark red, and dark red fingernails. She looked like a young witch, a dark-eyed houri both sensual and demure at the same time.

She's wonderful, Nancy thought.

She was spellbound by Libby Holman. She kept her eyes on the girl, on her seductive face and willowy body. Nancy hardly heard the song any more. Then the song was finished and Libby Holman started another one called "I Want To Be Bad". She seemed to be looking directly at Nancy as she sang it.

She's turning me into jelly, Nancy thought.

It wasn't the first time. There had been a female teacher at Bryn Mawr who had turned her into jelly, and then after that a girl Nancy had roomed with in Manhattan before she married Charlie. And after she married Charlie there were occasionally other girls, secret trysts in secret hotel rooms. They all turned Nancy into jelly and now it was happening once again.

Would that darling girl on the stage have any interest in it? Never give up without trying, Nancy thought.

A few nights later Nancy said to Charlie: "I'd like to go back to that nightclub."

"What?"

"That nightclub. The Casanova Club. I'd like to go back to hear that singer."

"That girl."

"Libby Holman. Let's go tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, let's go tonight. We can catch the last show. Just the two of us. Don't you think that would be fun?"

She convinced him.

Then she convinced him again the next night and the next.

Charlie thought she was crazy but he humored her. Each night when they came home after a few drinks at the Casanova Club, Nancy was like a wildcat in bed.

The fifth time they were there, Nancy went to the back of the club alone to visit Libby Holman in her dressing room.

"I'm Nancy Desmond and I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoy your singing."

Libby Holman looked her up and down. "You've been out there four nights in a row."

"No, this is the fifth."

"All for me? Well I'm flattered. I guess you do like my singing."

"I adore it."

The dressing room was cluttered with odds and ends and not at all clean-looking. A photograph of Helen Morgan hung at an angle at the top of one of the dressing table mirrors.

"You must have money," Libby said as she sat before the mirror repainting her lips.

"Money?"

"Yes, you must be rich. The champagne in this place is twenty- five dollars a bottle. Is that your husband out there? He's not a gangster, is he?"

"He's an attorney."

Libby laughed. "Maybe that's the same thing."

Nancy managed a nervous smile. "I think my husband is honest."

"Sure."

"You know a lot, don't you? I mean for someone so young."

"I'm twenty-four and that's not so young, is it? Anyway, I don't mind about your husband. I don't care that he's a rich lawyer. I don't care one way or the other. Last weekend I went to a party in Connecticut and the people had a house with twenty-six rooms. Now that's big, isn't it?" She turned and looked at Nancy, her red lips pouted into a perfect Clara Bow mouth.

"Yes," Nancy said.

"You don't mind if I undress, do you? I hate to be in a dressing room with my clothes on."

She rose up and she peeled out of her dress as Nancy sat and watched her. Nancy thought she'd stop at the underwear, but she removed everything, even her stockings. Nancy was stunned to find herself so quickly confronted by Libby Holman's naked body. She had ripe pear-shaped breasts with dark nipples, round hips and long beautiful legs. At the joining of her thighs was a nest of dark hair, raven-colored and full enough to jut outward.

Libby noticed where Nancy's eyes were fixed, and as she stood there naked she laughed softly:

"Hey, you're looking at me."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't mind it. If I minded it, I'd keep my clothes on. You can look at my little puss all you want."

"You're a beautiful girl."

Libby smiled and turned to look at herself in the dressing table mirror. She cupped her hands under her breasts and lifted them to point her nipples at the ceiling.

"A bit heavy in the upper story."

"No, they're perfect. You have a perfect body."

"And in a minute you're going to try to kiss me."

Nancy's heart pounded. "Yes."

"I think I knew that when you walked in here. Well, don't do it. We can't do anything here because somebody might barge in on us."

"Have lunch with me tomorrow."

"Mmm, yes."

"I'll reserve a table at Sardi's."

"Yes, I love that place."

"Twelve o'clock?"

"Yes, twelve o'clock. Maybe you'd better go now. I guess your husband is waiting for you."

Nancy rose up and kissed her. She trembled as she tasted the dark lipstick on the girl's full lips. She briefly ran a palm over one of Libby's full breasts.

Libby smiled and pulled away. "Tomorrow. Let's save it all for tomorrow."

The next afternoon they met at Sardi's. They chatted awhile, and then Nancy quivered with excitement when Libby suggested they go to her apartment in Beekman Place.

Libby wanted to walk but Nancy insisted on a taxi.

"Oh, all right," Libby said with a laugh.

When they walked into the small apartment, Libby said: "I hope you don't mind the mess." She smiled at Nancy, batted her dark eyes at Nancy as Nancy offered her a cigarette out of a silver cigarette case.

"It's a lovely little apartment," Nancy said.

"The hell it is, it's a dump. I just hope someday I'll have something better than this."

"I'm sure you will."

Libby cleared some clothes off the tattered sofa, and then she went to a cupboard to find a bottle of Scotch. Nancy sat down on the sofa and she glanced around the room at the pictures on the walls. Helen Morgan again. Helen Morgan was all over the place. There were also photos of Ruth Etting and Helen Kane. But Helen Morgan seemed to be Libby's favorite torch singer.

Libby came back with two glasses of Scotch. "There's no ice."

"I don't mind," Nancy said.

"Here's to the girls."

Nancy smiled. "Yes."

"I don't mind men, but most of them are boring and they don't know much about female anatomy."

"Yes, I agree."

Libby snickered as she sat down on the sofa. "But you do know, don't you?"

Nancy blushed. "You like to speak frankly, don't you?"

"Why not? Don't you like it?"

"Yes, it's refreshing."

"Refreshing."

"Yes."

"Well all right, let it be refreshing."

"You're teasing me."

Libby laughed. "I shouldn't do that because you're older than I am."

"Ten years older."

"Not old enough to be my mother."

"No."

"And if you were, it wouldn't matter anyway, would it?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Kiss me, will you? I can see you're dying to kiss me and it makes me nervous when you just sit there."

Nancy moaned as she fell against the girl. Nancy hadn't been this aroused with a woman in a long time. She pressed her mouth against Libby's until Libby made a sound of amusement and pushed her away.