Hollywood (Jan - Oct 1934)

Joan was a gangster's sweetheart but she didn't know the meaning of love until she met Clark Brian, the nation's favorite crooner! ever died from platinum poisoning. Joan, you're a ga-ga type, and the ga-gas are going very big this season— worse luck for gals built on my lines." Tex held out her heavy braceleted arms for inspection "Someday these will look awfully snappy around the old ladies' home. And remember I didn't get them for shaking my head sideways. Now do you still want to give this back to that old sap?" "Yes, Tex, I do." . "Well, that's one for Ripley," said the night club hostess with a gesture of despair. • Joan had told the truth when she said that she did not know Frank Rocci whose influence had placed her in the notorious establishment conducted by the equally notorious Tex Kaley. She remembered as a child that Frank had been a friend of her elder sister, that he was regarded as one of the bad boys of the neighborhood and that there had been rumors of his traveling with a gang But she did not know that he had developed into one of the most powerful gangsters in Manhattan, that he was none other than president of the "Poultry Protective Association" which levelled a sizeable assessment on dealers in poultry who wished to assure the safe delivery of their fowl. Esther had asked Frank to place her sister in some show and for various reasons Frank's word was law in the Tex Kaley establishment. Joan was well set as one of the club cuties when Rocci and Chuck, his ever-present bodyguard, along with Sybil Smith, Chuck's sweetie, dropped in to see the floor show. Rocci paid no attention to the idle conversation of his companions, his entire interest being centered on the girl at the end of the line. Presently Tex came to their table. "Hello, Tex," Rocci exclaimed. "Say, who's that kid on the end?" Tex was half of the opinion that he was spoofing. "I've been wondering ever since you sent her around." she said. "Old Judge Richie wanted to give her a service stripe in the form of a bracelet but she passed it up, poor little simp. You ought at least to know her name seeing that you sent her here." Rocci regarded the girl with increased attention. "So that's Joan Whelan, is it? I thought she didn't look like one of your girls." Tex sat up straight and placed one hand on her hip. "Please, Mr. Rocci, my reputation." "Never mind about your reputation, send Joan over here after this number." • Flushed and animated, her brown eyes sparkling with friendliness, Joan seated herself beside Rocci. "I wasn't sure it was you, Frank. It's so long since I've seen you, years and years." "How about a little drink to start us off right?" Rocci replied with a smile. "No, thanks," said Joan. "I wanted so much to see you and to thank you for aii you've done." Frank surveyed the girl appraisingly, an expression of approval in his eyes. "Supposing you get your street things and we'll go places." Rocci's idea of going places was a limousine drive to his garishly ornate apartment 26 where neither the walls nor the Japanese butler were in the habit of telling tales. In the racketeer's simple philosophy of life, bachelor apartments were primarily for the entertainment of attractive young women who nodded their heads up and down instead of from side to side. • Unaccustomed to the etiquette of visiting a man's apartment in the small hours of the morning. Joan laughed nervously as she heard the door click behind her and found herself in a garishly furnished room which, among other things, contained a combination radio and bar and a double bed. Throwing off her wrap she sat' on the bed unconsciously showing a delicately curved leg, as she chattered amiably about her girlhood days and how much she liked the night club. She even told Frank about Judge Richie and the bracelet. He turned from the bar where he was mixing Martini cocktails and looked at Joan sharply. "And you returned the stuff, you say?" "Sure I returned it." "That's O. K.," said Frank. He switched on the radio and carried the cocktails over to the Love, as she had never known it before, came to Joan tchen she met Clark Brian, the famous crooner HOLLYWOOD bed where he sat down beside Joan close enough for his thigh to touch hers. He handed the girl a cocktail at which she shook her head negatively. "I never touch them," she said with a smile. Rocci eyed her closely. "Just this once; it won't hurt you. They're mild." "Well, if you insist," she assented. They clicked glasses and drank, looking into each other's eyes. A few moments later Rocci asked her if she would have another. This time she refused and stuck to it. They were still seated on the edge of the bed. "Did you really return that bracelet?" Rocci asked. "Of course I did. I can't accept favors like that without giving something in return." "You accepted a favor from me." "That's different." "You're alone with me in my apartment, it's after midnight and you're sitting on my bed," Frank persisted. Joan looked at him candidly. "But I trust you," she said. Rocci smiled and placed his hand on one of hers in a gentle gesture. "You're right, Joan. You can trust me. Right now I'm going to take you home and let you make up for the beauty sleep you've lost." The next day Frank was seated in the office of the Klub Kaley. Tex reclined languidly on a chaise longue while the ubiquitous Chuck scattered cigar ashes on the floor. "Twenty grand for the place, Tex. How about it?" Tex fitted a fresh cigarette into a long ivory holder. "There is no how about it. It's a deal." "O. K.," said Frank. "Now I want to talk with Max. Go get him, Chuck." A few moments later Chuck returned with the explosive dance director at his heels. Max's hair was tousled and his shirt was open at the front, the unbuttoned cuffs waving as he gesticulated. "Joan Whelan is a good performer, isn't she. Max?" The dance director's face took on an apprehensive expression. "I want you to change things around so she's the big shot in the revue," said Rocci. Max threw up his hands. "Tell me you're just kidding, Mr. Rocci! Miracles you want! You ask me to do the impossible!" Still in a quiet tone the racketeer continued, "You get me all wrong. I'm not asking you: I'm telling you." Max assumed an expression of utter distress but he did as he was told. For weary hours he drilled the ingenue star in his new revue. • The opening night found Joan in her dressing room along with Sybil and Esther. The room was banked with costly flowers. "Listen to this, sis, it's what Walter Winchell has to say: 'How come Max Mefoofski, who arranges the footwork routines for the toe-and-heelers at the Klub Kaley, picked a newcomer out of the chorus for a major part? Could it be that a certain well known man-about-Broadway recently bought a piece of the joint, for the usual reason and laid down the law? Love is like that.' " Joan's comment was, "I wonder what he means?" She ripped open a telegram that --■jr had just arrived. "Knock 'em dead, kid. Rocci." The girl's hand shook. "It's almost time now. Oh, I must make good!" When Joan appeared, Rocci watched in silence looking from the dancer to the faces of those seated at the tables and he knew that she was putting it over. There was a tense feeling of interest as the colorful revue progressed to its climax, followed by a wild burst of applause. Rocci found Joan in her dressing room weeping and laughing on Esther's shoulder. "Oh, I'm so happy," she repeated over and over again. "I'm so glad they like me." During subsequent weeks Rocci seldom let a night pass without dropping in at the Tex Kaley Klub, nor did he forget to order flowers daily for the new dancing star. He invited Joan to reinspect his apartment which he was having redecorated according to the ideas of an expensive interior decorator. Joan passed from room to room with approving exclamations. "Oh, it's just going to be too wonderful." And the racketeer was pleased. The decorator approached Frank. "While you're here, Mr. Rocci, will you tell me what shade you want the shutters painted?" P1mh« tarn to I'W >lrtjr-on« 27 JANUARY. 1934