Disclaimer: Candy Candy and all characters are intellectual property of Kyoko Mizuki, Yumiko Igarahsi and Toei Animation.
Chapter 1
" Art is dangerous. It is one of the attractions: when it ceases to be dangerous you don't want it."
- Duke Ellington
It is Saturday, fifth day of February 1921. Tonight's Chicago air was cool and crisp, much than what I was accustomed to in New York. The view of glittery snow reflecting off warm city streetlights was good enough reason as any other for choosing to walk over a cab ride.
The hard frozen snow crunched under each of our steps step as Charlie and I walked down five city blocks from the studio to the highly recommended Dreamland Cafe jazz club. I am eager to arrive at the club, which is rumored to also operate as a speakeasy¹ with mobster connections. My professional excuse for venturing out outside the confines of lavish yet boring establishments, research for my first motion picture script. Sure, I want this project to become a marquee success, but at this very moment I'm more interested in indulging in overdue and well-deserved adulterated good time.
I grin and feel my smile extend across my face as I give this more thought. If there was ever a time to be young, adventurous, and all-embracing it was now. Jazz, scandalous fashion, pushing and breaking the barriers of century long societal norms – all changing and I simply clamor for it. I nod and laugh slightly imagining his grace, Duke Grandchester's reaction to all of this. "Absolute socialist rubbish!" he would most likely scold. I relish in the thought of defying him yet again. Too bad for you yet fortunate for me, I intend to fully spoil in all the glories of this Cultural Revolution, years later to be referenced as The Roaring Twenties.
As we continued our walk I glance up and confirm it indeed is clear, as our studio's assistant Ron had mentioned. A beautiful star filled night. Orion's belt, a distinct band of three stars, illuminated the dark sky like diamonds. A prelude I hoped to what the evening has in store for us. I blow hot breath into my leather-gloved hands as a rubbed them near my face to warm them and wonder if we are under the same star lit sky. No, stop - dam it! Why ruin the promise of a great outing by rehashing old broken adolescent dreams. Past is in the past.
I begin to contemplate if both Charlie, personal assistant and loyal friend, and I are dressed appropriately for the occasion. It's not in my nature to fuss over my attire. Under my arson of winter outerwear, I was sporting latest Italian tailored line. I could have dressed to impress the Queen of England, who happens to be my not so distant aunt, but decided to tone it down for tonight's outing. That includes adjusting from my British to an American accent to avoid being recognized as the famed Broadway actor I have reluctantly become. What's so alluring about my accent – oh that's right, I'm British I tell myself sarcastically. Ironic, most of my peers within the troupe poorly attempted to speak British as a means to improve their Shakespearean performances.
Either-way, my goal was to blend in the local scene, not stand out as a peacock in a hen house. Accent or not, my mission for tonight is to experience the newly acclaimed Chicago Hot Jazz and any delights that may accompany. Oh yes, and any insight this experience may bring to incorporate into my cinematic project.
"So are we engaging with the usual pseudo names tonight?" I asked Charlie.
"I don't see why not unless there's a worthy need to expose our true identities. You could always excuse us if the need were to arise by explaining it's solely for anonymity purposes given your line of work." He responds with a comical tone of sarcasm.
I knew all too well Charlie's intentions for not using our real names were towards the art of seduction and not artistic research. He's my trust worthy friend with admirable qualities – he's philosophy towards women not being one of them.
"Sounds like a gregarious plan Gregory." I responded.
"Silly man, you may simply call me Greg. We are friends after all."
"...while incognito? I was hoping for a break of having to salvage your failed seduction strategies."
"How else but with my assistance do you expect to socialize and take advantage on what the night may have to offer? I highly doubt your sense of humor and wit will suffice." He defensively replies.
"If only I were so lucky."
"Face it, if it were not for your infamous acting attributes you would be just another guy with a pretty face."
"Is that so? Yet those same attributes you mock, you many of times utilized in name of our friendship to allure dimwitted skirts."
"Remember, envy is one of seven deadly sins."
"As if that were to concern me...besides so is lust, and that my esteemed friend is an ailment you frequently suffer." I scoff.
"Watch your words kind sir. Hypocrisy does not suit you. - Look we must be close, there's a line wrapping around the corner." He pointed out.
"Corner of State and 47th, yes this is place. Let's head straight to the back of the line."
"... But Terrence, it's cold and they're mostly colored folks? We can just cut to the front, absolutely no need to wait." He began to protest.
Like a fever, I immediately felt heat rise to my head. Crossing my arms I give him a glazed commanding stare and forced myself to calm my temper and respond in discrete manner. This was a tactic I had learned to utilize over time to control a weakness, my hot temper.
I responded using a monotone yet firm voice to avoid attracting attention..."You know I despise most imposed societal norms, segregation on account of a person's skin color or monetary class being on the very top of my list... this is exactly why we agreed to come to a black-and-tan club. There should be no need to remind you of this."
"I'm sorry. My suggestion was merely out of habit." His apology seemed sincere.
It was explained to us back at the studio that in Chicago, "black-and-tan" was the name for night clubs in which blacks and whites could interact with one another in certain socially stylized ways, talking, flirting, drinking, dancing, and listening to music. Such activities often lead to much more intimate social contacts thereafter, but those more 'explicit' relations did not take place in the clubs. Unlike New York, Chicago seems to have no black-and-tan cabaret like Harlem's Cotton Club, where from the start, only whites were allowed. I am attracted to the idea of this relatively freer interracial mingling. Chicago's jazz has a reputation as an earthier, elemental jazz more so than New York; clearly integrated clubs had an essential part in this movement.
The Dreamland Cafe, we were told, is one of the most pleasant places of amusement on Chicago's South Side, which mostly consisted of black ethnic neighborhoods.
While we patiently waited I started to observe others in line. Both men and women of various ethnic backgrounds were keenly dressed. Good. It seems we're dressed to fit in. The ladies were sporting those new low cut winter coats and dresses, hem lines ever so slightly above the knee gracing wondering eyes with visions of long and well proportioned legs. Most of them carried boyish short bob hair cuts adorned with rich colored wraps and jewelry. I couldn't help myself from even noticing how their faces were done. Not until recently was make-up reserved exclusively for people in my line of work. Their faces were accentuated with structured high eye brows, black rimmed eyes, dark eyelid shadow tones, and dark ruby colored heart shaped lips " – a vaunt garde"! In contrast to the ritzy yet tamed fashions at the social events I was forced to frequent back in New York, these women exuded a modern and adventurous appeal. They were like vibrant colored orchids among a bed of white daises. Yes, I was among fashion trendsetters born out of a musical revolution.
Warm and toasty air greeted our frozen faces as we entered the building. The foyer décor seemed to be Art Deco, a new modern architecture style that gave compliment to the crowd's atmosphere. We were charged twenty-five cents to enter and another ten at the coat check counter. We could now hear low muffled trumpet and saxophone sounds providing us with a hint of what was yet to come as if telling us to hurry up.
We eagerly approached a set of large golden metal doors leading to the main hall and were greeted by two seductively dressed women whom open the doors for us.
"Welcome to the Dreamland Cafe. My name is Melody and this is Etta, your hostesses for the evening. If I may ask...both you fine looking gentlemen don't look familiar. I may not be good with names but never forget a face... is this your first time joining us?" She asked as they escorted us to a table on an elevated section centrally located on the right side off the dance floor.
"Guilty as charged Melody. We are from out of town and come with high recommendations that this is the best place... for a good time." My partner suggestively replied.
I couldn't help myself from rolling my eyes. Oh Charlie – this is exactly what I was referring to. He needs to keep his eyes open and mouth shut. Both women looked at us up and down with unreadable faces. I wanted kick Charlie for the implied tone in the 'good time' comment.
"Yes, we are here in hopes to see for ourselves what the rage is all about. I'm an avid fan of ragtime and told Chicago Jazz is an even better evolved version." I interjected.
"Well sugar, you heard right. Melody smiled as she responded. This is the best place on God's earth to enjoy live Hot Jazz. The hottest acts in the circuit play here. We have a great line-up tonight, Jelly Role Morton, King Oliver and Louis Armstrong on the trumpet among other local bands."
"...You mean the King? Joe 'King' Oliver?"
"Well, well, you do know a thing or two about music. Yes, King Oliver - the one and only baby. If you're familiar with his ragtime then you for sure in for a treat tonight."
I must have displayed a happy bug-eyed expression as both ladies smiled back and nodded their heads. Joe King Oliver was a well-known ragtime musician. A cornet player and bandleader from New Orleans. I instantly became a fan of his music after watching him perform in New Orleans while on the Hamlet tour with the Stratford Company couple years back.
"Cigars, ciggys, spirits gentlemen?" Asked Etta one as Melody placed two highball glasses and a crystal ashtray on our table.
"Now you're talking! Two habaneros and gin for Mr. blue-eyes and myself." Responded Charlie.
In a nonchalant manner they slowly proceeded to lift their dresses up to mid thigh to reveal their garter belts. Etta had a neat row of cigars and a box of Camel brand cigarettes tightly tucked under her ruby colored belt while Melody reached for a silver flask under hers. Charlie and I just sat there slacked-jawed from the unexpected style of service.
"Here you go." Melody lit a match and leaned forward towards our faces, which prompted Charlie and I to begin puffing our cigars as she provided a small flame (literally and figuratively) to light them up. Her exposed cleavage was clearly a heat factor.
"Will you be running a tab?"
"...ah...um...yes, yes please." I stumbled with my reply as I reach inside my suit's left pocket to tip them.
"Mighty sweet of you sugar. Your Name?"
"Edgar... Edgar Allen."
"... and I'm Greg." An eager Charlie responded.
"Well Edgar and Greg. Etta and I look forward to hosting your table tonight. We will be checking up on you every so often. Don't be shy to wave either one of us down if you need anything."
"We will. Thank you both for your generous hospitality."
We waited until both our hosts left to converse. "Remind me to file a complaint with Robert the next time we see him. This is far better treatment in comparison to that at any of the Stratford's events."
"Ab-so-lute-ly! I didn't know whether to enjoy the view or look the other way – hotsy totsy!" He said as he motioned to loosen his tie.
We moved on to observe our surroundings and as we enjoyed our cigars and drinks. The lighting both on the right and left seating sections is dim. Aqua blue and magenta ambient lighting reflect off the walls and columns that surrounded the center dance floor. Three grand chandeliers illuminate the central dance floor providing a royal opulent theme. A blue velvet curtain covers the main stage but could clearly hear random instrument sounds coming from that direction. Must be the musicians getting warmed up. Random sounds of saxophone and trumpets.
Ten minutes passed and the hall became much more crowded and louder with conversation. My soul was moved when I noticed how some tables had both white and black patrons sitting together. Everyone seemed to be holding happy conversations and laughing loudly with each other. This is the way it should always be. I took notice that all but two tables were now taken. These tables sat in front of the stage separated by the dance floor, one the right side and other on left. It was evident these seats were reserved for the club's VIP.
We begin to hear sounds of applaud and loud whistling coming from the main entrance making it's way towards the center floor. At first glance all I could make out were tall bright colored feathers flowing above the crowd's heads to the rhythm of elegant feminine steps. Charlie stands up to get a better look. I'm not compelled to follow. Seen one pretty dame, seen them all.
In dramatic fashion as only Charlie could, he places both hands over his heart. "Goddesses! I think I just seen my future wife.. wait... wives walk by."
"Oh yes, you marry?" I sardonically laughed. "When hell freezes over and I become the King of England. Come on Charlie, the first band hasn't even started to play and you're already drooling over skirts?"
"Take a look for yourself. I've never seen such tempting creatures."
"Piss off! Unless they're a part of the band assemble, I frankly don't give a hoot. I can have just about any woman swooning in minutes and quite frankly it's become boring. Why squander my time?"
"A bit narcissistic aren't we?"
"Charlie..."
"Suit yourself. Less competition for me."
Melody was making her round back to check up on us. "How you fellows doing? More giggle water?"
"Yes please and a question. Can you tell us anything about the much applauded feathered ladies?" He anxiously asks.
"Them girls? Oh, they're honorary guests. Club regulars and annual dance competition winners."
"Dancers?"
"Oh, they're not club employed dancers. Not sure what their daytime professions are, just know they've been bit by jazz and dance juice. My take is they're among the best Charleston and Shim-Shamming dancers in all of Chicago. They feed off the music and each other all while energizing the crowd and musicians. The club owners and promoters love them for it."
"You don't say?" - responded Charlie as he continued to stare towards the small group of women as they made their way through the crowd towards the table located in front of the stage left side of the dance floor.
"Best you wait and see for yourselves why folks are fussing over them."
"Thanks Melody."
"Hotsy-Totsy! Terry I beg you! Forget anonymity just for this night and proudly use your fame. What's the use of being a rich and famous if you can't use fame to your advantage? Let's introduce ourselves to the band and those ravishing women."
I shook my head in disapproval and rolled my eyes. "Get a hold of yourself... you're acting like a little boy who just took a peek-a-boo at his first set of knockers."
To my relief the lights dimmed to near darkness, the stage lights turned on and curtain began to rise. The crowd immediately ceased to talk and focused their attention towards the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen...Jelly Role Morton and the Red Hot Peppers."
The band was elegantly dressed like concerto musicians, all matching black tuxedos. The music started with a mid tempo piano tune played by Jelly Role himself. Incredible, he wasn't just playing, he was caressing the ivories. His hands moved with lightning speed yet gentle like floating butterflies. The tempo picked to a faster pace and the crowd went wild. The clarinet and soon the entire assembly joined the piano. The sounds were loud enough to surprisingly fill the entire hall. I was entranced. You had to be made of stone to not move your head, snap your fingers, or tap your toes to that beat!
I closed my eyes as a means to increase my audible experience. Vision of blues, reds, yellows, and greens dancing in mind. Each instrument sound had a color, competing then mixing to making new colors with each other back and forth.
The fourth song began to play and decided to finally open my eyes only to find my loyal companion had left the table. Instinctively I knew he had headed towards the dancers. If he knows what's good for him, he won't even think about using my name for his seductive games. I look at my immediate surrounding tables and realize those seats were empty too... am I the only one not dancing?
By then the central floor was jam packed both with couples and solo dancers. It was then that musical experience took on visual form. Arms swinging forward and backwards, legs stepping forward then back opposite the arm movement. Movement with bent elbows and hands at right angles from the wrist. There was a bounce to their steps. Melody was right, the dancers fed off the music and the music fed off the dancers. An energetic and sensual sight.
The general crowd moved back towards the outside of the dance floor giving space to three incredibly beautiful women bouncing with fast and furious steps interjecting slow luring gestures to matching the blaring saxophone's fast tempo beat. I could see flashes of thigh high garter belts as they kicked their legs forward and back... long toned legs visually extended even more with use of their high heeled shoes. All three dancers had unique sensual and physical characteristics. The only thing they shared in common was the color of their hair – short bobbed raven colored hair. It was obvious the three danced together often when they exhibited synchronized kick-steps and high arm gestures. Okay, so maybe Charlie was right in calling them goddesses.
I stepped down the sitting area and managed to squeeze in between the crowd for a closer view. The men in the crowd howled and praised their movements.
"Show us what ya got baby!" Cried one man as he tap dances behind one of them. I follow and begin to clap my hands to the beat of the music. It was at that moment that a hint of an aroma triggers an almost forgotten memory. Susana … yuck no. Eleanor, Maggie...? I didn't allow this pondering to get in the way of the music and energetic sights but … that scent was starting to burst with feelings of adolescent nostalgia. This has an almost arousing affect on me. It was a unique subtle scent of rose...like the one "Candy"... I whispered.
Am I going crazy? I'm seriously starting to question if my drink was laced with a narcotic substance. Calm down Grandchester, she couldn't possibly be here. I can't dare to conceive the idea of her being here, dancing in a Chicago south side club. The elite and illustrious Andley family would burn her at the cross for just thinking about coming here. Besides, the last I'd known about her was a one-page engagement announcement on the Chicago Sun-Times, only months after our traumatic rupture. There's just no way someone of her social stature could manage to mingle in here much less pose a jazz dancer. Well maybe, Candy did rival my rebellious antics. No, no - I contradict my thoughts. She's mostly likely at some ritzy north shore Chicago mansion wearing a Victorian age dress covered from neck down to tip of her toes. "Candy"... I whispered.
I began to zigzag my way around the couples dancing to convince myself that she was not there. I found myself starting to hope I would find her as if she had been waiting for me. The scent became stronger as I circled around the three dancing "Goddesses" as Charlie had baptized them. I start to examine every physical detail on all three beautiful specimens and quickly dismissed the first and second as they had a honey toned skin color. I allowed myself to drift to the past and remembered how Candy could not keep a tan if her life depended on it, yet loved her pink freckled skin tones on the bridge of her nose and cheeks when she had had too much sun.
I stand motionless observing the third dancer and start to feel my body tense. She is taller than how I last remembered Candy. Long athletic legs, slender yet curvaceous hips, short dark raven hair, full lips, straight slightly lifted nose, her eyes ... my heart stood still and just about everything around me seemed to have stopped.
I lost my breath and began to feel nauseous. "Calm down." I loosen my tie and unbutton the first few top buttons on my shirt in effort to control my body's reaction. It can't be her, just someone that smells and resembles her to haunt me as a ghost from the past. Bloody hell!
I'm unable to determine her eye color. They look dark, barely visible due to the dim lighting and dark eye make-up. There are no visible freckles on her ivory face. As an actor I should know better... make-up could conceal the freckles she once claimed to love and want more. Her skin baring dress devilishly exposes her porcelain shoulders and back. Forgoing manners, I aggressively elbow and push my way among the surrounding crowd to get a closer look at her backside.
This is simply too much, her aroma is now affecting my body in ways I had only dreamed of with her. Literaly! Her seductive yet classy attire centrally exposes her back all the way down, just slightly above her well-proportioned derriere. Yes, a light scattered freckle on her shoulders… oh but what is this? Dimples of Venus on her lower back. I find myself licking and biting my lower lip then place my hands in my trouser pockets to subdue this unbearable need to grab her by the waist and caress those inviting dimples. Okay, agreed Charlie. Candy or not, this woman is a Goddess.
I now make my way around to the opposite side to face her but she does not notice me among the other adulating men. Using my arson of good looks I try to engage her in eye contact. She slowed her dancing steps in sync with music's rhythm and looked directly past me. What's with this girl? Is she too naïve, conceited, or just teasing me? Far too engrossed in jazz and movement to notice me among the crowd. As soon as I finish my thought I'm immediately squeezed out of the way by other dancers as the band music played on.
Frustrated, I decide to go back to my table for drinks to calm my nerves and wait for a more convenient opportunity to speak directly with her. Yes, speaking with her will confirm once and for all if she's my one and only freckles. I smile and a glimmer of hope showers my soul. After all these years, how can I still feel this way towards her?
I spot Etta making her rounds and waved her down. "More brandy please and another cigar." I need to get my body and mind to loosen up.
"Not a problem sugar. Enjoying yourself?"
"Yes, the music is incredibly infectious."
"I honestly can't tell. Are you okay? You look as though you've seen a ghost."
"You're not far from the truth. Maybe you can help me out? Can you provide me with the name of the honorary dancer wearing the silvery blue silk dress?"
"I think she goes by Ivey, not completely sure. Most of us girls rarely reveal our real names to avoid stalkers outside these four walls. Some men can't take a hint that no means NO."
"Is that so?" I started to laugh and held my stomach with one hand and the cigar with the other. All along I believed myself to be unique in wanting privacy and half the club is doing the same.
"I don't find it that funny? You know how many perverts come through here thinking they can just pick up a girl to do as they please? It's disgusting."
"I'm sorry Etta. I'm not laughing over the fact that people use fake names rather the coincidence; you see I also came in using a pseudo name. I understand the need and find it disturbing that men as well as women don't know how to handle rejection. Please, let's start over. My real name is Terrence Grandchester." I offered by hand as demonstration of my sincere introduction.
"I'm still Etta." She smiled back as we shook hands.
"Will that be all for now?"
"Yes, for now. Thanks … wait. Can you leave me the whole flask of brandy not just a glass?"
Etta pulled another flask off her garter belt. It was filled to the rim.
"I'll be by to pick it up later. Please don't leave it unattended on the table. Prohibition you know."
"Not a problem."
An easy two hours passed when Charlie finally made it back to the table. I had witnessed him trying to get close to all three dancers but one of them, not my suspected freckled beauty, gave him a flirtatious push back. Only the really good male dancers stood a chance to dance a tune with them. Those girls had the men salivating off the palm of their hands... and I was starting to find myself getting a bit mad at her.
"So any luck with meeting the dancers?"
"Nawww, I can't dance for shit." I need something else to help me command their attention... like a close affiliation to a famous actor soon to be director."
"Listen, put your feelings of lust aside for a moment. I have a serious question for you and need your thoughts on a matter."
"Is something wrong, someone giving you a hard time?" Charlie starts looking around as if we were being observed.
"No, nothing like that." I take another swig straight out of the flask and take a moment to gather my thoughts. "The dancer wearing the silvery blue dress now sitting at the table by the stage." I discretely pointed to her. "Did you get a good look at her?"
Charlie started to grin with amusement. "I got a good look at all three. Don't tell me you now want to unleash your charms on them? I thought you were too bored for dames tonight?"
"Enough, I'm serious. I'm not certain, but think one of them is someone both you and I know. Think back to when you were hospitalized after you jumped off a train. Do you remember the nurse?"
"What? ...Impossible!"
"That's what I thought at first glance but the more I look at her the more I'm convinced. Think about it... she was about sixteen the last time you saw her. She should be about twenty-two years old, matured looks, taller..."
"Okay – I get it... but this dame has dark hair?"
"Could be dyed. Haven't you noticed most girls are going from blonde to black?"
Charlie started to stare towards her direction. He looked for a few minutes, which seemed an eternity before replying back.
"You know, she does look like Candy."
My heart jumped through my chest with excitement hearing him say those words.
"Even if it's the last thing I do. I'm going to have a little chat with her to confirm... alone."
It was now one o'clock in the morning. The closing band just finished playing their final set, a Charleston dance tune. The lady in question was chatting it up with her girlfriends and one pompous looking young man at their table.
With a smooth gesture of elegance, she wraps her back with a black shawl and proceeds to head towards the coat check area. This was my golden opportunity.
I thank Melody and Etta for their services and give them each an additional generous tip. I then give Charlie specific instructions to wave down a cab and wait for me ready to go on the curbside.
I walk at a fast pace over to the foyer where I know she will need to walk through to exit. I catch my breath and stand with my back reclined against the wall in an inconspicuous manner.
The man that had been chatting it up at her table offered to assist her with putting on her coat. I don't like the way he's looking at her, as if he were eating her alive with his eyes. What she thinking? He's not her type. I'm her only type and he's nothing but an insect compared to me.
That unique soft scent of roses begins to fill my lungs again flooding me with memories of flirtatious chases at the St. Paul Academy woods.
The woman walks past me with no hint of awareness of my presence.
"I see all that tree climbing and swinging came in handy... FRECKLED TARZAN."
She stops dead in tracks.
"What's the matter? Are you now too hot and jazzy to say hello to an old school friend?"
She turns her head slightly over her right shoulder to sneak a look at me. That's it darling, look at me! Yes, finally - eye contact. Those bright emerald colored eyes are more beautiful than ever. We stared at each other for what seems like an eternity. She ceases the connection, looks down, and slowly turns around to face me. I know now with every fiber in my body that woman is MY freckles. The one and only able to tame my heart.
"Terry? ..."
… TO BE CONTINUED
1: Speakeasy: An establishment that illegally sells alcoholic beverages. Such establishments came into prominence in the United States during the period known as Prohibition (1920–1933, longer in some states). During this time, the sale, manufacture, and transportation (bootlegging) of alcoholic beverages was illegal throughout the United States.