TWENTY

Ella woke the next day in a tangle of silk sheets, late morning sun winking through the shades at her where she lay on Flattop's bed, having passed out there sometime in the late hours. She blinked, confused at first, before the night's events came rushing back to her and she floundered in the bed, rolling over to find herself alone. Vague memories came back in snatches: the dim glow of the bedroom as Flattop read the paper next to her while she drifted off; later the heat of his body close to hers in the darkness as he slept, one arm draped over her waist and another under his pillow, on the .45 he kept there, cautious as opposed to nervous; half-waking at dawn to curiously find him executing push-ups on the floor next to the bed and then a little later, the sound of running water in the nearby bathroom. It had darted across her mind then that she should get up, but her head was too heavy and she'd laid it back down, returning to sleep.

Ella was wide-awake then and kicked back the sheets to find herself naked. Her body was very sore after the night's activities and she winced as she found Flattop's borrowed robe on the floor by the bed. Slipping it over her shoulders, she ducked quietly out of the bedroom, a little uncertain.

She found Flattop in the kitchen, dressed in his slacks, shirt and suspenders, gun holster with weapon secured already on, chomping on a piece of toast.

"Hey kid," he said around a mouthful. "The maid's been in, I had her make you some breakfast." He gestured with an incline of his chin towards the oven. "There's some coffee too. Have some."

Ella smiled a little tightly, feeling a bit shy around him, increased rather than eased by his easy familiarity.

"I guess I look like I need it," she said self-consciously, touching a hand over her tangled hair.

He grinned at her and swilled his coffee. "You look like you've been properly fucked." Ella blanched at the curse, moving quickly to the coffee pot. "It suits you," he finished and patted her bottom as he deposited his plate and mug in the sink.

The maid had made her scrambled eggs and real bacon, a very rare treat in the hardened times. "And don't worry," Flattop had thrown at her cockily. "Ain't the first time she's fixed for two here."

The pointed jab - at both her prudishness and his philandering ways - soured her appetite somewhat but the bacon was too precious to shun.

Flattop checked his watch and clicked at her with his tongue. "Come on, kiddo, get a wiggle on. Go get yourself a shower."

"What's the time?" she queried, still a little groggy, padding down the hall towards the bathroom.
"Past ten," he called out and she gasped, lurching hastily into the bathroom.

"Rehearsals began at ten!" she cried out in a panicked voice. "Oh gosh, I'm so late!"

She heard him snort distantly. "Don't sweat it. I gotta be in by twelve. We can swing by yours to get you a change of clothes."

Oh god, Mrs Brooks! Ella started the shower up, standing there in the borrowed robe, her panic increasing. Late to rehearsals at her precious job, risking discovery of her indiscretion by her landlady - it went to show, if a girl wanted to make her bed, she had to lie in it well!

Ella stole into her apartment in her stockinged feet while Flattop kept the sedan idling out the front and somehow went undiscovered by Mrs Brooks. She changed quickly and five minutes later flew back out the front door and into the waiting car, one hurdle jumped but another - significantly more serious - yet to go. Flattop threw her an irritated look as she sat, tense and wound up, on the seat next to him.

"Geeze, Ella, lighten up," he clipped. "Ya ain't on your way to the hot-seat." Impressing further upon Ella that he simply didn't - couldn't - understand what a steady job meant to someone like her.

Flattop did not trouble himself to move quickly when they arrived at the Club Ritz although she was clearly in a state of heightened anxiety. She wrung her hands as she waited for him to saunter around to her door and let her out, then he put a heavy arm around her shoulders, walking her slowly in the front door, her trembling with tension beside him. She couldn't escape the feeling it was deliberate but pondered what in the world his motive could be.

As they entered the club, Ella could see rehearsals were well underway, Lightfoot directing the girls with shouts and bellows, clearly in a foul mood. They changed the show every six weeks and were working on a new one right then - increasingly complicated, as per Big Boy's demands.

Hearing them at the curtained door, Lightfoot whirled around, his eyes bulging in his skinny face. "Miss Priss!" he bellowed, "ya got some nerve waltzin' in here at this hour like the Queen of Sheba! Just where do you get off - " Lightfoot's voice abruptly trailed off when he saw Flattop at Ella's elbow, the gangster's expression impervious but direct.

Lightfoot stammered over his words as he comprehended the situation and Ella watched, fascinated, as the wind was taken entirely from his sails. "Er, uh - that is - well, we all get delayed sometimes. Just come on up when you're ready, honey."

Flattop cocked his brow just a little, unimpressed and saying nothing to the lean choreographer, instead just turning to Ella and patting her cheek with one gloved hand.

"See you tonight, doll," he said and she smiled brightly at him, thoroughly grateful he had not allowed her to get into trouble and wonderfully impressed at the powerful effect he'd had on Lightfoot. Flattop strolled off towards the stairs at the back of the club and Ella watched him go, suddenly feeling an unexpected rush of power - that provoked an intense flood of affection for the flat-headed crook.

On stage, Lightfoot was muttering at the girls to get back into their places; the girls for their part were all staring at Ella and whispering furiously amongst each other, thrilled by this sudden turn-up of events. Unable to help grinning to herself, she made her way around the tables towards the dressing room, moving briskly though now without fear.

"I'll be just a moment, Slim," she called out to her Boss.

Lightfoot tipped his hat up on his head and gave her a rather strained smile. "Just take your time, honey," he replied.

When rehearsals were done, Ella met up with Jean and they went out for tea before they were due back at the club for the evening's performances. They went to a quiet cafe that had secluded booths with high partitions and Jean, who had been pale and quiet all throughout rehearsal, twisted a hanky in her hands and chewed her lower lip as Ella ordered for them.

No sooner had the waitress moved on, than tears began spilling down Jean's cheeks.

"Oh Ella, he was so angry," she whispered, hiccoughing. "He blamed me, can you believe it?"

Ella grasped her friend's hand over the table and squeezed it. "Oh gosh, did he dump you honey?" The thought of being alone and with child was mind-numbingly horrible to Ella.

Jean sniffled. "No. But he scared me, he was so mad. He calmed down when I started crying though, but he was still cold. I tried to hold back, but I just couldn't."

Ella felt a sympathetic ache for her friend. "What are you going to do?"

Jean lifted the hanky to her eyes and wiped them. "He gave me money - " at that moment the waitress appeared with their coffees and Jean bit her lip and looked at the framed photos on the wall until the waitress moved on again, then lowered her voice and continued: " - he gave me money to get it... taken care of."

Ella understood immediately what she meant, and paled. Abortions were illegal and unsafe. Jean would be risking her freedom and her life.

"Oh Jeanie," Ella whispered, feeling on the verge of tears herself. "Is there no other way?"

Jean shook her head, fresh tears filling her eyes. "He said it was either this or I would be on my own. I don't have a choice."

In silence the two women drank their coffee, Jean's hands trembling as she lifted her cup.

That night Jean drank heavily inbetween shows and when they were finished wanted to go home immediately, her despondent and withdrawn state drawing curious stares from the other girls.

Ella walked her out to get a cab and, having ascertained neither Flattop, Itchy or Mumbles were anywhere to be seen in the club, went home with her friend, too wrapped up in Jean's distress to be overly put-out at being stood up again.

At Jean's, they made Pink Ladies and Ella promised to go to the doctor Itchy had recommended to Jean with her. Jean was horribly frightened at the prospect of the abortion and spent the evening in fits of tears. Beholding her usually cheerful and lively friend in such a state was a rude shock to Ella, whose stomach began to twist in knots of anxiety over her own carelessness. Itchell Oliver was a great deal more effusive than Flattop Jones and had seemed truly affectionate towards Jean - if he had reacted so badly to Jean's predicament, then how might the hoodlum with the head as a flat as an anvil and eyes as cold as coins respond to similar news?

Ella didn't like to think of it and held her friend tight as they both fell into fitful sleeps.

The next day, Flattop cornered her up in one of the back corridors of the club as she returned from the bathroom.

"Where did you get to last night?" he queried her as imperturbably as ever - though his eyes wee cold and flinty, expression hard, his hands jammed casually in his pockets but hulking over her in a way that seemed just vaguely threatening.

She looked up at him, too surprised to be afraid, merely confused. "You weren't here - I thought you had business - "

"You weren't at home," he interrupted her brusquely, sounding as though he suspected her of some deception. "If you can call that dump a home."

Ella floundered; it had never occured to her he might come by her place again as he had done that first aborted date. She thought of him standing in her hallway, waiting for the door to be answered, and not very much liking when it wasn't. He would've felt a fool and Ella realised in one great rush of apprehension that doing that to him could be very dangerous.

"I went home with Jean," she explained, stammering a little and hoping it didn't make her sound like a liar. "She - she needed someone around - "

Flattop tilted his head back and surveyed her from hooded eyes as though assessing the honesty of her words. After a moment, he gave a single nod. "Itchy told me she's in trouble," he said and a hint of a smile passed over his features before his expressioned hardened again. "Make sure you don't get into the same sort, kid," he instructed her, his voice sharp. "And don't forget - " he took a step towards her, backing her against the wall, an irritated glower darkening his brow as he lifted a hand and jabbed a finger hard into her shoulder. "I'm your business now. Don't go running off at night without makin' sure I know where you'll be. I won't have none of my time wasted by some broad. Got it?"

Ella was offended at being called a broad and angered by his demands - how was she supposed to give him messages when he wasn't there? When he wouldn't give her the same courtesy? For that matter, how was she supposed to prevent a pregnancy when he made all the decisions concerning their trysts? - but she knew arguing with him would be pointless and even possibly anger him and that was a risk she was not willing to take. It was intimidating enough just having his finger jabbing into her, quaking in his shadow. However she couldn't keep all the frustration from her expression as she nodded sulkily and he half-grinned and chucked her on the chin.

"Stubborn little twist, ain'tcha?" he chuckled, her pout seeming to dissipate his irritation rather than increase it. "You can think all the dirty thoughts you like, just so long as you mind me, kiddo. And we'll have fun. Now. I'll see you tonight." He bent down and kissed her softly on the lips, and she melted despite herself. She then watched him walk away with a tingle on her skin and her heart thudding hard.

She was already in trouble, no doubt about it.

Backstage, Ella was teased and grilled by the other girls over her new affair. Dolores toasted her and Phyllis wanted to know where they had gone, what they had eaten, what they had drunk, whose house they had ended up at and what his place was like. She realised, amongst the hubbub, that they had finally truly accepted her. Even though they had noted her relaxing attitudes, had become friendlier when she mingled with the gangsters as they did, for so long as she was playing the chaste good girl, they saw her as different - outside of them. Now she was properly one of them. A tramp, a mean and self-conscious voice whispered spontaneously at the back of her mind, but she pushed it away.

She kept tight with the details, making the girls more curious in their frustration, but she had to keep some things sacred for herself now that the whole world seemed to know what she was doing and who with.

That evening she waited by the bar for Flattop for an hour and when it became apparent he was out on business, she went home, changed into her prettiest nightdress, removed her makeup and then reapplied just a little powder, lipstick and mascara. She sat up with a book, at first excited and wound up, unable to concentrate on her reading, turning her head often to the window to listen for his sedan, but gradually growing more intent in the story and then finally beginning to succumb to exhaustion, her head drooping forward only to snap back, over and over again.

After three hours she went to bed, more than a little dejected and confused.

ooo

WOW, I am so sorry I forgot to update this! I don't want you few readers to lose interest! It was totally accidental. I have heaps of chapters already written and will definitely remember to update this story more often! Thanks for continuing to read and please do review!