Part 8

We moved into the car that had been designated for the band, and there they were: the Society Syncopaters. There were some two dozen or so, all taking off coats, putting up luggage and instruments, getting themselves settled. They were all blonde, all young, and mostly pretty. They looked like a band of angels. Brother, can looks be deceiving!

Well, I wanted to start off on the right foot. Despite what Joe said about scramming as soon as we hit Miami, I was looking forward to spending three weeks with this group. So I caroled, "Hello, everybody! I'm the bass fiddle. Just call me Daphne."

Joe just stood there, gaping, till I nudged him. "I'm Josephine. Sex... I mean, sax."

There was a lot of laughter scattered in the hellos they called back. I heard one of them say, "Yeah, they'll fit right in!"

A girl called Mary Lou called cheerfully, "Welcome to No Man's Land!" and the others sing-songed, "You'll be sooorry!"

Rosella, a slightly plump girl, walked past, scratching her waist. "Take off your corsets and spread out."

I said firmly. "Oh, I never wear one."

A girl named Olga looked curious. "Don't you bulge?"

I always wanted to act. "Oh, no! I have the most divine little seamstress that comes in once a month--and my dear, she's so inexpensive..."

Dolores, the joker of the group, giggling, said, "Say, kids, have you heard the one about the girl tuba player that was stranded on a desert island with a one-legged jockey?"

Now that sounded interesting. "No, how does it go?"

But before she could start, Bienstock came up behind us and wagged a finger at her. "Now cut that out, girls. None of that rough talk." He put a hand on my shoulder, and Jerry's. "They went to a conservatory." I don't know about Jerry, but he squeezed me.

"C'mon, Daphne." Joe pulled me away toward our seats as the girls had a good laugh over the 'conservatory' bit. As we started to take off our coat, Joe whispered, "How about that talent? This is like falling into a tub of butter."

I hissed, "Watch it, Josephine!"

But he continued. "When I was a kid, I used to have a dream - I was locked up in this pastry shop overnight - with all kinds of goodies around - jelly rolls and mocha eclairs and sponge cake and Boston cream pie and cherry tarts..."

"Listen, moron--no butter and no pastry. We're on a diet!" I was about to hang my coat on a cord that ran along the wall when Joe grabbed me roughly.

"Not there! That's the emergency brake."

Something shifted inside my clothes and I clutched at my, you should pardon the expression, bosom. "Now you've done it! You've torn one of my bosoms loose."

"You better go fix it."

"Well, you better come with me." We headed toward the 'comfort stations', and Joe started for the one marked MEN. I grabbed him just in time. "This way, Josephine." I pushed him into the one marked WOMEN. He jerked away pettishly, and something else gave. I sighed. "Now you've torn the other one."

There was trouble in the Ladies' Lounge. Trouble had platinum blonde hair and a figure that would have made the Venus de Milo go on an exercise and diet regime. She had one leg up on the settee, and her skirt was somewhere up around Ottowa. She was in the process of removing a small silver flask that was tucked in one garter, but she guiltily pulled her skirt down when she saw us, giving a breathy little, "Oh!"

I quickly crossed my arms across my displaced chests. "Terribly sorry."

She looked relieved. "That's all right. I thought it was Sweet Sue. You won't tell anybody, will you?"

Joe gave her an innocent look that hadn't been authentic on him since he got out of rompers. "Tell what?"

At ease now, she dug out the flask again and opened it. Joe managed to keep his eyes from popping out of his skull, but just barely. The Goddess continued. "If they catch me once more, they'll boot me out of the band." She poured a drink in a paper cup. Starting to sip it, she paused, eyeing us. "You the replacement for the bass and the sax?"

Joe, for once in his life, seemed incapable of speech, so I performed introductions. "That's right. I'm Daphne, and this is Josephine."

"I'm Sugar Cane."

Joe found his tongue. He didn't do what he wanted to do with it, but he managed to speak. "You certainly are." I elbowed him, but she didn't seem to notice.

"He means, what an interesting name."

"I changed it. It used to be Sugar Kowalczyk."

"Oh." I nodded. "Polish?"

"Yes. I come from a very musical family. My mother is a piano teacher and my father is a conductor."

Joe glared at me for elbowing him, and jumped back in. "Where did he conduct?"

"On the Baltimore and Ohio. I play the ukulele, and I sing, too."

Joe turned a look on me that said she'd just confessed that she did brain surgery in her spare time. "She sings, too."

"I don't really have much of a voice," she admitted. "but then, it's not much of a band, either. I'm only with them because I'm running away."

I could sympathize with that, given our current situation. "Running away? From what?"

She rolled her baby blue eyes. "Don't get me started on that." She offered the flask. "Want a drink? It's bourbon."

I started to reach for the flask, because I could've really used a drink. Unfortunately, my chests started to slip, and I had to refold my arms. "We'll take a rain check."

Sugar downed the cupful of bourbon as neat as any dipsomaniac I'd ever seen. If she kept drinking like that, her not much of a voice would soon be nonexistent. "I don't want you to think that I'm a drinker. I can stop any time I want to. Only I don't want to. Especially when I'm blue."

She sighed heavily. It did interesting things to the front of her dress, a fact which Joe did not miss. "We understand." Oh, no. Joe was being understanding. This could be dangerous.

"All the girls drink," she complained. "but I'm the one that gets caught. That's the story of my life. I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop." She closed the flask and tucked it away in its little elastic safety deposit box, and stood back up. "Are my seams straight?"

Joe murmured, "I'll say."

"Oh, well." She twiddled her fingers at us as she exited into the car. "See you around, girls."

Joe called after her, "Bye, Sugar!" Then he turned to me and said vehemently, "We been playing with the wrong bands!"

I glared at him. "Down, Josephine."

"How about the shape of that liquor cabinet?"

I turned. "Get cracking on that over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder," I snapped. He started to unbutton my dress to fix the brassiere. "Look, just forget it. One false move, and they'll toss us off the train. There'll be the police, and the papers, and the mob in Chicago..." He wasn't listening. "Boy, would I like to borrow a cup of that Sugar."

I spun around and grabbed the front of his dress. "Look, no butter, no pastry, and no Sugar."

He looked down, then looked up at me indignantly. "Now you've torn mine."

A little later, Sue organized a practice session to get us broken in. All the girls set up at one end of the car, and Bienstock lounged at the other end, reading a Variety.

We started out with 'Running Wild', and brother, did they! Those were some hep kittens, lemme tell ya! They swung it just as hard as any gin joint band I ever sat in with. Everyone except me and Joe, that is.

Ya see, we figured that we had better put forth the image of 'ladies', so we were playing as daintily as if we were providing chamber music for a royal high tea. That didn't fly.

Sue rapped her baton, and we all wheezed to a halt. She pointed at Joe and me. "Hey, Sheboygan. You two, what was your last job, playing square dances?"

Joe piped up, "No. Funerals."

"Would you mind rejoining the living? Goose it up a little."

We looked at each other and shrugged. "We'll try," I agreed. Sue raised her baton, then lowered it again, eyeing my bass. I checked it out. Good gravy! There was a row of bullet holes stitched neatly across the front. Raising her eyebrows, she said, "How did those holes get there?"

I smiled tentatively. "Mice?"

Joe jumped in. "We got it second-hand."

Sue shrugged. "All right, let's take it from the top. And put a little heat under it, will you?"

She gave the downbeat, and the band started up again. This time we gave it all we had. Hey, we had to make a good impression if we wanted to keep the jobs. Joe RODE that sax, and I slapped and twirled that bass fiddle like I was a Victorian lady and it was a masher. Sue looked absolutely amazed by the hepness of these two conservatory cats.

Sugar moved up into the aisle with her uke to do a chorus. Man, that girl could cook like Fannie Farmer! "Runnin' wild! Lost control! Runnin' wild! Mighty bold." She shimmied, she shook, she wiggled. She had more motion in her backfield than the entire American football conference ever thought about having.

Joe was leaning forward over his sax, trying for a better view. I was going to have to have a talk with him about that. We didn't want them to think we were those kind of girls.

Almost to the end of the chorus, the bank failed. In other words, Sugar's garter gave up the good fight, and the flask clanked to the floor. The music died, and Sugar froze. She looked positively stricken, poor kid.

She had reason. Sweet Sue looked furious. She howled, "Bienstock!"

The manager dropped his Variety and came running. "Yes, Sue?" He didn't say 'You bellowed?', but it was there in his voice.

Sue pointed at the flask, as if it was poisonous. "I thought I made it clear I don't want any drinking in this outfit."

Bienstock picked up the flask and faced us sternly. "All right, girls. Who does this belong to?" Everyone just looked at each other. Heck, no one wants to be a rat. "Come on, now. Speak up." He zeroed in on Sugar, who was quaking. Way to look innocent, girlfriend. "Sugar, I warned you!"

She was almost in tears. "Please, Mr. Bienstock."

"This is the last straw! In Kansas City you were smuggling liquor in a shampoo bottle. Before that I caught you with a pint in your ukulele..."

Man, I hated this. She was such a sweet, vulnerable kid. But what could I do? I didn't think quick enough. Joe decided to do something. He stepped forward and said meekly, "Pardon me, Mr. Bienstock, but can I have my flask back?"

Bienstock was in full rant, and scarcely noticed. He handed it over, saying, "Sure," and got wound up again. "Pack your things, and the next station we come to..." It finally hit him, and he snapped his head around to look at Joe. "Your flask?"

Joe smiled brightly. "Uh huh. Just a little bourbon." He started to slip it down the front of his dress.

"Give me that!" Bienstock grabbed the flask back.

The gallantry had the effect Joe wanted. Sugar was beaming at him like she'd just found her truest friend. Uh oh. I was ready to hit Joe with the bull fiddle.

Sue said dryly, "Didn't you girls say you went to a conservatory?"

Joe nodded. "Oh, yes. For a whole year."

"I thought you said three years?"

I said lightly, "We got time off for good behavior."

Sue scowled. Somewhere, babies cried. "There are two things I will not put up with during working hours. One is liquor, and the other one is men."

I blinked angelically, then shuddered. "Men? Oh, you don't have to worry about that! Those rough, hairy beasts with eight hands." I looked at Bienstock archly. "They all want just one thing from a girl."

He blushed. "I beg your pardon!" Yeah, yeah. Methinks the manager doth protest too much.

Sue decided there'd been enough attention given to the whole mess. She rapped her baton and bawled, "All right, girls. From the top again." Once more we waded into 'Running Wild'. Sugar, plucking her uke, smiled warmly at Joe. Here, her look said, was a true blue pal. Joe smiled back. It wasn't too bad. He didn't actually have to wipe drool off his chin, but his mouth was watering like a kid in a pastry shop.

This was going to be a long, dangerous train ride.