Debutante Darlings, Harlots and Debonair Charlatans

Big Les threw the best parties. At the turn of the twenties the great, vain fun of the heirs of Long Island were just these such events thrown by the poorly closeted bootlegger. Mansion, garden and ocean strolls. Sultry evenings in the summer limelight under the stars and all the money whore males drinking mock cocktails. Those who were bold enough, connected even sometimes snuck in real champagne or sparkling wine. The fanciest pimps depraved enough even brought with them their best girls.

'Sordid affairs,' said the false Count to two attractive female counterparts willing to lend an ear. 'I find these parties rather drab. Quite depressive, really.'

'They're the toast of the town, Mr. Baines,' countered Miss Banford, an oil heiress out of the city. 'Wouldn't you say so?'

'I'd say rather drab, miss.'

'Forgive him. He's quite blasé,' said the other, Mrs. Barnes of California. She was slightly older than her two companions, the only one among them to have reached thirty. 'Baines is disgruntled on account of being not rich nor an authentic gentleman.'

'By gods, I say so I am.'

'In deeds, though not title,' she said, patting his arm.

Zelda Banford, barely older than a teenager, stared at the older woman with confusion, reproach.

'You must not be mistaken, duchess,' Hadley Barnes told her. 'We are dear friends and tease each other often. Ezra Baines takes nothing too seriously to heart.'

'No I do not.' He disentangled his arms from those of theirs. 'I'm afraid I have matters to attend tonight. Please accept my humblest apologies, as I must take recess of yours most lovely company.'

'You are not dismissed,' commanded Hadley.

'I've not yet spoken a word to ol' cherry-casked Barnesey.'

'We're present all weekend. You can greet Bill anytime. Don't forget you promised a full tour of the house.'

'Yes, you did sir - do please kindly show us around.'

'I suppose intermission from the conduct of duties shan't hurt anyone.'

'Especially since you aren't actually doing genuine work, scoundrel.'

'You know as well as any, good lady Barnes.'

'Shall we look upstairs?' interjected Zelda.

'Lead the way,' he said, then followed them down a regal corridor to the grand staircase. At the top their trio paused, indulging the panoramic view of the main atrium offered from the platform. It was a very swanky party, tuxedo-garbed men and women in luxurious dresses and precious jewelry crowded around the walls, French glass doors and silken curtains. In the middle of the hullabaloo was a troupe of showgirls performing the Charleston, flappers in little white or black dresses. The general commotion of the sizable gathering percolated above ability for thought.

'She's a fair sweetheart.'

'Which one?'

'Not them, dummy.'

Zelda was standing astray, looking at herself in a mirror just off the landing.

'A little too rich for my blood. Her veins weep ichor.'

'So it's one of them, then?' Hadley asked deprecatingly, gesticulating with head to signal the showgirls below.

'Certainly none of them, either.'

'Neither?'

'That is correct dearest. Those women are risen too high as well. Most are here only in the accompaniment of disreputable wealthy sorts.'

'I see, true enough. Best to avoid that nonsense altogether.'

'You are not my accomplice because you are stupid.'

'Accomplice at what?'

'Indecent, unfair derision towards our many acquaintances.'

'It absolutely suits some of them.'

'Unequivocally.'

'Still, one's heart can only put on making mock for so long.'

'Precisely. Shall we?'

Arm in arm, they started down the corridor like conceited celebrities on the red carpet. Zelda had wandered off a little further, along a perpendicular hallway at the end of their path. When they turned corner she was standing slightly past and a little slouched over, looking through a threshold in the dimness some distance away.

'Zelda, sweet,' piped Mrs. Barnes, announcing themselves. 'What's it?'

Once they were almost arrived the youth raised a hand warningly. Her pale face was white as milk, whatever was in front of eyes had definitively caused a fright. Waving a hand genteel, she gestured for them to peak in on the same position.

Inside were Big Les Gatwick, and an entertainer, one of the flappers with a headband, cigarette holder and fake pearls. The large man was holding a lit cigar, his shirt unbuttoned, her dress undone to the waist. They smoked together, every so often leaning forward for a kiss.

'He doesn't have enough curtesy for closing the door.'

'I know this must be brutal for you, Hads. Isn't Mrs. Gatwick a firm friend to you?'

'Of times past. It is distressing.'

They sat on a divan afore a couch at the far end of the room. It was Big Les' dressing room, wherein usually affiliated chums discussed shipments, payoffs, brew operations, supposed G-Man conspiracies.

The girl slid his shirt off as she slipped down to both knees, undid Big Les' belt, pulled trousers. His body was greased in sweat like a basted hog at a pig-roast. Before they could gasp the beautiful showgirl had him in her mouth, working like an ostrich pecking the dirt. He was quite the sight to behold, bowlegged, head and arms swanned back with white velvet draped off his body, eyes closed quite lusciously.

'He seems to be in ecstasy,' japed Ezra Baines.

'Fat filthy fucking cocksucker.'

'It appears the other way around,' implemented Zelda, rather reticently.

Soon Big Les was on his feet and peering around, as if realizing he had lost care of himself for a moment. The onlookers ducked at the door, hiding beside and Zelda pasting herself to the floor hoping he saw naught through the crack enabling their gaze. The prohibition protester took his mistress by the shoulders, consulted over a minute then took off into a second room contiguous, this time shutting the door behind.

'Not in Fanny's boudoir,' pipped Hadley.

'Not merely a conscientious objector,' chimed Ezra.

'Don't take everything so lightly.'

'Good woman, try it sometime.'

'This could ruin poor Frances. She left her family in Quebec.'

'Well he is a gangster.'

'What a slut.'

'That's not completely fair,' objected Zelda. 'We aren't aware of her circumstances.'

'I mean him.'

'Everybody please simmer. I've a plan.'

Mr. Baines started into the room, pushing in the door and pacing in prudently.

'How's that a plan, hell? Get out now!' scorned Hadley, quiet and sheer.

Cautious, in a mild step Ezra moved across the room to the scene's prior whereabouts. There was a table he stood aside, reading out of a black notebook set atop a moment. From there, he exited tiptoe.

'Please accept my escort outside,' he said back in the hallway, countenance casually concentrated, something stirring. 'Have the time?'

'Check your pocket-watch, rascal.'

'Perfect. Witching hour is upon us. Follow me.'

Fifteen minutes later, out in the yard they walked clear of the gardens unto an extensive grass field spanning the property. Night was dark as pitch, at the edge of the property before a retaining rock-wall overbearing sea was an enormous oak older than any house in Westbury.

'Where're we headed?'

'I saw him writing in that book after he got off the phone earlier.'

'So what!'

'There was a singular conspicuous entry dated today.'

'Saying what?'

'Italia drop big tree midnight.'

It was half past twelve when they reached the destination. Ezra approached the tree, nearly blind although perceiving a meagre hole space hollowed out from the removal of a burl. Placed inside, no doubt awaiting Big Les' perspiring palms, was a hefty parchment envelope.

'Let's go back up to the house, take a look.'

Many of the guests had gravitated outside, terraced courtyard patio, sculptures and artisanal horticulture lit by royal tiki torches. Zelda, Hadley and Ezra managed to circumvent the flock of partygoers by electing a wide berth around the property. Back in the house they noted the ballroom more than halved in terms of people, and just in time to see Big Les making his way outside amidst a grim-faced retinue.

'I bet he'll be going to collect whatever that is soon enough,' offered Hadley afterwards, securely upstairs in a spare bedroom separated from the two central corridors. 'We might as well see.'

Twenty thousand smackaroos was what it was, comprised solely of a hundred-dollar bank notes.

'He'll be missing this.'

'Les will never know who found it.'

'You mean stole it, Count.'

'All the same. Do you relish an opportunity to give it back?'

'What should we do with it?' queried Zelda.

'Ezra is the sleuth, the only one here in lack of serious wealth. Keep it for yourself, you fool.'

'You are a damned prize,' he replied. 'Even if currently a bit resentful. We'll share it squarely. Five large for you, Hadley, and for the kindred gas princess - the same for myself.'

'That counts only to fifteen.'

'Five on reserve for Frances Gatwick, should she need it. I know Hadley Barnes isn't one to hide mobster's secrets.'

'Should we each take some now, then?'

'No. Tonight is young on Long Island. My friends, it would seem there's a scheme to uphold.'

'I've worked stage and screen,' answered Hadley. 'I'm able to maintain a put-on sense of leisurely pleasure all too well.'

A few hours later it was wrapping up with hugs, kisses, faux nightcaps. Most guests had left, those remaining spoke softly, slowly on the verandas about lives. Zelda Banford had taken the loot, they agreed to meet at a certain café in the south at noon the day following. Hadley stood out with her husband, head pressed wearily against his shoulder. Ezra Baines, alternatively, found himself embroiled still in more steaming drama. He fell in close next to a wall between foyer, dining room, eavesdropping on a conversation between their host and prostitute of the evening.

'Don't play this with me. You know I'm not cheap. Where is the money?!'

'You know cuts come in lump sums few months. Ain't here. No control.'

The pretty foreign dame strutted past, barely noticing Ezra, onto the stairs adjacent. Les emerged next, somewhat shaken as she grimaced down threateningly, brandishing loop of her necklace toward him like an arrow to be loosed.

'Then I want your wife's wedding ring,' she spewed in thick accent. 'Her pearls, too.'

'Ah, c'mon,' reasoned Les, then spotted Ezra sidled against the threshold. 'Hullo, kid. How's teeth cleaning?'

'Dentistry's alright, pays bills. Everyone needs proper oral hygiene.' He paused after the unintentionally suggestive innuendo, bit his lip. 'A noble profession some might call it.'

'Yeah, fine and dandy. Well good for you. Solid on. Nice seein' ya.'

He stormed off upstairs after his retreating muse, and that was the last Mr. Baines would see the bootlegger. Nevermore was he forced to service the appointments of Big Les or his foul-toothed, scar-faced goons again.

'A taste for finer things,' he said under breath, spectating the chase.

'Will you introduce yourself as Viscount Bane in Europe?' disparaged Hadley, morn hence at the quaint seaside café.

'Oh, pick my bones.'

'I'm glad to have money for my own. Father does scare me so,' admitted Zelda. 'It'll be good to make decisions myself.'

'As it should be, darling.'

'How about you?' Baines asked Barnes.

'Bill and I are westbound home. We'll invest it. Everything is hush-hush between us, he won't whisper to a soul.'

'It is swell not being engaged to Paquette's practice anymore.'

'You intend to start your own?'

'I'll never inspect gums again, good riddens.'

'Where first, across Atlantic?'

'Paris, of course.'

'I've always wished to go there,' added Zelda, twinkling.

'Is that so,' replied Ezra, bemused.

'Maybe you two are a match made in heaven. Time will tell.' Hads adored putting them out of sorts. 'At the end of the day, that was easy. Far too simple to pull off that illusion. At first I imagined he would have everyone strip-searched. But I guess that's how it goes - too much of to pay attention. Besides, Big Les does throw the finest parties.'

La Fin