knew from reading the gossip columns — debutantes and society folks. It was Manhattan Merry-Go-Round come to life, and I had a fierce wish that Muddie were here with me. I felt unsteady in the unfamiliar heels and my own nervousness.
A hand grazed my arm, then pressed it. I turned and saw Nate.
“I saw the show tonight,” he told me. “You were good.”
“Thanks.”
“Now there are just a few things I need you to do.”
Not again. I had handed off the suitcase a week ago, and Nate had dropped off a package last week that I had to give to a large man with a nose like a sweet potato. I didn’t know what had happened to his promise to leave me alone.
“I’m supposed to sit with Mr. D —”
“Don’t worry about Mr. D.”
Nate said it with such authority that it took me aback for a moment, and I realized that I didn’t know who was really in charge here.
He gestured to my right, at a table well away from the band. I instantly recognized the man sitting there — Dex Hamilton, the columnist. There was a microphone on a stand on his table, and he was talking to the singer Dinah Shore. He ran a radio show right from this room, three nights a week, called Nightlife After Dark. Dinah Shore moved away, Mr. D nodded at him, and Dex beckoned me.
I pointed to my chest, as if to say, Who, me? Yes, me.
He beckoned more frantically while he spoke into the microphone, and I quickly moved through the tables. I’d been on the radio plenty of times in Providence, but this was New York, and it was Dex Hamilton, who was almost as big as Walter Winchell when it came to selling papers.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, here’s the newest Lido Doll, Miss Kit Corrigan. Miss Corrigan is five feet five inches of sheer redheaded pulchritude. She just walked in the room and three guests here at the Lido Lounge had to check their blood pressure. Heh. Heh. How are you tonight, Miss Corrigan?”
He had a certain way of talking, somewhere between New Yorkese and trying to sound like a swell. How’re yautawnight, Miss Carrigawn?
I leaned over the mike. I knew exactly what to say, which was a whole lot of nothing. “I’m just fine, Mr. Hamilton.”
“And how are you enjoying the Lido?”
“I’m having such a good time. All the girls are so sweet, and I love the routines.”
“Keeping the wolves at bay?”
“Oh, that’s easy enough,” I said. “Most of them don’t have teeth.”
“Well, hehhehheh. Watch out, gentlemen of New York, Miss Kit Corrigan’s got moxie. Ladies and gentlemen, that was the newest Lido Doll, Miss Kit Corrigan, and I see Jerry Temple heading over….”
He winked at me, and I gave him a big smile. He’d mentioned my name five times in less than thirty seconds. That was a true professional.
Nate led me away with a hand at my elbow. The man sitting at Mr. D’s table rose and moved away. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
“Who is that?” I asked Nate as we moved through the crowd.
“Frank Costello,” he said.
“The gangster?”
“Well, that’s what the papers say.”
As Frank Costello passed, he put his hand on Nate’s shoulder for a moment and whispered something in his ear. He moved so fluidly that people at the tables probably didn’t see it; they thought he was just trying to get around us.
“You know him?” I asked.
“We’ve met, yes. Come on, Kit. Don’t look so shocked. This is New York. All kinds of people come to the Lido. Now you just have to say hello to Mr. Dawber. He expects a few minutes.”
I looked behind me, but Frank Costello was just walking out the door. The most famous gangster in America didn’t look at Dex Hamilton, and Dex pretended to look down at his notes. If you’re a gossip columnist, you don’t write about Costello, I guessed. I’d heard rumors from the girls that the gangster was a partner in the club. I just hadn’t believed them. And Nate knew him.
We approached the table, and Mr. D halfway raised up and then crashed back down on his chair even as he signaled for another drink. He wasn’t interested in me a bit, I could see that right away. He looked around the room, waved at a customer, then twisted his chair to talk to someone at the next table. Nate pulled out a chair for me.