Chapter 1
IVY
“Hi, my name is Ivy Hart and I'd like to get a job please!” No, that sounded too soft. “Hi! My name is Ivy Hart, give me a job!” I tried again with more urgency. But this time, I sounded too forward. Okay, I can do this. Once more, “Hi, my name is Ivy Hart! I need some money.”
Walking through the bustling streets of Los Angeles, others in passing stared at me strangely like I had a huge slit on my hosiery. I couldn't have. I hadn't done anything out of the ordinary all day except help around at home. And though these were the cheap pair, they were still brand spanking new—straight from the drugstore when I realized the only ones I did own were ripped.
It was required of me to look as spiffy as possible, in the most formal la garçonne I owned before job hunting today. I had been turned down by over twenty different establishments for the past two weeks.
So per my Mama's request, I had to ensure I didn't come back without telling her I finally did it.
Racing past me, there was a group of flappers laughing and enjoying their youthful lives in style while folks were driving comfortably in their Model-T breezers and bikes. I could only admire them from afar.
God, I wished I could've done the same.
Well, aside from the whole flapper thing. That kind of lifestyle was never fit for me. I had a lot of other priorities, responsibilities, and a lot of folks were counting on me to get this at least right.
But I'd be a fool to say I did want to have a little fun now and then in my young years too. Preferably on a single spotlighted stage. I'd be all dazzled up. A mic in my hand and my cares and worries are off the grid for a moment, and my mind and heart is delightfully wrapped into a song. A quintessential mirage.
Brushing all other thoughts away, I was back on my mission and determined to take at this point whatever wanted to be available, blazing through another strip of shops praying for someone to soon help a gal out.
Still, I kept having no luck.
Crossing the crowded street with my eye on the officer directing the traffic of Sunset Blvd, my vision instead peered at a soda shop on the other side. Yes. Right there in the window was a HELP WANTED sign that could turn this process all around.
Before my brain could catch up with my legs, I was on the move as cars honked their horns and yelled for me to get out of the way. Happily making it over in one piece, I perused around but no one was here? “Hello?!” I tried calling out. No answer. It was quite odd that on such a busy street, not a single soul was lingering in this place. More importantly, where were the owners or employees? I could've easily stolen anything and be about my way—if I wanted to, of course. Though I had a feeling a dark-skinned colored gal like me wouldn't be fit for the big house either. “Hello? Is anyone here?!” I let out again.
Again, no one. Now I was beginning to worry.
That is until I suddenly heard various giggles and voices coming from a back room door that had a few stairs nearby, leading down to it.
It was two young Caucasian women in flashy flapper outfits. They were stumbling to where I was. Their hairstyles in the sleek cut and curled bobs, wearing their bedazzled headpieces. Visibly from their flushed red cheeks and wobbly knees, they appeared to be truly happy...and truly fried.
“Did ya see that bartender Miriam?! He's sure a looker! Don't ya think so?!” One woman happily expressed.
“Why didn't ya ask for the Sheik’s number then?!” The other one questioned.
“Oh, please! The fella is taken! I can tell just by the way he blatantly ignores any woman that even tries to come near him.” The first woman explained.
Bartender? Drunk? In a soda shop?
Studying my surroundings closer, I peered behind the counter noticing that the spouts of the milkshake machines didn't have anything inside of them.
So before they left out, I already knew what I had to do. “Excuse me, ladies?” I reeled them in as they both faced me suspiciously. I graced them with a soft smile. “I've been hankering for a little buzz. Where can I find the nearest Juice Joint at?” I confidently let out with my hand on my hip, pretending to have gum in my mouth—just to solidify the part.
If I seemed less sure about myself when asking that kind of question out in the open, folks would go out of their way to make sure I got nowhere in finding my answer. Possibly thinking I was a bull trying to route their little special spot out.
Eying me closely as I tried my best to remain in character, they eventually gave in. “Try The Hollywood Lounge. Their ambiance may be a flat tire compared to other joints, but they manage to help get ya fix in. Just say ‘blind tiger’ and keep hush about it.”
I gratefully nodded. They took off quickly without gesturing to the direction—knowing it was best not to, just in case they still weren't entirely sure of who I really was.
It was fine. I didn't need any subtle hints to distinguish where to head off next.
From visiting my father when he was one of the best jazz singers back in Harlem, New York where I initially grew up before my family moved here, I knew where to go first by the overwhelming scent of moonshine and cigarette smoke that followed those ladies being a clear giveaway.
Inching closer to where they'd come from, more faint voices rang out—but enough to understand.
“You're incompetent! Ya disagree with everything I say, you left the dirty dishes on the floor, and you smell like sandwiches all the time!” A scornful woman exclaimed.
Uh oh. Looks like someone was having a rough day.
“So...is that a no to a raise?” Another woman replied. It became quiet.
“That's it! Give me ya uniform. You're fired! Ever heard of the word?! Now beat it before I take your pride away too!” The enraged woman got louder.
The other woman grunted. A pair of heels stomped closer to the door before I fully got there myself. Busting them open, the murmurs of a crowd from inside poured out and I finally saw the angry dame. She had to be much older than I am despite her youthful appearance. Girls my age didn't usually come to these kinds of places.
“That no good son of a-” She mumbled, but the rest of her sentence was masked by a thunder of laughter from behind. I quickly hid off to the side as she passed, not even acknowledging my existence.
Once she was out of sight, I moved closer to where she came from—continuing to listen to the conversation that was supposedly not over yet. “Can't get one gal to do this job, when their only task is to do their job! No one will ever be better than Victoria.” The same loud woman complained.
For the person who answered now, it wasn't a woman at all anymore.
“That was three years ago. What did ya expect? The girl wanted to be an actress. That's why she came to Hollywood. It's why anyone comes here in this day and age! It's the peak of the century. Can't help it if she was good.” A man uttered.
“Yes, but now it sucks for me! Ugh, just hurry up with that double shot. I'll be in my office if anyone needs to be graced with my beauty. But try to handle the situation on your own!”
“Why ya yelling at me for?! I'm not that broad!”
“I don't care who ya are, just handle it!”
He grunted annoyed, but didn't reply any further. Shortly after, it was nothing but a cold silence. I approached the rigid oakwood door hesitantly knocking at first.
With no answer, I was bewildered. I knew there were folks still in there. But probably judging by the music I could also hear very loudly, maybe they couldn't hear me.
So...I tried once more.
Without a struggle a rectangular-shaped built-in port opened up at the top of the door, with a pair of dark brown eyes cautiously meeting my alarmed state that someone finally answered. “Go chase yourself! We're closed!” A male voice—way deeper from the one I had previously heard barked out.
Ha, sure they were.“Uh, hello! I'm very sorry for interrupting your day, but I just want to see if I can take a load off here for a while.”
“Didn't you hear me?! I said beat it, kid! Find somewhere else to go!”
Oh not so fast.“That's funny because they told me to come here.”
He soon eyed me down, intrigued. “Who's they? What do you really want?”
I smirked, appearing to be confident again for show. “A blind tiger.”
With that he didn't say another word, rushing to close the port fast and began fumbling with the sound of keys and locks. I guess that passcode was wrong after all.
Sighing to myself, I began to leave. It was worth a try.
Promptly catching a screeching creek of the door while it now opened slowly, I quickly spun back around. “Welcome to The Hollywood Lounge.” The man gestured for me to come inside with a more cheerful tone this time.
Smiling to myself proudly, I did as instructed. Though my thoughts of what this place was exactly were soon proven correct, and my world immediately became whisked away and indulged into what felt like a dream.
From the familiar wild and flamboyant glitz and glamor decor, the aroma of hard liquor mixed with fruity cocktails that danced in the air and through the room, the folks dressed in their finest dresses and suits, and the warm and cozy atmosphere that was starting to soothe my soul.
The Hollywood Lounge was a place of business alright.
It was a wondrous, grand, and dazzling underground speakeasy.
