Coloreds who patronized the Plantation Cafe were herded behind a velvet rope, segregating them from the club’s white patrons. A few colored girls ventured on the white side, but they were light-skinned and on the arm of white men in tweed suits or tuxedos and tails.
“Can I help you, ladies?” The maître d’ was clean-shaven with skin so smooth it shined. He bowed, greeting them politely, but his pleasant smile didn’t keep him from pointing them to the colored section. “This way, please.”
“Thank you.” Honoree sneered after the man as he walked away, but then she examined her surroundings. “I won’t get anyone’s attention back here.”
Bessie adjusted the seam of her shift. “I don’t like this place.”
“Neither do I. But there’s a man I want to see, and I hope he’s here.”
“Who is it?”
“No one in particular—just a guy I met.” Rising to her tiptoes, Honoree scanned the room, looking for Tony Gallo. “He’ll remember me.”
“Who you talking about? Who will remember you?” Bessie seemed miffed. “Of course whoever it is could never forget you. What did you say? A man who don’t remember a girl who looks like you ain’t got the sense he was born with.” She sighed.
“Not sure I said that exactly, but it sounds like something I might say.”
“Why did I have to come here with you?”
“’Cause a woman alone gets pegged as a whore. I couldn’t risk not getting in—or getting in for the wrong reason.”
“I don’t like being around white folks. They keep staring at us.”
“Stop staring at ’em. They’ll tire of lookin’ after a while.” Honoree smacked her lips. “I’ve got to find a way on the other side of this darn rope.”
A few light-skinned colored girls in the corner shook their rumps to attract the maître d’s eye. He strolled over, and one of the girls pressed a wad of cabbage into his palm. Quick as that, he lifted the rope.
“Oh, is that how this works?” Honoree said quietly.
“How what works?” Bessie asked.
Honoree pointed at the three girls moving into the main dining hall. “They are greasing pockets to get on the other side of the rope.” She frowned. “Anything goes wrong, you hightail it to the Dreamland Cafe. Colethea is working tonight. She’ll help get you home.” She pulled Bessie to her side. “Don’t forget. You leave here, and Colethea will take care of you.”
“What kind of trouble? Why would I need to leave? I can help.” She patted her stomach.
“I don’t want you wrapped up in my mess.”
“I’m not leaving, Honoree.”
“Fine. Stay here. The man I came to see is over there—and I’m about to move to the other side.”
Honoree slipped off her fur-collared coat and handed it to Bessie. With a shimmy, the dress fell into place.
“Just in case,” Honoree warned. “Don’t forget Colethea.”
Hands on her hips, she sauntered over to the maître d’. “Hello, cutie.”
“Hello, cutie,” he said.
“I wonder if you could help me.” She wet her lips and batted her eyelids. “I am a friend of Tony Gallo’s, and he left his yellow-gold cigarette case, the one by Fabergé, in my boudoir. I wanted to return it, personally.”
His gaze froze on her chest.
“I don’t trust anyone to give it to him but me.”
His hairless face contorted, but his voice was steady. “I ain’t no fool, ma’am.” He looked into her eyes. “You ain’t showing me nothing I ain’t seen before, but I do admire your style. Mr. Gallo got plenty of colored girls. You’re lovely, for sure, prettier than most of the women here on any given night.”
“If I’m so pretty, escort me over to his table. He’ll be glad to see me.”
