DEAREST ! / DON’T YOU SEEM FAMILIAR ?
RADIO, JAZZ, LIQUOR, CLUBS: SIN CITY IN CHICAGO where the land had become LAWFUL / LAWLESS. Utter chaos and bought up men in blue; all streamed and broadcast through airwaves and ink, filled up their mind with a terrible, beautiful BUZZ. It never stopped, never. THE WORLD DOES NOT SLEEP NOR DO I: EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE, RECORDED. STORED. LISTENED TO. REVERED. Broadcasts from every corner of the world with radio towers; a flood of INSTANT information that circulated better than any newspaper. MEDIA ! MEDIA ! MEDIA ! MASS MEDIA ! They were GLOWING: skin radiated colour and sound like a SPOTLIGHT had been trained upon them; jazz babe turned moll, turned broadcaster: CITIZENS OF CHICAGO, THANK YOU FOR TUNING IN TO THE MIDNIGHT HOUR ! Tonight, we’ll be talking about all the clubs underground you need to know about, and how a special someone has decided to visit me again. CLICK ! A jazz symphony to sing the city to sleep, to keep it dancing till DAWN: save the BREAKING NEWS for the early hours – their attention was needed elsewhere.
Spotlight on him, always for him: light cutting through smoke and sound, patrons and showgirls alike caught in a HOLY SEE of eyes and eyes; none that mattered more than theirs. HAVEN’T YOU HEARD? DON’T YOU KNOW, DARLING? I’M UP ON THEIR MOVIE SCREENS TOO, SOON I’M GONNA GET A LOT SMALLER, I’M GONNA BE IN THEIR HOMES. A secret lingering in that BLEACHED smile: I KNOW SOMETHING YOU DON’T: EVERYTHING ! Laughter that rang from that terrible mouth and roared with the voice of MILLIONS. Jazz age had rendered them art deco: cold and sure, understanding of their purpose and just how large it would become. REPORT THE TRUTH AND SPREAD THE LIES: make them laugh, watch them cry. Didn’t matter, so long as they were DEPENDANT on that terrible, beautiful, ENCOMPASSING voice.
“My name isn’t dollface, L-A-W.” Manicured finger extended; tapped against his nose while other hand fiddled with pearls, with ERMINE. A sing-song voice that crackled with STATIC, sighed out the notes of yet another love song. “My name isn’t HONEY, either; but it could be if you added a ‘my’ before it. If you did that, I’d let you call me anything.” AIN’T MISBEHAVING / I’M SAVIN’ MY LOVE FOR YOU ! Eyelashes fluttered; irises back to a brilliant blue after centuries of INK; pursed that KISSABLE mouth and blew SMOKE AND MIRRORS into the face of the Law himself! KING PIN COME HOME TO RULE THE ROOST: profit coming, profit going; fire and vandalism and men in uniform that turned a blind eye to it all. HE ALLOWED IT ! He partook in it: this club was their domain and after all this time, after so many battles, they would not concede it. Practically a SACRED space: enraptured gazes and sultry voices; homages to opera and bards of old played out on a rickety stage while far more important lines were being spoken in a booth.
Fingers fiddled; curled into shirt collar, into the lapel of his jacket and tugged. Slid closer in small enclosure though that hungry gaze was fixated on yet another CHARLESTON appearing on stage. The latest craze! OH, IT WAS DELICIOUS. The few years since The Great War had been kind to him; they always were. Found their thousand-eyed stare dragged back to drink him in, to remember him. JUST AS I’D LEFT YOU, DARLING. Hard and feral, riddled with bullet holes, SHELL SHOCKED. Twined their fingers together and clutched: he was still warm. They, colder now. I have a secret. I have a secret. Shall I make it public domain?
“I don’t think I’m asking for much, mister. Really, just a head’s up for lil’ ol’ me? For old time’s sake.” A giggle, a pout; CHERRY RED lips stretching into a grin despite the way they batted those pretty pleading eyes. “You’ve got all the cops, all the mobsters, in your pockets. I should know. I RUMMAGED THROUGH THEM.” More laughter; their breath flavoured with MOONSHINE. “What’s it to you, sending a runner to warn me? Unless you wanted to come and save me yourself, darling. MY HERO.” Toying with him, teasing the law; their name hovering upon their lips and it’s all they can do not to BURST with it. “Heard anything new on the RADIO lately, dar-ling? Unless you’re too good for me now.”
𝑬𝑿𝑻𝑹𝑨 ! 𝑬𝑿𝑻𝑹𝑨 ! 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑨𝑩𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑰𝑻 ! the law himself , dizzy with a dame , sensationalism has no place in the world of news — the only staples: relevant or irrelevant to events. we hold these truths to be self evident ( all facts can be considered news. ) finger’s clasped around their company’s fingertips pressed to the crook of elbow and bicep. pacific ocean broad palms dwarf them. his shoes leather and SCREAMING — in another time they would have dripped blood from the soles , left lingering crashes as his foot tapped against the floor. he HUMMED and in the deep bass of it could be heard a thousand voices chanting. MARCHING BOOTS FOR A LULLABY the sound of stomping in time , chanting swelling , rising , screaming in a hundred thousand voices , a discordant harmony to sing him to sleep. MARTIAL LAW — enforced curfew , black out curtains , a voice crystal clear over radio ! SAY DOLL , DON’T I KNOW YOU ? there’s a hum in the air. a weight as light as glass , bubbling and champagne golden , settles over his shoulders , straightens his spine.
his voice — his SMIRK — no , no , a voice croons. NONE OF THAT ! — obstructing justice ! distribution of CLASSIFIED information. brain washing / mind control ! what they see , what they hear , what they read , all sifted through a set of pale fingers , agile and graceful , sharp knuckled and soft palmed. what they know and what they believe filtered through the joined hands of two gods , censorship and free knowledge , a delicate balance that shifts on a dime. never touching , passing on piece by piece. he feels like he's stepped into a role he wasn't meant to play and yet the audience comes back every night and the show goes on. and on , and on. THEY ALWAYS DYNAMIC / always moving , changing , growing , that can’t be you can it ? when’d a god like you get so big ?
he tilts his entire frame toward them , judge and jury and attention , eyes flutter at the soft touch of hands over hair and skin , he smiles and it's soft , gentle , the wrong place and the wrong trial for that expression , the wrong genre , made for dramas and romances not the hard cut of news ( but oh the radio can’t broadcast a look ! ) arms encircle , hands enclose , oh so THOROUGHLY MODERN ! cigarette smoke cast a shroud , the jazz was a wall , privacy screen for the fat cats and the big boys in the booth , swigging gin and knocking back moonshine instead of heads. ALL EYES ON THEM the singer croons and their voice , thick and sultry , heavy with the heat of something on the edge of indecent. his voice a rumble , their’s a purr. dotted i’s and crossed t’s. somewhere there’s a signature on a dotted line and like the spark of gunpowder. the WHIZZBANG of a bomb something clicks.
fingers dig into flesh grown colder by degrees , lips trace the shell of an ear. “ tell me doll,” voice lazy , a drawl , NOTHIN BUT TIME “ you think this makes up for the good ole days ? “ fingertips walk up the expanse of their spine , a slow crawling thing , not quite savoring , too teasing to be much of anything at all. THERE’S A NAME HERE. presque vu , pressed to the tip of his tongue. remember france ? the dancing ? the beheading ? EXTRA ! EXTRA ! READ ALL ABOUT IT ! ink smudges across the page , the ring of condensation soaking in and blurring words. indistinct. somewhere in his mind he remembers — fingerprints.
TEETH BARED IN THE DIM LIGHT / smile this side of feral , smoke and the sharp smell of alcohol , the pounding of shoes as the dancers fill the floor. the spotlight remains firmly on their corner of the world. a cop shakes the don’s hand. whispered words and lips that read omerta. another swigs down a shot , remember , coppers get in free of charge. porcelain lined maw closes around the delicate shell of their ear , teeth leaving half crescent marks as if to say: there , i am here , i have made my mark. he breathes a warm sigh “ oh , but , why warn you ? makes it easier to take you by surprise. “
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