Bathtub Shine

Note: This story contains mentions of race and violence.

Harlem, 1926

I looked dazzling.

My heavily made-up face and short finger-curls made me glamorous and chic, the cosmetics catapulting my looks from plain to striking.

“Sienna, you’re up,” Iva, the manager of the dancers, told me as I applied my scarlet lipstick, the final touch for the effect I wanted.

A full-figured, dark-skinned woman, Iva hailed from Charleston. For some reason, she refused to cut or straighten her long, course hair, and instead opted for styles from the previous decade and now out of fashion for her mass of coils. She often donned extravagant, floor length silk gowns that revealed her ample bosom. Again, her stylistic choices went against the trends, but suited her perfectly. With just a glance, her ornate attire reminded our customers she wasn’t a regular club girl.

“I’m not ready yet,” I replied, and smacked my lips together, admiring myself in the vanity’s mirror.

The bright red on my plump lips contrasted against my brown skin, the carmine color instantly drawing attention to my mouth. The black taffeta robe I wore concealed my gold rhinestone brassiere that pushed up my breast, and matching short skirt that’d be sure to have all eyes on me.

In my former life, I would’ve been aghast to wear such a thing, but I had grown to accept the scantily clad clothing as regular. 

Snatching up my pearl jewelry and white gloves, I quickly threw my accessories on, glancing one last time at myself, before standing and grabbing my gold and white masquerade mask. Placing it would complete my makeover and protect my identity.

Tonight, Lloyd had tasked me with my first solo dance. I intended a memorable performance, as the highlight of the night. I didn’t want a single thing out of place.

Though, it wasn’t as if I could afford to have an inadequate performance. This job was my only source of income, and if there was even a slight chance he wasted his money employing me, Lloyd would let me go. So, my options were to do such a fantastic job that customers begged for more, or risk losing my livelihood.

Thinking about my boss and former friend, a pang went through my heart. Working at his club was a saving grace for me, but at the same time, my life had become complicated in so many ways doing the short time I’d been dancing here.

And, out of everything, losing his friendship was the most devasting thing for me. I’ve often heard that one shouldn’t allow their personal and professional lives to intersect, but I disregarded the advice and learned that lesson the hard way.

“I’m ready,” I announced, setting the elaborate mask on my face, trying to clear my head.

If heavy thoughts burdened my mind, it might reflect in my dancing.

Normally, I just applied heavy makeup, and hoped the speakeasy’s dim lighting provided enough cover for me to remain anonymous in my day-to-day life. But tonight, I would be front and center, with the spotlight literally on me.

 And despite working in a place of little legality, I had no desire to deal with the law; it was the absolute last thing I needed.

“Took you long enough,” Iva muttered as she gestured for me to follow her.

I rolled my eyes at her moodiness, but did as signaled, hot on her heels as she exited the dressing room and walked down the hallway leading to the stage. I stopped a few feet away from the curtain concealing us as she pushed it aside and stepped onto the club’s stage to introduce me.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she boomed, her southern drawl heavy as she extolled my sultriness, ending with, “May I present to you, Ms. Walker!”

The audience offered polite applause as the jazz band’s trumpeter, Rollins, began playing a B-flat solo. I allowed his solo for a few seconds, until I heard the drum symbols sound, aka my cue to come out. I strutted to the curtain and gathered my robe until my right leg was revealed. I stuck that leg onto the stage first, my heart pounding as I heard a wolf whistle or two.

Booze was flowing freely, so the crowd’s reaction would be completely unfiltered. If I did poorly, they would quickly let me know.

Taking in a breath, I shoved the heavy red curtain aside and stepped fully into everyone’s view. I began moving my hips to the beat as the rest of the band started to play their instruments. Untying my robe as I swiveled my hips, I wiggled out of the garment and allowed it to fall to the floor, uncovering my glittering costume.

The reveal was met with some cheers and more whistles, which I acknowledged with the most seductive smile I could muster.

I moved around freely as jazz music rang out across the building. As the band picked up speed, so did I. I flailed my arms all about, shimmed my hips and behind to the beat, twirled and pivoted in circles. While I did do a popular dance move or two, I mostly allowed my body to decide how it moved, which was thankfully met with a great reaction from the crowd.

The cheers brought a genuine smile to my face, easing my nerves. A bad response from the audience would’ve resulted in consequences from Lloyd. Though he was nice to his employees, he was about his money first and foremost, and unhappy customers equaled less income.

More than that, I simply enjoyed dancing. Letting my body move to a beat with little restrictions was a release for me. For however long the music played, I could forget about the stresses in my life and tragedies continuing to weigh on my shoulders, and just dance.

After about twenty minutes, the music began to fade out, signaling my performance was about to end. I slowed my movements before stopping and striking a quick, suggestive pose. More applause erupted. The whistles present throughout my performance crescendoed. After bowing, I collected my robe, turned on my heels, and sashayed backstage, relieved everything had gone well.

“You did amazing!” Goldie, a woman with ‘golden’ skin and honey blonde marcel waves, enthused, falling into step with me. She gestured to my scanty attire, a smile on her face. “And your costume. My, where’d you get it?”

I removed my mask and placed it under my arm.

“I made it,” I said coyly, the reply making her eyes widen. The art of clothes making was one my grandmother had taught me. For a long time, before the death of the woman who raised and imparted so much knowledge in me, I’d desired to indulge my love of fashion and become a seamstress. “And thank you.”

Goldie was fresh out of high school and three years younger than me. To my knowledge, she’d started at the club just a few weeks before me, making us both new hires. Despite how new she was, though, she got on remarkably well with the other girls and employees, and quickly cultivated an ever-expanding friend group here.

“How long you been dancing?”

“This is my first official gig. Why?”

“Really? You did so well, I figured you were more experienced. I mean, we dance together every night, so I knew you could dance, but you were really the bee’s knees tonight.” 

Fearing I’d let something slip, I responded with a simple, “oh.”

She babbled on as we walked to the dressing room, though I tuned most of it out. As sweet as she was, her talkativeness could get tiring.

When we entered the dressing room, I beelined to the vanity reserved for me. Although we weren’t given the luxury of true privacy in the small area, we had assigned tables and dressing racks, with partitions littered throughout that gave the illusion of seclusion.

Tossing my mask onto the vanity and throwing my robe back on, I took a seat so I could get unready.

“Say, Sienna,” Goldie began, walking behind my chair. I looked at her in the mirror, waiting for her to continue. “You been here for about a month, yeah?”

I nodded, wondering where she was going with this. “So, we have known each other for some time, but I don’t know much about you. Tell me a little about yourself.”

Taken aback, I opened my mouth to respond, but Iva interrupted me. At her voice, both Goldie and I turned to her.

“Sienna, you know a white fella named Larry?”

My heart sank the moment she muttered the name. The only white man called Larry I ever had the misfortune of being acquainted with was Lloyd’s ass of an affiliate. However, I would not confirm my association with him, until I found out the reason she asked. “Why?”

“Because there’s a Larry here to see you.”

“Yeah, I know him, but I have no business with that man. Tell him that however you please.” 

“You sure y’all have no business? He’s here with some roses for you.”

“I don’t mess around with white men, Iva,” I snapped, more forcefully than intended. “Just tell him to fuck off, I don’t want to see him.”

I rarely cussed, but just the thought of that man enraged me.

“Alrighty,” she muttered, eyes wide as she went to relay the message.

“How you know him?” Goldie questioned once we were alone again.

Heaving in a breath, I shrugged. “Lloyd introduced us.”

“Why?”

“For business.”

The business being Larry courting me. With some encouragement from Lloyd, I agreed to go out with his business partner a few times, despite my initial resistance to the idea of messing around with him. Then things went awry, so I severed ties with Larry and distanced myself from my boss.

“Are you a prostitute?” she blurted, her hazel eyes the size of saucers.

“Excuse me?”

“What other business could a colored woman and white gangster have together?”

“I don’t sell my body! I just went out with him once or twice. He got too presumptuous, so I ended things,” I heatedly explained, my outrage nearly making me miss her description of Larry.

I was already aware of his occupation, but realizing Goldie already knew of the man surprised me. Briefly, I wondered at the extent of her relationship with Larry and Lloyd. After all, it was Llyod who’d gotten me involved with Larry, so if Goldie associated with him, it was reasonable to assume Lloyd introduced them.

I doubted Lloyd would introduce just anyone to a criminal from another gang he was in cahoots with, so exactly how close were Goldie and Lloyd?

“I thought you didn’t mess around with white men?” she pressed.

“I did it as a favor to Lloyd. Can we please stop discussing him?”

The entire conversation filled me with shame and bad memories. Thankfully, she nodded and went silent. I resumed my undressing, hoping Iva took care of Larry. I had absolutely no desire to see him; my skin crawled at the very mention of his name.

“Get your ass back here!” I heard Iva screech, making Goldie and I exchange looks with one another.

Standing, I tightened my robe as Larry and Iva came barreling through the doors.

His blue-black hair was slicked back, his slanted eyes matching his dark locks. His tanned skin hinted at his Italian heritage, and his expensive suit announced to everyone he was financially well-off.

“Why the hell is he in here?” I demanded, bile rising in the back of my throat as he leered at me. “I thought I told you to get rid of him!”

“I tried, but he said y’all have things that you two needed to talk about.”

“We don’t have shit to discuss,” I bit out, giving Larry a nasty look. “Get the fuck out before we get security. Or better yet, Lloyd.”

I was bluffing; Lloyd was out on business tonight and had left Iva in charge of managing the club for the evening. But Larry didn’t know that, so the threat should still hold some weight.

“You do that. I have shit to discuss with him, anyway,” Larry replied in casual tones, the warning not shaking him up one bit. Holding up the roses, he shook them, and some petals fell to the floor. “I got these for you.”

“I don’t want them. Leave.”

 “Larry, why don’t I show you the way out?” Goldie offered, her tone sweet despite her blank expression. “I promise, I’ll be a lot nicer than Eli, Freddie, or Dan—”

“I’m not going to do anything to your friend, girls,” Larry interrupted, looking between Iva and Goldie. “I just want to talk to her.”

“I don’t know what the hell you two got going on,” Iva gritted, “but I don’t want it to cause no problems in this club. So, I’m going to need you to leave, and y’all can resolve this outside this building.”

“There is nothing for us to resolve. Leave,” I repeated, not wanting to deal with him inside or outside the club.

“Look, I had a bit too much cheap booze that night. I’m sorry.”

I bristled at his words. Did he truly believe would excuse him trying to force himself on me because of some liquor? I’ve had the misfortunate of being around plenty drunk men, yet outside of him, I’ve had to physically fight off none.

Largely, that was due to my grandmother, who went through hell and back to guard me from less savory individuals.

“That’s your excuse? That you were fucking drunk? Goldie, go get Daniel, Eli, or Freddie,” I said, referring to the club’s security and Lloyd’s gang members.

She did as told, brushing past Larry and Iva, and hurrying out of the room.

He walked toward me. “You don’t even want to talk about it?” he rushed out.

My heartbeat increased, and a layer of sweat coated my palms. Almost fully in panic mode, I grabbed an empty vase from my vanity, and held it up. “Take another step and I’m knocking your ass out.” 

Ignoring my advice, he smirked, continuing to inch towards me. “Cute, Sienn—”

Not hesitating, I threw the vase at his head. His eyes widened and he dropped the roses as he brought his hands up to shield his face, stepping to the side and narrowly avoiding the object. But before the vase landed and shattered into a million tiny pieces, it clipped his shoulder.

“What the fuck?!” he snarled, touching his injured shoulder and wincing.

“She did warn you,” Iva said, shrugging.

He ignored her comment, preferring to aim a death glare my way.

“Fucking bitch,” he grated, his face twisted into a terrifying scowl.

He advanced towards me again, my heart falling to my knees as he came closer. Desperately, I glanced around, searching for another weapon, but to no avail. My heart nearly beating out of my chest, I backed up, trying to put as much distance as possible between me and him.

Suddenly, Larry sharply inhaled and grunted, clutching his side. “Shit,” he groaned. When he raised his hand, his fingertips were red with his blood.

Turning his hate-filled glare to the culprit, he fell to the ground in a heap.

The perpetrator of his stabbing didn’t pay him any mind as she cleaned her weapon off. In contrast to my wide and gaping mouth, Iva leaned down and calmy wiped the bloody switchblade onto his coat jacket, before concealing it back in her bosom. She ignored his stare as he gasped for air, and instead focused her gaze on me, the slight furrow in her brow betraying the concern she felt.

“You good?”