Miss Helena

Who: Angelo and Helena
When: evening
Where: The Kitten Club

Helena stood there quietly, clinging to the last moments of solitude before she jumped into this whole big crazy mess both feet first. At least this time she was jumping in with both eyes open. Well, whichever way she was jumping, it didn’t make the task in front of her any less daunting. It was the mission itself that had her anxious. She wasn’t toying around with mere fuck nuts. These fuck nuts had guns and they had killed her lover. His life had meant a great deal to her but one slip up now and it could be her whose life was smudged thinly across time.

She inhaled deeply until she thought her lungs were going to burst and then kept the air trapped within, until she began to feel light headed and dizzy. Slowly she exhaled with as much control as she could. When the breath was completely gone she began to breathe normally again and tightly clutched in her fingers what she was taking with her; a purse containing a lipstick, a cigarette case, matches, five dollars and the key to her apartment. Then she started for the Kitten Club.

Dawdling, she went the last few steps to the night club. She looked up at the looming building, adjusted the collar of her jacket and tidied her red stained lips; then swallowed her doubt. She was going to find out information. Helena hadn’t imagined any other outcome. To her it was as real as the doorman and the doorman was opening the door for her. Helena took her first step to the rest of tonight.

Before we go on with what she saw inside it is important to mention how everyone inside saw Helena. Being a woman was a matter of intense pleasure. Being a woman who knew how to look like a million dollars with only a few dollars to spare was also a matter of intense pride.

Helena enjoyed dressing up and before Eddie's demise he had encouraged her vices. The last thing she had bought before the bank heist had gone awry had been an opalescent cerulean satin dress with a fabulous stand up collar. The blue matched the bawdy atmosphere of the guts of the cabaret but also was a reflection of the melancholia that plagued the blond woman when her future was murdered along with Eddie. She was scintillatingly made up to reflect a woman of higher rank than her feeble finances permitted. She imagined herself a star.

But, the club was nothing what she expected and there were plenty of other stars glimmering inside. Artistic types with imaginations painting the landscape and causing the energy to vibrate with their intensity.

Awkward.

Helena was snagged with a tiny nudge of insecurity as she stood inside of the place. Of course, it wasn’t the strangers that were making her feel unsure: In her eyes they were only people. It was what she was up against that was the problem. Vulnerability is a nasty snack and a sudden case of nerves had her stomach gurgling with stress. She felt the color peel away from her face leaving only her make-up painted on as if she was a doll.

She lifted a hand to her forehead as if checking for fever but she was not burning and it was then that she decided she could do this. Helena just had to get on the right side of her mind and be the stubborn, nonsensical girl she’d always been.

"Excuse me." She said to the first person she saw. The strangers back was to her but nobody else was as handy, "Do I just go in or..." Helena was not sure how to proceed.

Some things about the Kitten Club never ceased to feel awkward to Angelo either, like his 'work clothes'. The suit was wide in the shoulders, a crisp white two-button number with a matching hat and sleek red shirt, and he always felt like a child playing dress-up whenever he had to wear it. It was only the tip of the iceberg, really; he was always aware of the clientele and how he was window dressing to them, a colored man who blew a mean horn and made the girls onstage look good. And for his own vices? Angelo still had a hard time ignoring the shadier dealings that he knew happened all around him.

That was why he rarely took breaks inside, only ever having one drink at the bar during a shift, maybe another one or two when the night was done. Any other breaks he got, Angelo liked to take outdoors with the others in the house band. This moment was no different; he'd been lingering away from the door and discreetly passing a joint back and forth with the band's drummer, and the haze of the marijuana had left him confused about the abrupt retreat of his bandmate and the joint. Confused, that is, until he heard the voice behind him, aimed at him.

Angelo turned with a lazy grin plastered on his face, reaching to remove his hat as he got a good look at Helena. She did look like a million dollars, and reflex leapt to the forefront of his mind and pushed him into the role of a servant. "Yes ma'am," he replied curtly, nodding over at the door, "'Less you'd like to speak to the house manager, jus' head on inside. I recommend the booths on the right of the dance floor, you get a good view of the stage without an earful of the horn section."

“That's easy...” she said before she took pause, addressing the black man. Her statement faded off just as the expression of surprise lit up on her face. “I just wanted to make sure that I could go in. I didn't mean to interrupt your reefer smoking." Helena mumbled, looking through the miasma thick that threatened her sanity, to the man that was engaged in dubious goings on. Everyone knew that dope made you do and say evil things right?

Suddenly the doubt that had been there all along resurfaced and she imagined the scandalous implications of entering such a joint. She aspired to do good, if only for appearances and his behavior made her think thriceabout all she was involved in. How was she supposed to trust a pot smoking, black man?

He wasn't so unwound that there was no room for paranoia in Angelo's head. He knew how the house management would take even a single complaint seriously, that there was a sea of men and women eager to replace him the same way he'd taken this job from his predecessor. "Naw, ma'am," he protested when Helena seemed to withdraw, "No interruptin' nothin', I promise. Look, can I... can I offer to see you in? Maybe get you a comped drink?" Even at work, Angelo didn't carry much money. But what little he had could be spent on worse things than ensuring he'd still have a job.

Her father would have a seizure if he knew that a poor, black man was offering to escort his daughter anywhere and it was for precisely for this reason Helena accepted his proposal. "You may." She said, feeling dangerous as she agreed. Even though she had accepted she felt strangely aware of herself now that she had decided to cross the line and she fidgeted in front of the man. "I'm Helena." She offered, not knowing what the protocol was for this exchange. Maybe, in some ways, she felt that they were equals. She may be just a woman but the color of his skin had to be hard to wear. Neither was easy. "So you work here?"

"Indeed I do, ma'am," Angelo answered, nodding curtly and smiling Helena's way. He filed her name away in the recesses of his mind, still feeling like calling her "ma'am" was the safer of options available to him. "Play in the house band, that's me. It's why I recommended a seat away from the band stage," he explained, laughing softly and sweeping an arm in front of him to point Helena towards the club. Angelo popped his hat back on, tilting the brim slightly before he moved for the door again and gave the attendant there a wordless signal that Helena was with him. "I'm Angelo, real pleased to make your acquaintance," he added as he led her through the entryway and over to the coat check.

Ma'am. Helena hadn't gotten used to that. It seemed only a year or two ago that strangers still referred to her as Miss. Had the stress of recent events settled on her face as harsh as that? It was hard to believe that the blush of youth was now over and she was firmly rooted in her adult self. His address had made her stand straighter. She was determined not to slump forward, adding age to forming wrinkles. "Nice to meet you too, Angelo. Thank you for your attention. It