Dollface: A Novel of the Roaring Twenties by Renée Rosen Page B

special care of you and your party.” Without our even ordering, two waiters brought out big round trays hefted on their shoulders, loaded with fancy salads, lobster tails, and prime rib. The food kept coming and the men dug in.
    Everyone was clowning, having a swell time, until a tall, dark-haired man came into the restaurant. He was well dressed and wore a bright red bow tie with a matching handkerchief peeking out of his jacket pocket. The blonde on his arm sported half a dozen strands of pearls, one of which had lassoed her left breast.
    “What the hell’s he doing here?” said Knuckles.
    “Shit!” Squeak threw his napkin onto the table.
    “Who’s that?” I asked.
    Dora silenced me with a look.
    Shep, Knuckles and Squeak stood up as the manager rushed over, waving his arms. “Please, Shep, eh? No trouble tonight, huh?”
    “C’mon, ladies.” Basha dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and rose from her chair. “Time for us to powder our noses.”
    I followed Basha and Dora into the ladies’ lounge, a big pink velvet room with gold statuettes mounted on marble pedestals and a long, mirrored wall. We were the only ones in there aside from the bathroom attendant, a middle-aged black woman in an aproned dress to her ankles. She’d just cleaned the sink and was standing to the side with a bar of soap in one hand and a towel in the other. Her tip jar was filled with nickels, pennies and a few dimes.
    Sitting on one of the pink settees, I pinched open my pocketbook. “What was that all about?” I asked, reaching inside for my face powder.
    Basha turned to the attendant. “Give us a minute in here, will ya?” She dipped into her satchel and dropped a quarter in the tip jar. After the attendant left, Basha lit the cigarette sticking out of her gem-studded holder.
    “What’s going on?” I asked again.
    “One of Johnny Torrio’s men showed up, that’s all.”
    I remembered meeting Torrio when I was with Tony at the Four Deuces. I hadn’t liked him either. But the men’s reaction seemed like more than simple dislike. “Why’s that a problem?” I got up and set my lipstick on the ledge below the mirror.
    Dora shot me a look. “Do you know who Johnny Torrio is?”
    “Yeah, he owns that place—the Four Deuces.”
    “Girlie, you’d better wise up.” Basha gripped her cigarette holder with her back teeth. “Torrio owns a hell of a lot more than just the Four Deuces.”
    Dora pulled me aside. “Here’s the story. You got the north side of Chicago and the south side. Johnny Torrio and Al Capone run the south side, and Dion O’Banion and our boys run the north side.”
    Basha checked herself in the mirror and said, “The whole city’s in on it. Dion’s got the cops, the politicians, even the judges on the payroll.”
    “Don’t look so surprised.” Dora glanced at me. “It’s true.” She said the Meridian was a front for Shep, just like Schofield’s Flower Shop was a front for Dion. “But that’s not where they get their money from—not their serious money, anyway.”
    The Black Hand flashed through my mind. I got that woozy, detached feeling, like when a drink hits you too fast, too hard.
    “Schofield’s is the North Siders’ headquarters,” said Dora. “And the Four Deuces is the South Siders’ headquarters.”
    I almost lost my balance and stumbled, banging my hip into the ledge. The Four Deuces was Tony’s hangout. I closed my eyes and rubbed my fingers across my brow. My head was suddenly throbbing. Damn him! He didn’t just own a string of tobacco stores. He didn’t go to the Four Deuces just to gamble.
    Basha knocked her cigarette ash into the sink that the attendant had just cleaned. “The thing to remember is the North Siders and the South Siders hate each other’s guts. So when one of Torrio’s lugs shows up on Dion’s turf—like that punk out there tonight—it gets the boys cranky.”
    “C’mon,” Dora said, giving me a wink. “Let’s get back out