Rebel Worx - Anthology

Speak Easy by RolandCorban

"He's losing it, I say," Florence Crane said, "Ever since the plant let him go, he just won't quit badgering me. I'm headed off to the juice joint. I just need the night out."

"I can watch the kids, dear. Take care. I hear the authorities are taking an interest in Fred's Place." Delores said.

"Thank you. I'm off now, ta-ta."

"Oh, Florence," her mother called after her, "I meant to tell you. I love what you've done to your hair. Bet Albert wasn't too happy with it though."

Florence touched her short hair, gave a smile, and twirled her equally short skirt as she turned away.

Albert be damned, she thought, I am going to have fun tonight. Life is too short to remain the fire extinguisher I was.

She stepped into the beast of a machine they called an automobile. She was lucky to have one. It gave her more freedom to live life to the fullest. This, among other things, gave Albert reason to be grumpy.

She parked on the street, in front of Fred's Place, the bee's knees of Hornesborough, Ohio. Florence thought this was the best speakeasy in town, and she was right. The entire town knew of its existence, even the authorities her mom was worried about. They were frequent customers here.

Florence stepped around back. She stood at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, and listened. Music drifted up from the door. She smiled. Fred had finally got some new entertainment. The bustling noise and smell of excitement enveloped her as she stepped inside the speakeasy.

She stood in the entrance and took in the scene before her. It was as though she had stepped into another world entirely. Men of color were laughing in one corner at a joke John McGaffery had told. Betty Howard, from the richest family in town, danced with Donald Warnke, from the poorest family in town. And Raymond Thumberton, the town deputy.

Ah, the young lady thought, I love speakeasies. She listened to the new performer Fred had.

"What you think o' him? He's a great egg, that Blind Jimmy," Fred Nuemeier said from behind Florence.

"Oh. He's just hotsy-totsy." Florence smiled to Fred. "I'm going to go get some foot juice, I think. The night has only begun."

"I'll take some of your finest foot juice, please," she called to Jack.

"That'll be two clams, Flor," Jack responded.

The young lady gave him the two dollars, in exchange for a big glass of cheap wine. She sipped at the tart and sweet foot juice. She drank in the noise around her. It was the sound of happiness.

The door opened forcibly. It let out an awful noise when it careened into the wall. It even stopped Blind Jimmy for a moment. The bustle of the speakeasy resumed soon after, as though nothing had happened.

Albert stumbled into the speakeasy. "Get out of my way, Krout," he said to Walter.

Walter glowered right back into the scarred face of Albert. "I didn't throw no mustard gas at you in The War, now did I? Don't go calling me no Krout."

"Break it up, you two. Don't be a wet blanket," Raymond called to them over the din.

"Everything's Jake, Ray. No worries," Albert said. "Just here to collect my wife."

Albert hobbled his way to Florence. Florence set the foot juice down, and gripped her skirt to keep her hands from shaking.

Albert took out a flask from his shirt pocket. He took a long swig. "Let's blouse, Florence. Now."

"I am not going with you, Al. I am here to have a good time."

"You aren't a flapper. You are my wife. I said let's blouse."

"Applesauce. Have you ever thought I don't want to be your wife anymore? You are always zozzled. And on that shit from Aurthur and David. People have died from that."

Several around Florence gasped at her audacity.

"We are going home, now." Albert grabbed Florence's wrist and pulled. She pulled back, despite the pain.

Albert turned, and glared. "I said"—Albert let go of Florence's wrist—"My eyes. What did you do to my eyes? You fucking bitch."

Albert struck out. His fist connected with Florence's chin. She bounced off the bar. He rushed forward. He grabbed her by the neck.

Florence could feel the life draining out around his fingers. Feathers of darkness began to edge into her vision. She clawed at Albert's wrists. She could feel his flesh build under her nail. It tore into his skin, leaving trails of bright red behind them.

Albert dropped to the ground. Florence sagged against the bar. She gasped and massaged her neck. Betty and Donald no longer danced. Blind Jimmy no longer played. John no longer told jokes for the men of color to laugh at. Everyone in the speakeasy stared at Florence. Raymond stood over Albert. He held a billy club.

"I'll vouch for you if you go for a divorce. I think they will grant it. He's going to be in the cooler for some time. You all right?" Raymond asked.