To Become A Con Artist

Chapter One

Everyone was aware that a young lady should not be out and about after sunset, especially without a male escort such as a father, husband, fiancé, or blah blah blah. That rule was useless to the modern young lady in 1926 which was evident by the fact that Jean and I walked on the wet pavement with our black heels pattering under the fluorescent street lamps.

"Are you sure you know where we're going?" I asked her, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Yes, it's called the Copper Bull. Dolores said she goes every Saturday night." I scoffed because everyone knew Dolores White was both a liar and a tramp.

"Okay c'mon." Jean pulled my arm and turned into a dark alley. My heart pounded as we moved farther from a light source and headed down a set of cement steps in front of a single wooden door. "This has to be it!" Jean squealed. I looked around with a slight shiver.

"How can this be it?"

"Claire, have you ever been to a speakeasy?"

"No, and neither have you so can we leave?" I begged paranoid of our surroundings.

"No way, we have to see this place." She pounded hard on the door and seconds later the small window opened and a pair of eyes gazed down at us thoroughly.

"Password." Said a deep rustic voice that caused me to jump. I looked at Jean since she was to have all of tonight's answers in that brown bob of hers.

"Um-I think she said-oh" Jean snapped excited to remember, "Swordfish!"

"Shh" I said. The window shut close immediately.

"See you spoke too loud now they won't let us-" suddenly the door slowly opened to a hall with subdued lighting. We both exchanged looks of astonishment and awe stepping inside hesitantly.

"Down those steps." The voice instructed. Jean took the first step down the wooden staires.

"This is so exciting!" We descended the steps following the sounds of upbeat jazz and indistinct voices. Then we saw it.

The room was a bit small but that did not matter because each person seemed to be having a ball. The stage was occupied by the band that consisted of a pianist, saxophone player, and a black woman belting out The St. Louis Blues. Men and woman danced the Charleston and the jive on the crowded dance floor. The men were graceful just as the woman who adorned short bobs and dresses that all the European magazines spoke of.

Real alcohol was being served at the bar despite the eighteenth amendment to The Constitution. Cigarette smoke coated the air along with the smell of woman's perfume.

"I can't believe we're here Claire. See, I told you Dolores wasn't half bad." We continued down to the bar. "Okay the rules are we have to stay together, we cannot get drunk, and no pick pocketing." She emphasized the last part knowing that I had a habit of pick pocketing when I saw something the I could get some money for such as a pocket watch, compact mirror, or anything else that seemed to have value.

"Fine." I sat on a stool.

"I'm serious."

"I believe you." I gave Jean a reassuring smile then waved down the bartender. "Hi sir, uh-" oh no, I had never ordered alcohol. I had no clue what to say and Jean was just as clueless as me.

"Scotty, get these lovely ladies two gins, on me." I turned to the man next to me propped on his side. He looked like he was in his early thirties with his hair kept back with pomade. He wore a crisp gray suit and cuff links. He was quite handsome for an older man.

Scotty set two glasses in front of Jean and I.
"Enjoy ladies." The man gave us a nod then walked away. We sat there a bit confused by what had just happened. Was this common in a speakeasy?

"Cheers." Jean smiled tipping the glass to her lips. She seemed to enjoy the taste since she kept it down whereas I coughed at the taste of the bitter liquid.

"This is gross." I said looking down at all those who were enjoying their drinks as if it were tea with sugar.

Jean fit in perfectly with this crowd. She had bobbed her hair last week, and wore a fashionable jersey dress. Not to mention the fact that she enjoyed the drinks that I could not finish. My hair on the other hand was long, brown and had been clipped the old fashioned way. I had borrowed a dress from Jean since my mother would never allow me to buy a dress in this fashion because it was expensive and too revealing.

"Let's dance. The band sounds great." Jean jumped off her stool.

"No thanks, you go on." Jean went without hesitation onto the dance floor. I sighed heavily and attempted to finish the gin drink.

"First time?" Scotty asked throwing a rag over his shoulder. I looked up and nodded.

"Yeah, I never had gin."

"I meant at a blind pig." He leaned on the counter.

"Oh, yes." I nervously laughed assuming a blind pig was this place.

"I thought so, what with your long hair and lack of make up you look like a fish out of water. Can you dance?"

I nodded confidently since I had learned at school last year.
"I can." Scotty nodded with a smirk turning to stack the glasses behind him. "Who was that man that ordered my friend and I gin? I want to thank him but I don't see him."

"You really don't know that man?" Scotty asked lifting an eyebrow. Creases formed on his eyes from each facial expression.

"No. Who is he?" Scotty chuckled shaking his head.

"You'll find out soon enough. Can I get you another drink?" I disregarded his comment.

"Just water please." I slid the glass back as Scotty chuckled again.

"You got it rookie." I thanked him while my feet tapped to the jazz tune.

This was what a speakeasy looked like. Everything and everyone was so free and liberated. Short hairstyles, shirt dresses, and cigarettes between red lips showed that the woman were the most liberated of all. I wanted to be exactly that, I wanted to live this life but so much stood in the way.

"Wow! Claire you must dance for the next song!" Jean came over giddy and gay. I stepped off the stool and Jean led me to the floor. I made sure to tuck away my emerald broach into my pocket so that I wouldn't lose it since it was a precious gift from my mother.

We danced the entire night until it was time we had to leave before our parents began to inquire. I attempted to thank Scotty once again but the bar was full so Jean and I made our way out. Before that I glanced back, not only to try and spot the gin man again but also because I knew that I would probably never see or do anything like this again.

"C'mon we have to get back." Jean tugged me up the steps and out the door. A small crowd of both men and woman lingered outside, their faces were barely visible but the smoke they blew out was. "I had so much..." Jean began to speak, but I was suddenly focused on a male silhouette leaned against the cold brick wall checking a pocket watch.

Could I pick it off him? Pocket watches usually bought me a nice amount of money, enough to buy me my own dress to wear out. Maybe even two dresses.

I started in his direction just as he tucked the watch away and headed toward the door of the speakeasy. I deliberately bumped him hard with my left side.

"Whoa." He steadied me with his hands but I shook them off.

"Watch where you're going sir." I demanded angrily.

"My apologies ma'am." And with that he went past me to the door. I grabbed Jean's arm and began to run down the alley into the street since we had to flee before the man realized anything.

"Oh no, Claire please don't tell me-" we stopped running and I showed her the pocket watch and laughed. "That's not funny Claire! You have to give it back." I scoffed tucking the watch into my pocket.

"No, Jean I need the money. Besides it's his fault, he should be more aware of his possession." Jean frowned at me breathing a bit hard. She was not convinced and would never be. "Alright we have to go. No time for a scolding." I weaved my arm through hers then we walked to the train.