Story cover for The Golden Twenties: Tales of a Flapper by BaillieDaily
The Golden Twenties: Tales of a Flapper
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    Reads 185
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    Parts 3
  • WpHistory
    Time 25m
  • WpView
    Reads 185
  • WpVote
    Votes 5
  • WpPart
    Parts 3
  • WpHistory
    Time 25m
Ongoing, First published Jun 28, 2013
The year is 1925, and 17 year old Evelyn Truce, raised debutante, turned flapper, is on the hunt for a lover. She knows the guy well, 20 year old William Dale, son of an infamous bootlegger. The only problem is that he is already with her sister, and having a secret affair with someone she knows quite well--her best friend. And on top of that? An arch rival bootlegger, Bobby Baxter, has pulled her into a ring she's not sure how to get out of, and her friend is becoming an up-and-coming star!

Follow Evelyn's misadventures through a period of time when the nights never quit, the dancing never stopped, and love was scandalous--so scandalous that some would die for it.
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Prohibition is the law of the land, but Nellie needs cash - after socking a gangster in the face, she's got ten days to make it right. Frightened and caught empty-handed, Nellie turns bootlegger. She accepts a job from her sly friend Lola to pick up some liquor. It should be a cinch, seeing as how Nellie's dependable mechanic friend Felix volunteers to help drive her car. But an encounter at a speakeasy sends idealistic cop Lester on the chase - and he's not exactly looking for cash. As tensions between Chicago lawmen and gangs grow worse by the day, all the fast talking in the world might not be enough to keep Nellie and her friends out of jail. Or alive. * * * * * * * * * * Felix drums his fingers along the steering wheel. A man exits the other car, dressed to the nines with a fine-looking fedora. A very bad feeling begins to swirl inside my chest. He's certainly no cop. The attendant is hurrying with the pump. Felix has tensed beside me, staring with fascination directly ahead. "Are they watching us?" "The one fella is." Felix presses his lips together. But he knows we can't leave. We need the gas. Felix has a back-up can of it stowed somewhere but that's for emergencies. Is this a real emergency? One of the other fellas hops out. Before the door slams I notice what his still-seated friend is holding. A tommy gun. My skin prickles. Felix pales. We're just playing at bootlegging now. But those folks are the real deal-complete with hired guns to protect their hooch. Felix's hand moves to the starter and I knock it away. The one in the fedora has seen us. He casually makes his way over and I know our story isn't good enough; this guy will notice we snooped even when we didn't mean to and we'll be in some sort of a mess. So I ditch our story. I throw myself at Felix and kiss him as thoroughly as I know how.