Putting on the Ritz

Chapter Thirteen - Lawrence

Lawrence sat with two of his friends in their usual booth. They were in the secret room which was behind what appeared to be an everyday café called Red Ivy. This secret back chamber was simply dubbed 1914 after the year that the building had been erected. Lawrence knew the sly friend sitting across from him, whom had very much to do with the beverages served at such an establishment, had gone to this underground place even back before it was illegal to serve such beverages, back when it had simply been a meeting space for Aviation enthusiasts. But Lawrence had only discovered this little gem of a room when one of his favorite pastimes had spilled over into the realm of illegal activity with the ratification of the eighteenth amendment.

The music roared and couples danced on the small dance floor in front of the stage. Lawrence took a long drag of his cigarette and traced a finger around the rim of his gin filled teacup. He laughed inwardly at the irony of having Sunday Tea earlier in the day, the same tea party which sealed his fate as a soon-to-be married man. This teacup, in this setting, was more his style. Well, perhaps he didn't enjoy drinking his gin out of a teacup per se, rather than an actual glass designed specifically for just such a liquid, but the purpose of the teacup was to conceal its true contents just in case of a raid. Teacups that looked just like Lawrence's littered the tables of 1914, all carrying substances notably more fun than tea.

He had also promised his father not to engage in such a public display of disregard for the law, but his father couldn't have everything. If he was going to be tied down to Clara and live a boring life filled with boring tea parties, then he had every intention of making up for it in the coming months while he was still a free man. Besides, it wasn't illegal to drink alcohol, only to sell it, and Lawrence's worldly goal right now was to drink as much booze as it took to be happy and forgetful.

"Pay up fellas," a familiar man stood in front of their table with a fat hand outstretched. Lawrence squinted, knowing full well who it was and why he was standing in front of him demanding money. The man before him had come to collect the bet on the previous days' baseball game. Babe Ruth had been released from his suspension and Lawrence and Edward, idiots they were, betted against the man.

The room was already beginning to blur as Lawrence reached into the breast pocket of his suit and pulled out a wad of bills. He felt the note that had been placed there earlier, a reminder of how tangled his life had become in just twenty four hours. Virginia had slipped it to him at the Vandercroft's tea party, requesting that he sneak to her house later that night, as was usual on Sundays. He had meant to call her and explain that he couldn't come, but forgot somewhere among the third or fourth drink.

"That's the last time I listen to you," Edward said jokingly to Lawrence and slapped his stash of bills into the man's hand.

Lucian chuckled. "I've only known the guy a year and a half and I know better than to take his advice on gambling."

"Oh, come on," Lawrence said in a guff voice. "It's not all about money."

"Says you," Edward retorted.

Lawrence had grown up with Edward, whose family was just as wealthy as his, and so Lawrence did not know why he would be worried about such a thing as losing out fifty bucks on a baseball game. "Let's just bet on both teams next time then." Lawrence put out his cigarette right on his saucer. "I am just glad to be out of the house, and away from all the madness."

Edward raised his fair brow in Lawrence's direction and took a long sip of gin. Lawrence ignored the skeptical look, and waved over a one of the cigarette girls that he was well acquainted with.

"Hello Fellas. Any Ciggies?" Vera asked the men, but Lawrence had merely called her over as a distraction. He had a cigarette case full, but bought a few more from Vera, as to not waste the girl's time.

"Your father on the war path again?" Edward asked his friend, evidently not distracted by Vera. Having grown up with Lawrence, Edward knew full well of his father's mood swings and fits of anger.

Lawrence wanted to spill out everything about the forced engagement, the threats of his father, and stiff way Clara held herself on Sunday when he asked for her hand - well more or less asked since he had been so reluctant and scared that it had all came out wrong. Lawrence was used to the girls fawning over him, and this stark contrast to the way Clara acting around him, made him rather certain she was anything but fawning. Which begs to question, why would she agree to marry him? He wanted to spill all of this and more to his friend, but he had promised Clara that the engagement would be a secret until the announcement at his father's dinner party. So instead he said rather begrudgingly, "My father is running for mayor."

Lucian, who had been scanning the room, brought his full attention to Lawrence now. "Your father?" He repeated.

It befell to Lawrence that who the mayor was might be of some interest to someone like Lucian who profited from illegal, lucrative business deals. "Don't worry Lou, he has a whole bar of Scotch sitting right out in the open in his office. I don't think he will get in your way." Lawrence drained his teacup. "Not unless you make him look bad somehow," he added bitterly.

One of Lucian's business associates, Lawrence vaguely remembered being called Joe Bernardi, slid into their booth. "Larry, Edward," Joe nodded into each of their directions before turning to his boss.

"Anyone else?" Lawrence asked as he held up his empty teacup and shook it. Lawrence made a staggered path to the bar to collect the next round of drinks, stopping to flirt with Vera on his way. Anything to take his mind off his troubles.

By the time he had made it back, with the help of Vera to carry most of the drinks, Lucian and Joe were in some kind of argument with Edward sitting awkwardly and waiting desperately for his friend to return with the drinks.

Joe slammed his fist on the table, "We will lose all business with Morelli if you don't do this."

Edward slid into the booth so Lawrence could slide in on the end. "What are they arguing about?" he whispered to him.

"Beats me. Something about an Eastern shipment." Edward raised his shoulders.

"Ah, more booze." Lawrence assumed.

"No, I don't think it's booze..."

"Joe, we can talk about this later." Lucian said authoritatively.

"I brought Alonzo here for a better life. I won't let you screw that up for my nephew." Joe's round face was slowly turning a shade of red.

"Al will always have a place with me." Lucian said slouching coolly in the booth and lighting a cigarette. Joe slammed his fist on the table dramatically once more and scuttled his short legs away from their private booth.

"Sorry about that fellas."

Lawrence was too drunk to remember manners, and in fact that was kind of the point of becoming so splifficated. "What was that all about? You aren't planning to hold up the influx of hooch are you?"

Lucian looked at him through narrowed eyes as if he were having an internal debate about answering Lawrence's question. "No," he finally said sitting forward in the booth to ash his cigarette. "He was just wanting to get into a more serious line of cargo."

"Like what?" Edward asked with a quizzical look. "Pen yen?"

Lucian slouched back in the booth once more taking a long, silent drag of his cigarette, which was more of a confirmation than if he had just shouted 'opium' at the top of his lungs.

"What's the difference?" Lawrence's thoughts were so cluttered now that he didn't quite know what he was saying. "Booze. Pen yen. They're both illegal to sell."

Lucian grabbed his cup with his cigarette between the index and middle finger, the smoke from which clouded Lawrence's view of Lucian's grey eyes which peered over the rim while he took a sip. "People can drink without becoming a slave to it," he said matter-of-factly behind the teacup.

Lawrence didn't know why he was arguing. He didn't even know what was coming out of his mouth, he just kept thinking that if he kept talking, kept arguing, that he would not have to think about what his mind was currently trying to forget by drowning itself in gin. "But they are both illegal to distribute. Both are immoral."

Lucian put down his cup. "Lawrence, don't confuse the law with morality. They are not one in the same."