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Roy let go of Herbie, who scurried into the crowds on Forty-second Street without even a backward glance to see if Theta was all right.
“Roy. I work here,” Theta pleaded.
“Yeah,” Roy said, brushing down his sleeves and righting his jacket. “And I wanna know when I get to meet the big cheese, Ziegfeld. We made a deal.”
“And I’m working on it.”
“Now.”
“He’s not even here, Roy. That’s what I was tryin’ to tell ya. He’s got a show in New Haven. He’ll be back in a few days, and I promise I’ll get you in first thing,” Theta said, heart hammering.
Roy turned soft, his big brown eyes like a doe’s. “I miss ya, Betty Sue. Miss you like a goddamn ache in my guts.”
It was how he used to pull her back to him after a beating. He’d cry and say he was sorry and that he’d never do it again. Then he’d tell her how beautiful she was, how he couldn’t live without her, and Theta would give in. Worse, she’d think it was her fault somehow. A piece of that old wiring sparked inside Theta for a minute: Look how much he loves me. But she wasn’t that girl anymore. She’d had a life outside of Roy, her own life, with friends and the Follies—and Memphis. If it hadn’t been for Memphis and how good he was to her, she might think what Roy was giving her really was love. She knew better now.
“I’m gonna take you out like a queen. You like that, huh? I got money. Show you a good time. Steak. Dancing. The works! I want everybody to see us together. Want everybody to know you’re my girl.” There on the street in front of everyone, he kissed her. And she remembered that Roy didn’t love; he claimed.
Embarrassed, Theta pulled away. “Okay, Roy. Sure. Sounds good.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” Roy said, squaring his fedora on his head.
“Tonight?”
“Tonight,” Roy said.
That night, Roy picked Theta up for their date in a fancy new Studebaker.
“A loaner from Dutch,” Roy crowed. “This is just the beginning.”
He pinned a corsage to her dress and kissed her, and Theta nearly vomited.
“Where we going?” she asked.
“The Hotsy Totsy!”
Theta felt faint. “Oh. You sure you wanna go there?”
“Whaddaya mean? I hear it’s the place to be! Dutch has his eye on it. He wants a report from me.”
“Dutch wants to take over the Hotsy Totsy? But doesn’t Papa Charles run that club?” Theta said, worried.
“Not for long.” Roy gave her a sidelong glance. “Say, how do you know Papa Charles?”
“Oh. I just… I heard. He’s real popular up there. Gets written up in the papers.”
“You get up to Harlem a lot?”
“Here and there.”
“Here and there,” Roy sneered. He stared at her. “Why do I got the idea there’s something you ain’t on the level about, Theta? You wouldn’t lie to me, would ya? You know I don’t like lies.”
“I know, Roy. It’s swell you taking me out like this.” Theta forced herself to smile. She didn’t want to rile him up. But silently, she prayed: Please, please don’t let us run into Memphis.
When they arrived at the Hotsy Totsy, Theta was a mess. All it would take was one slip from the people she knew there, and Roy would know the truth about Memphis. She’d worn two pairs of gloves in case her hands got the idea to act up, but around Roy, she was usually too frightened to make even a spark. The waiter placed a new table right up front for them, close to the action, and for once, Theta wished she could fade into the background. When she saw Alma coming toward her, all smiles, Theta froze.
“Say, Theta! Don’t you look a picture,” Alma cooed. “Memphis is ’round back. I could—”
Theta cut her off. “Alma! I don’t believe you’ve met my husband. Roy Stoughton.”
