Open log - The Candlelight Club

[una_persson]

Who: Everyone and anyone. Talk to Una, talk amongst yourselves, flirt, bicker—your choice.
What: Just an ordinary night out for the good people of West End.
Where: the Candlelight Club, a small, not-very-skeevy cabaret that (like many, though not all others in town) is a sort of neutral zone for the various law enforcement and criminal operations. (The owner will not take anyone's shit and has been known to throw people out for being jerks.)
When: A night in early fall.

An evening at the Candlelight Club usually started with some kind of a comedy act, or maybe a magician, to warm up the crowd. Then Miss Persson came on and sang; she always finished with "Someone to Watch Over Me". And after her was the act that a lot of the men came for—the fan dancers, Trudie, Suzie, and Lucie. (Una was fairly certain those weren't their real names, but she got along with them reasonably well. Though she never told them she had been a Ziegfeld girl; Lucie's envy in particular would have been too much to bear.)

While the dancers came on and did their burlesque, Miss Persson made her way out into the club to chat, socialize, and charm. If it so happened that people were doing careful sleight-of-hand with flasks under the tables, neither she nor anyone else noticed, or admitted to noticing.

Comments

[truth_is_cold]

Gary was one of the guys that usually sat in the front when someone like Una was on stage. He was polite with the ladies, but didn't hesitate to let them know he enjoyed their company. Sometimes though, when he had a "rough day", he would sit in the back, in the dark, and relatively quietly.

That's what happened that night. He ignored the offerings of anything to make him feel better.

But he still wanted to say hello, bring her a bauble as he was sure that so many men did. He was rather strange that he'd bring her fine-art postcards. He couldn't afford the real thing, but it seemed like a nice thought to give a woman that usually had men gawking over her like a piece of arm candy. Until he could get the chance, though, he'd sit in the back and only in the moment he lit up a cigarette for himself could a busted lip and black eye be seen.

[una_persson]

She had just eluded the soft, grabby hands on Mr Harris, the city's most prominent banker, when her eyes fell on Gary in the back. She strolled over to his table to say hello. He was one of the men she liked—a regular, and one of the nice ones.

"I was wondering where you—oh my goodness, what happened?"

[truth_is_cold]

Regardless of his current condition, he aimed for one of his most charming smirks. What was the point in showing your face at all if you couldn't put on your best one when you needed to.

"You know I wouldn't miss a show. You girls need all the support you can get." Support mostly being when someone got obviously, stupidly drunk before they wandered in and they needed a gentleman to pull them off. If they really needed that at all; he had to admit, even if they didn't, it must be nice to have so many people willing to jump to their feet for them.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a couple of postcards. He didn't know if she actually kept them or not, but it gave him an excuse to keep going back to the museum and look at the large paintings he would never be able to afford. Both of them were Klimt, and a little unique in their design.

[una_persson]

She sat down across from him. "Ooh, what have you brought this time?" She wasn't just flirting; she really loved his postcards and the latest one was always stuck on her dressing room mirror. She took the new cards in her hands and examined them both. "They're lovely," she breathed. "Thank you." She leaned forward, reaching out a light hand to brush his injured face. "Are you sure you're all right, though?"

[truth_is_cold]

"I'll be fine." He reveled in even the slight attention, tipping his head to enjoy the touch greedily for however long it lasted. It wasn't as if people weren't kind to him; he coaxed friendliness out of as many people as he managed fistfights and many of them quite lovely individuals. But that didn't stop him from indulging in every one of them, especially hers, as if he was half starved.

"I'm just in a bad line of work."

Whether he meant the one she must suspect if not know, or the one he doubts she would suspect because he was occasionally egotistical like that sometimes, was up in the air at the moment. He had liked being a cop, but some things about the emotion and the secrecy were wearing on him as an agent.

[una_persson]

"Aren't we all, dear," she said, her smile soft and a little sad. She was under no illusions about anyone here, particularly not anyone who showed up with a split lip. She never asked for details, though. She knew better, for one thing, and there was also an innate uncertainty as to which side she was actually on, and which one she wanted to be on.

Big questions, and no one to talk it over with. Which was why it was easier to flirt and pretend there wasn't a serious thought in her pretty head.

"I just hope it doesn't get worse. It makes me sad to see you out of sorts, you know."

[truth_is_cold]

That selfishly made him happy that she was interested in his well-being, despite the fact that he might be worrying her in some way. At least that it meant the brutality ended in... well... something.

"You seem to be pretty good at yours. You don't like it?" Which would surprise him if she didn't. Una was amazing at it.

[una_persson]

"Oh, I can hardly complain," she said. "I do love what I do, of course. And this place is so much cosier than most." She gestured around the little cabaret; she really did mean it. But she would have liked to tell him how she wanted something more out of her life—not just greater stardom on stage, but something more meaningful, more ... substantial.

But to say so didn't fit in with the role she was playing. "There's always possibilities, of course. But I'm happy here." Unspoken: for now.

[truth_is_cold]

"There are more possibilities than there were." He said, glancing her over. That was one of his bad habits- he was never one to spare a scrutinizing eye and he made no secret of it, for ill or better intentions.

"You're probably too good for 90% of them."

He'd heard the story about the incident up North, and knew Una had appeared at the club not long afterwards. Being an agent, he probably had more access to relevant information than most. But he could only make guesses, and with the patience she'd shown him he didn't pity the man that got on her bad side.

[una_persson]

"It's sweet of you to say that," she said, and lowered her gaze to the table. Part of it was an affected coquetry, but part of it was an unwonted and genuine shyness in the face of his regard. And perhaps just a dash of shame. She wasn't really sorry for anything she'd ever done, but she hadn't actually wanted to kill her old lover all the same.

Even if he'd thoroughly deserved it, the son of a bitch.

"I suppose I'll figure out that ten percent eventually," she said, light again. "But in the meantime I'll continue to enjoy myself here. Especially since the company is so congenial."

[truth_is_cold]

"It's not sweet. It's the truth. If I had it my way you would be here to sing any time I felt the need for a quality voice." Which made him wonder if that was part of why he didn't investigate his very slight suspicions further; outright greed and selfishness. He strongly suspected that he wasn't her type, but that only kept his admiration modest. "I've been known to be irritatingly perceptive."

And then in a dark joke, he waved his hand beside of his face on the side of the darkened eye. "Except when I've managed to ruin my peripheral vision."

That curiosity was sparking, though, and he couldn't quite shut it up. "What was it that you did before?"

[una_persson]

She managed to not flinch at the question. "Nothing you'd have heard of," she lied. "I came over from England at the invitation of a cousin in Boston, but once I got there—well, let's just say I didn't realise how hard she and her husband were to get along with these days." A slightly over-theatrical eye-roll. "So I moved to New York, but you know how it is—a tiny, tiny sprat in such a huge pond. So I came here."

Almost none of it was true, but the story was so well-rehearsed that she almost believed it.

[truth_is_cold]

For a moment, it was hit or miss over whether he'd rise to the bait. It wasn't his investigation, and it wasn't his business; or so he'd tell himself. It kept him from getting too invested in a woman that he could tell was a heart-breaker.

But then he went for it, anyway. "New York is a tough sort of town. I can see why you'd want to get out of there."

His fingers itched for his drink, and he kept from going for it. His mouth felt a little dry.

[una_persson]

"It's much quieter here," she agreed, "and for once, I don't mind that one bit. Well, quieter for someone like me, anyway. Not so quiet for you, apparently." A raised eyebrow. Of course, she had him figured for some kind of tough—so many men here, it seemed, were up to no good in one way or another. Gary didn't seem to be one of the truly dangerous ones—just a bit of muscle, maybe. Cleverer than he let on, though, she thought.

[collector]

For Irving, this club was a quiet neutral zone where he didn't get too involved in any of his politics. It was useful to have something not to do with anything in particular, neither above nor below the law. Something liminal, he thought, his drink crossing his lips. An open door was always better than a closed one.

So he enjoyed himself, seated towards the back, taking in a moment to observe unobserved--to be a mirror turned black. Yet even now, he wore a half-smile.

[una_persson]

After she'd talked to Gary, Una left him—with a little secret reluctance—and went on to continue her round of chatting and charming. It wasn't specifically called out as part of her job, but it was encouraged as being good for business.

She'd met Mr Braxiatel a few times before, and had liked him, though she had to admit he also made her nervous. Details didn't escape this man, she guessed, and sometimes she found she was trying too hard to maintain her carefully learned accent when she was around him—and she wondered if he noticed that, too.

Nerves aside, she smiled brightly at him and came over to his table to say hello.

"Good evening, Mr Braxiatel. And how are you tonight?"

[collector]

What he did or did not notice, he kept to himself. "Tonight, I am charmed by the entertainment." He stood, a hand on the chair beside him. "Could I invite you to sit for a few moments? Your company is always a pleasure."

[una_persson]

"I'd be happy to," she said, and it was true—for one thing, she knew she could count on him to comport himself like a gentleman, always a point in a man's favour. She sat in the offered seat, arranging her gown delicately as she did so. "I'm glad you're enjoying the show."

[collector]

He took the place beside her. "I hope you've been as well?"

[una_persson]

"Oh, I've been having a lovely time," she said. "Another good evening for all of us, really, wouldn't you say? And it's always a good night when the floor show doesn't get too interesting." Meaning, as long as the owner didn't have to throw someone out, which though rare, had been known to happen.