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Chapter 5: Rio Rita
In New York in 1928 the speakeasies were everywhere, in the basements of mansions, in penthouses off Park Avenue, in Greenwich Village cellars, in Wall Street office buildings, in brownstone rooming houses, in tenements, in two-flats in the Bronx, in Bay Ridge hardware stores.
Sometimes they were called clubs and when they were posh and had entertainment at night they were called night clubs. The carriage trade had its pick of the swank drinking resorts, places where all that was needed was the proper password and the price. The night-life crowd wanted entertainment with their drinking and the better speakeasies featured women torch singers and piano players and sometimes an orchestra and chorus girls and the best solo and duet dancers in town.
Rita Marascho was still looking for a night club or theater job as a chorus girl.
Charlie Desmond had dumped her and she no longer lived in the apartment on West 48th Street. She had a room in a Greenwich Village rooming house, and each week when she paid the rent she was very much aware that her savings were running out. Rita told herself she had to find a dancing job soon or else give up the idea and look for something else. She was afraid to think of what the something else might be. She wondered if she was good for nothing but being in bed with a man. She’d always thought she’d have a career as a dancer, but now she wasn’t so sure any more. But she kept trying. Nearly every day she rode the subway uptown to bother people that she knew in the clubs about a job. She went out on dates with other girls and always the first thing she wanted to know about a man was what connections he had in Manhattan. There were hundreds of girls working as dancers in New York and Rita was determined to become one of them.
One day a girl named Harriet told Rita about a job opening at the Rendezvous Club. “One of the girls quit,” Harriet said. “Maybe if you get over there right away you can get the job.”
“Oh, you’re a honey,” Rita said. “Who runs that place?”
“His name is Tony Provo.”
“I’m going there now.”
“Listen, I’d better tell you about Tony. He likes to feel the girls up whenever he has the chance. You know what I mean?”
“Yes, I know what you mean.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Rita kissed Harriet’s cheek. “I can take care of myself, don’t you worry.”
After that Rita hurried over to the Rendezvous Club on West 52nd Street. The man at the door let her in without any trouble, and when she told the bartender she wanted to see Tony Provo about a job as a dancer, he winked at her and had one of the cigarette girls take her to Tony’s office.
Tony looked at her when she walked in. “Yeah, what is it?”
“I heard there’s an opening for a chorus girl.”
Tony Provo looked at her again. Then he told the cigarette girl to leave. “Close the door,” he said to Rita.
He sat behind the cluttered desk with a cigar in his mouth, his eyes on her red dress. She was happy she’d worn red today. She thought red was her best color.
Tony puffed his cigar and the blue smoke rose over his head to the ceiling. His eyes looked half closed, as if he were thinking about something. “What’s your experience?”
“I did a few things on Broadway. Just little things, you know?”
“Like what?”
“Well, I was a stand-in in Desert Song.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Did you see it? Wasn’t it terrific?”
“What are you good at?”
“I’m very good at the tango.”
“The tango?”
“Yes, that’s my specialty.”
“Listen, right now we don’t need nobody doing a tango. What we got room for is another girl on the chorus line. One two, one two, you know what I mean?”
“That’s just what I want.”
“Okay, let’s see what you look like. Take your dress off.”
She smiled and made a half-turn away from him and then she lifted the dress and pulled it off over her head. She wondered what kind of a look she ought to give him. He still had the cigar in his mouth and she could hardly see his face because of the smoke.
She decided to look demure. She held her hands in front of her body as she turned to face him again. She pushed one knee forward and to the side to give him a better view of her legs. The flesh- colored stockings were held up by straps attached to a garter belt. The skimpy brassiere didn’t canlı bahis şirketleri do much to hide her full breasts.
Tony kept his eyes on her. He took the cigar out of his mouth, looked at her, then stuck the cigar in his mouth again. Keeping the cigar in one corner of his mouth, he said: “Turn around.”
Rita turned around to give him a back view.
“Nice,” Tony said. “You’re a pretty girl.”
She turned to face him again and smile. “Thank you.”
“You want the job bad, huh?”
“Yes I do.”
“Maybe we can work something out. It depends how bad you want it.”
“Very bad,” Rita said.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you can take off the brassiere.”
She unhooked the brassiere, peeled it away and put it on top of her dress on the chair.
“That’s better,” Tony said. “That’s much better. Come over here and let me get a squeeze. I wish we could show the girls naked on top, we’d get a lot more business.”
When she went around the desk to stand in front of him, he reached up with both hands to squeeze her breasts. She forced a smile as she looked down at his face.
Then he dropped his hands and he made a gesture at his lap. “You want to do something for me, you take care of the lollipop.”
She tried to keep the unhappiness out of her face as she knelt down on the floor between his legs. She unbuttoned the front of his trousers and she brought out a stubby penis that was still soft. Tony grunted as she took it in her mouth.
One is the same as the other, Rita thought. Once you had it in your mouth there wasn’t much difference between them.
Tony patted her head and said: “You can start tomorrow night. You come around in the afternoon and you work out a little with the girls.”
* * *
Well I’m here, Rita thought. The first night she danced in the Rendezvous Club her excitement was intense. Her head was filled with the music of the small orchestra and she felt as though she could dance forever.
There were twelve girls in the chorus line. They did one routine after the other, working in perfect synchrony, kicking their legs and twisting their bodies as though they were one person. Even their faces looked similar, the same shade of lipstick, the same dab of rouge on each cheek, each girl wearing the same sequined costume. For the first time Rita was convinced she was as good a dancer as anyone, certainly as good as any of these girls on the stage with her.
As usual the club was crowded, all the tables filled at midnight. Half the people in the club looked like rich Park Avenue swells and the rest looked like gangsters of one sort or another. The liquor was served in coffee cups and the waitresses were kept busy carrying bottle after bottle of champagne and Scotch and rye and gin to the tables.
Between appearances on the stage, the twelve chorus girls crowded into their small dressing room. After dancing with the girls in the afternoon, Rita was friendly with some of them. She listened to the chatter of the girls as they fixed their makeup in front of the mirrors. The air was filled with face powder. One of the girls came over to Rita and smiled at her. Her name was Ingrid and Rita had already decided that Ingrid was a lesbian.
“Well, how do you like it?” Ingrid said. “How do you like being a performing sardine?”
“I love it.”
Ingrid laughed. “You’re good. You’re better than some of the others here.”
“Thanks.”
Ingrid’s eyes were on Rita’s breasts. “And you’re pretty too. Why don’t we have breakfast together after we finish here?”
“No, I think I’ll just go home and sleep.”
“Afraid of me?”
“Why should I be afraid of you?”
But Ingrid was already walking away with an expression of annoyance on her face.
* * *
That year the dancer George Raft was one of the rages of midtown Manhattan. He was billed as “The Fastest Dancer in the World.” Fred Astaire caught Raft’s act at the El Fey Club and he said Raft did the fastest, most exciting Charleston he’d ever seen.
Raft was a great favorite of society women. He’d started his career as a dancer in Manhattan tearooms, dancing with women for money, many of them rich women who took Raft to bed to enjoy his other talents. After he became well known on the night club and speakeasy circuit, the Park Avenue women continued to pursue canlı kaçak iddaa him.
Apart from his life as a dancer, Raft was also a friend of some of the more prominent bootleggers and gangsters in New York. Some of them were old friends from Hell’s Kitchen, the neighborhood where he’d grown up, and others were friends he’d made as an entertainer in speakeasies. He danced most often at the El Fey Club, but he also did brief engagements at other clubs around town, and in the afternoons he did matinees on the Broadway stage.
Rita was at the Rendezvous Club only a short time when George Raft was booked for one week as a featured performer. She watched him dance as often as she could and she thought he was wonderful. When he wasn’t on the dance floor, he was the sharpest dresser she’d ever seen. He wore stylish suits with wide lapels, a black shirt with a white tie, high trousers and spats and pointed shoes with a mirror polish. His black hair was slicked down with Vaseline and the women would start panting for him as soon as he started dancing.
One night after his performance, Raft stopped Rita in the dank corridor outside the dressing rooms. “I watched you kicking when you were dancing,” Raft said.
Rita blushed. “You did?”
“Yeah, you’re not bad. You’re new, aren’t you?”
“Just a few weeks ago.”
“They could do worse. You’re one of the better dancers out there.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“And you’ve got the looks too. You’re a knockout. What’s your name?”
“Rita Murray. My real name is Rita Marascho.”
“You’re better off with Murray.”
“I think you’re a great dancer, the best dancer in New York.”
Raft grinned. “Only when Fred Astaire is out of town.”
“You remind me of Rudolf Valentino.”
“And you remind me how nice it is to be with a pretty girl. Let’s go somewhere after you finish here.”
“I’d love to.”
Later in the dressing room, some of the chorus girls teased Rita about her date with George Raft.
“He likes them rich, honey. You don’t have a chance unless you’ve got a bundle in the bank.”
Rita didn’t care. She was thrilled at the idea of going out with him. It could always lead to something. She thought of them doing a duet together, dancing a tango at the clubs. She imagined the critics raving about the new dance team Raft and Murray. Why not? she thought. It’s New York and anything is possible.
* * *
After the last show that night, Rita left the Rendezvous Club with George Raft. She was proud to be seen with him and she imagined that any women who saw them together would be envious of her. Well now it’s my turn, Rita thought. She had a new job as a dancer and here she was stepping out with George Raft.
They had breakfast in an all-night place on Broadway. Raft seemed to know everyone and he had an easy smile for anyone who said hello to him. He looked so handsome in his grey suit and black shirt and white tie. Rita told herself she could fall in love with him.
After they had breakfast, Raft suggested they have champagne at his apartment. “There’s nothing better than champagne in the morning,” he said. “How about it?”
“All right,” Rita said. “I love champagne.”
Raft chuckled as he hugged her shoulders.
In the taxi he told her stories about the El Fey Club. Sooner or later everyone in New York who was important came to the El Fey Club and Raft had met them all.
Then they arrived at the building where he lived. They left the taxi and rode up together in the elevator. Raft amused her by doing a soft shoe dance. Rita laughed as she watched his pointed black shoes slide around on the floor of the elevator.
He hummed a tune as he led her into a large clean apartment. She felt like waltzing. She thought the living room was lovely. The cream-colored furniture was like something off a movie set. She bubbled with excitement.
Raft put a Helen Morgan record on the Victrola. He brought out a bottle of champagne, opened it and laughed as the cork popped. He had the most gorgeous teeth Rita ever seen in a man.
They drank a toast together, and when she sat down on the sofa he laughed again as he looked at her legs. “Beautiful,” he said. “You’re a beautiful girl.”
Rita blushed.
As he sat down on the sofa beside her and leaned forward to kiss her, she closed her eyes and fell into canlı kaçak bahis his arms. He was so different from the other men she’d known. He was so polished. He slid his tongue inside her mouth, his hands moving over her body. She quivered as he fondled her breasts.
“I feel like ripping your clothes off,” he said.
“If you do that I won’t have anything to wear.”
“Then take them off. Take everything off.”
“Ooooh.”
“Ooooh what?”
“Then I’ll be naked.”
“That’s right you will, won’t you? Come on, do it for me.”
“All right.”
Her legs felt wobbly as she rose up, and she wondered if he was as cockeyed as she was. Probably not. The way he looked at her, he didn’t look cockeyed at all.
She teased him by undressing slowly. She peeled off her dress and then her slip and her brassiere and her panties. He told her to leave her shoes and stockings on. “You’ve got the greatest legs in New York.”
“No I haven’t.”
“Sure you have.”
“As good as Clara Bow?”
“As good as Clara Bow. You even look like her.”
“Oh, you’re teasing me.”
“Come on over here, cutie.”
When she walked over to him, he made her turn around and then she giggled as she felt him kissing her buttocks. She looked over her shoulder at him, at his slick black hair and at what she could see of his face pressed against the globes of her ass.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t you like it?”
“What do you think?”
“How about this? You like this too?” He pried her buttocks apart and licked her anus, his tongue fluttering on it and around it.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she said.
“You’ve had it here before, haven’t you?”
“You shouldn’t ask that.”
“Answer me.”
“Yes I have.”
He rose up. “You stay right here, I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“Just don’t move.”
She watched him leave the room. She reached down to get the glass of champagne, and she sipped the champagne as she listened to Helen Morgan’s voice. Rita could feel Raft’s saliva between her buttocks. God I love him, she thought. Then she told herself she was crazy drunk and she giggled out loud.
When Raft came back he had a small jar in his hand. Rita blushed when she realized it was a jar of Vaseline.
“What’s that for?”
He grinned at her and kissed her. “To make everything perfect.”
“I shouldn’t let you.”
“Why not? I’ve been thinking about it all night and it’s making me nuts.”
She felt his fingers between her buttocks. “Oooh.”
“That’s better.”
“Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?”
Raft chuckled. “You bet I am.”
Then he pulled away from her and she trembled with excitement as she watched him undress. When he was naked he made her bend over the sofa and he pressed against her buttocks to get his penis in her ass.
“Easy does it,” he said.
“Be careful, will you?”
“I’m the best, cutie.”
She felt some pain now, but it was only a slight burning sensation that quickly passed. She thought she was relaxed enough to take anything he had and anyway she did want it. He continued pushing forward until he had every inch of his hard cock in her rectum.
After that he began a marvelous movement, slowly at first, and then the pace increasing as he thrust his cock in and out of her ass with more vigor. He was pumping her now, almost doing a dance behind her, thrusting in and out of her with deep lunges, pulling back gently, then pushing forward again.
“How’s that?” he said.
“Oh God, don’t stop moving!”
He snickered. “You’re wide open, honey. It’s beautiful.”
It was everything she’d hoped for, everything she’d been craving all evening. She started rubbing her clitoris with her fingers while he did it, and soon she was having one orgasm after another. She had the most violent climax of all when she felt him spending in her bowels.
Later, when he was asleep in the bedroom, she looked at him and she wondered if he’d ever take her out again. She guessed he wouldn’t. He had hundreds of women running after him and she was nothing to him but a one night stand. She didn’t care about George Raft. She didn’t care about the way he did it to her in the living room. She told herself she didn’t care one way or the other. She wondered where they’d be in ten or twenty years. She wondered where George Raft would be and where she would be. Maybe I’ll get a break, she thought. All it takes is one break and you’ve got everything. All it takes is one break and you’re on top of the world.
— End —
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