Read Online Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford - Free Book Online
Authors: Jamie Ford
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Hacking and coughing, he puffed away as if it were a competition and he was the losing team working toward a comeback. Henry listened as the old man caught his breath between draws. ‘He’s in there, doing a fine job – you a fan of his or something?’
‘I’m just a friend – and I wanted to come down and hear Oscar Holden. I’m a fan of Oscar’s.’
‘Me too,’ Keiko added, getting swept up in the moment, crowding close to Henry.
The old man stubbed his cigarette out on the worn heel of his shoe, then tossed the butt in the nearest garbage can. ‘You a fan of Oscar’s, huh?’ He pointed at Henry’s button. ‘Oscar got an all-Chinese fan club these days?’
Henry covered the button with his coat. ‘This is just … my father’s …’
‘It’s OK, kid, some days I wish I was Chinese too.’ The old man laughed a gravelly smoker’s laugh that trailed into a cough, wheezing and spitting on the ground. ‘Well, if you’re friends of Sheldon the Sax Man and fans of Oscar the Piano Man, I figure Oscar probably wouldn’t mind having a couple little kids from the fan club in his house tonight. Now you won’t tell no one about this, will you?’
Henry looked at Keiko, unsure if the old man was kidding or not. She just kept smiling; her eager grin was larger thanhis. Both shook their heads no. ‘We won’t tell a soul,’ Keiko promised.
‘Great. I need you two fan club kids to do me a little favor if you want admittance to the club tonight.’
Henry deflated a bit as he watched the old man take some slips of paper out of his shirt pocket, handing one to each of them. He compared his note with Keiko’s. They were almost identical. Some sort of scribbled writing and a signature – from a doctor.
‘Now you take these to the pharmacy on Weller – you tell ’em it’s on our account, you bring it back, and you get in.’
‘I don’t think I understand,’ Henry said. ‘This is medicine …’
‘It’s a prescription for Jamaican Ginger – a secret ingredient around here. This is how the world works, son. With the war, everything’s being rationed – sugar, gasoline, tires – booze . Plus, they don’t let us have a liquor license in the colored clubs, so we do what they did a few years back, during the Prohibition. We make it and shake it, baby.’ The old black man pointed to a neon sign of a martini tumbler that hung above the doorway. ‘For medicinal purposes, you all know – go on now.’
Henry looked at Keiko, not sure what to do or what to believe. It didn’t seem like that big a request. He must have gone to the drugstore a hundred times for his mother. Besides, Henry loved to snack on dried ginger. Maybe this was something like that.
‘We’ll be right back.’ Keiko tugged at Henry’s coat, leading him back out the alley and around to Jackson Street. Weller was one block over.
* * *
‘Does this make us bootleggers?’ Henry asked, when he saw the rows of bottles through the drugstore window. He was both nervous and excited at the prospect. He’d listened to spy dramas on the radio as the FBI busted up smuggling rings coming down from Canada. You rooted for the good guys, but when you played cops and robbers outside the next day, you always wanted to be the bad guy.
‘I don’t think so. It’s not illegal anymore – besides, we’re just running errands. Like he said, they sell it, but they can’t buy from the white places, so they make it.’
Henry gave up any concern about wrongdoing and headed into the Owl Drug Store, which conveniently stayed open until eight. Bootleggers don’t go to pharmacies, he told himself. You can’t go to jail for picking up an order, can you?
If the skinny old druggist thought it was odd for two little Asian kids each to be picking up a bottle that was 80 percent alcohol, he didn’t say a word. Truth be told, by the way he squinted at the prescriptions and labels with an enormous handheld magnifying glass, he probably didn’t even
‘I’m just a friend – and I wanted to come down and hear Oscar Holden. I’m a fan of Oscar’s.’
‘Me too,’ Keiko added, getting swept up in the moment, crowding close to Henry.
The old man stubbed his cigarette out on the worn heel of his shoe, then tossed the butt in the nearest garbage can. ‘You a fan of Oscar’s, huh?’ He pointed at Henry’s button. ‘Oscar got an all-Chinese fan club these days?’
Henry covered the button with his coat. ‘This is just … my father’s …’
‘It’s OK, kid, some days I wish I was Chinese too.’ The old man laughed a gravelly smoker’s laugh that trailed into a cough, wheezing and spitting on the ground. ‘Well, if you’re friends of Sheldon the Sax Man and fans of Oscar the Piano Man, I figure Oscar probably wouldn’t mind having a couple little kids from the fan club in his house tonight. Now you won’t tell no one about this, will you?’
Henry looked at Keiko, unsure if the old man was kidding or not. She just kept smiling; her eager grin was larger thanhis. Both shook their heads no. ‘We won’t tell a soul,’ Keiko promised.
‘Great. I need you two fan club kids to do me a little favor if you want admittance to the club tonight.’
Henry deflated a bit as he watched the old man take some slips of paper out of his shirt pocket, handing one to each of them. He compared his note with Keiko’s. They were almost identical. Some sort of scribbled writing and a signature – from a doctor.
‘Now you take these to the pharmacy on Weller – you tell ’em it’s on our account, you bring it back, and you get in.’
‘I don’t think I understand,’ Henry said. ‘This is medicine …’
‘It’s a prescription for Jamaican Ginger – a secret ingredient around here. This is how the world works, son. With the war, everything’s being rationed – sugar, gasoline, tires – booze . Plus, they don’t let us have a liquor license in the colored clubs, so we do what they did a few years back, during the Prohibition. We make it and shake it, baby.’ The old black man pointed to a neon sign of a martini tumbler that hung above the doorway. ‘For medicinal purposes, you all know – go on now.’
Henry looked at Keiko, not sure what to do or what to believe. It didn’t seem like that big a request. He must have gone to the drugstore a hundred times for his mother. Besides, Henry loved to snack on dried ginger. Maybe this was something like that.
‘We’ll be right back.’ Keiko tugged at Henry’s coat, leading him back out the alley and around to Jackson Street. Weller was one block over.
* * *
‘Does this make us bootleggers?’ Henry asked, when he saw the rows of bottles through the drugstore window. He was both nervous and excited at the prospect. He’d listened to spy dramas on the radio as the FBI busted up smuggling rings coming down from Canada. You rooted for the good guys, but when you played cops and robbers outside the next day, you always wanted to be the bad guy.
‘I don’t think so. It’s not illegal anymore – besides, we’re just running errands. Like he said, they sell it, but they can’t buy from the white places, so they make it.’
Henry gave up any concern about wrongdoing and headed into the Owl Drug Store, which conveniently stayed open until eight. Bootleggers don’t go to pharmacies, he told himself. You can’t go to jail for picking up an order, can you?
If the skinny old druggist thought it was odd for two little Asian kids each to be picking up a bottle that was 80 percent alcohol, he didn’t say a word. Truth be told, by the way he squinted at the prescriptions and labels with an enormous handheld magnifying glass, he probably didn’t even
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