"Where words await..."
Gertie Dish was quite one herself. Wrapped, no swaddled in fur from head to toe, she was spitting mad at Crazy Dan Cunningham for standing her up, especially in the oak-lined bar of the Algonquin Hotel, no less. From her girlish anger, no one would ever guess she was the most sentient of New York City’s private detectives, pretty much in a class of her own. (The rest of the boys, not within her earshot, grudgingly admitted as such.) She was also, “eezy on da peepers”, as Nate, a chum of the aforementioned, Dan, was given to say. And in that particular category, Nate’s personal allegiance notwithstanding, she was unquestionably, without peer.
It was said she put the “broad” in Broadway, and all the other Broadway babes, agreed.
Now, professionally, she always got her man.
But, personally, the elusive Mr. Cunningham was a whole ‘nother kettle of fish.
“Where is that louse?”, she fumed, poking one of the pointed toes of her red patent stiletto heels into the fleshy but tender shin of the also aforementioned, Nate.
“Don’t blame me, Gertie...you know Danny wouldn’t stiff you on deliberate”, Nate whined.
That was only partially true, but in this case, quite painfully correct given the current situation. For Danny was, himself, at that particular moment, wishing he were smack in the midst of Gertie’s furor.
Alas, tied to a chair in the back room of Mulroney’s Saloon, he could only dream of Gertie’s wrath.
Copyright M.E. Garafolo 2013