Broken Pieces of Harlem

by Terrence Nolan

Trapped in a room that had spun all around me, all I could make sense of was my mother's heart-shaped pearl locket on the bookshelf.  

✥✥✥ 

She gave it to me the night before she passed. I was fourteen. Her wispy graying brunette hair wrapped around my palm as I dreaded the hot brook of tears rumbling down my cheeks. Her green eyes, like mine, seemed to reciprocate my pain. She finally closed those tired green eyes, and I could feel the weight in my hand become heavier. My heart was crushed underneath that weight. Ever since, I've either worn or kept the locket nearby.  

✥✥✥ 

I rushed to grasp it, and once in my iron grip, I darted for the apartment door. Heavy stomping followed me, which felt as if they were always a half-step away. He grabbed my hair and pulled me backward. I held onto my mother's locket in my right hand, while I grabbed for a recently used shot glass from the kitchen counter with my left. I turned and, in my mind, I had scrunched up my face and pushed the glass through his thick skull. The blood and brain matter would splatter all over the white living room duvet couch covers, but, in actuality, I had only dazed him. I managed to scurry towards the hallway and slammed the door behind me. I took off my heels and raced down the stairs toward the lobby. Luckily, our apartment was on the fifth floor. I bolted past the bellhops and the security guards, who were all shouting my name. I reached the street. In front of me was a black Ford. There was no driver, but the engine was still on. I stepped to the side of it off the curb and looked both ways. I waded across to the other side of the street, dodging other cars and buggies. I voluntarily became swallowed by a crowd of people, so I quickly slid back on my heels and made my way to the subway. I turned around to see if I was being followed.  

No sign of him.  

A sigh of relief escaped my dry mouth. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I went underground. 

✥✥✥ 

Clyde Oliver was a handsome man with a clean jaw and pomade in his slicked-back hair. His burly chest was a sight for sore eyes, and he had a stern yet gentlemanly demeanor. That is, of course, until he became drunk and thought of violence as his first resort. We started living together a few months ago. His throwing of glasses and the never-ending flow of scotch down his throat soon alarmed me. He was a bootlegger. A gangster. Not a big one, but he knew some people. Who? I had no idea. I didn't find out he was one until my boss, who had previously harassed me, wound up dead one morning in his office. When I came home that day, Clyde asked me how work was. A wide smile dawned on his face. He never admitted to it, but I knew he had something to do with the murder. The man was shot straight through the heart. The bullet had passed through his chest. It then drove into a picture frame he had of his wife in front of him. It had shattered into pieces all over the floor.  

✥✥✥ 

I put the locket around my neck so that it hung over my cleavage. The subway was dry and desolate. I found it very odd for a Friday. I ended up hopping off the rail at 125th Street. I was unfamiliar with Harlem, so I just walked with everyone else. Surely, he couldn't have followed me across and uptown. It was nearing dark anyway. The April sky became crisp, and so I looked for a nearby, public place. I saw a large canopy with the name, "Cotton Club" on it. I had heard about it being a nightclub. The only problem was I had forgotten my purse, so I had to sneak onto the subway. Now off, I remained penniless. I walked up gingerly to the man at the door. I played with my black, bobbed hair and matched his gaze.  

“Can I help you, miss?”  

“Yes, you can…or rather, we could…help each other,” I uttered in the most seductive voice I could muster. Here goes nothing, I thought to myself. He looked me up and down and cocked his eyebrow as if to say go on. “Well, sir, a bad man chasing me, and if you let me take shelter in your club, then maybe I can come…find you later.” I batted my eyelashes and turned my head outwards, displaying my neck and collarbone. Well, this is humiliating. My cheeks flushed, and a cold sweat started to drizzle across my forehead.  

“Hmm. Well, you certainly bring up an interesting…erhm…trade,” he stammered out. “Alright.” He unhooked the red rope in front of the door and motioned me inside. He grazed my shoulder with his hand and squeezed it. “I’ll see you later, miss.” And he chuckled to himself as I tried to walk away as quickly as I could.  

I should have been an actress, maybe then I wouldn’t be in this mess, I tried to comfort myself.  

Inside, I found the place to be lit by many glass chandeliers. Wood paneling lined the walls and red velvet seats dotted the common space. At the end were large twin doors. I slowly walked to them and put my ear to their wooden bodies. I could hear a hardy piano melody rise above the mumblings of a crowd from the other side. A low hum of bass and drum started, and people started to applaud. At that point, I decided to slip quietly through the doors. The larger room inside was dimmed due to the performance. A saxophone started to play catch with the piano. The man in front of the stage had a very light glow to his face. He had black skin and sported a fine mustache and wore a black-banned white fedora with a bow on its side. He was smiling as he played his piano. His whole body trembled every time his hands hit the keys. He seemed entranced. I looked around in the audience to see all white faces with done-up hair and formal attire. All the black lace party dresses and tailcoats. I looked back at the door.  

Whites Only. 

“These men are just show-ponies to these people, aren’t they?” I asked no one, under my breath. I shot a glance at a gentleman standing next to me. I whispered to him, “Who’s that man performing?” 

He turned and proclaimed with a very cold stare, “That gentleman there is Duke Ellington, and he is playing with his “posse.”’ The man seemed to sense that I didn’t belong there. He added, “Why, this must be your first time here, ‘cause Mr. Ellington and his band are the house performers. They play here quite often. Mr. Madden is quite fond of them.”  

“Who?” I furrowed my brow. Then my eyes caught a glimpse of a bar, and waiters all with trays of pink and cobalt cocktails. I gulped. As Mr. Ellington’s band was reaching the end of the song; as the piano, a trumpet, and a clarinet were intertwined into a death rattle, I raised my eyes to see the shape of a woman in the far corner of the room. Amid the crowd, she had luckily gone unnoticed and had slipped by all by herself. She was a black woman. I wanted to leave her be, but I found myself making my way over to her. I got close but waited until the start of a new song and a round of applause before I started talking to her. I didn’t want anyone to see us.  

“Hello, miss,” I stuttered. She looked up at me petrified. Her face was that of a woman in her mid-twenties, maybe a little older than I was. She had braided hair and large brown eyes. Her accented cheekbones flooded into her wide-open mouth.  

“Oh, please, miss. Don’t have them throw me out. I just wanted to watch the show.” 

I smiled. “I would never do that to you, miss. I wanted to enjoy the show as well.” She sighed in relief and asked me to sit down. I joined her and started talking to her in light whispers. “What’s your name?” 

“Cassandra,” she muttered. “Yours?” 

“My name is Margery. It’s nice to meet you, Cassandra,” I flashed a gentle smile. She looked away for a second. “You don’t have to be worried. I can tell we’re going to be fantastic friends.” She shot her glance over to me and answered with a shy quiver. 

“I’m sorry, miss, I just can’t help but be nervous around these folk. My parents told me not to come here, but I heard the Duke was playing, and I couldn’t help myself.” She quickly shut herself up, as if she had said too much of what was supposed to be a secret. 

“Well, I think you’re brave. I took the subway here because I ran away from my “man.”’  

“What happened? Did he hurt you?” 

“He would’ve. I just wanted to get as far away from him as I could. I had to seduce the bouncer outside to let me in, though.” I scoffed. “Oh, but he didn’t do anything.” I threw both of my hands up in front of me. 

“That’s good. And if you say I’m brave,” Cassandra spoke up, “then you must be, too. You did what you had to do to get yourself out of that situation. Although, I am sorry that you had to go through those things, Margery.”  

“Thank you, Cassandra.” 

We went on and talked for what seemed like an hour. Then, a final round of thunder erupted from the audience. I realized that the show was over. Upon the clinking and reverberation of glass and porcelain throughout the dining gallery, I then remembered the presence of alcohol. Bootleggers. Madden. I turned to Cassandra. 

“We need to go. Now.” 

“Why?” she asked. “We have some time left. See? They’re doing an encore.” 

“That’s why we must go. We can both sneak out the side now that everyone is distracted.” 

“Excuse me, what are you two doing?” A lady dressed in fur demanded. We both looked up at her despot. My mouth was agape but no sound could come out. I just grabbed Cassandra’s hand and darted for the twin doors. We shoved through countless people. The band even stopped playing. We ran out of the room and went to the fire exit. We made it to the alley. To our right was a parked car. I looked, and it felt as if the wind was knocked out of me. A black Ford. There was a driver this time. I could only see his silhouette. The muted patter of rain cascaded over the roof of the car, onto the cobblestone below. Cassandra screamed. I heard the same heavy footsteps I had heard many times before. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. It was Clyde, wearing a cocked fedora and a black pinstriped suit. He was wearing leather gloves and had his hand in the left side of his waistcoat. He pulled out a pistol and pointed it at me.  

“So, this is where you ran off to?” he shouted. “You think I wouldn’t have found ‘ya?” He was sober now. And yet he still had the same violent hatred in his eyes. “You sneak into my boss’s place, and you mingle with…her?” As he waved the gun towards Cassandra. He refocused on me. “I don’t like it when my toys get away from me.” He said with a cracked smile. At that, I turned and grabbed Cassandra’s hand. We both ran for it. Down the alley to the side, I saw the bouncer that had let me in and another man. He had a skinny build with large ears. He also wore a white fedora. He had a grim look on his face. As I made eye contact with this man, who I could only assume was the boss Mr. Madden, a gunshot rang throughout the alleyway. A vacuum fell upon us, save for the pitter-patter of brass dancing upon the cold street below. My body tensed up. I felt warm. I looked down and saw a hole coming out of the center of my chest. My mother’s locket, which I had saved all this time, had fallen. Everything somehow dragged on with time. The locket fell to the ground and shattered into a million shiny, white pieces. I dropped to the ground and grabbed onto my chest. My bloodied hand shook with adrenaline. The smell of gunpowder and dark blood stayed at home in my nose, as I became lightheaded and rolled onto my back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cassandra being dragged toward the car.  

She was kicking and screaming. “Please let me go! I just want to go home. Please, sir, I’ll never come back, I swear.” The men put a bag over her head and stuffed her into the backseat of the car. The muffled screams faded as the rain filled in the empty lot. The taillights drove away from my outstretched hand.  

My arm gave out, and I looked above. I saw Clyde’s face come into view, as he threw his jacket over me. He bent down to kiss my forehead and as he stood up, he lit a cigarette and walked away.  

✥✥✥ 

Now, as I lay here with visible breath, I’m experiencing my own death rattle. Mr. Ellington’s piano is still playing in my ears. My heartbeat has returned, only slower and more announced this time. My eyes grow tired. 

It’s very dark.