Out In The 1940s Be-Bop Night -Frankie’s Big Play

 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Frankie was a hustler alright, had his hand in whatever a man, a man who grew up just south of New York City’s Hell’s Kitchen, a place where you learned to grab, grab hard early whatever you could grab for. Started out with the “clip” like every other kid with any moxy from south of the Kitchen, moved on to a little jack-rolling but got “religion”, read reform school, and so thereafter  moved on to more seasonable grifts. Flimflam, three card monte and the occasional Ponzi scheme.  But those things pitter-patter out fast enough, not for a failure of will but of marks, marks with dough anyway.

So Frankie Christopher (nee Christaferro but nobody, no hustler anyway, except maybe guys selling produce, you know fruits and vegetables , off the back end of flat-bed truck was using ethnic names in those pre-war, pre-Japs sinking half of Pearl Harbor days ) was trying to make his way in this wicked old world as a publicity agent, a ten percent guy, ten percent of some up and coming star, film, movies, records, it didn’t matter and he was looking, looking hard for that big break-through. And so on any given night you could see Frankie, dressed to the nines (all rented from the local Mr. Tux shop but he looked like the King of England when he was on the prowl) walking the streets around Broadway, around Times Square, maybe at some mid-town hot night spot like the El Cid or Bobbie’s looking, looking hard for that meal ticket, ready to take that ride, that easy rider ride, with some walking daddy or mama.

Frankie like I say not only dressed the part, looked swell in a tux, but was built for the part too, a big rugged guy, well-built and who kept in shape, plenty of wavy black hair and eyes, and a voice that spoke of authority, a voice that could get one through the door of some tough stage director, producer, record company exec, if he only had that break-through star. Then one night over at Mack’s Dinner, the one over on Second Avenue not the one on Broadway where every Tom, Dick, and Harry agent or grifter hung out looking their next break-through or lunch money he hit pay-dirt (he, a buddy newspaper scribe and a buddy character stage actor who wanted credit for the find as well). He found Mary Shea, a waitress who was serving them off weary arms, and holding off the advances of every stray guy (and some attached guys too) who could put two words together to make a pitch. Yes Mary had that something that drew men to her, but also had something that did not put off the female half of the population that controlled what the family watched and heard. No exactly the girl next door but close. Mary, straight from the country, someplace out in Ohio, Steubenville, maybe had wanderlust for the bright lights of the city, tried a couple of things including a couple of photo shoots she would rather not talk about,  and wound up at Mack’s. A common story, very common.          

Somehow Frankie was able to persuade Mary (along with his credit-seeking pals) to make a run for the roses. Frankie made a bet with her that he could get her on the stage within six months if she would just trust him. Country girl or not Mary bought the deal, took the ride. After Frankie sprung for a start-up wardrobe and some elocution lessons they were off.  And she in gratitude one night let him stay with her but that , as they both realized very quickly, was a mistake, was not the nature of their relationship and so that one night was it, although Frankie, being Frankie let one and all believe she was putting out for him every night. But that was Frankie.

Frankie was right though, right on the money, on Mary’s screen flair, Mary who then became known as Estelle Laval to one and all, because she did have had a real flair for the stage, had a way of keeping the audience transfixed on her even while others were speaking, and she could sing as well. Mary learned the ropes fast, very fast for a country bumpkin because no sooner had her star risen than she made her own deal to blow small-time New York City stages with their small devoted culturati and head to Hollywood and its million watching eyes head there without Frankie who only held a theater contract on her services.

That would have been the end of Frankie’s Estelle ride except one morning before she was to take the train to the coast she was found, dead, very dead, strangled by a silk scarf in the bedroom of her walk- up apartment.  And the last person to see Mary/Estelle alive, alive and in that apartment leaving his silk scarp behind was none other than one Francis Christaferro. So it was no more Mister this and Mister that once the case of MaryShea/ Estelle Laval became a police matter. Frankie was made to order as the fall guy, the guy who was sore because his meal ticket was blowing town, maybe had some words and in a fit of rage, or just showing his roots cut short the sweet life of Mary Shea. It only got worse when his buddies, his dear pals, included his on-going  (fake) affair with Estelle in their answers under the police grilling.    Yeah, Frankie was in some serious trouble, was going to take that big step-off with no return up at Sing Sing if he didn’t act quickly to find out who had set him up.   

But things only got worse after they brought Frankie down the precinct station and gave him the third degree, made him sweat it out for a couple of days in the hot seat. He didn’t break, didn’t tumble to the crime just to have them stop tormenting him like other guys did, innocent guys too. They being Homicide Detectives Lance and Peters, mainly Lance though who was determined to get a low-life from south of the Kitchen like Frankie off the streets for good.  With not enough evidence on that first go-round they had to let him go but Lance made it clear that Frankie’s liberty days were numbered.  And old Lance was right, or almost right. Seems that not only did Frankie leave his scarf there but a bottle of whiskey, and some exotic cigarettes, some dope-laced stuff, which they tried to make into a big deal, Lance anyway. Tried to maks Frankie into a hop-head who seduced a poor country girl and then got mad when she decided to step up in class.

 

Worst of all they got witnesses from Mary’s apartment building who swore that they had seen Frankie leaving the apartment just before dawn. Just around the time the coroner placed the time of death. That was enough for Lance to bring Frankie in for good. But remember Frankie was a street guy, a wised-up street guy and so he lambed it, lambed it over Ohio, Steubenville, to see if somebody from Mary’s past could have done the deed. It had all the earmarks of an enraged one-sided lovers’ quarrel. A revenge thing but some scorned lover from Frankie’s take on it.   

A few weeks later Eddie Shore, Mary’s old time sweetheart from Steubenville turned himself in to the New York City Police crying to high heaven about remorse for killing her. He had come to New York just in time to see Mary ready to take the train, reminded her they were supposed to get married and when she blew him off he went into a rage and grabbed the nearest weapon at hand, that damn scarf. Yeah Eddie is still doing life at Sing Sing but he can expect to be paroled before then since the jury and the judge too felt a little sorry for a guy who committed a crime of passion. Detective Lance though continued to dog Frankie wherever he could, writing him up for speeding one time just for laughs once Frankie came back to town.   

Funny though how our Frankie, now the head of the Francis Christopher Agency, landed on his feet. It seems that Mary had a sister, a younger sister,  in Steubenville whom Frankie met while he was trying to clear his name. This sister, Susie now Lucille Laval the big screen star,  had that same look that her sister had and so Frankie made her the same deal that he had made to Mary. Except Frankie wiser now got Susie to sign on the dotted line that he was to be her exclusive agent for everything, everything from soap endorsements to Oscar night. And no bedtime stuff, not even for one night.   Nice work  for a kid from south of New York City’s Hell’s Kitchen.