The Arrangement

22nd of May, 1922

Monday

It is washday, and I, Miss Susan McKlane washed all the livelong day. I cannot imagine a family of four dirtying so many clothes. I beat the rugs and cleaned the lamps. Tomorrow I iron father’s shirts. I don't want to write about such mundane matters. I want to write about my dreams and feel like a sparrow in flight flying far away from Harrisburg Illinois. Journaling, Blanche told me, is a wonderful way for anyone to escape a boring existence. I do not know why I had not written in this book sooner.

Blanche Marie McKlane, a first cousin on my father’s side, who is from Marion, gave me this book for Christmas.

Usually on Sunday when Blanche and her mother June comes to town, my mother, brother and I attend church.

The diary’s cover is silk and is the most sinful shade of scarlet I've ever seen. I don't know where Blanche bought it. It seems an extravagant gift that could only be found in a Chicago store, like Sears and Roebuck or Marshall Fields. Blanche had pinned a sprig of holly to the silk cover.

"What do I use it for?" I asked Blanche Christmas Eve out of the older adult's range of hearing.

"Thoughts," she whispered then looked around the corner for my mother.
My brow rumpled. "About what?"

"Lovers, sex, whatever is immoral, illegal...just anything, I guess, Susan."

"Lovers? I am still unmarried." Blanche had such sophisticated ideas. But then again she had been to big cities and I have not.

"I just write illicit thoughts about men, sex and such and a day or a week or two later I go back and re-read it. Sometimes it is very interesting."
I laughed at the way she emphasized the word 'very.'

I must confess Diary that I could not think of what to write. Ruining your clean pages with my dreary life seems wrong.

Diary, I never do anything naughty. My life is soooo humdrum. I must admit though, on occasion I have off-colored thoughts. I remember the dream where a knight sheds his armor and awakens me with a kiss. I will tell you everything I know, but as of now it is nil. For I have never been with a man, mainly because my brutal mother would beat me within an inch saying that it is immoral to let a man put his hands on me, especially outside the bonds of matrimony.

I confided in Cousin Blanche of my unseemly dreams and she merely laughed telling me that virgin women experience wicked thoughts and dreams on occasion. She even told me that I should try sliding two fingers in and out of my hole, pleasuring myself until the right man comes along. I tried and it felt okay, but the hand belongs to me and I want a man to do it. One night a mystery man appeared after my monthly had ended. It was not a friendship that I had shared with this wraith. No words passes between us, because, of course, he exists only in my mind, his head a mere silhouette. The dampness he created between my legs was real but there was no love.

In all honesty, when I am in Mother's presence, potential suitors do not look my way perhaps because her barking voice grates on their nerves causing them to fear her. I love her with all my heart and have never once spoken one word to her out of disrespect, but she is strict. Can she not see that I am a grown woman with grown needs?

Indeed, this scarlet red book is a grand gift and I like it better than any present that I've ever received. I promised Blanche that I will take care of it and write in it my deep, dark secrets. I wish that I had it with me when I had attended that awful Grace Collin's Finishing School in Saint-Louis, Missouri, because I really needed a friend I could talk to those two years. At least they gave me a more than adequate education, adding to the proper upbringing that my mother oversaw.

Accompanying the diary, was a long red feathered quilled pen and bottle of ink. I am sure the three items cost Blanche a lot of money. Never have I owned such a book! Since Christmas, it has occupied a plain box and hidden under a loose floorboard under my bed. You see Diary, I feared that my mother would find you. Since my family will not speak to me about personal ideas or matters of sex, I can now share all my illicit thoughts with you Diary, thanks to lovely Blanche. Having the diary is like having a new best friend.

Since Christmas has long gone, and summer is upon us, I will now sneak it out of its box, ever so often and write by gas lamp, though danger lurks like a wolf in the night in the McKlane Estate. I will write only the good, juicy news that I wish to share with you.

Blanche is and always has been my favorite relative. She is my age, nineteen. Since infancy, we have been close. Her hair is dark as a raven's feather and her eyes are ice-flecked blue. If only I would have the means to buy her a nice present next Christmas. Mother gives me little spending money because she does not believe in spoiling me and that money is the root of all evil. McKlane’s has a lot of money in the bank, but I will not quibble with her. One day soon I will leave the McKlane Estate. I'm sure that that my Prince Charming will show up any day now.

When I was little she whipped me soundly often with a razor strop for small infractions of the household's rules leaving red stripes on my back buttocks and legs. In fact, she had whipped me until I was sixteen years old, then she stopped, I guess because I left my private teacher and schooling and went east to finishing school. Even if it is the early 1920s, a lot of parents whip their children. Fortunately, Mother does not strop my backside now, but she wields her wrath in other nefarious ways, Often she warns me me that if I don't heed her wishes that I will be left out of the McKlane Last Will and Testament. The Bible tells us that we are supposed to mind our parents and I keep that admonishment in mind, but I would feel much better if I could voice my extreme dislike of her handling of me.

I shall turn the wick down now and go to sleep, for a long day of work awaits me tomorrow in the hot kitchen. Since bread now costs nine cents a loaf, I have to bake bread on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Believe me, the McKlane family can afford to buy bread, but mother insists we be frugal. What good is a fortune, I ask you Diary if the people who has it will not spend it? We cannot take money to the grave.
Though I seldom complain, I believe she merely wants to keep me to stay busy, so that I will not stray and embarrass her in front of her church friends. I dislike immensely being her slave and when she and my brother are out of this house I will try to experience some illicit experiences and write them in you, my red silk diary.


24th of May, 1922

Wednesday

In the event mother kills me, and if a future generation, who occupies this house perhaps in the next century, lifts the floorboard that is now under my bed and they find and read you, my diary, I guess I should describe myself, so that they will know what the person who wrote in the book looks like.

My best friend, combination cousin tells me that I am pretty, though I think that she tries to build me up because she pities me. I stand up straight in my medium height. My skin is a scant shade darker than ivory and I have a few freckles smattered on my nose. Unfortunately, I'm a tad heavy, not much...a little. My bones are big as are my breasts. My hair is red, flaming red and my features are delicate. My eyes are mossy green and thank goodness, I resemble the women in my father’s family.

My bedroom is small, carpeted and has three slender, tall windows which are covered by heavy, dark red draperies. My poster bed is covered by a quilt that has bits of lace, buttons, snippets of this and that sewn on by my Aunt June, Cousin Blanche's mother. A dark red carpet that scrunches underfoot covers the floor. The Eclectic Manse home, which was bought at the Chicago Sears and Roebuck mail order house boasts tall green spires and black ornamental trim. It is drafty in the winter and hot as Hades in the summertime.

My bedchamber is my refuge from the ever-threatening McKlane storm that goes on downstairs. So I can safely say that it is my favorite room. Rarely does my mother come upstairs. However, my evil little brother John Allen, mother's favorite child, on occasion sneaks into my room, snoops and pilfers my possessions. If he finds something that will cause mother to rain Hell down upon me, he will immediately and triumphantly bugle his findings to her, inciting her to anger and perhaps send her scurrying to the peg that holds the razor strop. The twelve year old, skinny-legged demon from Hell, John. I would not be surprised if he sprouted the horns and tail of a demon. At the breakfast table this morning, I could tell that John suspects that I'm doing something unacceptable in the privacy of my bedchamber.

I don't think he'll find the loose board in the floor. For the life of me, I cannot think of a more secure hiding place for you diary. I hold so much frustration within and need the attention of a man.

The Lord God is looking down on me favorably, I do believe, forgetting my own wicked ideas for writing in this diary.

I should work to quell my hate of Mother, but I shall celebrate when she and my brother are traveling by train heading away from Harrisburg, back east, hundred of miles away, to care for Aunt Lucy Crabtree.

Bless Aunt Lucy's heart, she has come down sick with some unknown disease. They bled her with leaches and gave her many new medicines, but she is still sickly and pale the letter said. I don't wish ill health on any human being, especially Aunt Lucy, but I am thankful that mother and John will be leaving town and hope that they stay away for a long time.

Father is rarely home and is often off to one of the other towns, perhaps traveling between the McKlane Clock Shops that are scattered all over southern Illinois. This means I will be alone in this house for several weeks. Hallelujah!

I shall not write anymore this evening. Although I doubt that I will be able to go to sleep right away, because I am positively charged with delight.

Five Minutes Later:

Oh no! My brother bolted into my bedchamber and I had to hide the diary under the bed quilts while he gave me the evil eye. Through clenched teeth, I threatened him until he slammed the door behind himself. John is safely in his own bedchamber now, in bed hopefully, twenty feet down the hall, so I will put the book away and go to bed. I hate it when he tiptoes stealthily up the hall and bursts into my room. Mother does not allow me to wedge furniture against my door.

It is Wednesday evening and is one day closer to Sunday and one day closer to mother and John's departure.

27th May, 1922

Saturday

Dearest, Dearest Oh Wonderful Diary,

Today, Mother and John were driven away by one of her church friends to the train station in Carbondale.

I love them but Diary I am breathlessly happy with my newfound freedom!
It is unheard of, but it is noon and I am sitting at the head of the dining room table, wearing no clothes writing in this diary. I have a list of chores to complete each day but the freedom that I am feeling is incredible. Tomorrow I still have to attend church. Aunt June and Blanche will arrive and their driver will take us to church then Blanche and I will go to the soda shop on Main Street. Oh blessed is freedom!

28th May, 1922

Sunday

After church, Blanche and I walked to Walker's Soda and Confection Shop, talking the entire way. Once there we took a seat at the counter and the soda jerk gave us each a free Coca-Cola. He told us that Coca-Cola contained the dangerous drug cocaine and we laughed. For a while, we talked about boys and young untaken men in town. Perhaps it was a mistake to tell, but she is a good friend who I trust with my life, but I relayed to her how wonderful it felt to have freedom in the house and that on the previous day I was wandering around the twenty rooms without wearing clothes. After laughing, Blanche told me, perhaps rightly, that it would be in my best interest to find a loving man and marry him, because Mother was killing my spirit with her mean ways.

I agreed.

We wore our Sunday's best and I think by the way the soda jerk peered our way that we looked pretty. Couples, aged mostly into their early twenties occupied tables and chatted the afternoon away drinking Coca-Colas and sweet-talking each other. The shop smelled of baking cakes and candy. Colored bottles caught bits of early afternoon sun. Bits of laughter rose and fell in the group of young adults.
I do not know why Blanche did not have a boyfriend, though I never asked her. Her mother treats everyone with respect and is soft spoken and would treat any potential suitor with respect. We both wore blue dresses. Blanche wore a light-medium blue dress and I wore a dark-medium blue dress. The dress I wore belonged to Blanche. She lent it to me. Scandalously the hem lines my calf. I can remember our conversation well.

"I wish I was as pretty as you, Blanche and have new style clothes. This chemise is so beautiful but I’m afraid I’m not beautiful..."

"You are too! Why Susan McKlane, your awful sow of a mother has worn you down with her mean put down words."

While she was talking, I saw movement out the corner of my eye. And when I looked I saw two long sleek carloads of well-dressed men climbing out onto the brick road, buttoning their jackets. Sleek, masculine tall and dark-haired men.
"Do you know who that is?" I asked Blanche quietly.

Several others in the soda shop looked their way. It was a highly unusual sight in Harrisburg, seeing such expensive motorcars, traveling in a pair, containing seven or eight men.

For you Dearest Diary, I will try to put down in detail what happened, even though now I am upstairs in this large house alone in my nightgown writing by gas lamp.
"He's in the newspapers all the time."

"How do you know?" I asked, puzzled. I thought I knew everything about Blanche.

"I've been keeping a secret," said Blanche then bit her lip. "You're not going to believe it."

"Believe what, Blanche?"

"I'm seeing one of those men," she whispered hoarsely.

"Who are you talking about?" I asked.

"One of those men?" I asked clarifying, looking back trying to not seem obvious.

"Yes."

"Which one? I saw one tall man and a second taller man.

"Kelly Grant."

"Oh no. Even I know his name. Oh no."

"What?" asked Blanche.

"Is that the Italian gangster out of Chicago with him?" I asked, puzzled looking the men over from head to toe. "Vicente Rossi?"

"Yes."

"He is dangerous, Blanche. So is Kelly Grant. And you’re with Kelly?"

"Don't you find such dangerous men intriguing?" asked Blanche as she brought a straw to her lips. “I certainly do.”

"I don't know." I had never asked myself such a question.

"Gangsters will do no harm to women. Other men fear them, but women such as ourselves has nothing to fear."

"What do you mean gangster, Blanche? And how do you know they will not harm us?" I had asked just as two of the men strode toward the front door of the soda shop. Heads turned toward the men then huddled gossiping. Quickly Kelly Grant took up with Blanche.

One of the men named began a cozy conversation with me, the leader, Dear Diary. He slipped a hand around my waist and murmured, "Where have you been all my life?" He engaged me in conversation that I can recall almost word for word. It's late, Diary I cannot write a word more tonight. I'll write the conversation in its entirety tomorrow.


29th of May, 1922

Monday

Chance, tall and darkly handsome, introduced himself and began luring me out of my virginal shell into the terra incognita of social norms.

Yesterday afternoon the getting to know one another phase with Chance went something like this:

I glanced down, flushing a little, feeling his eyes roaming over my bosom and up the length of my neck. I felt the slight push of his knee into the fullness of my skirt and the heat of his breath on my skin. I felt as though I were a piece of property and he was taking possession. Obviously, was showing other men that I now belonged to him and that they should not vie for my attention. I then knew what it meant to say males were 'territorial.'

Perhaps my imagination was running amuck, but this man reminded me so much of the wraith-like lover who came to me in my bed late at night rousing me to passion. But talking to his man named Chance, especially in a public place, is a betrayal to my family, but I must admit I am powerless to stop. This stranger has the ability to bind my attention to him.

"What is your name, sweet stuff?" he asked casually as he lit a cigar, and lifted his head to avoid blowing the smoke in my direction.

I didn't care for being addressed as 'sweet stuff,' and felt the skin between my brows rumpling as I made an ugly face.

Chance put his hand on the back of my stool, occasionally touching me through the linen bodice at the curvature in the lower back, sending spiraling sensations shooting through to the nerve endings of my fingers, toes and into the depths of my core. For support, leaning forward, I held onto the counter as the soda jerk wiped under my glass.

I took a fortifying breath and looked up for a second or two, answering quickly saying, "Susan."

His eyes caressed my face as his finger lifted my chin. "Do you have a last name, Susan?" His cologne smelled exotic and his demeanor showed promise of endless joy in the bedchamber. But worse, his voice reminded me of the tines of a fork being dragged across sandpaper. His inspecting eyes made me nervous.
My name on his lips caused my heart to flutter. "McKlane," I said as he raised and wedged his shoe onto the lower rung of the stool on which I was sitting. It was scandalous for me to even be talking to him. How old was he? Thirty? Thirty one?
"It's nice to meet you Susan.” He ran a long slender, beringed finger down my arm giving it goose bumps. “My friends call me Chance, but my real name is Vicente Rossi.”

"I wanted to say 'I know,' but silenced. I watched and listened as Chance ordered a round of sodas for the foursome. The soda jerk hurried with the drinks, fear glistened in his eyes as he passed Chance and Kelly Grant.

"Do you like anything in your Coca-Cola? How about some vanilla...or something a little stronger?" he asked as he flashed a silver decanter that was hidden under the lapel of his suit jacket.

Was he referring to whiskey I had wondered?

"Oh. No thank you."

He held it under my nose and I smelled the stench of it. "Whew. I think not."

“Do you mind if I--”

“You help yourself Mr.--”

“It’s Chance. Mr. makes me feel ancient.”

“Chance then.”

Troubled and frowning, I noticed his ivory smile, not knowing what to make of the attention he gave me, enjoying it all the same. Chance Rossi was an outlaw by many folk's standards and in fact was armed that very minute. I wondered if I should have been more concerned about the gun hidden on his person rather than what his fingers were doing on my back.

"So, do you come here often?"

After taking a long sip I said, "Sometimes on Sundays or when my mother is out of town."

"So which is it today, sweet stuff? Are you here because you got out of the house or because your mother is not at home."

Perhaps I should not have told him I was alone in the house. For a second I stammered then answered keeping my voice low, feeling stupid for telling him, "I am alone at the house."

A pause punctuated the conversation, so I turned to find Blanche enrapt in the arms of Kelly Grant. I remembered the newspaper calling him 'Killer Kellly.' And if my memory serves me correctly, Kelly also had the reputation of being Chance's notorious right hand man who wielded a tommy gun. The Saint-Louis Post-Dispatch on several occasions stated that the Federal government could not gather enough evidence to convict either man. Rumors had it that members of law enforcement and political circles were on Chance's payroll. Surely not! How could such a gentlemanly, soft-spoken man as Chance Rossi be guilty of murder, mayhem and racketeering? But how would I know of such things?

As the time we spent passed, an obviously fearless eighteen-year-old boy from a nearby table approached me in a friendly manner, I guess, wanting merely to say hello. I saw him often in town and had known him since grade school. I was still in Chance’s company. A gentleman, Chance took his shoe off the lower rung of my stool, stepped back and let young Bradley and I, exchange a short warm greeting, before he put his shoe back on my stool.

After the boy left, Chance aggressively resumed his seduction, lightly pushing the school days friend aside, shutting him out. I cannot lie to you Diary. I raptly enjoyed the attention. Chance was not committing any immoral deed, by dominating my attention, but I was and still am sure that his intentions are darkly delicious. Being with him promises something that I crave, that my body and female soul needs.

Chance's diamond and gold jewelry glittered in the afternoon sun that filtered in the soda shop’s window. The touch of his fingers were delicate upon my long slender fingers.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Chance whispered into my ear. “Just me and you?”

Everyone in town would be gossiping about my nefarious suitor within the next twenty-four hours; I was in trouble regardless if I accepted his invitation or I turned him down when Mother and John returned. Definitely, he played upon my sensitivities and I had only known him for a few minutes, but I would risk a hard stropping already. Definitely, I now believe in love at first sight. It is not infatuation that I'm suffering from.
Lord have mercy, I accepted his invitation! With my arms crossed at my waist, grasping my handbag, I joined him in a stroll to Herrin City Park as several sets of eyes watched us leave the soda shop. Blanche left through the back door with Kelly Grant several minutes earlier.
Passing a gaggle of Canadian geese and a throng of teenagers chasing each other on the rolling grass, he took my hand in his. The dark green shiny water moved slowly down the slow moving stream below. White fuzzies floated through the air. Not a leaf stirred. We stopped at a pavilion where we sat at a table and stared ahead a couple of hundred feet watching boys play baseball. He lit another cigar and leaned back against the table his side touching my side.
Many questions popped into my mind, but did I want to know the answers. I feared what I'd find out about him, especially if I believed a third of what the newspapers had said about him. Soon Chance's two motor cars turned toward them, approached, and stopped.
"How did they know where we went?"
A ribbon of smoke snaked over his lip. Arrogantly almost, he answered, "It's their job to know."
I couldn't help to ask, "You are a gangster, aren't you?"
He nodded. "I can't say a thing about it. I just know there's a lot of things reporters write in the newspaper that aren't true. That's all I can say about that, sweet thing."
“Does it matter?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Name something that bothers you about it.”
"Well...do you have a lot of girlfriends everywhere?"
He laughed until tears filled his eyes, making me feel ridiculous for asking.
"So what do you like to do?" he asked
"What I like to do? Me?" I asked pointing at my collarbone, wondering why such an infamous man would want to know her likes.
"I want to know."
"I like cats and long walks. I like planting flowers and watching them grow. I like to do needlework and quilting. Spending time with friends is fun. My goodness, Mr.--"
"Like I said, ‘don't call me Mr. anything. Chance is fine.’" He brought the back of her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there making me feel as though I could bonelessly slide to the grass below. His eyes lowered and held mine. "You've never been with a man, have you?"
How brazen! I hardly knew him and he....I didn't want to think about it! Even if it is the 1920s, men did not say such bold to single ladies. My body tightened and wished I could take flight with the geese. Then again, he was not an average man.
“No Chance, I have not been with another.”
“I want you.”

30th of May, 1922

Tuesday

Last evening I fell asleep with you, Diary, on my tummy and I left the lamp on and didn't finish writing the day's entry. I dreamt of being in Chance’s bed. Fortunately, I didn't get ink on the bedspread. If mother had would have been home...I would be banned from the house and my name would be stricken off the McKlane will. I don't care about the latter, but how would I fare living on the streets? I must get up and go to work.
Later:
Father came home and I packed him a suitcase of clean clothes. He ate and left.
I cannot believe that it is Tuesday and I'm still discussing with you the Sunday rendezvous with the delicious gangster.
The next is wrong and immoral regarding the news that I am about to write. But, Dear Diary you want the truth. I know you do. On Main Street last Sunday we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. I had refused to accept a ride home but unwittingly accepted his invitation to meet him at the park next Sunday after church. He wants to take me for a ride in his motorcar! Since I have never ridden in such a luxurious automobile, I accepted. Actually, Diary that is not the only reason I accepted. I find him intriguing and...God in heaven forgive me...appealing, but his supreme confidence vexes me.
The neighbor's coat tails would not hit their bottoms until they arrived in our yard wagging their tongues to mother and John the day they return. Mother, sooner or later, will find out. I have to brace myself for the coming storm.
At home, today, Tuesday, I had a dreary sweltering hot day of ironing. Father stopped in long enough to leave his shirts for me to iron. Goodness knows who is washing them. Perhaps he takes them to the Chinese laundry in Johnston City.
Sunday seems so far away. Breathless with anticipation, Diary I am regarding seeing Chance .... I cannot wait! I can't write another word either. Diary, I need to see him.

4th June, 1922

Sunday

It was a wonderful day, even though yesterday I had opened the letter from New Jersey and found out that Mother and John would return June 22nd.
This afternoon after church and a quick meeting at the soda shop, Chance and I left together and rode in the back seat of his Lincoln while a uniformed driver drove us. A motorcar followed which carried five armed men.
It was a romantic meeting. The smell of wildflowers and the hiss of grass came into the interior as we passed farm after farm, going down dry dirt roads in the countryside near Harrisburg. I also smelled the scent of his intoxicating cologne, which I will recognize immediately decades in the future. His hand on my arm or hand set me on fire. Even though a driver accompanied us, Chance and I sat chatted idly in the back, whispering on occasion, slumped down. After spending a second Sunday afternoon with him, I knew that I was forever changed.
"I want you to know that I have a more than casual interest in you, Susan. I can't explain it. I just met you last Sunday but...I care about you."
After giving him a long appraising glance I said, "Please..." I had to tell him that I would not be able to see him after June 22nd. "Chance, I--" But, the words stuck in my throat.
"I mean it. I'm not one to push myself off on anyone. Say the word and I'll take you away."
"Away? To where?"
I had to tell him. What was that old saying? Honesty is the best policy.
"Let me think about this and I will tell you my plan next Sunday. I'd come sooner to see you, but I have to travel through the week."
"I cannot see you after the 22nd of this month." My eyes fell to my lap; it hurt to say.
"Why?" he asked as he tossed his cigar out the open window. When I looked over at him, I saw a muscle twitching in his cheek as though he was not pleased.
I waited to speak until the car tires eased over a large bump in the road.
When his arm slid around her shoulders and urged me to scoot closer to his side, I lost my train of thought and caught my breath at his brazenness. I allowed him to pull me because I wanted our sides to touch. Sweet Jesus now what was I going to do? I had gotten myself into a fine mess. He would surely kiss me and the degree of need I was experiencing would be upped to a new level. My life was once chaste and boring not it is scandalous and exciting.
"Why did you come with me today, Susan?" he asked softly as he brushed stray hair behind my shoulder.
I wanted to keep the answer locked in my heart.
"I think you care for me as much as I do you."
He stopped calling me sweet stuff, much to my relief. Chance's words smoothed over my psyche, enticing me. A soft kiss as warm as the summer breeze followed which came perilously close to melting my soul. I didn't resist even when the second and third kiss came. A half hour later I accepted his tongue and was responding, slipping my hand around his shoulders, grasping the back of his neck parting my lips, taking in his tongue. He whispered in a heartfelt tone, "I must see you again and often." He pressed his hard loins into my thigh.
I looked at him aghast--I was his exact opposite and wanted to see me again. Before we part I want to please you," Chance said as he ran his rough hand over my bare lower arm. Like bullets, tingles shot through to my core.
Even though I am a virgin Dear Diary, I had an inkling of his idea. I sat in silence for a while. We passed a nickering horse, which stood in a grassy field. Children ran from the front doors of their houses to ogle Chance's two passing motorcars. The worrying crept back in and nagged. What would people and my family say when they discovered who I had spent my Sundays with? Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning out of the blue, I remembered what the editor at the Saint-Louis Post Dispatch said about him--he had panache and that his allure was a potent force that had the potential of leading me away from my home. It was true. The man I attracted was all those things.
"Stop at the Shady Branch," Chance had said.
I peered at him, questioningly.
"It's my house." He paused, allowing me look it over.
"Where are we though?" For the life of me, I did not recognize the road we went down. I looked up at the white Queen-Anne style home. It was much larger than the McKlane Estate. Well kept, it boasted several out buildings. The property sat well off the road. Lush green fir trees embellished the property.
When the car stopped under an over hang on the backside of the house, the driver looked forward and did not talk.
"Would you like to come in? I'll have the cook fix us some dinner. We'll talk. And get cozy. I'll not lie, Susan. You interest me. I love round women. I want to spend time with you. I want you."
It is then I should have mounted a fiery protest. I did not consider the dire consequences that were certain to arise. I did not want to go back home. I wanted to spend time with him, to feel his arms around me and more--I wondered what it would feel like to have his cock inside me.
The driver left the motorcar, rounded the fender and opened the door on Chance's side. He rose from the back seat, extended a hand and brought me out until my shoe soles touched the herringbone-patterned brick driveway and then out of the car. I didn’t know him that well Diary. My body was hot for him and I realized he was also hot for me. Standing before him, enduring his scrutiny, I felt like a kite twisting in a brisk breeze. Nevertheless I said, "Okay, Chance. I'd love to."

5th of June, 1922

Monday

At the dinner table he sat at one end of the long table and I sat at the opposite end. We were the only two in the dining room except for the kitchen help who came in and out of the next room carrying dishes of food. The room was dark, lit by candles. Evidently he expected that I would come to dinner. Am I that predictable, I the obvious desperado’s prize?
The house emptied shortly after dinner ended.
A smile spread on his rough-hewn lips as he insisted that I taste some French champagne. The fizz tickled my nose when I lifted the wide-brimmed glass to my lips. I lost count of the number of glasses that I drank and it loosened my inhibitions. Chance let me accustom myself to the surroundings before he proceeded around the table and took my hand and lead me to his bedchamber.
Time for me was not a problem, since no one awaited my arrival.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Susan?” he asked as he closed the bedchamber.
For a moment she paused. “Yes...” I realized that there was something in my tone that gave my hesitancy away.
“I’ll tell you what...when you tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”
“Okay,” I said in a small voice, getting more nervous by the second. Yes, I wanted to experience sex and yes, he tried to put me at ease.
I chewed my lip standing approximately six feet from a heavy-legged, raised poster bed which boasted a red velvet bedspread. Chance let the heavy draperies down and lit several various shaped candles.
“Look at me,” he said softly, the candlelight causing his body to appear flickering. His hand rose and he slipped out of his jacket and hung it in the closet. “I want to take your virginity. What do you say about that?”
I shrugged then said, “Maybe I’d better go home.”
Quietly and with understanding, Chance drove me home.

8th of June, 1922

Thursday

Today as I was hanging sheets out on the line, I noticed a long black car passing in the distance. It was and still is hot diary. It was one o’clock and my wet bodice clung to my bosom.
Still I ached from the decision that I had made Sunday at Chance’s home. Now I am back to living in misery, being safe.
Now I will spend the rest of my life wondering how good having sex with the handsome gangster would have been. Diary, I think I’ve fallen in love with him, but his reputation is infamous. Twice, throughout the day I saw the two black cars pass on the road. When I rushed outside into the yard, they had disappeared. Oh, Diary I am a mess, I admit, and even if I use my fingers on my pussy I still long for Chance.

9th of June, 1922

Friday

I was at the market when I saw Chance. I was buying fruit for myself, since I’m the only person in the house I eat mostly fruit.
He looked so delicious in his dark summery suit, hat and dark glasses. Diary I could consume him.
Many female eyes caught secretive glimpses of his dangerous demeanor as he approached the pile of cantaloupes, where I stood. He feigned examining fruit, when in reality he was weighing my reception of him. The gnawing need that I had experienced while with him last Sunday night, reared even though I tried to tamp it back. As I held my gaze steady on his strong profile once for about three seconds his eyes moved aside and lowered, intersecting with my line of vision. Oh Diary, that moment, with that one look I knew that I belonged with him. My body cried out for him and I was tired of fighting my need.
When he moved to my side, he whispered out the side of his mouth, “Come to my house and be my housekeeper. Live with me.”
Without drawing attention to myself, whispering, I told Chance, “Under the same roof. Me and you? We’re not married.”
“You would be my housekeeper...Single men everywhere hire and have female housekeepers. It would be an arrangement between you and I...I need a housekeeper and from what I have been hearing you need shelter.”
“Oh.”
Behind the cover of the counter, where no one could see he placed his open hand on my buttocks and massaged, his fingers pressing the underside of my hips. It was all I could manage to not turn into his arms and plunge my tongue between his lips and ask him to take me back to his car and have his way with me there. He committed some naughty hanky panky there at that fruit stand.
“What do you say?”
I didn’t think to ask him my duties.
“If I do, I’ll need to stop by the house and get my clothes and diary and a few other personal possessions.”
“Don’t worry too much about clothes. I will take you to Chicago or Saint-Louis and buy you all new clothes. New York maybe,” he said barely above my range of hearing. “Come and be my woman.”
Darn it! What was I to do? He knew that I wanted to do it. He knew that I wanted him. People gawked our way.
I had a suspicion that hiring a housekeeper wasn’t on his mind, but I walked away with him anyway. I may as well have. Number one, when my mother returned from back east, she would have killed or tried to kill me either with the strop or her hands.
As open-mouthed women watched while standing around gabbing in the hot open air market, I put all the fruit down I had been carrying and walked with him to his big fancy car. He opened the door for me and I climbed in. Chance leaned and told the driver, “Stop by her house. She needs to get some things.”

10th of June, 1922

Sunday

A gray drizzle bathes the landscape in grays and blues. I am working in Chance’s large house with two women employees. As he said, it definitely is an arrangement that helped me get out of my home. Men works the grounds outside and comes to the help’s room to eat lunch.
Chance introduced me as the head housekeeper, which was a shock. Diary, I have tended to other people’s orders since childhood.
They say “Yes Ma’am” and “No Ma’am,” and I feel like turning around to see who is standing behind me. It feels odd for them to tend to my every need and treat me with respect.
He has seen to it that I sleep in my own blue and lavender bedchamber upstairs...not in the servant’s quarters.
The housekeepers beneath me, Martha and Barbara drives home in the early evening, I have learned, as does the men who works outside doing the landscaping.
Chance’s room is forty feet down the long wooden hall. Last night I heard his every move as he dressed. Each foot step on the floor and down stairs set me on edge. Were they going to kill someone? Most assuredly they were armed. I discerned while peering through the window and down into the yard and road that the usual two carloads of armed men waited. Muffled talk followed in the main entry way. Again I slipped my fingers between the draperies and peered down finding that Chance accompanied them outside and to the motorcars around midnight.
Suddenly I found myself alone in the dark, huge estate. The negative thoughts prevailed and sleeping came in the wee hours. Knowing all that I know about him makes me want to learn to shoot and carry a gun for self-protection. Surely a gangster like Chance has enemies.
I shall spruce his house up with flowers and add a female touch here and there, if it is allowed. So far, what I have accomplished this morning he seems pleased and friendly. One of the ladies told me that she had never seen him so happy. When he came into the sitting parlor he’d seen that I put a vase of gladiolas on the étagère and I asked if it was okay. He seemed enthusiastic in his yes answer.
Diary, I was taken aback when he said, “Of course, you are the woman of the household,” accenting the word ‘the woman.’
Even in the daytime with the heavy draperies closed the room is dark. I have the urge to open them all and let the sunshine inside.
Diary, I’m sitting in his bed, at the head writing to you while the women are cleaning lamps downstairs.
Soon my family will arrive home and discover with whom I left; the gossipy tidbit has probably spread like wildfire and the old biddies from town are waiting to rush to the house to tell mother when she arrives. I hope that I’ve made the proper decision, Diary. I could not stand living at home anymore. Moving into the gangster’s house is my decision and I shall stick to it until I know it is not safe or it is wrong.
I’m going to hide you, Diary under my bed and take you out someday soon when again something noteworthy happens.

13th of June, 1922

Tuesday

Today I helped the landscaper, Mr. Hughes weed out back, near the treeline. Mr. Hughes had driven into town for supplies. Leaning over, pulling weeds, I had my back to the house, oblivious to any arriving cars at the main house. The light breeze was hot and carried sweet floral scents. My hair came loose at the bun hairpinned at the nape of my neck. Bees buzzed as they visited the various blooms. I enjoyed weeding the patch of wild flowers in Chance’s back yard.
My mind had been momentarily kidnapped by my mother image. She would be arriving in Herrin the 22nd of June. How would she react? Most assuredly, the rumors ran rampant. The weeds had grown thick in the gardens farthest from the back of the Eclectic Manse, green-spired roof-topped estate.
Chance, without my knowledge, had approached and stopped three feet behind me as I was leaning over tending the plants. Looking back, while still leaning over, I noticed his trousers leg, turned and peered into his smiling face. I gasped, looked into his eyes and straightened.
“Come with me to Saint-Louis,” he asked, removing his hat, his intense male gaze raking over her body.
“I’m sorry?” I shoved several strands of hair behind my ear.
“Pack a few clothes. You and I are going to get away. I need to talk to you about something.”
“What about?” I asked, curiously, peering at the front of his expensive suit jacket that was probably bought in Chicago or New York at some posh department store.
“It’s about you and I...us.”
I shivered looking at him in spite of the hot sun bearing down. Having not had another man looking at me with want and lust, my voice quavered. “Oh. I probably need a bath and--” What did he mean by getting away? Surely not.
Chance cut into my sentence. “It’s okay. You can take one later. Right now just get packed. Just you and me. I’ll talk to you on the way.”
“To where?” I asked, feel the world I knew tilting again.
“Saint-Louis.”
It was insane, going to Saint-Louis with a known gangster...a killer. “I cannot possibly go.” Severe consequences were sure to follow if I went with him.

14th of June, 1922

Wednesday.

We drove to Saint-Louis, stayed at the American Annex Hotel downtown and he drove me to City Hall where we obtained a marriage license and soon were married by a Justice of the Peace. He told me that we should take this course of action because people in town were talking. They were saying that Chance and I were ‘living in sin.’ I cannot take people saying that about me. Quietly we married and he drove us home to his estate. Not once has he tried to have sex with me. I’m wondering if and when he will try. I’m not an expert in men’s reactions toward women, but I see a devilish gleaning in his eyes when he looks my way. The question that I have Diary, is it lust?

22nd of June, 1922

Thursday


Lady of the Evening by Irving Berlin was playing on the Victrola yesterday evening, Wednesday downstairs. His men played cards in the library, so I stayed out of that part of the house because I fear them and am shy. They curse and drink.
I sneaked up the stairs and felt a strong hand gripping my wrist.
“Chance?”
“Come here,” he said making a simple gesture with his hand. “Susan, please.”
I went to him and smelled liquor on his person. My hand and lower arm flattened to his lapel as he pulled me close. The fabric of his suit jacket made my skin tingle.
He pulled me into farther back into the dark shadows. Hesitantly, I let him.
“There’s no need to be shy. What are you wearing?”
“A cotton gown.”
“Mm. I see that. You smell good.”
Mounting a feeble protest, heart pounding, I murmured his name. “Chance...”
His taut lips came down on mine. His hands grasped each side of my face as his desperate exploring tongue slipped between my parted teeth and I felt myself responding, really responding with kisses of my own, pressing into his body. My hands slipped up his shoulder holster and the butt of his pistol, stopping at and surrounding his neck. His hands moved down my curves and stopped at my hips.
When the kiss ended he murmured, “You think we don’t know each other too well, right?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Why are you asking?” I asked, having an idea of what he meant.
“Tonight we can learn a whole lot about each other.”
I felt his warm breath on my cheek as he nuzzled on a path to my ear. I felt his hard body pressing to mine. Less than an eighth of an inch of fabric separated my skin from his clothed body.
He whispered in my ear, “I love your mind as well as your body, you know. I like what you are doing to my house. The help loves you. My men love you. You’re artistic. You are wonderful. I want you as my own woman...all the way and fulltime... and your body wants me. I know it and you know it,” he said huskily as his hands moved behind and cupped my hips pulling my lower torso into his hard loins.
“People will talk I--”
He stopped my protest by dragging his tongue over my lower lip, causing me to accept his tongue. “Let them. They don’t have anything better to do.”
“Chance...”
I remember enjoying his lips coming back to my lips and tasting his tongue. “I don’t know. I--”
With his tongue and mouth he moved down my gown, nipping my skin as he lowered inch by maddening inch on his way down to his knees. He lifted the hem of my gown. “What are you doing, Chance?”
“Trying something.” He grasped my ankle and wedged it onto the seat of a Queen Anne chair. He held my gown up at the Y then his long probing tongue nipped my pubic mound. His mouth kissed and bit me lightly. I cried his name aloud when his tongue slid into my pussy finding my very sensitive bud. I didn’t dare close my legs. It took all my strength to not cry out and bring attention to our state to those men who played cards in the sitting parlor and library.
“Come with me,” he said leading me to his bedchamber. “I’ll show you more, if you’re ready. I’ll go gentle.”
I was nervous but ready.
Diary from that moment on is a blur but I’ll try to relay it accurately to you.
Once inside, he closed the door and lit a few candles as I nervously looked on wringing my hands together. My shy eyes feasted on his sleek movements, for he is a beautiful man. The dark shoulder holster stood out visually against the silk, white shirt. He took the holster and gun off and placed them on a table. Tantalizingly and slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt. Male hair sparsely populated his strong chest. He ran a hand down the front of his pants and rubbed his cock for a few moments, knowing full well that I watched.
He brought his hand from his trousers and stretched not unbuttoning his trousers right away.
Wordlessly, he extended a hand. “You won’t lose your virginity tonight unless you want to. I just want to feel my body against yours. If you want more, show or tell me and I’ll oblige you.”
I pointed downward toward the floor. “Your men. They’re downstairs, I--”
“It’s eleven and they’ve been given their orders to leave...except for the guards of course and they’ll go to their quarters. They won’t hear us. It is legal you and I coupling...”
“What are you going to do?” I asked raising my fingers to my still throbbing lips from the kisses he had administered moments ago.
“It’s what are ‘we’ going to do.” Grinning, Chance wriggled his fingers. “Come here to the bed.”
My eyes wandered to the red spread that covered the large piece of furniture then back to the godlike man who summoned me by patting his knee. I stopped four feet from the large piece of furniture and him.
“You want me to teach you how to do it?”
A pause.
“Well, do you?”
“Yes,” I said unsure of my answer.
“Take your gown off. Show me your naked body.”
The words made me shudder.
My hand rose and stopped to the clothed space between my breasts. I faltered, his hungry, intense eyes on mine took my breath away. I am a little heavy. What if he didn’t like my body?
“Take it off. Do it now.” He nodded once, insisting. “We won’t do anything until you want it.” He reached for my wrist and drew me close.
His grip on me gentled and I did not step away. “You are a woman with delicate sensitivities and I’ll treat you that way until the day I die. I promise.”
Slowly I raised the gown over my head, shaking like a cold wet animal. I dropped it onto the carpet and allowed him to view my body. “Okay,” I said stiffly. “Here I am.”
He made a circular motion with is finger, so I slowly turned, realizing his gaze was appreciative.
“You’re beautiful.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He had a way of putting me at ease. Inner stirring screamed at me to relax and enjoy the unknown territory to which he would soon take me. As he sat on the bed’s edge, his cock standing, Chance was obviously excited and waiting for me to accept him.
His member looked so large, long and delicious and I would be lying to you Diary if I would say that I was not aroused and intrigued by the scene. How would it ever fit into me?
In the flickering candlelight, I felt a little heavy, but Chance seemed to love my round curves and love me more than he could ever love a slender woman by whispering, “I love you just the way you are.”
“You do?”
“Come here,” Chance said.
By my wrist, he gently pulled me to him until I tumbled on top of him into the softness of the bed, his shaft pressing into my belly. It felt so erotic, his pulling me on top of him.
I trusted and lusted for him--a very bad man.
Heat still surges in my core as I recall our interlude in the upstairs of his, excuse me, our house. The questions, even a day later as I pack for a trip with him, are ceaseless. Why am I going? Am I bewitched by this dangerous man? Do I need to be reminded of his murderous reputation? Has my mother driven me certifiably insane?
He looked at me from under a dark, arched brow. “You’re ready for this, Susan?”
I peered down at the crushed velvet carpeting. “I’m afraid of what you think of me.”
He raised my chin with a finer and pressed it to my lips, while the house quieted downstairs. Looking into my eyes he began pulling the hair pins from my bun and placing them on a stand as sections of my long hair tumbled to my shoulders. The front door closed and his men left grumbling about the money they had lost over the poker table.
Softly he murmured, “I have the highest respect and love for you.” Chance leaned forward and nuzzled my throat. “But I think of you a lot during the day and suffer urges for you in my dreams.”
It was so wonderful the sexual atrocities he committed, without once disturbing my virginity, leaving me pliantly aroused for more of his expert touch. So easily he put to rest any qualms that I held about letting him have me. In fact, twice I begged him to take me fully, but the exact words spoken still escapes me. But he went slowly, seemingly trying not to scare me.
Chance’s long fingers cradled my cheeks. His dark eyes looked into mine. “I made a promise, my love. I will keep it. If you don’t want me I will leave you alone.”
As I lay beside him he leaned and took one of my ample breasts into his hands as he pressed my upper thighs apart with his knee. “Your breasts are beautiful,” he said of the rosy nipples as he ran his rough thumbs over the nipples. He suckled the leathery orbs with taut, sensuous lips, tugging on them as though he were a hungry breastfeeding baby.
“Do you like this?”
“Like what? You doing this?” I asked nearly out of my mind, my voice faint.
“This.”
It was such a silly question and I was drenched with my juice and his saliva between my legs and my condition seemed to be worsening.
All the while I held his head in my hands, wanting his offerance of love, putty in his hands. Vexing me, Chance took his time and went slow. His mouth left my breast as he gently fingered the soft folds at my Y. He stopped and blew on the spit-wet ends of my breasts and re-started feeding making me feel his hunger deep in my core.
The ache tormented me and I would remember and relish it forever.
“I’m with you tonight to pleasure you.” For awhile he continued, not touching my slit. When we go all the way it’ll be even more arousing, Opal.”
“There’s even more?” How could it be? His touch felt magical now! Her flesh burned for Chance--liquid heat flowed through her as she arched and raised her bottom for his hand and long sliding fingers.
A guttural chuckle came from his throat. “Oh yes. Much more.” Chance rimmed my ear with his tongue.
When my hands surrounded his shoulder he whispered, “Part your legs for me, Susan.”
Whimpering, I complied, while his fingers laced in the hair on my pubic mound while heat rose in my cheeks.
“That’s it, lovely virgin.”
“I love the feel of you...your ample curves.” His hands stopped at my butt where gently he kneaded. “I have all the patience in the world.”
But I had none. “Take me Chance. Take me now,” I said hoarsely. Immediately she needed his hard length inside her, ending her cursed virginity. Intimately, I wanted to feel him and see what all the hubbub was about. But most of all I was aroused and my body demanded him.
The head of his sex pressed against my unyielding maidenhead and I moaned his name against his mouth, opening wider. Then the sharp pain caused my body to stiffen. It slowly faded and then yielded to extreme pleasure that soon followed.
Deeply, he buried his cock inside my body and suddenly I could not get enough of him. My heart slammed, joltingly in my chest. Chance’s member moved in and out of me seeking to fulfill my need of him and his need of me as if we were on fire.
My breaths came in short shallow pants. The pounding rhythm rushed us to a peak that I’d never been to before. Slowly the tension eased after Chance had pressed into me hard and shot his juice into my womb, reaching a world-class crescendo.
With a sigh and a last gentle kiss we fell asleep. Satisfied, I slept in his arms until the first pastel rays of morning sun filtered between the draperies. Opening my eyes I lifted my head and peered over at the lovely man. Strands of my long hair, in disarray streamed across his pillow, his face and delicious bare chest. Such a virile man, he was. I remembered his deep plundering kiss and my breasts were oddly swollen and sore from the prevous night’s coupling Dangerous he was, though.
His shaft lie sleeping at the apex of his upper thighs, causing a faint smile to fade over my lips, wondering when we would couple again. I covered his mid-section with a sheet and partially laid on him.
For awhile I lay still enjoying the feel of his warm body pressed to mine. The corner of his lip curved up and he smiled at me.
“What are you looking at, Susan?” he asked softly. “Are you wanting more?” “Oh yeah?” I asked jestingly. Slowly gaining courage, taking possession of this man, I ran my hand under the sheets and discovered that his shaft had gone granite hard. I tensed when my hand encircled it.
“Hm?” His voice incredibly husky, “Because there’s nothing I want more...than to oblige you and douse that fire I see blazing in those big eyes of yours, Susan.”
“Do it...rough, soft how ever you want...just do it.”
“Come here then,” he breathed, obviously more than ready. “Let me tend your needs.”
“I’m already here,” I said as I feathered kisses along his day’s beard growth.
His lips once again found mine and deepened, demanding more until once again I found herself surrendering, succumbing to basic adult needs. The deep longing that I felt earlier again knotted in my lower belly.
A deep sleepy groan emerged from his throat as fingers reached under my hips, pressing into my flesh. Chance urged me on top of the the strong length of his body, moving me, all the while fitting himself into my slit, letting me sit atop him, ‘riding’ him, causing him to draw a sharp breath. I felt a tremor traveling through his body. His hands rose and cupping my ample breasts when I bent to press my lips to his, seeing the need rising in his glistening onyx pools. I pressed my hips into him, paused, then gradually let up, over and over. He pushed his thick shaft into my undulating, squeezing cunt.
“You’re really doing good,” he growled, suddenly taking over. Chance laughed as he pushed his shaft deeply into my pussy, then rolled me over onto my back and pumped mercilessly, shaking the bed. My back moved up and back on the sheets. He grasped my legs and draped them up his chest so he could fit into me like a hand fits into a glove. Tiny screams departed my throat and the musky scent of sex filled the air. His effort, punctuated by grunts and moans, caused us to come again in a short time.
Spent, we separated, chuckling and in love. Chance kissed me fleetingly on the cheek saying, “I love you, Susan.” I looked over at him and felt my heartbeat falter as he continued, “And there’s more of this to come.”

* * *

Later that day as he held me in his arms, he drew lazy eight design around the nipple of my clothed breast while standing at the piano in the sitting parlor.
“I have to go tell my mother...face her and tell her that life with you is what I want,” I managed to say, repressing the anger. Albeit, Chance was a gangster, but he did not treat me badly.

“I’m glad to see that you’re going to stand up for yourself. You don’t have to take any crap from anyone. Not any more.”

I thought over his advice and nodded. I didn’t want to take any crap anymore, that was for sure. “I want to show my mother that she no longer has control over my life. It’ll be obvious when she comes home from back east. I have to do this for myself, Chance. I need to confront her.”

With loads of understanding, he said, “I believe you should.”

“I want to visit Blanche too and thank her.” Tears stung my eyes. “I’m grateful to her for staying by all these years and being my sounding board. She’s bolstered me when I was down.”

Chance rubbed out a tear that traveled down my cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. “I don’t want you to be down or put down any more. Blanche has broken up with Kelly.”

“She has?”

“She said she wasn’t cut out for his life.”

“It’s probably the right decision she made.”

“Now where were we?” Something dark and thrilling flashed in his eyes. I recognized his sexual need when I saw it.

“You’re your own woman here in this house. I’ve watched you grow into a woman...my woman as a matter of fact.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” He pulled me down with him on the couch, lay at my side and drew my hair from my face. “Do what you want in this house. This is yours...all of it...every board and nail and stick of furniture. You’re my wife...I am proud of you.” His hand ran up and under my dress and into my panties. “Come and go as you please. I love you Susan. I’ll always treat you with the utmost respect. And I’ll never let you come in contact or know anything about my business. With a guard you’ll be safe.” He cocked his head, looked at her through long dark lashes and touched her cheek, sweetly, making my heart ache for him.

He wanted me again, I could tell by his words, touch and actions. He would take me right there in the sitting parlor if I would let him. Maybe I would let him. Thank goodness the house had emptied of people.

I told him, “And right or wrong, I want to be with you. Now. Let’s go upstairs.”

Goodnight Dear Diary.