Lena

As Lena took a sip from her Martini, she eyed him from across the bar. His laugh, obnoxious. His face, riddled with sin. His nature, like a snake. Mr Haroldson would pay. Pay with his life.

Lena slipped herself off the barstool and sauntered over to the booth where Mr Haroldson and his comrades drank and spat about their white-collar days and conquests. Slow and steady, Lena moved as a steely panther, her gold dress showcasing just the right amount of leg and breast; her blonde curls sat in just the right way to say I’m available, but you’ll have to work for it. 

Hollywood, 1945. And times had never been harder for a pretty girl in a city filled with greed- demons and ladder-climbers. 

City of Angels, Lena would scoff. One could say that to rise to the top meant leaving one’s dignity at the bottom. And that is what many, many poor unfortunate souls had to do to survive. 

Lena was no exception. 

Not only was Lena Duvalle a talented singer and dancer, but she could also act the house down. A triple threat beautifully packaged in a delicious vessel was the succulent cherry on top. 

Born in a small town just outside of Kansas City, Lena (born Marlena Mary Johnson), daughter of Edith, a 'lady of the night', and sister to Jon Jon, a small-time gangster, Lena found herself dreaming of a different life, a life filled with glamour, parties, diamonds and fame. She knew in her heart she wasn't going to find it in the shadows of Kansas City, so she squirrelled away every penny she could hustle. And sometimes the hustle was harder than Lena would care to admit, but she had her eye on her prize. Hollywood. 

One summer’s night, Edith had a caller…a pompous man with an obnoxious laugh and a face riddled with sin. Mr. Haroldson. Now, Edith did her best to take care of her children, and pulling tricks from her home was the best way Edith could be sure that all her hard-earned cash went to her and the children. A good woman in a bad world, that’s what she used to say. Lena believed her. Her mother was a good woman in a bad world. On this summer’s night, Lena could hear her mother entertaining Mr Haroldson; they drank, and they laughed, and when he came, he squawked like a crow. 

A scuffle and a scream yanked Lena out from her light sleep, a smash and a clunk. 

Mother.

Lena leapt from her bed and made straight for her mother’s room. Alas, it was too late. There on the bed lay Edith, a knife plunged into her chest. Lena couldn’t remember anything after that: the police, Jon Jon, it was all a blur. But she did remember one thing. That face, that twisted, awful face. Mr Haroldson. 

Well, that was 10 years ago, and Lena was a woman now. A young woman with talent, determination and the call of her mother’s name haunting her with every breath. 

Heavy thoughts that ran through her mind as she inched her way closer to where Mr Haroldson and his chums were clinking glasses and spit-laughing about foolishness were too vivid for one mind to take: her mother’s face, the knife, Jon Jon, red and blue lights flashing in and out of her thoughts. Time slowed down as Lena's hip touched the rim of Mr Haroldson’s table. Through a puff of cigar smoke, the men stopped their banter to take in the bombshell who had so coyly interrupted their greedy trash talk. 

Lena cocked her head to one side while she ran her perfectly manicured fingers into the slit of her dress. Lena did not break eye contact with Mr Haroldson; she could see he was amused, and judging by the film of sweat on his brow, he seemed to be undressing her with his eyes. 

The pistol was warm in her hand; it had been tucked into her garter, and the heat from the hot blood pumping through her veins had warmed her pistol, aptly named ‘Edie’, up. She aimed right for his chest. The clap from the first shot disoriented the entire bar. While Mr So n So and Mrs Blah Blah Blah ducked for cover, Lena stood still; she never missed. Another shot. Right between his eyes. 

The bar had emptied; no one else was hurt. Lena didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. She took a seat next to Mr Haroldson's body, which had slumped forward onto the table. And took the Scotch from his hand. Neat. It would have to do. She preferred hers on the rocks. The smell of cigar smoke and gunpowder hung thick in the air while Lena sipped on his Scotch. Raising her glass in the air, she swore that she would tell the world her story. Her Mother’s story. 

By the time the police arrived, Lena was four Scotches deep. Her head swayed from side to side as the police cuffed her and pulled her from the scene of the crime. Shuffling her out the door and into the cool of the night, reporters with their notebooks and pencils hurled questions at Lena. Questions which seemed to be irrelevant and juvenile. A bright flash. Someone had taken her picture. Lena hoped she looked glamorous to cause a stir in tomorrow’s paper. 

As Lena sat in the back seat of the police car, she saw his body being wheeled out; a white sheet lay over him to protect his dignity. Where was Mother’s white sheet? She wondered.

Lena bowed her head as her tears rolled into her mouth. She watched the chaos through glassy eyes.

“A good woman in a bad world” she smiled. 

By Ms Aqua Tofana