Thread: Bright Young Thing ::: {Prince of Smut & Ariamella}

Chicago, Illinois September, 1927 A young woman sat nude in front an ornate vanity, lazily finger-combing through freshly released pin curls while examining the reflection staring back at her. Rich, mahogany hair that usually fell to mid back now sat just below her shoulders, and a face full of makeup accentuated her wide eyes and angular face, particularly her high cheek and brow bones. Blue-gray eyes stood out against the dark liner on her lids, the rouge on her cheeks and the red stain on her lips, and she wondered to herself why most people frowned upon the use of makeup. It made people beautiful... It made her beautiful and so much more. It made her feel sexy . A delicious sense of satisfaction washed through her at the use of such a risque term- a word that was usually reserved for use at the prostitution clubs in the city- and it only intensified her excitement for what was to come later that night. Standing abruptly, she walked over to a four poster bed that dominated the far end of her room and picked up a dress that had been laying there, holding it up to her naked form before slipping on undergarments and a brassiere, finally followed by the green beaded fabric. It showed off a lower cut neckline while keeping true to the flapper style that had become all the rage in America over the past few years. After rolling sheer dark stockings up her legs and securing them with garters, she did one last mirror check before donning a beaded lace headpiece and black kitten heels. The last item she grabbed was a fur-trim coat to shield herself against the chill of the September air, then she softly opened the door to sneak downstairs. The house was quiet as usual, and the girl sighed, not sure whether to be thankful or worried that her father was so easily deceived. Like all the other nights she asked to go out with her friends, it was always the same conversation Now Scarlett, who are you going with? Just Penelope as always, dad. And where are you going? She would always shrug. Just to the jazz club near the federal building. Well you be careful, sweetheart. Yes, father. And with that, her father retired to his quarters, dealing with office work or whatever it was that kept him busy at night. It was always some variation of those exchange of words, though in her earlier years her father requested that she had a chaperone and she definitely didnt miss that . Then again, in the earlier years of her socialite career, she actually was at the jazz club and not gallivanting around in gambling dens drinking to her hearts content. In any case, he wasnt the best at keeping track of his daughter as he was a very busy man with a busy schedule. Shaking her head, she unlocked the back door that was the usually meant as an entrance and exit for the maids and butlers of the house, slipping out and taking care not to slam it as it closed shut. That particular door led out to the back and ultimately to a small garden pathway that connected the Westin House to the Hayes House, where Penelopes chauffeur waited to take them to the more dangerous clubs of the city- the ones that housed gambling and alcohol, the very same that sent a thrill of excitement through the girls each time they ventured out into the night. It was impossible to pinpoint when they had started their dangerous escapades, but they continued it for two reasons the first being that it was simply addicting, like being drunk off the additional freedom of pretending to be lower class women for just a night, and the second being that they were absolutely sure they werent going to get caught, all thanks to Scarlett. And tonight with Scarlett's luck and Penelope's money, they planned to get into one of the more elite dens of the city. The chauffeur brought them to the north side of the city and stopped in front of a strip of high-class shops, waiting until the last girl stepped out before accepting a wad of cash from Penelope. His hungry eyes took in the bills as his grubby fingers plucked them out of her grasp, and his smoky voice answered, Ill be waiting here for your return, Miss Hayes. It was a cloudless night, lit by a combination of streetlights and moonlight, and the streets were alive with the hustle and bustle of the sounds of Chicago- boisterous chatter, the rumble of vehicle engines, and lively tones of jazz that drifted up the street from open doors. Although it was already quarter-till nine, it wasnt unusual to see socialites around town doing what they did best, and the girls were no exception. They nodded to the people they knew as they walked the strip, finally stopping near an intersection that boasted the acclaimed Bayview Inn. To the left of the ritzy hotel was their area of interest a thin alleyway. This way, Scarlett murmured, leading the way into the darkness and stale air of the passage. Seated near a shabby-looking door at the midpoint of the alley, leaning on the wall of the Bayview, was a man dressed in wrinkled slacks, jacket and newsboy cap. He eyed the women suspiciously as they approached and even without her ability, Scarlett could sense that they had a slim chance of winning his favor to let them in. She flashed a couple bills from her coat pocket and smiled, immediately feeling the change from a forty to an eighty percent chance. Room 18, please, she said firmly, proffering the money in obvious gesture. A wheezy voice floated up from the mans position on the ground as he eyed the brunette up and down before accepting the cash. Behind the tapestry. He opened the door and pointed inside. Scarlett nodded and both women followed his direction, descending a set of stairs that led to a small room with only a large plush chair, a small table and a floor-length tapestry as decor. And in the silence of their isolation, the faint sound of instruments and voices could be heard. Apparently they change the number of the room every night, and if you dont say the right one, you dont get access. How do find these things out? Penelope asked in a hushed tone, a hint of wonder lingering in her voice. How do you get away with throwing so much of your fathers money away? the other girl answered, stepping forward while simultaneously looking back to grin at her friend. Go ahead, Penny, do the honors. Penelope gave a bright, toothy smile, too excited to object the use of the horrid nickname, and shuffled with the tapestry for a few seconds before finding the brass handle of the speakeasy entrance. They pushed it open and were greeted by the gentle plucking of a string bass, a mid-tempo saxophone melody and dissonant piano chords that resolved into a jazzy sequence. The place was moderately sized for a den and was certainly more visually pleasing than some of the other places they had been, and Scarlett relished the odd-but-familiar sensation of excitement mixing with relaxation. The small distance between herself and the bar was more than enough incentive to order her first drink of the night, and she did so without delay, asking the man for a Planters Punch then sliding money his way. It was an expensive habit, but the all worth it once the cocktail hit her lips and the alcohol burned its way down her throat, making her feel warm all over. She sipped her drink contently and sauntered over to Penelope, who was already seated at the roulette table. The night was young, the drink was fresh, and Scarlett had no regrets for enjoying something that was labeled as very, very bad.