Under the Dazzling Lights

By Eva Rose Morgen

It's 1951. A snazzy nightclub is looking to hire a new pianist after the old one is found dead in his bathtub. Johnny Miller is that pianist. Young and eager to please, he fits in well with the band. The most welcoming is the nightclub's singer and dancer, Rosalie Torrio. She is also the daughter of the nightclub's owner, who just so happens to have ties to one of New York's most infamous mob bosses. Johnny is warned not to get too close to her, but that doesn't stop the friendship that blooms between them.
When Rosalie's dance partner is injured, Johnny steps in and takes his place in order to save the show. This only draws them closer. But there are many forces that work against them, including Rosalie's elusive fiancé and an over-protective brother with a nasty temper.
One event after the other leads Johnny and Rosalie to make a decision: leave the life of show business and all else they've ever known to forge a new one together. It seems simple, but first they must overcome the many obstacles that stand in their way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eva Rose Morgen
• Release date: Aug 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223579533

Book preview

Under the Dazzling Lights

Eva Rose Morgen

Morgen Sisters

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023 by Eva Rose Morgen

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Cover design by Elise Wall

To Andraya, who loves the 1950s even more than I do.

And to my family, for continuing to believe in me.

Contents

1.Chapter 1

2.Chapter 2

3.Chapter 3

4.Chapter 4

5.Chapter 5

6.Chapter 6

7.Chapter 7

8.Chapter 8

9.Chapter 9

10.Chapter 10

11.Chapter 11

12.Chapter 12

13.Chapter 13

14.Chapter 14

15.Chapter 15

16.Chapter 16

17.Chapter 17

Epilogue

Author's note

About the Author

Chapter one

In the early 1950s, the Bella Torrio was one of the most classy nightclubs in New York City. It had a well earned reputation for putting on spectacular shows filled with the smoky sounds of jazz from an eight-piece band, fast intricate dance numbers, and the occasional well-known guest star. Folks got dressed up to the nines and gathered in the spacious dinning hall each night to see what the Bella Torrio had to offer. They were never disappointed.

It was no secret that the establishment was owned by Anthony Tony Torrio, a Sicilian immigrant who happened to be the right hand man of one of New York’s most notorious gangsters, Albert Anastasia. Tony had named the club after his wife and left the operation in the capable hands of his son, Frankie. But it wasn’t Frankie or Tony who ran the show—it was Tony’s young but ambitious daughter, Rosalie.

As a child, Rosalie dreamed of becoming a performer. She wanted to sing and dance like Ginger Rogers, dressed in flowing gowns that shimmered under the glow of the spotlight. Her father granted Rosalie her wish by making her the star attraction. She didn’t disappoint him, and her smooth, mezzo-soprano vocals and charming stage presence won the nightclub its place in the limelight.

Sometimes, the nightclub played host to business meetings between Mr. Anastasia, Tony, and a few other important men from the Family. While there was a performance going on, they met in the back office. No one was allowed to bother them. When business was concluded, they returned to the dinning hall to watch the remainder of Rosalie’s performance.

Tonight, this particular meeting was about Jimmy Costello, the club’s pianist. Rumors of his involvement in narcotics made him a liability to the Family and their organization. The men argued quietly amongst themselves, but the verdict was still the same—Jimmy had to go. They were sorry to do it, but they didn’t like to mess around, not in that kind of business.

The next morning, Jimmy was found dead in his bathtub. His death was labeled as suicide by the authorities. While he was no longer a threat, the Bella Torrio was now short a piano player, and the saxophone player and bandleader, Nat Davis, decided to ask Frankie’s permission to hold auditions.

We can’t do without a pianist, Nat said, cornering Frankie in his office. News about Jimmy’s death had spread fast. Nat knew exactly what had happened to him, but he was smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself.

Frankie looked up at the Bella Torrio’s tall, slim saxophone player and gave a curt nod.

You’re right, he agreed. What do you propose we do about it?

Nat and Frankie had been friends for years, ever since Frankie had helped him get out of a nasty scrape. The two men trusted one another to do what was best for the club.

I say we hold auditions, Nat said, and Frankie gave him the go-ahead, but with a warning.

Make sure he’s trustworthy and reliable. We don’t want another Jimmy on our hands.

Early the next morning, hopeful musicians from all around came to audition. This was a highly sought-after position. Not only would it bring the lucky man who got the job a bit of attention, but the pay was good, and it meant getting to rub elbows with the elite.

Unfortunately, the auditions attracted men with no talent whatsoever. Nat must have turned away over twenty piano players in the first two hours alone. Not one of them had the right stage presence, or that special touch. Jimmy had possessed both. He’d be hard to replace, and as the hours dragged on, Nat cursed him for getting involved in the very thing that had led to his demise.

When afternoon rolled around, Frankie came out to watch. His presence drew stares of curiosity. Tall and handsome, with broad shoulders and a crooked nose that had been broken a time or two in a fight, he was the kind of man who could turn heads, and it wasn’t just because of his looks. His ties with Albert Anastasia himself brought him attention. Everyone wanted to be his friend, because making an enemy out of Frankie wasn’t a wise move. He had a nasty temper that flared up on occasion. Nat had seen it more times than he could count, and he’d come to one conclusion over the years: Frankie just wasn’t a man you wanted to cross.

Frankie sat down at one of the tables, propped up his feet, and lit a cigarette. Nat motioned for the next musician to step up. The man did so, but four bars into the song Nat shook his head and sent to poor, disappointed fellow on his way.

What number was that? Frankie asked, sounding just a little annoyed.

I don’t know, Nat admitted. I lost count.

I don’t blame you for sendin’ ‘em away. My ears are ringing somethin’ awful from the last few.

That’s why I sent them away. None of ‘em have that special quality I’m lookin’ for. You know what I think?

No, ‘cause I can’t read your mind.

Nat chuckled, then became solemn. I think I’m gonna be here all night, he remarked sourly. Somebody didn’t bother to tell any of these fellas they ain’t got a lick of talent to their names.

You’re just picky, Frankie accused.

Nat tapped the side of his head. No, I’m smart. He waved another musician forward.

I’ll bet you twenty bucks you’ll have your man by tonight, Frankie wagered.

And I’ll bet you thirty I won’t, Nat countered.

You got yourself a bet.

They shook on it, then Nat went back to the auditions. He sent four more disappointed men on their way. After that he decided to take a much-deserved lunch break.

At four in the afternoon, Rosalie arrived at the club. She came in without notice and sat down beside her brother. Nat greeted her with a cordial nod of acknowledgment. She usually came in at six-thirty when there were no rehearsals scheduled, but he supposed she just wanted to see how the auditions were going.

Graced with a quiet beauty, Rosalie bore more of a resemblance to her father than her mother. She had inherited his dark hair and his spunk, but her blue eyes came from her mother’s side of the family. Full lips were always smiling graciously. However, she was very reserved, keeping the most private parts of herself locked away. Nat suspected she’d always been this way. He’d known her for years now, yet there were things about her he wasn’t aware of, probably never would be.

Rosalie turned heads like her brother, but if a man was smart, he didn’t get too close. Despite being a year younger than his sister, Frankie was as protective as they came. If a man looked at his sister the wrong way, implying his interest in her, Frankie was quick to put him in his place and send him on his way. He had bloodied more than a few noses of those whose intentions were less than honorable.

Sometimes, Nat felt sorry for Rosalie. She had an overabundance of protective men in her life, including Albert Anastasia himself. And then there was Salvatore, whom was affectionately called Sal by friends and family. He was just as bad. He was engaged to be married to her, and he was the jealous sort. Luckily, he was never around because business kept him away. That’s what Nat heard, anyway.

He turned his attention to the remaining pianists who’d come in to audition. His gaze fell on a kid who looked like the slightest sound might make him jump out of his skin. He was on the skinny side, with dirty blond hair and dark eyes that darted nervously around the room. Nat doubted he’d be any good but he wasn’t going to turn him away, not until he gave him a chance.

Hey, kid, what’s your name? Nat asked, making the young man jump.

Me?

Yeah, you.

Johnny Miller, the kid said, a slight tremor in his voice.

You look a little young, Nat said, thinking the kid couldn’t be more than eighteen at most.

Johnny Miller stood up taller. I’m twenty-six, sir.

That was a surprise. Nat could tell he’d hurt the kid’s pride a bit, but he wasn’t here to make friends, only find the right guy to take Jimmy’s place.

Can you play? he asked.

Sure, Johnny said, shrugging. I can play.

Nat heaved a tired sigh, then flourished a hand at the baby grand sitting on the stage. Go on. Play me a coupla bars.

Johnny went timidly to the piano and took a seat. He had to scoot the bench in closer; the fellow who’d gone before him had been tall and gangly.

Once he had gotten comfortable, his mannerism seemed to change. Gone was the wide-eyed look of an anxious man. In its place came a confidence that got Nat’s attention.

Then Johnny started to play and it was like the room had come alive. His fingers flew gracefully over the keys. Instead of playing from the music sheets Nat had provided, he seemed to make up a tune as he went, and boy was it something. Nat found himself nodding along to the lively tempo. He could hear himself accompanying Johnny on his saxophone.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nat saw Frankie perk up. That was a good sign. From the time he’d sat down, an expression of sheer boredom had been on his face. Now, he actually looked interested.

Johnny finished with a riff, then stood and became all shy again, like he’d stepped outside the little bubble that had been around him only moments before.

Where’d you learn to play like that? Nat asked, impressed.

Johnny shrugged. No where special, he said modestly.

Well, that was really somethin’. We could use a guy with your talent ‘round here.

Davis, Frankie called, tell this man he’s hired.

Nat grinned. You’re hired, Mr. Miller.

Johnny’s eyes lit up. Really?

Nat stuck out a hand and Johnny grasped it. The kid had a strong handshake for someone so timid and skinny.

First, you got to sign a contract, Nat said. After that, myself and Miss Rosalie over there will rehearse a few numbers with you, just so you get comfortable. How’s that sound?

Johnny glanced over at Rosalie, who smiled warmly at him. He became shy all over again.

Mr. Miller?

Oh, uh, that sounds fine, he stammered.

Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta see the rest of these folks out. You go on back with Mr. Torrio there to his office and he’ll get you sorted.

After Nat escorted the rest of the disappointed musicians out, he joined Rosalie by the stage. She was sitting on the ledge, looking a bit downcast, probably thinking about poor Jimmy and his untimely end. Sometimes, Nat wondered if she knew what really went on with her daddy’s business, but he didn’t ask. He had learned long ago to look in the other direction when it concerned the Torrio family. If you didn’t, you ended up like Jimmy.

Mr. Miller is rather good, don’t you think? Rosalie said, and Nat nodded.

Sure is. Between you and me, I was surprised by it. Didn’t think such talent could come out of him.

A person doesn’t have to exude confidence or look the part to put on a good show, she pointed out. You ought to know that better than anyone.

He chuckled. I suppose you’re right.

Do you think we can get him ready for tomorrow night’s performance?

Nat heaved his shoulders in a shrug. Depends on how quickly he learns and how well he works with the band.

Johnny came through the doorway, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants. He was grinning from ear-to-ear like they’d made his day. Nat guessed he’d probably been down on his luck and this was his big break.

The rest of the band’ll probably be here in an hour, Nat told him. Let’s go through a coupla numbers just the three of us, all right?

Not so fast, Rosalie said, holding up a hand. Poor Mr. Miller has been employed here for all of five minutes and you haven’t even made introductions.

Right. Nat turned to Johnny. I’m Nat, and that’s Miss Rosalie. I call all the shots, and you’ll listen to me unless Rosalie says otherwise. You got that?

Johnny stared at him a moment, then nodded. I got it, he said, then smiled at Rosalie. You can call me Johnny.

Good, Rosalie said, returning the smile. I hate formalities. Call me Rosalie.

Nat grabbed his saxophone from its case. "The number we’re doin’ is called Somethin’ Sweet. Miss Rosalie will start and you can come in behind her."

Johnny climbed up on stage and took a seat at the piano. Rosalie took her usual place in front of the microphone, then started to sing, tapping out the tempo with her foot. Somethin’ Sweet was a slow, mellow tune that went heavy on the piano and strings and light on percussion. Rosalie did it well. It suited her mezzo-soprano vocals just fine, first dipping into a series of low notes, then swelling up into her upper range for a climatic finish.

Johnny did just fine, too. The moment Rosalie started to sing, he came in behind her, nodding his head to the rhythm to keep on tempo. His style was profoundly different than Jimmy’s, but in a way that added depth to the song.

Nat knew it by heart. He noticed that Johnny made a few changes to the arrangement, but that was just fine. It sounded good to him.

They ran through a couple more numbers before he decided he’d made a good call hiring Johnny. Not only did Johnny follow orders, he had quickly synchronized with both Nat and Rosalie, never missing a beat. The final test was seeing how well he played when there was a full band behind him.

It was nearing six o’clock now. The nightclub opened its doors at seven, then the show began at eight. After the rest of the band arrived, Nat made hasty introductions, then ushered them on stage. He wanted to go through at least a number or two before they had to go back and get ready for the show.

Johnny stuck out like a sore thumb. The band was a mixed bag, some of the musicians Italian, a few of them black fellas like Nat, and the Latin American horn player, Manuel. Johnny’s head of dirty blond hair would make him the butt of a few jokes, but Nat hoped the band would receive him well and treat him as one of their own.

As it turned out, the men didn’t need much convincing that Johnny was one of them. All it took was his playing. He knew how to knock the socks off a person, and by the second number, Nat could tell the men were impressed, even Manuel, who had hated Jimmy with a passion from the very start. This was a good sign. When a band had mutual respect for one another, the music flowed as smooth and free as a summer breeze.

Frankie appeared in the doorway and motioned to Nat. Nat hopped off the stage and joined him.

Sounds good in here, Frankie said, nodding to the band.

Nat nodded. Johnny’s a good fit. The boys seem to like him.

Good. Will you be usin’ him in the show tonight?

No. Tonight he’ll sit it out. We gotta let him get a feel for how the show works, you know?

That makes sense. Frankie moved to leave, then turned around. Nat? You owe me thirty bucks, he said.

Nat scowled. I was hopin’ you’d forget that little wager we made.

Frankie gave him a lopsided smile. I don’t forget bets, Nat. Pay up. He held open his hand.

Nat dug out his billfold, took out a twenty and a ten, and slapped the money in Frankie’s palm.

That was my lunch and haircut money, he grumbled.

Maybe I’ll give you a raise come payday. I’m feelin’ generous. Frankie pocketed the money, then turned on his heel and went back to his office.

When seven rolled around, the Bella Torrio filled up with men and women dressed in their evening attire. The air became hazy with cigarette and cigar smoke. In the background, a mellow jazz number was being played by the band, competing with the low murmur of conversation.

Johnny took it all in from a table in the back. He had been instructed by Nat to sit here and enjoy the show. While he wanted badly to perform tonight, he was happy to sit this one out and see it from the audience’s perspective.

He was nervous about performing tomorrow night, though his excitement far outweighed his anxiety. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he would be offered this position. When he walked in here this afternoon, he had expected to be turned away, but instead he was accepted into the band.

He considered this his big break. For the past two years he’d been working odd jobs while occasionally auditioning for nightclubs and theaters, only to be turned down time and time again. He’d been told on several occasions that his playing was too flamboyant, that his habit of improvising wasn’t efficient.

Johnny hadn’t given up, though. He wanted to make it in this world, and it didn’t matter to him how many times he stumbled, so long as he got right back up and kept on going. His mentor had given him that bit of advice.

His mentor was dead now. Daddy had been a heavy drinker. He’d been drunk more times than sober, especially after the death of Johnny’s mother. One day, he drank himself into a stupor and didn’t wake up the next morning. Johnny was left to navigate the rest of his teenage years alone, without the one person he needed most. He’d been sixteen then.

Now he was a man.

Johnny fiddled nervously with a book of matches, eager for the show to start. He’d ordered a drink but hadn’t touched it. In memory of his father, he’d made a firm commitment to stay sober. When he looked back on his childhood, he saw a man who couldn’t walk without stumbling, or talk without slurring. He wouldn’t allow himself to become that way.

The only thing the drink hadn’t done to Jonathan Miller Sr. was diminish his skills at the piano. He’d been a refined player, having gone to a prestigious music school in his youth. After his parents died, he’d inherited their fortune and his mother’s upright piano.

But then times got tough. The money dried up, and there just wasn’t a cent left to send Johnny to school when he came of age. But they’d managed. They always had, even when hope for a better future seemed unobtainable.

Johnny liked to think that, had he gone to a prestigious music school like his father, he wouldn’t have that special touch when he played the piano. When a man got to make his own way, he was free to shape himself into the man he wanted to be. That was what Johnny had done. He wasn’t his grandfather, the first Jonathan Miller, or his father—he was Johnny Miller. That was just the way he liked it.

Suddenly, the lights went down and a hush fell over the room. He sat up straighter in his chair. He knew the show was about to begin.

When the music started to play with its upbeat tempo and soaring notes, Rosalie emerged from the side entrance, dressed in a red evening gown, her hair done up in a stylish updo. Johnny was mesmerized. He thought she’d been lovely before, but she was even more so now.

She swayed in time to the music as she sang. Her smooth, mezzo-soprano vocals were like clear water. He tapped his foot along with the beat. He never took his eyes off her, drawn to her charm and grace, but also to the smile of enjoyment on her lips. Like Johnny, when the music started, she withdrew into a world that was entirely her own. In this world, she could shine.

Rosalie performed a few numbers, then left the stage to appreciative applause. The Italian crooner and cellist, Danny Valentino, took her place to do a few numbers of his own. Johnny listened with half an ear. He thought once more about performing in front of an audience and grew nervous all over again. This was something he’d never experienced before. He wondered if his hands were going to shake like they had earlier when he’d first come in to audition. Probably, but that sure made it difficult to play.

He heard the chair beside his scrape softly against the floor. When he turned his head, he was surprised—but delighted, all the same—when he saw Rosalie. She smiled at him.

Mind if I keep you company? she asked. You look lonely sitting back here by yourself.

Oh, uh, I don’t mind at all, Johnny stammered. You were wonderful up there, by the way.

Thank you. You were wonderful yourself earlier.

A waiter came over and served her a glass of champagne. She took a small sip, then set the glass down.

How long have you been playing piano, Johnny? she asked conversationally.

He shrugged. Since I was a boy, I guess. My father taught me.

He taught you well. Rosalie traced her index finger around the rim of her glass. I took lessons when I was a little girl, but I never did have the patience for it. I much preferred getting into mischief with my brother. Do you have any siblings?

I had a sister, but she died when I was young. I don’t really remember her.

I’m sorry.

It was a long time ago, Johnny said. He rubbed his sweaty hands off on his trousers and smiled at her. I can’t imagine you getting into mischief.

She laughed. Oh, I most certainly did. My poor mother wanted a daughter she could dress up in frilly dresses and pretty bows. All I wanted to do was play in the dirt with Frankie. We made quite a pair, Frankie and I.

Johnny relaxed some, losing the tension in his