Another night at The Majestic, this beloved club we work in. Sometimes I am sarcastic about saying "beloved", but other nights, like this one, I am not. I am happy today because Frankie is at the club. Though, he had some company who made me uneasy.

"Nice music tonight, Dad," Edward said, patting his old man on the back. He was focusing on eating some baked ziti that Paulie had cooked earlier at his own home and brought in special just for Eddie, because we knew he'd be in tonight and oh lord if he didn't have his baked ziti. Really, good lord. Paulie had made more than usual, so we had set a plate in front of the old man, too. He seemed to be enjoying his baked ziti and the band.

On stage, a swing band was playing "Moonlight Serenade". Before opening, we had moved the tables to the sides to make way for dancing. We did this every Wednesday night, a mid-week special for people who needed a weekend day during the week to unwind. It also meant that Paulie and I didn't have to work the stage, and so for this night we worked as waiters for the higher clientele who came in for the dancing. But with higher clientele, it also brought in Mr. Caselotti's friends. This is what made Wednesdays Paulie's least favorite day of the week. That and the cooking.

Paulie stood with me at the bar, a momentary lapse as we watched our happy customers converse and dance.

"I made some baked ziti for Avi, too. I wanted to make him some matzah ball soup, it's his favorite you know, reminds him of his Grama. But I didn't have time with the baked ziti. I hope he likes it," Paulie was telling me.

"That's good," I nodded, still watching Eddie and the old man nearby.

"There's some in the freezer in back, too. We can have some after work. I tried some earlier. The sauce is really good tonight. I put in too much of the spicy stuff. It's got this weird kick that kind of works," Paulie went on. Paulie sure loved to cook, experiment. It was just the pressure of pleasing Eddie that was off putting for him on Wednesdays. It meant he wasn't cooking for the joy of cooking, he was cooking for the joy of Eddie.

I chuckled. "How much baked ziti did you make?" I asked, finally looking at Paulie.

"Two pans. We're getting some of the good batch and the bad batch. I ended up putting in way too much of the spicy stuff the first time. My ears just about went like tea kettles. Hope you like spicy," Paulie shrugged.

"Yeah, it's good. I always get the spicy chicken at that Chinese place me and Frankie go to on the West side," I giggled.

"Oh, good then," Paulie grinned. "I couldn't leave it for Avi. Avi can't deal with the spice. It gives him the runs."

"Ugh, Paulie," I said, making a face of disgust.

"Such a soft stomach you are even though you can take the spice," Paulie laughed, patting me on the back comfortingly as I fake gagged with my finger halfway in my mouth.

We went silent, and I began listening in on Eddie and his old man again. Eddie was always a loud talker. I couldn't really ever hear what the old man said due to how heavy he breathed. The old man was pretty large, so he had trouble breathing. But we had patience because he was a kind man. He's also the one who gave us our jobs, so we didn't have much choice but to be patient and accommodating.

"See, Dad? Isn't this nice? Why can't we have dancing here all the time? Why you gotta hire those phonies, whaddya call 'em, those 'impersonators'? Those funny guys? Not funny 'haha' but funny weird?" Eddie was saying. My eyes went wide and Paulie's did, too. We looked at each other wide eyed and then leaned in a little.

Eddie was talking about us.

It was leaning in that did the trick, and we could just barely hear his father reply slowly in his way. "Because...they're...funny..." he breathed hard.

"Plenty of people funny in this city, city is full 'a funny people, Dad," Eddie sighed, getting more baked ziti on his fork.

"Anybody...can do...comedy," the old man breathed back, not moving. He seemed pretty serious. "...But these...guys... These... Women... Guys...men in...dresses...hilarious..."

Paulie broke into a smile. I hid my mouth behind my hand and did the same.

"Aw Pop, why?" Eddie asked, putting the baked ziti he'd gathered in his mouth.

The old man leaned in to Eddie and Eddie paused. "You know...one 'a those...funny...guys... One a'...those funny...guys...made that...baked ziti...you're eating..."

We jumped as Eddie's fork clattered loudly on his plate above the music. Eddie's fists pounded on the table and we saw him throw his bib on his plate. "DON'T YOU EVER LET ONE 'A THEM EVEN TOUCH MY FOOD AGAIN!" He yelled. People nearby on the dance floor stopped and stared. The band seemed to have unsure looks on their faces as they played on.

Eddie went on. "THEM'S WEIRDOS... THEM'S QUEERS...DON'T YOU EVER LET THEM TOUCH MY FOOD!"

We heard the old man sigh deeply. We noticed he was still eating. Paulie looked at me and I nodded. The old man didn't have a problem with us. It was so relieving.

"If you...ain't gonna...eat that..." The old man said calmly, "I'll...eat it... The...sauce...tonight...spicy... I like it."

Paulie broke into a beam at this. He squeezed my shoulder and then went in back. He looked delighted. I watched the old man eat as Eddie had his little tantrum still. I smiled, too, for Paulie. Because I knew that from now on Paulie was cooking for the old man, and that brought joy into Paulie's heart.

Later on, Eddie went into one of the back rooms. The old man was left alone in his booth, watching the band and people dancing variously. He looked very pleased. The band was playing "Sing, Sing, Sing" and the old man was smiling a little bit as people on the dance floor were going a little crazy with their swing moves. I wondered if it reminded him of when he was younger, during the war maybe. I wondered if he had ever danced like that, maybe with Mrs. Caselotti.

As I walked over to his booth holding his favorite drink, the Manhattan, the band started to play a calmer song I didn't recognize. The people on the dance floor started a slow dance. I slid into the booth opposite of Mr. Caselotti and gave him his drink.

"Grazie...piccola," he nodded to me, taking the drink gratefully. He began to sip it and looked at the lovely couples.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself tonight," I said, leaning on my elbows and resting my chin in my hands.

"Oh...sicuramente... The dancing...is nice..." he sighed deeply.

I smiled with him. His eyes told me he was somewhere else.

"Did you like the baked ziti?" I asked, looking where he was looking.

"Sì..sì...it was...excellent...tonight," he sighed happily.

"Paulie will be glad to hear it," I said, relaxing against the booth.

"Mm...you know..." the old man said, turning to look at me now. I straightened up at attention and focused on him. He hardly ever addressed me directly. How strange.

"Yes, sir?" I asked.

"You know...I was...thinking...all night..."

I leaned in more. He was getting quiet.

"I was...thinking...how nice...it would...be...if...you sang...for me...'What a wonder...ful World'...by Louis...Armstrong..."

My eyes widened. I was confused. What did he mean?

He went on slowly. "Up on...the stage...with the...band...as Marilyn..." He started to smile to himself, a very pleased little beam, like he was thinking about such a thing right at this moment.

...As Marilyn... A nervous feeling began to spread in my body. My eyes flicked to the door that led to back rooms. The nervous feeling turned into fear, swirling around in my stomach. I began to feel sick.

Mr. Caselotti's eyes were closed and he sighed deeply to himself, obviously still thinking about how wonderful it would be to see me sing his favorite song. I felt very flattered by his request. He always called me "piccola" and not "piccolo", too. The "-a" at the end meant he regarded me as a woman. It always warmed my heart so much whenever I heard it. It touched me so deeply. This old man. This nice old man.

But the people currently in the back rooms were not so nice. The voice of Eddie flashed in my head. Them's queers! Don't you let them near my food! ...Like we were diseased. Like we were animals.

Mr. Caselotti's baby blues were open again, staring at me. As I looked at his dear old face, my heart pinched. His eyes. They were like Frankie's eyes, except a different shade of blue. I wondered if Frankie had gotten the green in his blue-green eyes from his mother. This thought softened my heart.

I smiled at Mr. Caselotti and took his hands. This made him grin in his funny way which always touched our hearts up at the bar.

"I'd be honored to sing 'What a Wonderful World' for you, Mr. Caselotti. Let me get my things and I'll be on stage. Maybe give me an hour? I hope that is not an inconvenience," I told him softly in my Marilyn Monroe voice.

"Nessun problema...piccola," he sighed happily, shaking my hands assuringly in our clasped together position. I returned his smile and unclasped our hands. I gave him a little curtsy and he nodded his head, still with that smile.

When I got into the back room with Paulie, I was in a slight panic. "Paulie. Paulie, you gotta help me. The old man wants me to sing 'What a Wonderful World' on stage," I said, my eyes flashing in my panic at him.

He was sitting on a stool in back looking over the weekly beer case orders for Carl. He lowered his reading glasses with his finger and stared at me. "Yeah, so get up there. What's the big deal?" he asked.

I took his shoulders and rocked him back and forth slowly. "You. Don't. Get. It. He wants me to sing as Georgina Monroe."

Paulie flew back into the desk in surprise, jamming his ribs into the outcropping of wood. "Ow, Jeezus!" Paulie cried, rubbing the back of his ribs. He straightened and looked at me, his eyes in fright. "As fucking Georgina?! For godsakes, did he just ignore what Eddie said or what? 'Them's queers' for godsakes! What are you going to do, George? What?!"

"Oh I don't know," I said, sighing. Frankie's blue-green eyes appeared in my head, the same as his father's, but a different color.

Paulie's expression changed to one of panic and wonder at the same time. "What are you thinking, George? Come back to me, hey. This is fuckin' serious!" He began snapping his fingers in front of my face.

"Well, he's our boss. I gotta do what he says, right? He doesn't care about the people in the back room. So why should we?" I said, still thinking about Frankie.

"Why should we? Why should we?! Are you fuckin' nuts? Don't you know its illegal to do outside what we do in here?! You walk outta this place dressed as Georgina Monroe, you'll get arrested! Eddie's right, dammit! We're crazy!" Paulie cried at me, shaking me by my shoulders.

I just sighed again.

"Stop sighing! Are you listening to me, George? Where is your head?!"

"I gotta do what Mr. Caselotti says, Paulie. You gotta go to my apartment and get me my Marilyn stuff. Maybe the white dress from The Seven Year Itch? My best wig, too. Don't forget my nylons. My corselette, too. My merry widow? My under bust corset, too. Those are very important."

"I don't wanna help you get killed. I don't want to," Paulie whispered to me, his dear face looking anguished. "If those people in the back room see you like that tonight, if EDDIE does, what's gonna happen? You go out there and you tell him no!"

I shook my head. "What if they don't see me? You can't hear anything in those back rooms. They've been in there for hours, probably gambling and drinking. Eddie might be too sloshed to care, Paulie. I just want to do this nice thing for his father. His father is so nice to us. Remember what he said about your spicy sauce? How he stood up for us? Doesn't that mean anything, Paulie?" I asked, taking Paulie's hands into mine and shaking them.

Paulie looked like he was going to cry. He was clearly thinking about Mr. Caselotti's nice words about us earlier. I had hit a nerve, said exactly what needed to be said.

Paulie just nodded, biting his bottom lip slightly. He looked down at the floor, still holding my hands. He squeezed them. "Okay, George, okay. I'll go get your Marilyn stuff. You hold the bar and wait on people until I get back, okay? Carl must be wondering where the heck we are by now. I'll go."

I smiled at him as he got up, but he didn't smile back. He was worried. And I didn't want to show it, but I was worried, too.

Forty minutes later, Paulie was lacing up my corset and we'd put a little sign on the door of the women's bathroom saying "Do not Disturb" and Paulie had written underneath, "or we'll kill ya". I thought it was an unnecessary addition. I looked in the long mirror over the sink at my changing body, smoothing my hands over the new curves of my torso with an uncertain look.

"No, it has to be tighter than that. Tighter. These don't look like Marilyn's curves yet," I frowned.

"News flash, George. You're a man. Your curves are never going to look like Marilyn's," Paulie said, giving my corset's laces another big pull. My breath hitched as he did.

My frown deepened. You're a man. Oh, Paulie. Sweet Paulie.

"Maybe give it another inch," I breathed, picking up one of my red Revlon lipsticks and holding it up to my already base make-upped face, scrutinizing it. He yanked the laces again and a big pinch shot up my ribs. A cry escaped my lips and I fell over the sink, my hands grabbing the edges of it before I could hit my face. My lipstick clattered into the sink. Paulie grabbed me from behind.

"This is what happens when you lace it too tight! I'm going to loosen it!" Paulie exclaimed, his hands already poised to loosen my cords in the mirror.

"NO!" I cried, grabbing his wrist.

"George!" he yelled at me, but not moving.

"I gotta do this, Paulie! Its for Mr. Caselotti! Frankie's father!"

Paulie's face looked piteous in the mirror, a sad face. His arm straightened me up in the mirror, so I could see myself again. I nodded, finally pleased with how my waist looked. It looked like Marilyn's. Finally.

"'Frankie's father', huh? Oh we tell no tales when pushed by torture," Paulie sighed, tying my laces in place at the middle of my back. He turned me and put my corselette on top, his nimble fingers working quickly. 

I tried to breathe deeply, but I couldn't. The corset was so tight. So perfect. I held my hand over my stomach as I tried to adjust my breathing, small breaths. Paulie was looking over my shoulder in the mirror, staring at me. A long look which I couldn't read. But he looked worried, among other things.

He looked over at the toilet, where my dress was draped at the ready.

"Hold your arms up," he ordered, disappearing from the mirror. I did so obediently, still staring at my waist. How small it was. How beautiful, like a true woman's. A beautiful woman's.

My white dress appeared in the mirror like an angel from heaven. Its cool fabric slipped over my arms and then around me, encasing me in its beauty. I scooped up the bust of it and pressed it against my chest. Paulie took the straps of the halter top and began tying them into a pretty bow.

"Make sure its only a double knot," I said, my eyes wide, remembering what had happened with me and Frankie the other week. When he couldn't untie it and I couldn't either.

With the bow tied, Paulie began snipping off more strips of double stick tape and putting them on the edge of the sink as I took my breast pads from their place behind the faucet fixtures. I put the double stick tape on them and began slipping them into my corselette's bustier top.

Paulie was shaking his head slowly as he snipped off more tape. "You want to wait for your wig until you put on the rest of your make-up or not?" He asked.

"I'll take it now," I answered, pretending like I hadn't seen his disapproval. I bounced a little to test the strength of the tape. All secure. Then I bent down and snapped the garter straps of my corselette to my nylons, making sure they were secure as well.

"Okay," Paulie said, taking my wig from my bag, where it was wrapped in a newspaper for safe keeping and to keep dust off. I looked at myself in the mirror, my short light blonde hair barely framing the top of my face. I ran my fingers through it, then put my thin headband on it, pushing back my bangs.

Paulie reappeared and put my wig cap on. My head looked completely naked now. It sent shivers up my spine. My body felt antsy.

"You ready?" he asked, holding my blonde wig above my head.

"Oh, I am ready," I beamed.

Beautifully, he lowered my wig to my head like the crown of a queen. As he shook it on, making sure it was in place, my heart sighed like the ocean on a romantic night. A breath of air so fulfilling and lovely it made me want to cry.

As he brushed out my wig on my head, re-curling with his fingers and making sure it was all pretty and fluffy, the sigh of beauty inside came out of me and I couldn't help but smile.

I looked like a woman. So beautiful.

Paulie waved to me as he left the bathroom, no longer needed. "Good luck, Georgina. I really mean it. You be careful. Maybe I can call Avi and get him to come in tonight. Maybe Carl can see us onto the train, you know?"

I nodded, not really listening. I picked up my lipstick from where it had landed in the sink. My mouth opened, and I began applying color to the foundation on my lips, filling in where I had penciled the frame of my new lip shape. But I had to stop for a second as I couldn't stop smiling. Smiling and grinning. I breathed in as best I could and held the edges of the sink, popping my lips to rub the color in place as I adored myself in the mirror.

I was Georgina Monroe. The beautiful Georgina Monroe.

My giggle came out and I began wiggling. Wiggling and giggling.

By the time I came out of the women's bathroom, Mr. Caselotti had mysteriously acquired a big piece of chocolate cake. He was happily eating it, still in the same place where I had left him about an hour earlier.

"Where did the old man get that cake?" I laughed, coming around the bar where Paulie and Carl stood.

"Oh that. My daughter made it, delivered it to me for my dessert. But I decided to give it to the old man," Carl explained, making another Manhattan. He dropped the cherry in and then slid it to me. He wasn't looking at me.

"What's up, Carl?" I asked, showing him I had noticed.

He breathed deeply and looked at me with a neutral expression. A sort of disappointed look. He sighed and began making up a whiskey sour. "It's just what you're doing for old man Caselotti. Paulie told me about it. I understand where you two are coming from, but understand where I'm coming from, too. Those guys in the back room...I don't know, George."

I nodded. "I understand, Carl. Really I do. But you should have heard what the old man said earlier, about me and Paulie."

Carl stopped what he was doing and put his hands on the bar in front of me, looking me in the eyes. It took me aback and created a tiny thread of fear pulling at my heart, but I tried to ignore it.

"Paulie told me what you said about him being Frankie's father. Now, you're damn right he's Frankie's father. But he's Eddie's father, too, George. You gotta remember who these people are. I think you're forgetting. Forgetting what goes on in those back rooms. It's not just gambling and drinking, people having a good time. Sometimes late at night when I'm in the office, when you're not here...what I hear coming from those back rooms. What I hear. You have no idea." His own fear appeared in his eyes and my breathing started to come slow as I realized what he meant, his fear telling me. He slid the Manhattan closer to me, hitting my hand slightly with it as it threatened to overflow from the impact.

"You do this one time, George. Just once. I don't want you to be one of those people screaming in the back room. You hear me? They take you back there, I can't save you. None of us can." His deep brown eyes were staring at me like they were about to cry. All I could do was stare at him, unable to say anything. The thread of fear around my heart pulled tighter, closing my throat.

I just nodded, picking up the Manhattan for Mr. Caselotti. Carl went back to making the whiskey sour, but he was avoiding looking at me again. I understood why. He couldn't take it, didn't want me to see his trying not to cry. He cared about me so much.

Slowly, I made my way to Mr. Caselotti's table. As I slid him the Manhattan, he looked up at me and his face broke into a rare beam. "Oh molto bellissima," he purred to me, taking the Manhattan in his large hand. His baby blues squinted in the grin at me, just like Frankie's.

My heart melted, my resolve strengthening. "Would you like me to sing it now?" I asked in my Marilyn whisper, leaning over sweetly to him so he could hear it better.

"Oh certo...sì...sì..." he breathed. I grinned back at him, and he looked absolutely delighted, like a little boy. I wondered if Frankie would grow up to be like him, maybe a little trimmer, but just as kind and good hearted. This thought made me lean over and kiss his old cheek, and as I straightened I saw a familiar pink blush form on them. Just like Frankie.

I sighed to myself. Oh, Frankie.

"Uno momento, piccola," he nodded to me. At this, he stood up in his booth and rose his hand, snapping his fingers. The band leader saw it and looked panicked. He rose his hands at the band and the band stopped their song immediately. The people on the dance floor stopped dancing after a few seconds in the silence, looking around in various states of confusion and anger.

I smiled at Mr. Caselotti and he was still grinning at me. He gave a nod and I walked up to the stage, up the few steps and suddenly I was facing the audience on the dance floor and people at the tables were looking at me with deeply confused looks. I didn't recognize anyone out there. This was absolutely not my regular crowd, wearing their expensive jewelry and their fox stoles, their Italian suits and smoking their Cuban cigars. The string around my heart tightened again and I had to steady myself. I whispered to the band leader what was going on and a look of complete fear spread about his face.

"George...do you know what the old man is asking?" he whispered back to me.

"Yes, it's one song," I assured him, putting my hand on his shoulder.

"People are gonna talk...they're gonna talk," he whispered again, looking so worried. "People from the upper East side, people in this room, these friends of people in the back room, they don't like this form of entertainment. God, Georgina..."

"Mr. Caselotti does," I said to him quietly. "We're doing this for Mr. Caselotti, not them."

He still looked uncertain. "They're gonna talk. People gonna talk," he muttered to himself as he turned towards the band, giving me his microphone.

I smiled at the audience who were giving me stares of malice already, people leaning in to those who weren't and then their faces turning into the same. I rose my hand, raising my microphone to my red lips at the same time. "Good evening ladies and gentleman. My name is Georgina Monroe. I'm a special guest of Mr. Caselotti's," I explained to them in my Marilyn voice. Some of their faces turned to ones of surprise and then uncertain looks.

I nodded to the band leader and he nodded to me, raising his orchestra stick. With a breath, the band started the sweet tones of "What a Wonderful World", and I breathed, too, preparing myself. Mr. Caselotti was staring at me with a serious expression, not moving a muscle. He looked excited, though. This filled me with renewed determination. Slowly, my body started to move back and forth, feeling the music inside.

My mouth opened and in my high, feminine voice, I began to sing the lovely words.

"I see trees of green, red roses, too

I see them bloom, just for me and you

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world..."

At the last line, I saw Mr. Caselotti's lips move with mine and my heart pinched inside. That dear old man. I continued to sing, swaying from side to side. People listened, others talked among themselves. No one was dancing. This last part struck me, and I knew why. Their not dancing was a form of protest. To show me I was not welcome. That they were not enjoying themselves.

I scanned the room, hoping Frankie was listening. If Frankie was listening that would make this experience over the top and beautiful. But I didn't see his face. Instead, the face I saw sent terror through me, made my false eyelashes raise to my eyebrows and stay there.

Leaned against the wall, Eddie was staring at me with a face of pure hatred. Disgusting and true.

A few weeks later, Carl came into work looking like he had seen a ghost. All night, he wouldn't tell us what was on his mind, scaring him so. But finally after work we cornered him and he whispered to us something which made me fall back onto a bar stool.

"That band leader, Mr. Chamberlain," he told us slowly. "He was murdered outside of his house last week in Queens. I just heard. Murdered. He got two little girls, too. A wife." He looked pointedly at me and I started to hyperventilate out of control. So out of control, Paulie had to steady me on the stool and Carl got me a paper lunch bag so I could breathe into it.

We had been warned. Warned that someone definitely did not like what we had done at The Majesty Club.

And we thought we knew exactly who it was.