Jazz Age Wednesdays 1 — Pip Arrives in Savannah

Posted on by Teagan Riordain Geneviene

Wednesday, September 6, 2017Camel Walk dance poster 1920s

Each weekend I give you a new serial episode. I’ve been giving that throughout most of the past four years. However, Teagan’s Books is about more than serial episodes.  It’s about my books too.  So I’m creating this midweek feature.

I added a poll to the last post. Not a majority, but some people wanted me to keep it to one post a week.  No one is obligated to visit every post.  Although I have to say I find that discouraging.

Since my current release is Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I, I’ll be having Jazz Age Wednesdays.  That means short stories from the “Pip-verse.”  (At least for a while.  When Atonement in Bloom is published, the midweek feature will be from that universe.)

We like to joke about Wednesday being “hump day” and camels. Did you know that in the 1920s there was a dance called the Camel Walk?  Although this example from 1935 is probably a little more complicated than what the average couple did…

Here’s my first Jazz Age Wednesday feature.  It takes place right after the novella, The Three Things Serial Story.  I was honored to have a great review of the novella from author and translator Olga Núñez Miret.

It’s a short story, so it was driven by only one “thing/ingredient,” macaroni and cheese.  It came from Suzanne DeBrango’s  souffléd macaroni and cheese when we did a joint post in January.  (Yes, I’m re-sharing this story.)

Pip Arrives in Savannah

The breeze that rustled through the fronds of tall palm trees was tinged with salt.  I inhaled deeply as I walked out of the tall arched door at Savannah’s Union Station.  I heard the bell of a streetcar, which had gone past a moment before.  I stretched to see the trolley, but barely got a glimpse of its back-end.

With a loud Bronx cheer I dropped my suitcase to the curb of West Broad Street.  I thought the Jazz Age slang for the rude noise I made was appropriate, since my Pops was continuing on the train to New York City.

Pops said I needed to be reigned-in, and Granny insisted that I needed to learn to cook.  Neither of them would admit that I was a modern woman.  No self-respecting Flapper needed to cook!  Anyhow, Pops had unceremoniously dumped me off the train, saying he’d visit with Granny and me on his way back.  I blew another raspberry at the streetcar that I had just missed — and at my wretched situation.

Union Station Savannah, GA

The ringing of the streetcar’s bell faded into the distance.  The first time I ever saw a trolley was during a visit to my grandmother, there in Savannah, when I was a very little girl.  I slipped away from her and Pops, and scampered onto a streetcar.  I didn’t get far, but Granny Phanny was mad enough to spit. 

This time, I had done the opposite.  Instead of getting on a trolley when I shouldn’t have, I had missed the one I was supposed to ride to get to her.  Now Granny would be waiting to meet me at some Chinese restaurant downtown, but I wouldn’t be on the trolley.  Horsefeathers!  She would be in a lather.

A nearby news vendor walked away from his stall, probably headed for a bite of lunch.  I called out and waved as I hurried toward him, my suitcase bumping along at my side.

“Hey Mac!  Was that the trolley that goes to Pearl Street?” I called out, but he didn’t hear me over the blast of a train whistle.  “Enjoy your lunch,” I grumbled and my empty stomach answered in kind.  “I sure could do with some of Granny’s macaroni and cheese.”

“Did you miss the trolley, sweet cheeks?” a clear tenor voice asked.

I didn’t see him until he moved forward.  He had been leaning against the opposite side of the newsstand.  He wore a suit and hat, but they had flair.  He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, but then tilted his head back and blew a smoke ring into the air.

Applesauce!  He looked pos-i-lute-ly like the kind of character I had always been told to avoid, but he was as sexy as the Sheik of Araby.  Then his cigarette smoke drifted to me and I sneezed.  So much for me being a sophisticated Sheba.  I had to agree with Pops that smoking was a nasty habit.

mallory-ad-man-in-car-hat-ad

“You’re new in town, huh?  I’m Floyd.  I can take you where the giggle water flows aplenty.  It’ll be a real blow,” he said with a smile and a wink that made him even handsomer.

“Says you,” I countered coyly, thinking he was joking around.

“At least let me drive you over to Pearl Street.  Stick around until my pal gets back.  He’s picking up something for me,” he added gazing up and then down the street, as if looking for his friend.  Stay right here and I’ll get my machine.  It’s a sweet ride.  You’ll love it,” he called over his shoulder as he rushed away.  “Don’t move.  Promise.  I’ll be right back.”

I stood baffled, gaping at Floyd’s retreating form.  I was also feeling flattered by his interest.  There was an intensity about him that I found exciting.  Not to mention the fact that I was relieved that I might avoid Granny’s wrath over me missing the streetcar and leaving her waiting.

“Signorina, do not be going with that man.  It would be a bad thing for you.  Trouble comes,” a voice, heavily accented with Italian, said from behind me.  “There will be other transportation.”

Turning, I saw a portly man in odd looking chef’s clothes.  He lifted his brimless toque and bowed.  A jalopy backfired so suddenly and so loudly that I jerked around to face the noise.  When I turned back, the chef was gone.  I didn’t see him anywhere.  It was as if he disappeared into thin air.

I quickly forgot about the odd occurrence when a wooden crate fell off a passing truck.  The driver pulled to the curb beside me.  Without thinking I went to help.  He had not been traveling fast, so little damage was done.  A few oranges rolled from a broken crate.  I started picking up the wayward fruit.1920s delivery truck

An Asian looking guy with a quasi-British accent jumped out of the driver’s door, apologizing even before his feet hit the street.  He gingerly hopped over the tailgate and began re-positioning the crates.  A couple of them looked ready to fall.

I noticed lettering on the truck proclaiming Wong’s Chinese.  Was that the name of the restaurant where I was supposed to meet Granny?  I was so resentful about being sent to Savannah that I hadn’t even paid attention to what she said.  I knew there wouldn’t be more than one Chinese restaurant on the street.

“Your place isn’t on Pearl Street by any chance, is it?”

“Yep, that’s Wong’s,” he replied with a grin, stopping his work.  “Hey, are you Pip?  Miss Phanny will be looking for you.  I’m Alastair Wong,” he bent from the truck bed and shook my hand.

I sighed with relief.

Then a brand new Ford stopped and gave a long blare of the auto’s horn.  “Hey! Move it,” my Sheik of Araby from moments before shouted angrily, and followed that with a racial slur.

Floyd got out of the automobile, moving toward us in a menacing posture.  I stood up, a smashed and dripping orange still in my hand.

“This cake eater’s bad news, Pip.  You don’t want to have anything to do with him,” Alastair Wong whispered as he stepped in front of me protectively.

In the distance a police whistle trilled.  The guy’s eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder.  Before I knew what was happening, he had hit Alastair in the head with the butt of a pistol.  I shrieked as he dragged me into the open Ford, my arms and legs flailing.

I could hear the coppers coming toward us, shouting and blowing whistles.  Suddenly the Ford was blocked between the delivery truck and police vehicles.  Alastair lay unconscious on the street.  The busted orange dripped juice all over my skirt.  The guy waved his gun around excitedly.  A maniacal gleam came to his eyes when he looked at me.

1920s Police car

An over eager copper fired his gun.  I heard the whiz of the bullet pass by my head.  Startled, Floyd jerked toward the policemen.  Movement from the delivery truck caught my eye.  A catawampus crate started to wobble.  Suddenly that crate and another one tumbled down to land on the windshield of the Ford.  Floyd started screaming and cursing, waving his pistol even more.

When he turned back to me, on sudden impulse I stuck the busted orange in his face and smeared it into his eyes.  By then the coppers had reached us.  They grabbed him before he could do any damage with the gun.

A copper helped me out of the Ford.  I ran to Alastair as another cop helped him stand.  Across the street I saw Floyd’s pal, the news vendor being held by a policeman.

“What just happened here?” I demanded.

A paddy wagon rolled up and the policemen pushed Floyd into it, along with his pal.

“Bootleggers,” a copper told me.  “As if we didn’t already have enough of those around here.”

“So Pip,” Alastair said while he held a handkerchief to his bloodied forehead.  “How do you like Savannah so far?”

I chuckled despite everything.  At least he had a sense of humor.

studebaker1920_2

“Well, I was afraid I would be bored to tears here,” I told him with a dramatic sigh.  “But I suppose it will be interesting enough.  So far I’ve learned three things.  Don’t take any wooden nickels.  Don’t get into Fords with handsome men.  And Wong’s Chinese is the right place to go.” 

Alastair laughed.  “That’s a good slogan, doll face.  Mind if I use it?  How about we get you to the restaurant.  Miss Phanny will be getting impatient.”

And so began my adventures in Savannah.

The end

***

You’ll find more of Pip and her friends and her adventures in Savannah in Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I .  Thanks for visiting. You’re the cat’s pajamas!

Bijou front only 2

 

This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, 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, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. 

Copyright © 2017 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

 

 

 

 

78 thoughts on “Jazz Age Wednesdays 1 — Pip Arrives in Savannah”

  3. Pingback: Jazz Age Wednesdays 2 | Teagan's Books

    1. Welcome Dawn! Your comment is such a great beginning to my Tuesday. Thanks for visiting the kickoff of my mid-week series. I’ll be sharing vignettes set in the 1920s on Wednesdays, and continuing my spontaneously written, whimsical fantasy serial on Fridays.
      I enjoyed visiting your great blog. It’s pos-i-lutely terrific. Hugs!

      Like

      Reply

    1. You are so kind, Kirt. Thank you for the encouragement. It was a rough week last week, and this one is starting the same. So it’s appreciated all the more.
      I’m mostly sharing short stories I did earlier this year, collaborating with others (like you — thanks again for that). *However* this Wednesday I have an all new vignette.
      You’re the cat’s pajamas!

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

    1. Dear Kev, thank you. If I ever want to get to a small town somewhere (preferably in the desert southwest), and away from working in Mordor every day, then I know I have to do something.
      I really appreciate you reblogging. You’re the cat’s meow!

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

    1. Hi Joanne! LOL, it wouldn’t be Pip if she wasn’t in trouble. Pip and company will be making appearances on Wednesdays. On Fridays (or weekend) I do episodes of my current fantasy serial… where another heroine is always getting into one thing or another. 😀 (Here is a post with links to early episodes if you are interested: https://teagansbooks.com/2017/08/06/thistledown-midsummer-bedlam-catch-up/ )
      Have a thriving Thursday, my friend.

      Like

      Reply

    1. It’s good to see you Suzanne — thank you. This short is (in timeline) between the novella (Three Things Serial Story) and Murder at the Bijou – Three Ingredients I.
      Although I’m not sure if these midweek short stories will be exact in their timelines.
      Have a thriving Thursday, my friend.

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

    1. Dear Andrea, thank you for making me smile with this marvelous comment. I like to think these “three things” (or ingredients as the case may be) type serials are pure whimsy. I removed the imaginary limits, so anything can happen. I’m delighted that you enjoyed this story. You’re the cat’s pajamas!

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

  18. I think we all need to do what works for us with blogging, dear friend. I get here, it sometimes takes me awhile, but I’m always happy when I visit and today is no exception. I’m clearly into, er , slow blogging these days (lol), but we need to do what we feel most comfortable with and that changes at different times as well. I say, you blog, I’ll visit and share and say thank you for the gifts. 🙂
    Mega jazzy hugs dear one, you are a blog bonanza xoxox

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    1. Donna, it sincerely is always a delight to see you. I am grateful for any moment you can visit. You go at your own pace, steady or varied, and slow just gives us that much more time for delicious anticipation of your next fantastic post. I know you have a ton of things to deal with, so I appreciate you taking a moment here. You are pos-i-lutely getting mega hugs right back. 😀

      Like

      Reply

  22. Reblogged this on Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life and commented:
    We have a double treat to look forward each week as Teagan Geneviene brings us some short stories that follow on from her recently published Three Things Serial Story..Our heroine Pip has just arrived in Savannah.. reluctantly but things begin to look up when she catches the eye of a dashing young man.. what could go wrong? #recommended

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    1. Brad, I’m blushing. ^^’ You are too kind. Thank you so very much. I see most of my short stories as vignettes, a slice of life, rather than real “stories.” I doubt a literature expert would think they met the requirements… However, thinking of them as vignettes (or bits) when I begin to write one, helps me. I guess it takes the pressure off, if I don’t feel I have to “do it right.”
      You’re the cat’s meow!

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

      1. Wonderful Teagan. I’m glad to know I can make someone blush. XD And more importantly, you are inspiring me. I think my muse series might become an ongoing series like some of yours. I’ve been wanting to stretch my writing beyond business, Awesome Stories, and poetry. Short stories or vignettes sounds about right. Thanks.

        Liked by 1 person

        Reply

  29. Thank you for sharing my review again, Teagan. I hope to get to Murder at the Bijou soon. And regarding the number of posts, we all know our own timetable. As you say, we’re not obliged to read everything and there might be times when we can’t and others when we read more posts. We can never please everybody… so we might as well please ourselves.
    Have a lovely week and thanks for sharing this story (I love Pip! Mind you, as you know, I’m also a bit fan of the pigs and the characters in Atonement…)

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    1. Olga, you’ll be happy to know that I finished the ending and epilogue (the otherworldly pigs insisted on one more appearance) for Atonement in Bloom! 😀 I’m editing in every spare minute now.
      I was so thrilled when I saw your review! Of course I had to share it again. “Bijou” is at least as quirky as the novella. Whenever you get around to it (I know you are hugely busy), I hope you enjoy it. You’re the berries!

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

  31. I remember reading this first time around and adored it. What a welcome to Savannah. The dance is amazing. We had to do something similar for an amateur dramatics when I was a child. Similar but in no way as complicated as the one on the video, we were kids. lol xxx

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  33. This is wonderful….I love Savannah and so much about the romantic element of the deep south…and of course you capture it in your writings. Also that video of the Camel Walk is amazing…..Always inspiring to read your blog and this post doesn’t disappoint….I am planning a trip to the States next May and it’s made me think about heading south after Boston, Pa, New York….we will see. Have a magical hummingbird day….Janet xxx

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

    1. It’s lovely to see you Janet. Savannah is a charming town, so atmospheric. I enjoyed imagining how it was in the 1920s. Thank you for the hummingbirds! You’re the… there wasn’t a saying for hummingbirds. Oh my, I guess I’ll make one up! You’re the hummingbird’s nectar!

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

Leave a comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.