Mob Girl

The opportunity arose during the summer of her fourteenth birthday. She and her family customarily spent the hottest days of July and August on Long Island in Atlantic Beach. There they rented a cabana, a little house with a bar and two shower stalls, at the Capri Beach Club, which was favored by racketeers, union officials and dress manufacturers from the Garment District during those years. Every day the Weisses would arrive from the city in a rented, air-conditioned limousine—Irving indulged in this luxury so that his beloved wire-haired terrier, Paula, would not risk heatstroke. While the chauffeur watched the dog, and Billie and Irving took their place at the cabana to play cards with old cronies, their daughters settled in by the pool. Arlyne, like her father, tanned quickly and, like him, she always wore a white or black suit to show off her color. By midafternoon, she would tire of the action poolside and ride her bike through the maze of residential streets that lay off the dunes.

On these outings, she passed by the brick beach home of Irving Cohen, best known as the manager of Rocky Graziano, who, that year, was about to make his bid for the middleweight title of the world. Cohen’s place was the subject of much interested speculation among the Capri crowd, since Graziano and his friends were frequent visitors. That beach house with its promise of celebrity exerted an irresistible pull on Arlyne Weiss. She took pains to pedal past it on her afternoon rounds, knowing full well that Cohen and the fighters would be sitting on the porch drinking.

In fact, Arlyne passed by several times during the course of an afternoon, always slowing down to show off her tanned, suited figure to best advantage. For days, she failed to elicit so much as a hoot from the porch until one afternoon someone finally called, “Hey. Come over here!” Cohen was beckoning her to join him on the porch where he was sitting with Rocky and another fighter, named Al Pennino. Sitting down, Arlyne did a quick study of the two fighters. Rocky was a well-built if not conspicuously handsome man. His nose had been flattened by punches, which made him look a little stupid. Al was slightly younger than Rocky. Thin, handsome, with thick, curly hair, he was a minor talent compared to Graziano, but nothing to be sniffed at since he himself was a contender for the featherweight title. As Arlyne sat on the porch that day trying to catch Rocky’s attention with her tough-girl talk, she became aware that it was Al who was making eyes at her. A few weeks later, Arlyne ran into Al by chance. Entering a lingerie shop on Second Avenue, she saw him standing with Rocky outside a fighters’ bar called Foxie’s. She got to talking to Al, who invited her to visit him where he worked out at Stillman’s Gym.

Arlyne did not need a second invitation. With Sophie in tow, she made daily trips to Stillman’s to watch Al train. The two vamps would get off the subway near Madison Square Garden and walk up a stairway to the gym to a big room where the men worked out. No matter how good a fighter’s concentration was, he turned around and stared when a couple of pretty girls walked into the room. On those occasions Arlyne and Sophie wore the tightest skirts and sweaters they owned. Al or one of his several brothers would come over and offer them chairs, but they usually declined since their skirts were too tight to allow them to sit comfortably.

Arlyne and Al would rendezvous near the gym at a place called the Hotel America. Afterward, they would sometimes take a subway to the Red Hook section of Brooklyn to visit his mother. While Arlyne was flattered that Al thought enough of her to take her home, she was always uncomfortable. The Penninos’ walkup was a “real wop house,” the air redolent of simmering sauces and full of chatter. Mama Pennino glowered in the background, clearly displeased that her son had brought home a Jewish girl, but silent in deference to his wishes.

After an uncomfortable dinner, which Arlyne and Al usually ate alone, they would go out to sit on his stoop in the twilight. There he would take his guitar and sing lyrics he had composed for her. “Oh, honey baby, say you’ll be mine. Don’t tease me, baby. Say you’ll be mine.” It was a silly song, but Arlyne found it so touching that for a while she was convinced she was in love with Al.

Their affair continued through October as Al prepared for his fight with Sandy Saddler. Although conventional wisdom held that a boxer should refrain from amorous pursuits during the critical weeks before a fight, Al was so smitten that he tossed caution to the wind. Arlyne, for her part, was so intoxicated by the attention Al was receiving that she demanded every free moment of his time. She monopolized him up to the very eve of the Saddler fight when she took the initiative of checking them into the Hotel America. Unfortunately, Arlyne had made the mistake of confiding her plans to Sophie, who, perhaps jealous that her friend had bagged a minor celebrity, squealed to the Weisses. That night’s interlude was interrupted by a knock on the door. When Al opened it, he found himself face to face with Irving and two of his brothers, who dragged Arlyne, protesting, into a waiting Cadillac. That incident apparently took a toll on Al’s concentration. Saddler knocked him out in the fourth round.

The Saddler fight had been Al’s best shot, and now Arlyne was worried that she might have done him irreparable damage. Although she did not ordinarily suffer over the pain she inflicted upon others, she was now wracked by guilt. For a time she undertook to “support” Al and his whole family by pilfering money from her father’s wallet. She would take the subway to Brooklyn on missions of penance, and, arriving at the house in Red Hook, would hand Al several hundred-dollar bills. These gestures, however, did not make things right between them. The old sweetness was gone, as Al came to regard these reparations as his due. In time, Arlyne began to feel that they were laughing at her, Al, his brothers, Old Lady Pennino. Arlyne had to admit to herself that Al was considerably less attractive now that he was a nobody. He really was—and always had been—just a punk kid. It was time to move on to more ambitious conquests.

Each of the next four summers, the Weisses returned to the Capri Beach Club. During the early weeks of the 1951 season Arlyne waged a campaign for the affection of a young man about five years older than herself. Larry was a rich boy, his father a big bookmaker in New York, and Arlyne had him pegged as a very good catch. Larry’s mother had other ideas. She wanted her son to marry a “sweet girl,” and Arlyne Weiss, in her estimation, was “too goddamned wild.” At his mother’s request, Larry backed away.

Arlyne did not wallow long in self-pity before she was distracted by yet another potential conquest, one which promised to be the affair of the summer. Nathaniel Nelson was a friend of her father and Uncle Henry. Though nearly forty-eight, Natie was a Jewish pretty boy. His features were dark and sensual like Bugsy Siegel’s. He also reminded her a lot of her father. Natie’s thick wavy hair was combed back so that it formed a plateau. Everybody called him Flattop, after a bad guy in the comic strip Dick Tracy. He wore a large cat’s eye diamond ring, a gold watch and a belt buckle with the insignia “NN” set in diamonds. He was clearly loaded.

Arlyne knew from overhearing conversations between Irving and his brothers that Natie Nelson was a clothing manufacturer from the Garment District and owned a company called Advance Jr. Dress. He was “secret partners” with Jimmy Doyle, who handled his shipping through a company called Elgee Trucking. (Elgee was presumably a coy derivative of Lepke and Gurrah’s old logo, “L&G.”) Their partnership was formed when Jimmy came to him threatening sabotage if he didn’t ship through Elgee. But Natie didn’t seem to bear any ill will. There were considerable benefits to that alliance. Besides the fact that his shop was safe, he was in a position to do certain favors for The Boys, and for this he was paid a lot of money. He also enjoyed the privilege of being seen with Jimmy Doyle and by virtue of that association was considered a heavyweight.

Natie was a frequent guest at the Weisses’ oceanfront cabana. He never joined Irving Weiss and the other men at cards, however, preferring to drink at the bar accompanied by his sidekick, Heshie. Arlyne kept a lookout for him and would then strut past the bar in her swimsuit hoping he’d notice. He didn’t. Once within earshot, she would try her tough-girl talk, thinking he’d be impressed. He wasn’t. Some racketeers, she knew, did not like their women hard. It didn’t look good, for instance, for a woman to be holding a cigarette or a glass of booze, nor was it good for them to be mouthy or forward. Figuring Natie might fall into this category, Arlyne took to standing at the bar demurely sipping soda, waiting for him to make the first move. He didn’t. One rainy afternoon as Natie was preparing to leave the beach club, Arlyne followed him back to the cabana, and when he stepped inside to change clothes, she slipped in after him. Natie turned and smiled as if noticing her for the first time. Without much conversation, they made love on a chaise longue.

Irving Weiss noticed the attraction between his middle-aged friend and his seventeen-year-old daughter and he warned Arlyne to stay away from Natie. Arlyne gave her earnest promises that she would behave. Then she would promptly sneak away from the club to give Natie a blow job in his car. Or she’d pretend to be cycling and spend the afternoon with him in a motel. It was very romantic. That summer she heard Tony Bennett sing “Because of You.” Because of you, there’s a song in my heart. Arlyne couldn’t get it out of her head. It seemed to speak directly of her and Nat Nelson.

As the weeks went by, however, Arlyne became a little worried about him. He began demanding more and more of her time and smothering her with effusive professions of love. He was also talking marriage, which Arlyne found a little odd. Natie had been a bachelor for forty-seven years. If he had resisted marriage that long, why would he now lose his head over a girl almost thirty years his junior? Arlyne found it very pleasant fooling around with him on hot summer days. She enjoyed getting gifts from him—he was extremely generous with money and jewelry. But she was not sure she wanted to get married. Finally, she told him that they had better not see each other for a while.

Arlyne intended to make the decision stick, but this was more difficult than she had imagined. Natie did not pester her to reconcile as she rather thought he would. Instead, he took up with a short redhead at the club. It was a very uncomfortable situation. Arlyne was becoming jealous. Eager to get away, she arranged to spend her eighteenth birthday at the Concord with her grandmother.

When she stepped out of the limo onto the big front lawn, Ida greeted her with arms and tapered nails outstretched. “Dahhhling,” she crooned. “Tell Gam all about it.” Over dinner, Arlyne poured her heart out to the one person who listened to her uncritically. Ida did not scold Arlyne because Natie was so old or because she had continued to see him behind her father’s back. No, Ida Blum was very open-minded in those matters. Instead, she recommended an evening of dancing, which was her remedy for any heartache.

As she was dressing in her grandmother’s suite, there was a knock on the door. Arlyne answered it and was shocked to see Natie standing before her. He handed her a gift box containing a diamond bracelet. She spent the next three weeks in the rooms Natie had taken at the hotel. Her grandmother turned a blind eye. Ida had taken an immediate liking to Natie, who also gave her small gifts and included her when he and Arlyne went out to dinner. When Natie confided in Ida that he loved her granddaughter, Ida got Arlyne alone and said, “Marry him!” If she married Natie, Ida argued, she would have everything she wanted, and she wouldn’t have to run around wild anymore.

This idyll came to an end during the last week in August when Irving Weiss arrived at the Concord to take his daughter home. Natie had slipped off to New York with Heshie. Neither Arlyne nor her grandmother let Irving know he had been there. Although Natie’s earlier promise of marriage technically stood, he had stopped mentioning it. Arlyne suspected that this was because he was getting everything he wanted without the vows. She agreed, nonetheless, to continue seeing him which was easy to do since she had dropped out of school and now had a job as a model at a company called Letty Doyle Dress.

Every morning she took a subway to the Garment District carrying a big hatbox. For most of the day she sat in a smock at the back of the showroom waiting for buyers to come in so that she could model the dresses. The work was not as glamorous as she had hoped, and she was eager for quitting time when she could take a cab to Natie’s apartment on West Fifty-fifth Street. Arlyne loved that place. The living room was done in beige and brown with enormous couches and pillars like “something out of the movies.” She always felt safe there. If her father were to come looking for her, he would have to buzz up from downstairs. She could always see who was in front of the building through Natie’s large picture window. That would have given her time to compose a plausible explanation.

No one came looking. When she arrived home, however, Billie was waiting as usual and mother and daughter would have their customary screaming match. This went on for about five months. During that time, Arlyne became more brazen about appearing in public with Natie. They would sometimes go out to eat with Jimmy Doyle at Patrissy’s or Patsy’s or the Weiss family’s old haunt, the Grotta Azzurra. On Friday nights they would go to La Fontaine, a nightspot favored by Jimmy and Johnny Dio. There Natie would have the opportunity to play the big shot and impress her with his connections.

As time went on, Arlyne couldn’t help noticing that Natie was getting too big for his britches. He had always been something of a showoff, but he had had the good sense to keep his mouth shut in front of Jimmy, Johnny and their friends. Now he was bragging openly about favors he was doing “The Boys.” He talked about people in the trucking business. About deals that were being made. The particulars went over Arlyne’s head, but she could see the effect that Natie’s behavior was having on the crowd at La Fontaine. Whenever he approached, Jimmy would turn his back.

One Saturday morning in January, Arlyne and her grandmother had set out in a taxicab for a day of shopping when Arlyne realized that Natie had forgotten to give her any money. She directed the cab to the apartment on Fifty-fifth Street, intending to hit him up for a couple of hundred dollars. Leaving Ida in the cab by the curb, Arlyne took the elevator to the fifth floor. When the door opened, she was taken aback to see Jimmy Doyle standing before her. Their eyes met. Jimmy’s betrayed a flash of alarm, but he recovered quickly and slipped into the elevator as Arlyne walked out.

She stood in the hall for a moment trying to make sense of this peculiar encounter. No matter how mad Jimmy was at Natie, he would normally have said “hello” to her. Her sense of uneasiness grew as she looked down the hall and saw that Natie’s door was ajar. She walked slowly toward it and called his name. There was no reply. She pushed the door open a little further and recoiled in shock. There was Natie lying lengthwise in the foyer. He was wearing a casual shirt and pants and all his jewelry. Arlyne’s eyes rested for a while on his belt insignia, fearful of continuing further. Finally, she looked at his face. There was a bullet hole between his eyes.

For a moment she didn’t know whether to cry or scream. All she knew was that she had to get out of there. She raced to the elevator and began pressing the buttons madly. Her grandmother was still downstairs, and as Ida was an eminently recognizable figure, Arlyne, in her panic, imagined that Jimmy might spot her and do to her what he had done to Natie. She was overwhelmed with relief to see Ida waiting in the cab. “C’mon,” Arlyne whispered to her grandmother, “we’re getting the hell outta here! I’m taking you home!”

After dropping Ida off at the funeral parlor, Arlyne hurried home, locked her bedroom door behind her and turned on the radio. All afternoon she listened for news of Natie’s death. The whole event had such a nightmarish quality that she thought it was possible that she had dreamed or imagined it. Even after she heard Billie and Irving arrive, she did not leave the room. She remained in solitary, her ear to the radio, until she heard the news. A prominent Garment District dress manufacturer had been gunned down in his apartment. In some ways it was comforting to hear the worst confirmed. But that temporary relief was quickly replaced by dread. Jimmy Doyle had seen her. He had looked right into her eyes. And now he would be coming for her.

Arlyne did not tell her parents about her predicament. Ida, who had doubtless put two and two together, had good enough instincts not to inquire further about it. The only person in whom Arlyne confided was the black maid, Sadie, who helped her keep a vigil. Three days passed and there was no word. Arlyne, who had not left the apartment since Natie’s death, was going crazy with the suspense. Finally, on the fourth day, Sadie took a call from Jimmy Doyle. She passed Arlyne the receiver.

“Why d’ya want to see me?” she asked.

“You know what I want to see you about,” Jimmy replied.

He told her to meet him at the Hotel Forrest in the Theater District and Arlyne agreed. After she hung up she gave the conversation a moment’s thought, then made up her mind what she must do. Arlyne went to her closet and took out a pea green satin skirt and a strapless top. As a final touch she added her platina fox stole, her “drop dead” fur, as she called it. As she stood in front of the mirror studying the effect, she said to herself, “Well, if I’m going, I’m going like this.” She told Sadie that she was going out and that if the maid didn’t hear from her by nightfall she was to call the police.

The taxi got caught in traffic and Arlyne arrived late. She rushed into the lobby to find a scowling Jimmy Doyle. “When you meet me, you be on time,” he said. Jimmy then took a key from the desk clerk and she followed him upstairs to a plain little room. Minutes passed. Jimmy said nothing. Arlyne could not read the expression on his face. Made uncomfortable by the silence, she took the initiative and asked point blank, “Jimmy, are you going to kill me?”

Jimmy smiled.

“What for?” he replied. “You’re not going to say nuthin’ to nobody.”

“That’s right,” she affirmed. “I’m not going to say nuthin’ …”

“You know,” Jimmy continued, “I always liked you. And now, you’re going to do me a favor.”

There were no preliminaries. The sex was rough and quick. Afterward, Jimmy paced around the room smoking a cigarette. After Arlyne had dressed, he muttered, “Get the fuck outta here. I’ll call ya.”

After that Arlyne was on call whenever Jimmy wanted to get laid. At first they met only at night because Jimmy didn’t want to risk being seen with her, but as the weeks passed, he became cocky and started taking her out in public to La Fontaine and other haunts she had visited with Natie. Jimmy never once mentioned the murdered man.

The sessions with Jimmy were as instructive as they were disorienting. For Arlyne, sex had always seemed a means of getting control over a man. The control might be only momentary but she found it exhilarating nonetheless. “Control,” Arlyne would later say, “is the most important thing in a person’s life.” The two women she admired most—Ida Blum and Virginia Hill—controlled everything in their orbit. Particularly their men. And in playing Little Miss Sexpot, Arlyne imagined that she, too, was in the catbird seat. Now, it was quite clear that she was a servant and sex was part of her servitude. Her degradation deepened when Jimmy began passing her around to Johnny Dio and Johnny’s brother, Frankie.

Arlyne did not tell her parents what she was being forced to endure. She still felt she could manage the situation. That Jimmy would tire of her and release her with no one being the wiser. But Jimmy did not tire. And gradually, the strain took its toll. Arlyne was consumed by the idea she was being punished for all the bad things she had done. She was constantly frightened. She lost her appetite, became listless and had spells of weeping. When her mother asked what was wrong, Arlyne would whimper, “I can’t tell you.”

Billie conferred with Ida, who offered the opinion that Arlyne’s sickness had something to do with Nate Nelson’s death. It was decided that she should see a psychiatrist. Over Arlyne’s objections, her mother and grandmother made an appointment for her to see Dr. Max Helfand. On the day of their first visit, the three took a cab into Manhattan, and stopping at the address on Central Park West, walked through a pair of swinging gates to Dr. Helfand’s apartment, which also served as his office. A uniformed maid admitted them to a living room overfurnished with antiques. Arlyne and her guardians took seats on the brocade couches to wait for him. After a few moments, the doctor appeared.

Max Helfand was a short, balding man who wore spectacles and an expensive suit. He was energetic, charming and quite apparently a bon vivant. It took only a few moments for him to reveal that he was an enthusiastic dancer, which endeared him to Ida. The two carried on a subtle flirtation throughout the course of Arlyne’s treatment. Arlyne, herself, did not care for Dr. Helfand. She did not like the way he probed to get at her secrets. It seemed to her that he was as intent as Jimmy Doyle upon robbing her of her control. And so she threw up barriers to him every step of the way. Before each session, she would concoct phony stories to throw him off track.

But Dr. Helfand with his unshakable goodwill began to wear her down. Little by little certain details of her life, which she had resolved to keep from him at all cost, slipped out. She told him about Cousin Solly and Tony Mirra. About Stamey and Sal and all the others. Confessing, however, did not make her feel better. The more honest she became with Dr. Helfand, the more exposed and powerless she felt. There were times that she longed for death and was tempted to jump from her bedroom window. At other times she was terrified of death and was afraid to cross the Queensboro Bridge—the route to Helfand’s office—for fear it would collapse.

The one secret Dr. Helfand had failed to extract from her was the truth about Natie Nelson’s death. And Arlyne clung to that like a life preserver. At length, Helfand, seeing that he and his patient had reached an impasse, conferred with Billie and sought her permission to give Arlyne an injection of strong sedative. It was necessary, he argued, to get to the root of the patient’s trauma.

On the next visit, Dr. Helfand administered the injection and Arlyne let go of her final secret. As she slept off the drug in a little antechamber, Helfand urgently recounted to Billie Arlyne’s story of the death of Natie Nelson and her involvement with Jimmy Doyle. That evening Billie conferred with her husband. In the days thereafter, Irving went to see Jimmy and struck a bargain. Arlyne would never tell what she saw. The Weiss family would never go to the police. In exchange Jimmy would leave her alone.

Arlyne was kept in the dark about the details of her father’s intervention. All she was told was that she was safe and must now try to get better. Dr. Helfand recommended that Billie take her out of town, to Florida perhaps. There she could sit by the ocean. Salt water, he felt, soothed the nerves. Billie agreed and within the week, she and her daughter set off for Miami.

As Dr. Helfand predicted, the trip had a tonic effect upon Arlyne. She responded not only to the tropical sun, but to the care her mother lavished upon her. It was the first time in her life she could recall having Billie’s undivided attention. And the weeks they spent together during Arlyne’s convalescence were among the most tranquil they would ever enjoy. At the end of a month, Arlyne returned to New York, tanned, healthy and resolved to turn over a new leaf.