The Queen of Gin and Lies

The Queen of Gin and LiesSJ Gallion Copyright © 2023 SJ GallionAll rights reservedThe characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.ISBN-13: 9781234567890ISBN-10: 1477123456Cover design by: Art PainterLibrary of Congress Control Number: 2018675309Printed in the United States of America Dedicated to my wonderful husband of twelve years (and going). He's every cocky love interest I'll ever write. Chapter 1“Hello, suckers,” red lips teased from behind a cigarette holder. Kohl-lined eyes surveyed the small, raucous club from atop its center table, high above the sea of bobs and feathered headbands. “Welcome to The Starry Night,” the host purred with a delighted, feral grin as the jazz band slid into a slow, sensual rhythm. “The speakeasy the gossip columns are calling immoral and hedonistic.” Swaying her hips and taking a long drag, she cocked that glossy, blonde, Marcel-waved head and blew smoke out between pursed lips before smiling. “I am your Mistress of Sin, your bawdiest broad, your Queen of the Night,” she announced to a rapt crowd, laughing as glasses were raised. “I am Maggie Worth,” she finished. “As in worth every penny, dime, quarter, and fat stack you’ll spend here.”Hollers, whoops, and applause wrapped around Maggie’s ethereal figure. She glowed in the spotlight, every swirling, beaded pattern of her low-cut, drop waist, golden sheath dress illuminated, glinting. Her stockings shimmered up her slim calves until they stopped, rolled short to just below her rouged knees.“If you've never been here before,” she crooned. “Just leave your wallet on the bar, loosen that noose around your finger.” She winked at a businessman dragging his eyes down her long legs. “And let Miss Maggie and her girls show you a damn good time.” She put two manicured nails to her mouth and let out a long, lilting whistle.The girls Maggie spoke of filed out of doors on either side of the bar across the room. Regulars of The Starry Night turned around in their seats, ready. Others craned their necks to get a sight of the spectacle.Eight women, all wearing seemingly nothing but the large, brightly colored ostrich feathers they brandished in front of and behind them, danced around and between the close tables.Miss Maggie grinned atop her perch on the table, scanning the faces around her as shock, awe, and delight filled the room.“Give these girls a big hand, fellas,” she encouraged from her roost. Quieter, she continued, “And they might just let one of those feathers fall.”The crowd laughed, clambering to see the dancers as they sashayed around the dim nightclub. The bright plumage stood in stark contrast against the midnight-dark walls, and the inky black ceiling. Chandeliers and candles illuminated the small space, their light reflecting off of thousands of tiny bits of mirrored glass embedded in the plaster, creating the illusion of stars in a night sky. The brightest star of them all, though, was in the room's center.Over the din of the crowd, Maggie’s voice commanded attention. “And if a prohi shows up that I haven’t paid off, well…” She shrugged, her dazzling smile mischievous. “My story is the same as always.” She turned to look around at the different tables in turn, pointing her finger at each group. “You all brought this hooch with you; I’m just entertaining you.”Glasses raised around her in uproarious agreement as she threw her blond head back and laughed.Two men jumped from their seats to help Maggie down, kicking a chair out for her to step on. They were young, maybe just a few years older than her twenty-five, their hair slicked back with the severe part so fashionable among the hoity-toity. Maggie recognized the Romanesque nose on one and the rigid posture on the other from tabloid pictures. The richer-than-God Elliot brothers were notorious partiers and womanizers, constantly popping up in the gossip columns for their dalliances with bored married women, their scandalous associations with the gin-loving speakeasy crowd, and their obscene misappropriation of Daddy's money.Maggie set her crosshairs on both of them.“Thanks, boys,” she teased, a twinkle in her eye. She glanced at the table and saw a slew of empty glasses, smelled the fumes of alcohol between the brothers. Maggie's smile turned sickly sweet. “Can I get you boys a refill?”The brothers were giddy as she promised to be right back to serve them personally. She left them laughing and turned, flouncing her way to the bar.She passed a couple of New York’s finest relaxing and drinking in the corner, their own fan dancer giggling, dancing around them. They tipped their hats to Maggie as she passed with a wink.Maggie sidled up to the bar with a smile at her bartender. She sighed, “I love prohibition, Jerry.”Jerry was quiet and dependable, had worked with her when she was nothing, and had stayed with her all these crazy years. He smirked as he wiped down the bar. “Can I get you something, Miss Maggie?”Maggie grinned. “Mama needs a strong, hot, stiff one, honey.” Her voice naturally carried across the bar. One man spluttered into his drink.Jerry only nodded with a smirk and disappeared through one of the side doors behind the bar.Maggie couldn’t help that she shocked people; Irish-American, cocksure and loud was in her blood. The combination didn’t do her many favors as a child; nuns at a catholic school didn’t care for loud, spirited girls, but that spirit did wonders for her career. It turns out, people weren’t just sneaking out to have an illicit drink; they were looking to be entertained. The nation won a war, had made sacrifices. Now, a bunch of prudes wanted to clean up and keep the menfolk sober and at home with their wives. They wanted the young men and