Lanna Gallore

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The Roaring 20's

Lanna Galore; The Mafia's Sweetheart

     The realization came slowly, and I admitted it reluctantly. I was running out of cash, and I couldn't stay locked away from humanity forever. The day I had to fire my errand boy was the day that I could no longer deny it. As I ventured out into the streets to procure my necessities, I started to think over how a living might be made in the environment in which I was living.
      I remember that it was chilly, and that I kept my hands in my coat pockets more as an expression of my mood than out of any desire to rid myself of the cold. I saw ahead of me, a group on girls with bobbed hair, and pill hats with fur trim rubbing their gloves together and giggling madly. There were two men with them, who smiled, standing stiffly. They disappeared down an alley.
     As I approached, I could hear jazz. It was an altogether new sound in my ears, and I found it absolutely breathtaking. I followed the source of the sound to a door, and as I walked in, I noted a huge guy with folded arms standing between me and the performers. He looked fairly intimidating, and gave me a really strange look as I approached. I realized that though I looked like a young woman, my hair was long, and so was my skirt. I was dressed like someone's grandmother.
     "Here for some smoke?" he asked conversationally. I assumed he meant cigarettes, though the syntax seemed odd to me. I didn't smoke, but I had no desire to anger this huge person. I told him that it was all right, and that I needed to update my wardrobe before I could go into their place, then I walked away. It was time to read some newspapers, for a change. I learned several important things. I had known that alcohol had been suddenly outlawed, which resulted in the lack of champagne to go with my pecan cookies. What I didn't know, was that a whole illegal industry had sprung up around this new law, which had become a golden opportunity for organized crime. People, musicians in particular, were making a fair chunk of change singing in places called speakeasies, where mob bosses would sell watered down whiskey and gin.
      I know that I had to do something somewhat against my principals to get the clothing I needed, but I don't remember what. Maybe I just really had an objection to shaving my legs, it's hard to say. More likely, my upbringing had taught me not to show off any part of my body. In any case, I realized that music was more than sound, it was image. If I was going to sing, I needed to look fashionable, even if it meant that I would look like a slut, and get harassed by stinking men. Rather than cutting my hair, I rolled it up and pinned it to my head in a fashion that approximated the shape of a bob. For a pseudonym, I chose something that would eventually make a good stage name, but that wouldn't be unnatural for me to answer to, so I chose "Miss Lanna Galore". It worked like a charm.
      Strangely, being tall and slim in this era was no where near as undesirable as it had been in earlier days, and for a change, heads turned when I walked in the room. It was a terrifying feeling. I didn't like it a bit.
      It didn't take long for me to get used to the ease with which a woman could manipulate bedazzled men, however. Even before I started singing, I was a favorite with a collection of expensively dressed men whose names ended in vowels. I never had to pay for a drink, and when at last I had finished my repertoire, they had no problems at all with hiring me on as the entertainment. I made a good deal of money not only in tax free, under-the-table cash, but also in gifts from male admirers. A problem arose, however, when one of the Mob Bosses asked me to go to Paris with him. While it was a romantic gesture, there were possibly people alive in Paris who remembered me from the Opera. This was decidedly a bad thing. I politely declined, but he didn't take it well. It therefore became rapidly necessary to remove myself from New York.