The Last Madam: A Life in the New Orleans Underworld by Chris Wiltz Page A
Authors: Chris Wiltz
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talk?”
“Fine with me.” Norma hung up the phone.
The two women went into the parlor. Itchem tried to eavesdrop from down the hall. Norma gave the cabbie an arched eyebrow and banged the door.
By the time Rambeau sank into the sofa cushions, she had recovered her good humor. “How about some champagne,” she asked, “for old times’ sake?” Norma nodded to the maid.
Norma had been bluffed since she was nine years old, and she could smell a con coming. Rambeau kissed her, said she’d had a beautifultime, but, after all, that was a lot of money, could they talk about it? “You can’t use it anyway, because it’s all marked. My husband, when I left Florida, gave me that money, but he didn’t approve of me carrying so much, so he said he had the serial numbers recorded on all of it.”
Norma said nicely, “If I can’t cash those hundred-dollar bills, shame on you, because you’ll be reading about it.” She let Rambeau take that in, then went on. “Look, if you had come in here right, instead of barging in and being hostile, I might have given you some of your money back. But I’ve decided there’s nothing you’re going to do about it.”
Rambeau thought about it and recognized that Norma had the bigger muscle. “Okay, let’s just forget this. I’ll charge it off to experience, and if you ever come to Los Angeles, look me up and I’ll show you one gorgeous time.”
She gave Norma her card, and when the champagne was poured she made a toast to the hair of the dog that bit her, but she didn’t take even a sip. Norma took a long draft as she thought, Yeah sure, old girl, I bet you’d show me a hell of a time on your stomping ground. Ain’t no way I’m leaving mine—this town suits me real great.
The two women kissed goodbye, and Rambeau and the straggler were off to catch the eleven o’clock train.
Itchem, who’d nearly been fired because of the stink Rambeau made, came back to 410 Dauphine to wheedle more money out of Norma. She gave him a cut, but not the 40 percent he normally made. And Norma gave the girls who’d danced naked a cut of the money too, but not their full cut (40 percent of a cab fare, 60 percent otherwise). They’d knocked themselves out in the entertainment department, but, after all, they hadn’t had to go to bed with Rambeau.
Norma kept $24,000 for herself and bought an annuity with it—for her retirement. Before it matured, Carrie Badon Schubert, Norma’s aunt, and her husband, Billy Schubert, signed a notarized affidavit swearing that, in their presence, John Gauley Badon had given his daughter, Norma Badon, a gift of $24,000 in cash.
Back in Hollywood, Rambeau went on to have a long and lucrative career as a character actress. She specialized in aging harlots and fallen women and appeared in movie classics such as Tobacco Road, The View from Pompey’s Head, and Man of a Thousand Faces. She was twice nominated for an Academy Award for best supporting actress, for Primrose Path and Torch Song. Norma saw every movie Marjorie Rambeau ever made.
When Marjorie Rambeau’s husband (probably her third, Francis Gudger) told her not to get off the train in New Orleans because it was “such a wicked city,” he no doubt had in mind exactly the seamy scene that epitomized the Tango Belt in the twenties—naked girls lying in the windows of brothels, gambling behind every door, and incidents of people being mugged and robbed on the streets while that hot jazz played all night long.
But the city was wicked right down to the political infrastructure. When the local writer Jack Stewart was researching the music scene in the Tango Belt, he discovered that “a politically complicated game went on to keep things going as they were.
“After a public outcry to clean things up,” Stewart explained, “some blue blood would be appointed commissioner of public safety, or whatever title, and he’d take off like a rocket—he was going to get the job done. Then he’d realize the
“Fine with me.” Norma hung up the phone.
The two women went into the parlor. Itchem tried to eavesdrop from down the hall. Norma gave the cabbie an arched eyebrow and banged the door.
By the time Rambeau sank into the sofa cushions, she had recovered her good humor. “How about some champagne,” she asked, “for old times’ sake?” Norma nodded to the maid.
Norma had been bluffed since she was nine years old, and she could smell a con coming. Rambeau kissed her, said she’d had a beautifultime, but, after all, that was a lot of money, could they talk about it? “You can’t use it anyway, because it’s all marked. My husband, when I left Florida, gave me that money, but he didn’t approve of me carrying so much, so he said he had the serial numbers recorded on all of it.”
Norma said nicely, “If I can’t cash those hundred-dollar bills, shame on you, because you’ll be reading about it.” She let Rambeau take that in, then went on. “Look, if you had come in here right, instead of barging in and being hostile, I might have given you some of your money back. But I’ve decided there’s nothing you’re going to do about it.”
Rambeau thought about it and recognized that Norma had the bigger muscle. “Okay, let’s just forget this. I’ll charge it off to experience, and if you ever come to Los Angeles, look me up and I’ll show you one gorgeous time.”
She gave Norma her card, and when the champagne was poured she made a toast to the hair of the dog that bit her, but she didn’t take even a sip. Norma took a long draft as she thought, Yeah sure, old girl, I bet you’d show me a hell of a time on your stomping ground. Ain’t no way I’m leaving mine—this town suits me real great.
The two women kissed goodbye, and Rambeau and the straggler were off to catch the eleven o’clock train.
Itchem, who’d nearly been fired because of the stink Rambeau made, came back to 410 Dauphine to wheedle more money out of Norma. She gave him a cut, but not the 40 percent he normally made. And Norma gave the girls who’d danced naked a cut of the money too, but not their full cut (40 percent of a cab fare, 60 percent otherwise). They’d knocked themselves out in the entertainment department, but, after all, they hadn’t had to go to bed with Rambeau.
Norma kept $24,000 for herself and bought an annuity with it—for her retirement. Before it matured, Carrie Badon Schubert, Norma’s aunt, and her husband, Billy Schubert, signed a notarized affidavit swearing that, in their presence, John Gauley Badon had given his daughter, Norma Badon, a gift of $24,000 in cash.
Back in Hollywood, Rambeau went on to have a long and lucrative career as a character actress. She specialized in aging harlots and fallen women and appeared in movie classics such as Tobacco Road, The View from Pompey’s Head, and Man of a Thousand Faces. She was twice nominated for an Academy Award for best supporting actress, for Primrose Path and Torch Song. Norma saw every movie Marjorie Rambeau ever made.
When Marjorie Rambeau’s husband (probably her third, Francis Gudger) told her not to get off the train in New Orleans because it was “such a wicked city,” he no doubt had in mind exactly the seamy scene that epitomized the Tango Belt in the twenties—naked girls lying in the windows of brothels, gambling behind every door, and incidents of people being mugged and robbed on the streets while that hot jazz played all night long.
But the city was wicked right down to the political infrastructure. When the local writer Jack Stewart was researching the music scene in the Tango Belt, he discovered that “a politically complicated game went on to keep things going as they were.
“After a public outcry to clean things up,” Stewart explained, “some blue blood would be appointed commissioner of public safety, or whatever title, and he’d take off like a rocket—he was going to get the job done. Then he’d realize the
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