BOOTLEG BROADWAY, a story of
debauchery and a little romance
by Diana Rubino
Booze, music, sex, murder,
Prohibition… NewYork…what a time to be alive!
The birth of BOOTLEG BROADWAY:
With FROM HERE TO 14TH STREET set in 1894, I
needed to set this a generation later, which happened to be the 1930s—with
Prohibition and the Great Depression as the backdrop. This is the first book I
ever wrote where I created the characters first, with nothing to do yet. The
plot developed the way it did because of who they are. My goal was to get the
protagonist Billy McGlory into one mess after another. This era couldn’t have
been more suited to Billy’s adventures, a few of which he barely escaped with
his life.
About BOOTLEG BROADWAY:
In this sequel to FROM HERE TO 14TH STREET, Vita
and Tom McGlory and their three children are struggling to make ends meet.
It's 1932. Prohibition rages, the Depression ravages, and
Billy McGlory comes of age whether he wants to or not. Musical and adventurous,
Billy dreams of having his own ritzy supper club and big band. On the eve of Billy’s
marriage to the pregnant Prudence, the shifty "businessman" Rosario
Ingovito offers him all that and more. Fame, fortune, his own Broadway
musical…it's all his for the taking, despite Pru's opposition to Rosie's ventures.
Meanwhile, Pru's artistic career gains momentum and their child is born. Can anything go wrong for Billy? Only when he gets in way over his head does he stop to wonder how his business partner really makes his millions, but by then it's far too late…
Nicknames from real life:
As in FROM HERE TO 14th STREET, a lot of
characters have nicknames like Piggy Balls and Dirty Neck Bruiso. I sat around
the table with my surviving aunts and uncles who were then in their 80s and
90s, and they rattled off these nicknames from ‘the old days’ in Jersey City
like they made them up yesterday. That was a standard Italian neighborhood
custom, everybody had a nickname. Some were more descriptive than others. But
you didn’t just ‘get’ a nickname. You had to earn it.
Some more nicknames from the old neighborhood:
Bruno Chicken Body
Butta Jeans
Charlie Burp
Chick a la zoo
Dirty Dicky
Dirty Neck Bruiso
Floody
Frankie Butch Butch
Gravel Gertie
Hoo Hoo
Jazzy Lou
Jijji Balls
Jinji
Johnny in for the pot
Juu-jo
Sloppy
Vigi-Leak
My fav passage from BOOTLEG BROADWAY (which made my aunt
cringe):
Pru
had kept closemouthed all day about what she was giving him for his birthday. He
badgered and hounded her, but she wouldn’t give in.
As
Ma began divvying up the rum cake, the doorbell rang, and Da came back with a
long box. “This thing’s heavy. What’s in here, Pru? Billy’s tombstone?”
Billy
cut the ribbon with the cake knife and slid the lid off. Wads of tissue paper
filled the box. As he removed the last layer of covering and revealed what was
inside, they all gasped—a sculpture of a naked man, in all his masculine
glory—and fully aroused. He had one hand on his hip and one foot upon a
pedestal on which was inscribed in bold letters, “BILLY.”
“Oh,
crap.” His face turned red hot.
Where Did I Begin?
This was the first book I ever wrote where I created the
characters first, with no storyline whatsoever. All I knew was that it was
during Prohibition, and I wanted to get the main character, Billy McGlory, into
one mess after another.
Here’s a prime example of that, in this excerpt:
Heading south on Madison Avenue, I
heard the siren. I glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the unmistakable
Greyhound radiator ornament of the Lincoln behind me. Cop car. All the gangsters
drove Lincolns, which had a top speed of 80, so the cops had to get Lincolns to
keep up with them. I tried to get the hell out of his way—he must've been going
to a robbery or a diner or something. I pulled over, and he pulled up next to
me. Oh, shit. It was me he was after.
I rolled down the window and asked sweetly, "Yes, sir,
what can I do for you, sir?"
"License and registration please."
"Uh—what's wrong, officer? Did I commit a traffic
violation?" As the son of the ex-Chief of Police, I should have been real
comfortable around cops, but to tell the truth, they scared the hell out of me.
The cops my father knew weren't the crooked ones. They were the straightassed
ones, just like him, who fought Tammany and made a career out of busting
crooks. They didn't have a price, like the rest of them. Hardnosed bastards,
some were frustrated politicians and not smart enough to get into law school,
so they enforced the laws from behind their badges. Hell, I was all for law and
order, but these guys sometimes took it too far. "Your back license plate
is missing."
Relief drained me. "Oh, drat. It must've got stolen. You
know this city—just crawlin' with thieves."
"License and registration, please," he repeated, in
what passed for a more menacing cop voice. Now he assumed his cop stance, pudgy
fists on meaty hips, waiting while I dug through the glove compartment, tossing
aside all the crumpled up sheet music and junk crammed in there. Oh, that's
where my emergency pack of cigarettes was, and that old box of prophylactics!
But damned if I couldn't find the registration.
"Uh—I can't find it, but it's my car, honest. I mean, it
was a gift to me, but it's been paid for, it's not stolen or anything. I can
probably find it in my penthouse. You wanna follow me there? It's only two
blocks aw—"
"Step out of the car, please."
Uh-oh. I felt my bowels burning. I had two briefcases bulging
with two shitloads of money in the back seat.
He poked his head into the car. "What's in the
briefcases?"
"Uh—I dunno. I'm doing an errand for somebody."
"Yeah, I'll bet you dunno. Step aside, please."
"Hey, you got a search warrant?" I demanded.
But demanding a search warrant from a New York City cop was
like demanding a shot of Scotch from Satan in the middle of Hell.
I didn't want to look. I turned my head and flattened my palms
on the roof of the car, like I was being searched. I heard the clicks as he
sprang the latches and his not-so-surprised "mm-hmmm" as he checked
out the contents.
"Who you doing this errand for, sonny boy?"
What was with the "sonny boy"? He wasn't much older
than me. I knew he just wanted to put me down. Screw that. I've been called a
lot worse by much better cops than him. He obviously didn't know who I was.
"Uh—I'd better get a lawyer or something."
"You'd better come with me."
"Look, uh—you wanna just take a few bills outta there and
forget it?” I asked, real generously. “I mean, uh—we're all in this mess
together, ya know—"
"Bribing an officer of the law is a very serious offense,
sonny boy. You'll have to come with me. Park your car there, please."
"Here? But there's a hydrant here. I'll get a
ticket."
I CONSIDERED THESE TITLES
BEFORE I CHOSE BOOTLEG BROADWAY (feel free to use any of these if you’re
writing a book set during Prohibition or the Depression—it was a tough
decision)
Headin' for Better Times
How Strange
If It Ain't Love
If I Had You
Never Let the Same Bee Sting You Twice
Opus One
PA6-5000
Puttin on the Ritz
Say it Isn't So
See if I'll Care
Smile
Somebody Loves You
Take the A Train
Thanks for the Memory
Under the Moon
When Dreams Come True
Wherever you Are
OTHER PROHIBITION BOOKS YOU’LL ENJOY:
The Stork Club - Ralph Blumenthal
Once Upon a Time in NY - Herbert Mitgang
Incredible NY: High Life & Low Life - Lloyd Morris
The Night Club Era - Stanley Walker
Purchase BOOTLEG
BROADWAY:
Contact Diana:
Amazon Author Page
