I Could Go on Singing

by John D. MacDonald

  Faithfulness to Lois was a rather frail theorem. It implied emotional dependence and obligation, which she stolidly refused to accept.

  And at last he accepted the truth he was trying to avoid. He was a creature of staunchly middle-class morality, forever stuck with the concept that the gratifications of the body without emotional involvement are not only markedly grubby—they are even silly. And that tiny nervous woman, so convinced that she was making a gift beyond price, was the very stuff of comedy.

  One day, he thought as he was sinking into sleep, he would tell Lois about it and they would laugh. The thought woke him up again. From whence came this confidence that he would ever be able to confide such things to Lois? She was a cripple. She had warmth, intelligence, humor, subtlety, but it all came to an abrupt stop at the lip of the chasm that flawed her—and beyond that point there was no humor, no warmth, no understanding at all. If she could ever be mended, she would be one of the rare ones, one of those who could fill your life from rim to rim and give every day a meaning beyond what words could express.

  His only hope was his feeling that Lois was subjectively aware of that flaw, and though she did not dare admit it, wanted to be whole.

  nine

  Jason arrived at the suite at twenty minutes before noon. The boy was sitting with the air of someone who has waited a long long time, and he got to his feet as Jason came in. He was alone.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “Good morning, Matt. What’s the word on Jenny?”

  The boy sat down again. His smile was slightly wan. “Miss Ida says she’s out. That’s French, she says, for not up yet.”

  “Last night got a little congested.”

  “She does have a great many friends, doesn’t she?”

  Jason sat on the couch. “Some of them are Jenny’s friends. And a lot of them are friends of Jenny Bowman.”

  “I see what you mean, sir. I suspect I might be both.” There was a glint of solemn humor in his dark eyes. Jenny’s eyes, Jason thought.

  “Nobody could blame you for that.”

  “I recognized so many of them, Mr. Brown. You know, they all seem rather smaller than I imagined, smaller people physically.”

  “The camera tends to inflate everything, Matt. I guess you’ve had a dull morning.”

  “I don’t mind, really. I shall have another chance. But I thought she might find it interesting. Perhaps, with the way she works, sleep is more important for her. Earlier this morning, Mr. Kogan said Miss Marney might go with me, but I thought Jenny might wake up at any time …” The boy frowned. “Of course, I have missed another train by now. I seem to have missed a great many trains lately.”

  “How did you like being backstage?”

  “Most interesting. It wasn’t as I imagined. I rather expected everyone would be … matter of fact. But everyone seemed so excited and happy, even the ones who do things with the lights and curtains.”

  “It’s like that when she works. It might not be the same with other performers.”

  “She’s really very special, isn’t she?”

  “There’s only one.”

  “I imagine she makes a great deal of money at it.” The boy flushed. “I’m sorry. That was a rude thing to say.”

  “Not at all, Matt. She doesn’t really make very much. The tour is set up so that she gets a guarantee and a percentage of the house over that guarantee. All the payroll and tour expenses, transportation, music, musicians and so on come out of that. What’s left over goes to her agent. He takes his percentage and sends what’s left to her financial manager. He also gets the income from her records, movie contracts and so on. He pays the bills, sets money aside for taxes, makes investments if there is any left over to invest, and deposits her allowance in her personal account. If the whole tour is booked absolutely solid and they don’t run into any unexpected expenses, there may be three or four thousand dollars left over for investment at the end of it. But while the tour is going on, she is living first class, traveling first class. If she should break even, the tour does indirectly improve record sales and movie box office. She could cut the payroll way down and make a lot more by taking extended club dates. But this tour thing is part of her image. It is what Jenny Bowman does. Do you understand that?”

  “I think so, sir. Thank you for … telling me so much that isn’t any of my business, I suppose. It really is quite chancy then.”

  “Very chancy. She enriches theater owners and producers and record companies, and, with the way the taxes go, she gets the short end of the stick. And she’s been fattening a lot of people for a lot of years. So they call her a property, and they use every pressure in the world to keep her working.”

  “But she does seem to enjoy it, Mr. Brown.”

  “It might be more necessary to her than she would like to think.”

  “I don’t know quite what you mean, sir.”

  Ida came in through the corridor door and the tiny foyer. She said good morning and looked inquisitively at Matthew Donne. He shook his head. “Not much of a morning for ionic propulsion,” she said. “I’ll take another look.”

  She went into Jenny’s bedroom. She came out in a few moment and said, “There are some signs of life in there, boy. Why don’t you go on in and thump around a little? If it bites, we’ve got some iodine.”

  “Is it really all right?” the boy asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  The boy went in, and left the door ajar. In a little while they heard the boy’s polite voice, Jenny’s slumbrous murmurs—with a note of apology.

  “Thick as thieves,” Ida murmured.

  “Any response from Aunty?”

  “A deadly silence.”

  The boy came out of the bedroom and closed the door. “She’s going to get dressed now, Miss Ida.”

  “Before breakfast?”

  “We are to have something called a brunch, I believe. And do some shopping. She … she is very sorry about the ionic propulsion.”

  “Shopping on Sunday?” Ida asked.

  The boy looked startled. “So it is: I seem to be losing track.”

  “You’re not alone,” Ida said mildly.

  Jason Brown found Lois having lunch alone. She welcomed him with an animation and a warmth which astonished him. She had just begun, and asked him to join her.

  “I’ve been wondering about my guide to local scenes and wonders,” she said. “If you haven’t any other plans.” She wore a burgundy-red suit, a gray silk scarf at her throat, a hat that suited her well.

  “If George hasn’t any other plans for you?”

  “He can’t possibly get back here before one thirty, and it will probably be two o’clock, and if we have any sense we’ll be gone by then.”

  “So we’ll be gone by then.”

  After he had ordered, she smiled mockingly at him “You look a little eroded, my friend.”

  “It was one of those evenings where you never finish a sentence, and you never hear anybody else finish one either.”

  She made a face. “I hate those.”

  “Occupational hazard.”

  “Thank God I got out of it.”

  “I tried to leave with you, but you took off too fast, Lois. And there was another disappointed fellow too.”

  “Who? Oh, the narrow little Frenchman in the elevator shoes. He kept staring at me. Like Hillary looking at Everest.”

  “By the time he went and got his crampons, his oxygen equipment and his ice axe, you were gone. He wept bitterly.”

  “I had a much better time with Matthew. Better than I expected, really. He thinks he might become an anthropologist. This is his first experience living with the aborigines. The tribal customs fascinate him. Real live Americans. He thinks we’re a little more complex and difficult than we’re reported.”

  “He can do a paper on us.”

  “Where are we going, Jason?”

  “It’s a cold bright day with no wind. So we’ll do the excusion boat thing, and then if you ha
ve time we’ll go to the Tate.”

  “If I brought my little camera would you pretend you didn’t know me?”

  “I’ll use it for you. I’ll pose you in front of national monuments.”

  “Smirking.”

  “Having wonderful time. Wish you were here. Regards to the gang.”

  “I have to be back at six. So does Jenny. Cocktails for the ladies of the press.”

  “I thought they’d covered them all.”

  “The weighty ones. This is the rabble. Fashion people and food people and lovelorn advice people and so on.”

  “By the time you get your coat and camera, I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”

  When Jason and Lois returned to the hotel at ten minutes to six, George Kogan descended on them when they were a dozen feet inside the lobby. He was scowling, jittery and angry. “Where the hell is she?” he demanded.

  Lois stared at him calmly. “First you say hello. And then we say hello. And then you ask me if I had a good time. Yes, I did, thank you. And neither of us have the slightest idea where Jenny is. I thought she’d be back by now.”

  “So did I.”

  “Did you remind her of this?” Jason asked.

  “Seven times. And so did Ida. And Ida reminded her again when she phoned in and said the boy is staying over tonight too. Do you want to phone Canterbury again, Lois?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I didn’t think you would. I got that room on the mezzanine floor. All those women are up there, knocking off the cocktails, gobbling up the canapes, telling each other what they’re going to ask Jenny. What am I supposed to do? She promised she’d be back. She’s out of her so-called mind. I better get up there. Lois honey, you stay right here and the minute she comes in, if she comes in, shoo her up to that room and send the boy up to the suite. Okay?”

  “Yes sir, George, sir.”

  “And I’ll see if I …” He stopped suddenly and looked speculatively at Jason. Still staring at Jason, he relit his chewed cigar. “You can take a little pressure off me, old pal.”

  “Now wait a minute!”

  “You’re going to be a substitute celebrity, pal.”

  “But, George, I’m only a …”

  “You’re somebody who’s willing to ask me for a lot of favors. Right?”

  Jason looked helplessly at Lois. “You’re hooked, dear,” she said cheerfully. “Just do what they all do. Make up interesting answers.”

  George took him up the stairs to the mezzanine. At the top of the stairs Jason looked back forlornly at Lois. She beamed and threw him a kiss. As they walked toward the door of the room where the conference was to take place, Jason cringed at the babble of female voices, the sounds of high-pitched laughter.

  George paused and squared his shoulders and went in. The room seemed full of women. They were around the canape table. Waiters were passing the cocktail trays. The sounds faded and all the expectant eyes stared at the two of them.

  George smiled at them and waved his cigar. “Girls—Jenny’s asked me to stand in for her today. She loves to talk to the Ladies of the Press and she’s very disappointed not to be here. But please eat, have fun—and if you have any questions, think of me as though I were Jenny.”

  “When did you start smoking cigars?” one of them asked. There was mild laughter, and too much hearty laughter from George. Jason smiled wanly.

  “Just where is Miss Bowman?” another one asked.

  “There’s a chance, just a chance, mind you, she might still make it,” George said. “But it doesn’t look good. Frankly, it’s one of those purely legal and technical things. A business meeting. No interest to you ladies at all. And it’s gone on way beyond time. Way, way beyond.”

  “Who designed the costume she wore last night?” someone asked.

  “Before we get into the questions, ladies, I’ve got a surprise for you. You will certainly want to ask him some questions. I’m proud to present Mr. Jason Brown, the famous playwright from Hollywood, California. Mr. Brown flew in last week and he’s working with Jenny on the script of the picture she’s going to do when this six-country tour is ended. It’s called The Longest Dawn and it is going to be one of the greatest pictures of all time, and it will star Jenny Bowman. Mr. Brown has consented to answer any questions you wish to ask him about Hollywood and the stars and his writing career.”

  The little gasps and coos of pleasure astonished Jason Brown. But he could see a few faces registering that total indifference he had expected from all of them.

  “Now the way we’ll do this,” George said, “as soon as Mr. Brown and I get a drink in hand, we’ll take opposite ends of this room and you girls just move right in on us with your questions.”

  Jason acquired a martini and got into position with his back to the wall. A dozen of them hemmed him in. Almost that many surrounded George. Some of them moved from group to group. At first too many of them tried to ask questions at once. But soon it became reasonably well-organized. Some of the questions were asinine. Some of them were all too shrewd. Many of them were about Jenny. Little by little they acquired information about him. Jason had the feeling that he was like a large artichoke being devoured by a hungry mob. They pulled off leaf after leaf, removing his outer covering, working their way down to the surprisingly small amount of nourishment within.

  After an hour the pressure dropped. They began to excuse themselves and leave. By that time he had become aware of one woman who asked no questions at all. Sometimes when he looked into the middle distance to organize his answer, he would catch her eye and she would stare at him with a mocking expression. She looked quite unwholesome. He thought she could have been reasonably attractive if she made any effort. She had a ripe figure, a rather fleshy face, a cold pale blue eye, a snaggle of dark blonde hair, a broad and careless smear of lipstick. She wore a blue dress that seemed too small for her, and a ratty fur cape. It was almost excessively obvious that she wore nothing under the blue dress. It looked as though she had slept in it. The other women seemed to avoid looking at her or speaking to her. She merely stood and ate vast quantities of the canapes and smoked many cigarettes in a long white holder and looked bored, indifferent and savagely amused.

  George took his first chance and left quickly, with a parting wave toward Jason. There were six around Jason and then three and then two. The two left together, after effusive thanks, slightly tight, full of misinformation. And then he was alone in the room with the woman in the blue dress. Service people came in to clean up the debris.

  “If you have no questions …”

  “Oh, but I do!” she said, and popped a last canape into her mouth and delicately wiped her fingers on the fur of her cape. She moved closer to him and smiled impudently at him. “You could take me down and buy me a proper drink,” she said. “I hate and despise this cocktail slop.” He detected her abundant use of a very heavy musky perfume.

  “I wish I could, but …”

  “Oh, surely you can, Jason. A very old and very dear friend of mine said you would talk to me nicely, should the chance arise. And I’d much rather talk to you than to Kogan. After all, you were much closer to Jenny once upon a time.” Her manner of speech was a curious mixture of affectation and cockney.

  “An old friend?” he asked blankly.

  “Yes. He told me to stay close to the Bowman party. And keep in touch with him. He even gave me some funds for expense money, before he left. You might even say he started me in this business. Sam Dean. You will buy me that drink?”

  “It will be my pleasure, Miss …”

  “Landor. Beth Landor.”

  “What paper are you with?”

  “Not with any of them. And then again with all of them, you might say. I free-lance a bit. When one comes up with something interesting, it’s rather an advantage to be able to trade about, I find. I do have press credentials, of course. Otherwise I couldn’t have come to this little fete.”

  “I would like to see if George Kogan could join
us, Miss Landor.”

  She hooked her arm around his and smiled up at him. “I think we should keep this quite private, Jason. At least for now.”

  At a table in a dark corner of the lounge, she ordered a double Scotch on ice and a package of cigarettes. She smiled cozily at him and said, “This is better for a private talk, isn’t it? All those gabbing women! My word! I suppose we should get right to it. Who is the young lad, Jason?”

  “Young lad?”

  She laughed. “You actually look ill! It must be something quite sticky. And I suppose you would keep on fencing indefinitely, wouldn’t you? My dear fellow, Sam Dean wouldn’t entrust anything to anyone without resource, would he? I shall tell you some of the things I know. Not all, because if you are not certain how much I know, it should keep you from lying. The boy’s name is Matthew Donne. His father is a widower, Mr. David Donne, a Wimpole Street surgeon. The boy is on vacation from Canterbury School. But we get back to my question, do we not? Who is the lad? Why does she give him so much time? Why does she skulk out of the hotel with him?”

  Jason hoped and prayed his imitation of ease was convincing. The woman sipped her drink. She had a sensuous and bovine look, as though she would be more at home working as a stripper in one of the little Soho theater clubs, or bumping and grinding her way across the stage of the venerable Windmill Theatre. But the clear cold intelligence in those pale blue eyes was unsettling.

  He experimented with a mild laugh and hoped he brought it off. “She skulks as you call it, to get a little privacy I suppose. Donne has treated her for throat problems. That’s his specialty. He and Jenny are friends. The doctor was called away on an emergency case. This is the boy’s vacation time, and the doctor had promised him a few days in London, so Jenny is filling in. She likes the boy. He’s a pretty good boy. I don’t think there’s much mystery about it, Miss Landor.”

  “I just wouldn’t say Jenny Bowman was the sort to waste her time on children. It seems odd.”

  “I guess it’s sort of an obligation to see that the boy has a good time.”

  “Could you cry out for another of these, please? You know, Jason, what Sam Dean and I have is an instinct. When he fastened me onto this, I rather thought she might be on the tiles with someone unsuitable, you know? But it is something quite different, isn’t it?”