Rags to Riches

by Nancy Carson

  Out of the corner of his mouth he called to Maxine: ‘Shine…sparkle!’ Then to Pansy: ‘Pansy! Shine…sparkle!’ Then to all of them: ‘Ooze personality, everybody! Pretend you’re stars.’

  Maxine cast a sideways glance at Pansy. They both seemed to understand what was required and, as Kenny counted them into the next number, each gave a wiggle and a dazzling, eye-sparkling smile. Pansy sang ‘The Music Goes ’Round and Around’ heart and soul, leading Toots into some intricate trumpet playing.

  Band members are always aware that, for no accountable reason, their standard of performance can vary from show to show. Sometimes, any difference is imperceptible to listeners but, to the players, it is manifestly obvious. And when they are playing below par, their spirits sink also and they do not project themselves well on stage. A lacklustre performance is hard to turn around. Conversely, when a band is playing well together, when the rhythm and timing are tight, when the sound and the playing is slick and effortless, then they smile more easily and project themselves well. So it was that night. The Owls and the Pussycats were running with the precision of a well-oiled sewing machine in perfect working order; and it showed.

  Every song was a delight and, when they slowed the tempo and Maxine sang ‘Where or When’, couples clinched on the dance floor and the mood was one of romance. After it, everyone applauded, including Bill Brighton and his expensively dressed companion, Brent noticed with satisfaction.

  Before long it was time for a break. Brent gathered together the band before letting them loose into the auditorium and the bar.

  ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken,’ he said, ‘there’s somebody very important out front come a long way specially to hear us. I haven’t mentioned it to you before but Bill Brighton, the music scribe from the local rag said he would contact somebody called Seth Cohen and bull us up a bit. I wasn’t sure he would, so I said nothing. But he’s here tonight with somebody and I’m certain it’s this Seth Cohen.’

  ‘So who is Seth Cohen?’ Ginger asked.

  ‘A big, important entertainment agent. If he likes us he can get us into places creep-oil couldn’t get. I’m going over to have a chat. I want you to come with me, Maxine…and be specially nice to…to both of them, but especially to Bill Brighton.’

  Maxine shrugged. ‘Aren’t I always? I’ll just go and tell Howard I’ll be a while…’

  ‘Okay, but hurry up.’

  Howard, of course, did not mind spending the band’s break time with Pansy, Toots, Ginger, Charlie and Kenny, while Maxine did her diplomatic stuff alongside Brent. It was for the good of the band; and Howard could accept that.

  When she located Brent at the bar he had already been introduced to Seth Cohen. Indeed, it was the great man, and he had travelled by train from London just to see and hear them; on Bill Brighton’s recommendation.

  ‘Ah, here’s Maxine now…Maxine, Mr Cohen – Mr Cohen, Maxine Kite.’ Seth Cohen swapped his cigar to his left hand before they shook hands. ‘You’ve met Mr Brighton before, of course.’

  ‘Yes. Hello, Mr Brighton, she said familiarly. ‘We’re still looking for somebody to play the runcible spoon. Any ideas?’

  Bill Brighton laughed good-naturedly. He, too, was smoking a cigar. ‘You’re not going to let me forget that, my dear, are you?’ He explained the private joke to Seth Cohen who seemed to appreciate it.

  ‘Great name, The Owls and the Pussycats,’ Seth said in an accent that Maxine did not recognise. Accents were not her strong point and those she did recognise she’d picked up only on the wireless. ‘Great name. Great band, too. Great sound. Clean and tight. You look great, too.’ He turned to Bill. ‘You’re right, Bill. They could go far.’

  ‘Can you do anything for them?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Maybe, maybe. First, I’d want the band’s assurance that they’re committed. To a man. I have to insist. I can’t afford to place a band and find they’ve broken up when showtime comes round. My reputation, you see. Are you fully professional, Brent?’

  ‘Why, yes, Mr Cohen. That’s so, isn’t it, Maxine?’

  Maxine felt she had no alternative but to say yes. ‘Yes, that’s so,’ she said. Well she was fully professional. It was no lie. She was a CBO professional. ‘What sort of shows do you have in mind, Mr Cohen – and where?’

  ‘There’s things happening all the time. For instance, we might have notice of an American outfit doing a series of concerts up and down the country. For the first half of the show we’d want a comic and an English band as a support act. There’s nightclub and ballroom work – plenty of it in London. Society balls. Out-and-out jazz venues. Broadcasting, even. The list is endless. But you really need to base yourselves in London.’

  ‘How about something on the Queen Mary?’ Brent suggested. ‘I’ve harboured a desire to play on that new liner since it went into service.’

  Seth Cohen sucked cigar smoke through his teeth and shook his head pensively. ‘Everybody who’s anybody wants to play the Queen Mary,’ he said. ‘Ever since Henry Hall and his band played it on its maiden voyage…I couldn’t promise you the Queen Mary…That’s not to say you’re not good enough – you are – but I couldn’t promise you that.’

  ‘You mean you’ve got no contacts for the Queen Mary, or are you saying it’s a closed shop?’

  Seth Cohen seemed to resent the inference and Brent wondered if he’d gone too far. ‘I’ve got several acts booked on the Queen Mary, son. It’s not a closed shop to me. I’m a big face where Cunard White Star is concerned.’

  ‘So what are our chances?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to raise your hopes. You ain’t big faces, you see, son. Besides, the Queen Mary’s entertainment is fully booked. For two years at any rate.’

  ‘Good business for you, though, eh, Mr Cohen?’

  ‘For me, son, good business. But let me give you a bit of advice…’ He drew on his cigar. ‘…In this business – entertaining – you need a modicum of patience already. You’re nobody till you’re somebody, see. Then, all of a sudden, you find you’re a somebody. And when you’re somebody, you’re everybody. Remember that. Have patience, and someday you might be a somebody. Someday you might be a big face.’

  Brent sensed that this was perhaps a reprimand. But he was intent on pushing himself. ‘Thanks for the advice. In the meantime, what can you offer us?’

  ‘You don’t mince words, do you, son? Maybe I can offer you quite a bit now I’ve heard you and been impressed. When I get back to my office I’ll check what’s available. If there’s something we can agree on maybe we can sort out a contract. What sort of money would you want to work, say, in London – or in Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam?’

  ‘The going rate – at least. We’re a great band, Mr Cohen. Your own words.’

  At that Seth Cohen’s rumpled face creased further into a grin. But Maxine wasn’t certain she liked where this was heading, for London was a long way away. Paris and Berlin were further…much further. And she was in love…While she pondered being parted from Howard by such vast distances, Brent and Seth Cohen conversed more, probing the possibilities more deeply; till Bill Brighton side-tracked her.

  ‘Er…can I buy you a drink, Maxine?’ he asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

  ‘It’s all right, thank you, Mr Brighton. My young man has already got one for me.’ Brent had asked her to be ‘specially nice’ to this man. But what did ‘specially nice’ mean? She had been polite, said thank you. Had he been implying something more? ‘Some other time, maybe,’ she added as an afterthought. Maybe that qualified as ‘specially nice’.

  But Bill Brighton seemed encouraged at that. ‘Yes, why not, eh? Some other time.’ He put his cigar to his lips and drew on it again. ‘How about a night out, you and me? I know how to entertain a young lady, you know. Especially a beautiful young lady like you. Brent suggested you might be available for a night out.’

  ‘Did he, by Jove?’ At that snippet of information Maxine fired a savage glance at Brent. The very idea! Their eyes
met but his gave nothing away. He was engrossed in furthering his career while she was torn between an outright refusal and ruining any chances the band might have. She had to tread a very narrow path here.

  ‘Er…At some time, yes, perhaps…Bill…May I call you Bill?’ Maxine responded with deliberate sycophancy.

  ‘I should say so. So when? When’s the best time for you, Maxine?’

  ‘It’s difficult to say right now,’ she edged. ‘I’m ever so busy – the CBO and everything. I’m sure you understand. Why don’t I call you?’

  ‘Promise?’

  She smiled sweetly. ‘Oh, I promise. I always keep a promise.’

  Bill Brighton gave her a business card. ‘Better not call me at home, though, eh?’ He winked at her. ‘Call me on the office number.’

  Maxine summoned a smile and her face was a beautiful mask of complicity. ‘I understand,’ she said, then glared at Brent again and excused herself.

  When she got back to the others Howard handed her a drink and she sat down next to him.

  ‘What was all that about?’ he asked.

  She explained about Seth Cohen and that he was willing to find them work. However, she made no mention that the work might be in London or even the capitals of Europe nor that such work would almost certainly entail resigning either from the CBO; or, if she preferred to be with Howard, from The Owls and the Pussycats. She had never really believed that she might ever be faced with such a dreadful decision.

  Kenny tapped her arm. ‘When’s that sister of yours coming to see the band again?’

  ‘My sister?’

  ‘The one who came last night.’

  ‘You mean Alice. I’ve no idea. Why? What’s she to you?’

  ‘She’s a bit tasty. Runs in the family, does it?’

  ‘I don’t really think Alice is your type, Kenny. She’s very sullen and self-centred. If you take my advice you’ll avoid her…God, what am I saying? You’re married. I reckon she should avoid you.’

  ‘So I’m married. So are a good many women I go out with. So what?’

  ‘So where’s Rose tonight?’

  ‘Rose? Her husband was due to come back home today for a few days. He’s in the merchant navy. He sails between New York and London via Rotterdam.’

  Maxine was still preoccupied with the problems of working far away and still simmering at Brent. Later, as she walked to the stage for the second part of the show Maxine caught Brent by the arm. He turned round to face her.

  ‘Please don’t ever expect me to be specially nice to men in this business on your behalf,’ she said acidly. ‘I am not a prostitute and I’ll never prostitute myself for you or anyone else in this rotten business. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Bill Brighton said you’d told him I might be available for a night out. Well I’m not. I’m not interested in Bill Brighton and you’ve got a damn nerve suggesting I might be.’

  ‘Oh, Maxine,’ he said, and adopted his pathetic look. ‘I…only intimated it…It was a spur of the moment thing. He was doing us a favour…’

  ‘He might have been doing you a favour, Brent. He wasn’t doing me any.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that…Maxine, I wouldn’t…I’m crazy about you.’

  ‘Really? It certainly rings true,’ she said with justified sarcasm. ‘If you’re so crazy about me how come you offered me to somebody else?’

  On the Tuesday at rehearsal, the orchestra broke for lunch and, as some musicians dispersed, others remained in their places opening packets of sandwiches. A hum of subdued conversations and laughter rippled around the hall. The slanting sunlight from a high window was drenching Maxine as Brent sidled up to her, and tentatively took the adjacent chair that was still warm from Gwen Berry.

  ‘How are you, sweetheart?’ he asked gingerly.

  ‘Fine, thanks. And you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m okay,’ he answered dismissively.

  ‘Have you heard from Eleanor?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t expect to.’ He put on his little-boy-lost expression. It was enormously useful to have a range of pathetic facial expressions in one’s repertoire when one was seeking forgiveness. It was his experience that women seemed particularly susceptible.

  ‘Are you looking after yourself properly since she’s gone?’ Maxine asked, immediately softening. ‘Are you eating?’

  ‘I can cut a sandwich and boil water for tea…What more do I need?’

  ‘Can you clean? Can you wash up? Change a bed?’

  ‘If I have to.’

  ‘Oh, Brent…What are we going to do with you?’

  ‘Do I have to spell it out? You know how I feel…Maxine, I’m sorry about…you know…that Bill Brighton thing.’

  She sighed heavily. ‘It just doesn’t add up, Brent. You say one thing and do something else that suggests you’re a liar. How was I supposed to react? It was plain stupid. Anyway, I’m not yours to give – let’s face it.’

  ‘I know, I know. It was bravado – nothing more. You know how it is when you’ve had a drink and somebody’s doing you a favour…You feel obligated. Of course I didn’t mean it.’

  She regarded him tolerantly. He was going through a difficult time without Eleanor. He needed Eleanor. He was falling to pieces without her.

  ‘Oh, Bill Brighton’s harmless enough,’ she remarked with forbearance. ‘But he’ll wait forever for a telephone call from me…Anyway, what was the outcome of your chat to Seth Cohen?’

  ‘He’ll find us work, Maxine, but most of it will be in and around London. We could work on the Continent if we wanted. Frankly, I’m all for that…The chance to get away. I quite fancy Berlin…those sleazy nightclubs.’ He grinned waggishly, his manner changing completely. ‘Seth suggested we all get passports ready.’

  ‘I’ve thought about it a lot, Brent, working away,’ Maxine said, reaching for her thermos flask. ‘And I have to tell you that I couldn’t be part of the band if that happened. I’m not prepared to move away…because of Howard. I’m sorry, Brent. I’d just have to resign.’

  Brent looked shocked. ‘But Maxine, the band’s nothing without you.’

  ‘Well, that’s just not true. Pansy’s just as capable as me on piano and vocals.’

  ‘No she’s not. Nowhere near.’

  ‘Well I think she is. And anyway, you could always recruit somebody else.’

  ‘Maxine, I don’t want to recruit anybody else and I’m not going to. Without you the band can’t exist. If you’re not in it, there’ll be no Owls and Pussycats. It’s that simple.’

  ‘That’s just not fair, Brent. You can’t sacrifice your own career and the careers of the others just because of me.’

  ‘I think that’s up to me to decide.’

  ‘But I’d feel responsible. It’s just not fair.’

  ‘Anyway, we’ve had no offers yet.’

  ‘Well, if you do,’ she said calmly, ‘and if you accept, you must realise I’ll have to resign.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you two were as serious as that.’ His tone held an icy resentment.

  ‘Well, it is serious. And I ask you to respect that.’ She took the top off her thermos flask and poured herself a drink. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘If you can spare one.’

  She passed him the cup and watched him sip it. No doubt he hadn’t brought himself a drink. No doubt he’d had no breakfast, nor brought any lunch either.

  ‘Brent…’ He looked up at her over the rim of the cup ‘Getting back to Howard, I’m deeply involved with him. Please don’t try to distract me…It wouldn’t work. You’d only be wasting your time. Turn your attentions to somebody else.’

  ‘You’re the one I want, Maxine.’

  ‘But it’s only because of Eleanor. Don’t you see? It’s only because she’s gone. You just feel the need to replace her. You feel vulnerable and unwanted. I understand. It’s natural, I suppose. You’re on the rebound, Brent.’

  He drained the cup an
d handed it back to her. ‘It’s nothing to do with Eleanor. I’ve wanted you a long time. I can’t believe you weren’t aware of it.’

  She refilled her cup from her flask. ‘You’ve made me aware of it. And I was interested in you once, as you know. But your being married…I could never…You know me better than that by now.’

  ‘Eleanor and I are not married, Maxine.’

  Maxine looked at him in open-mouthed astonishment. ‘Not married? I don’t believe you.’

  ‘It’s true. We just lived together.’

  ‘Lived together? You mean, you lived in sin?’ She waited disdainfully for a reaction from him, a sign of bad conscience, but none came. He merely shrugged. ‘That’s terrible, Brent. You lived together without being married?’

  ‘But it means I’m free, Maxine. Don’t you see?’

  ‘I don’t know what to say…Do you suppose Stephen knows you’re not married?’

  ‘I doubt it. There’s no need for you to let him know either…If you don’t mind. So don’t tell Pansy. Please?’

  ‘In case Stephen marries her? You don’t want Stephen to marry her, yet you wouldn’t marry her yourself? How hypocritical! Don’t you think you made it easy for her to leave you by not marrying her?…What if she’d become pregnant?’

  ‘She didn’t, did she?’

  ‘I don’t know, Brent. You have no kids. That doesn’t mean she never got pregnant.’

  ‘Actually, she did get pregnant once…but she got rid of it. We didn’t want any kids, so after that we took precautions.’

  ‘You took precautions? But not till after? Not till after you let her have an abortion?’ Maxine gasped with indignation. ‘Brent, that is the most horrible – the wickedest thing I ever heard of.’

  ‘What, taking precautions?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so flippant. No, stupid! Letting her have an abortion. I’m flabbergasted. I’m surprised at you. I’m really disappointed in you.’

  ‘It was her decision.’

  ‘But you just said you didn’t want kids either. You must have influenced that decision.’