by Tamara Allen
Dorrimer sighed and, going to the door, shouted for Jimmy, who was already there. "Take these boys downstairs and let them pick out some music. Then we'll discuss advertising."
Jack could hardly believe their success. He left most of the choosing to Sutton and, while he waited, tried not to worry over whether Sutton really was happy or if he had only said as much to Dorrimer because of his prior commitment to Jack. Plugging songs might not be particularly prestigious, but some people would see it as a step up. Certainly the pay was better.
After a brief meeting with Dorrimer, they left, a bundle of music in Sutton's hands and a script in Jack's. Hit by a fierce wind as they stepped onto the sidewalk, Jack realized they'd have to beat it double time to keep from getting soaked to the skin. To spare both Sutton and the sheet music meant the subway.
"Your first time riding?" He was amused by Sutton's wide-eyed curiosity as they boarded at 28th.
Sutton made an effort to appear indifferent. "Better?"
"Not really." Jack dropped onto a seat close to the door and Sutton squeezed in beside him.
"It's warmer," he said with relief.
"Wait till the dead of winter. You'll really appreciate it, then." He hadn't appreciated it in a long time, but he thought maybe he could again--until he saw the poster.
"What's wrong?" Sutton hugged the sheet music close to his chest. "You haven't lost the script?"
"No, it's here. Hold on to it, will you?" Jack handed it over, trying to pretend he hadn't seen what he'd just seen. But the stark black letters on white paper plastered above the window drew his eye, demanded his attention. Keep your bedroom window open. Prevent influenza, pneumonia, tuberculosis--and probably every other goddamned disease known to man. He had believed it as thoroughly as everyone else. Even the most pointless advice could convince and comfort for a while.
Sutton had grown quiet and Jack knew he was reading it too. An ache rose in his throat and he swallowed hard. "I thought for sure they'd taken those down. Damned Board of Health. What the hell do they know?"
"Let's get off and walk," Sutton whispered. "It's not so far."
"Well..." The train began to move and Jack slumped back. "Never mind. Guess I've got to get used to it, anyway."
"You haven't taken the subway since coming home?"
"Just once." Jack spared the poster another baleful glance. "Walking's good for you, right?"
"I'm sorry." Sutton's voice was a warm breath in his ear.
"It's not your fault. It's not anyone's. It's just how things are." As sick as it made him to look at it, he couldn't look away. "Really, you know what? They forgot to take this one down. I should help them out."
"Jack--"
On his feet, he grabbed a hanging strap and climbed on the seat. His first try tore the poster in two, but the other half came away clean when he gave it a good yank. He felt all eyes on him, but he didn't care. It was too satisfying. He wanted to go all over town and do the same to every poster he found.
"I don't think you're supposed to do that." On the opposite seat huddled an elderly couple and a freckle-faced kid maybe sixteen at most. Hazel eyes shone with startling anger from the scowling young face. "I'm sure it's illegal. They'll arrest you."
Jack hopped down and looked him in the eye. "You want to report me? Go right ahead. Here, take this with you. Take it home, so you can memorize what the rest of us already know by heart."
"Jack." If it was meant to be reproachful, it was too laden with sympathy to be effective. The tug on his coat sleeve was a little firmer, and Jack resisted it.
"Anyone else want to read it one more time?" He held the poster's remains over his head. The other riders stared at him--some alarmed, others annoyed, and a few seeming just as glad as he that the poster was down. Jack heard Sutton's quiet apology to the couple. He turned, intending to defend himself, and saw her mute compassion for him. She wore black--all three of them did.
Shame swamped him. "I'm sorry." His voice was rough but it was all the voice he had. With a twist of his arm, he was out of Sutton's hold and moving away from their grief and everyone else's silent sympathy. He found an empty seat in the far corner and leaned over his knees, keeping back tears. The poster was too thick to crumple with chilled fingers. He didn't want to talk and he was grateful when Sutton stayed quiet. They were almost at Times Square, which was a relief. He wanted to be off the subway. He needed the cold air.
Sutton's hand slipped into his and squeezed. Jack shook his head. "Better not," he whispered.
"I hope it's not yet out of bounds for one friend to comfort another," Sutton said, but let him go, leaning against him instead.
Jack smiled despite his mood. "We're friends, too, are we? You know, sometimes I think you want to be arrested again, just for the thrill of it."
"Thus sayeth the pot," Sutton retorted, making him laugh.
- Twenty-Six -
The rain fell in earnest by the time they reached the shop and Jack noted with a rush of pleasure the number of customers browsing. He supposed they were waiting on the four o'clock show, already five minutes behind schedule, but that was just fine. Harry, finishing with a customer, turned around in time to latch on to Jack's coat and drag him to a halt. "You get music?"
Jack threw an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Did we get music? Did we ever."
Sutton produced it from under his coat and handed it over to Harry, who whistled appreciatively. "What'd you sell these guys, Jackie? A share of the business? You know it's after four--hold on a second, what the hell is this?" Harry had pulled loose the remains of the poster from under the stack of music.
Sutton looked stricken. "I'm sorry, Jack. I meant to throw that away."
Harry tossed it into the trash can. "Sutton, warm up. I need a word with Mr. Bailey."
Jack followed Harry into the office. He saw no point in both of them pacing and so sat down. After a full minute of Harry's back-and-forth, Jack eyed him fondly. "You okay?"
Harry stopped short. "Am I okay? Is that what you just said?"
"Harry, everything's fine. I got a little carried away. Sutton reined me in, no one was injured or arrested, and we made it home. Can't we just forget about it?"
Harry pushed a chair in front of Jack's and sat, waiting. Jack knew he wasn't getting away until Harry got what he wanted. "I swear I'm all right. It just caught me off-guard, that's all. We were going to walk back but--" He shook his head. "It looked like rain and we had to keep the sheet music dry--and hell, how could I make him walk home after what he said to Dorrimer?"
"What'd he say?"
Jack told him about Dorrimer's offer of the staff pianist job, and Harry's face softened as it seldom did. "Well, damn. He's a good kid."
"We're holding him back."
Harry looked amused. "If that's what we're doing, he doesn't seem all that upset about it."
That was something Jack longed to hear. "You think so?"
"Yeah, I do. Jack, if you're going to keep tearing down those posters, just don't get arrested, all right?"
"Asking an awful lot of me, aren't you?"
"Wiseass. You're keeping our staff pianist waiting. Get back to work."
A crowd clustered around the piano as Sutton's fingers, red from the cold, bounced over the keys. By the program's end, his audience had only grown and Jack shut off the transmitter reluctantly. But when Sutton continued to play and the crowd, no longer restrained by a request for quiet, swamped him with applause, Jack's regret vanished. It was a show of appreciation Sutton didn't have with his radio audience.
Not that appreciation couldn't become a trial, Jack mused as he kept an eye on the group of schoolgirls hovering around the piano. Since the program's end, they' d besieged Sutton with requests--which looked, to Jack's mind, like a feminine attempt to win his attention. If they rattled him, it didn't show in his playing, but Jack noted the color in his face and his dogged effort to fix solely on the music. Harry unwittingly came to the rescue at five-thirty, calling them both i
nto the office. Jack swallowed a grin at Sutton's relief and followed him in just as Harry dumped an armful of letters and cards onto the desk.
"Damn, I hope those aren't bills." Jack shuffled through the pile, some of it addressed to the emporium, some to Sutton. "This is all mail about the program?"
Sutton picked up an envelope. "It's for me." He sounded as shocked. Opening it, he read the contents. "A fellow upstate--he wants a performance schedule."
Jack heard delight in his voice and suspected the letter said a whole lot more than that. Plucking it out of Sutton's hand, he dropped onto the sofa to read. Sutton scooped up more of the letters and sat beside him. "Most of them are cards with a mention of the radio show and a return address. Are we meant to answer all of these?"
"They just want a card back, to show off they've tuned in a Manhattan station." The letter from upstate came from a professor at a music school who rambled on about his pleasure in discovering a classically trained pianist sharing his talents on the radio. It occurred to Jack that other amateur stations in town might also be tuning in--and interested in luring Sutton away if he stood out above the current radio offerings.
The rest of the letters were from radio bugs like himself who had listened in and wanted a schedule so they wouldn't miss the show in the future. Sutton and Harry were pleased as punch and Jack made an effort to let go of his worry and revel in the success of the moment. It looked like Sutton wouldn't lack applause from his radio audience after all. And God knew the business hadn't done so well in a long time. Not much point in borrowing trouble--but he didn't want anything to change, not now, while it was all so good.
Good just never lasted. "Harry, I need to get some new parts for the radio, now that we're turning a penny again."
Harry's expression might've been sympathetic if not for the narrowed gaze, creased brow, and skeptical twist of his mouth. "Let's turn a few more pennies first, all right? Then we'll talk about frivolities like heading into winter without any damned heat in this building, the bills coming up for orders we've put in, food, rent, laundry, gas--and after that maybe we can have a cozy little chat about radio parts."
Jack met glower for glower. "Working radio parts will pay for all that, may I remind you."
"Is the radio working?"
"Yes, but--"
"When it stops working, then we'll discuss it. Meanwhile, we got customers and Sutton probably wants to practice the new stuff." He went out, pointedly leaving the door wide, and Jack sighed.
"You keep the letters and give me the postcards to send back. I'm going to run next door and get a couple of sandwiches for us."
Sutton held out the cards. "I've got a little change, if we really need the parts," he said, slipping a hand into his pocket.
Jack caught his wrist. "No, don't. Harry's right. I'm getting ahead of myself. Better learn not to indulge me or you'll always be as broke as I am."
Despite all the attention, Sutton, it seemed, wasn't thinking about other jobs or bigger audiences. The worries poking at Jack turned tail and scattered and he crossed to Ida's, whistling.
The sight of Ned, Gert, and Vance at a table shot him back down to earth. Ned was reading the paper while Vance tried in vain to chat up Gert. Jack knew he was gone on her--most guys susceptible to feminine charms were--but she didn't often flirt with poor men. Jack had been one of the few. Now that she knew the futility of that, Jack figured she would leave him alone. But he had no sooner given a dreamy-eyed Esther his order than Gert deserted the gang to come sit beside him.
"Hi ya, Jack, sweetie."
Jack, amused, played along. "Hi ya, Gert."
She smiled a nervous little smile, un-Gert-like. "Think we could talk for a minute?"
"I think we're doing that right now." Jack leaned over the counter. "Hey, Es, come hear the new music we got."
Esther rolled her eyes. "After work, all right?"
"Don't forget." Jack stole a sidelong look at Gert, who'd gone from expectant to petulant. "Whatever your brother wants, the answer is no."
"He ain't got nothing to do with what I want."
"Okay, so what do you want?"
"I want to sing."
"So sing."
"On the whatsit."
He could have kicked himself for not catching on quicker. "My whatsit?"
Gert's coy smile came back. "Of course, silly. It's the only one around here. What do you say?"
An emphatic no on his lips, Jack hesitated. Adding a singer to the program wasn't such a terrible notion. Vaudeville thrived on variety. He could, too. With a pianist and singer, he could draw an even bigger audience and more customers. Besides, Gert beholden to him might be a good thing--and it was sure to make Ned mad as hell.
Jack took the bag Esther handed him and smiled at the suspicious look on her face. "See you at ten?"
"Jack--"
"Thanks for the eats." He turned back to Gert. "You can come on over and audition for us, if you want."
Her gaze went wide. "Yeah?"
He offered her an arm and together they strolled out, Jack barely keeping a grin in check. He couldn't hold it back any longer when they walked into the shop and Harry nearly dropped a stack of boxes at the sight of Gert on his arm. Jack motioned him to join them in the back, where he broke the news to Harry and Sutton at once.
Harry fixed on Gert with an ever-deepening frown. "She can sing?"
Jack shrugged. "I don't know. Gert, can you sing?"
"Hold on," Harry sputtered. "You told her she could sing on our radio and you don't know if she's got the pipes for it?"
"I can sing," Gert said with a saucy lift of her chin. "I'll show you." She pulled down the pile of sheet music and shuffled through it, tossing aside the songs that didn't appear to strike her fancy. "Here we go," she said cheerfully and handed a sheet to Sutton. "Play it for me, sweetie?"
Ever the gentleman, Sutton took the music. "Which key would you prefer, Miss Hennessy?"
Gert bit her lip, then spread her hands with a helpless shrug and giggled. "I don't know from keys, honey. I just sing."
"That's all right." A hint of amusement ran under Sutton's polite tone. "I'll play it as written, you just sing, and we'll see if we can't find your key."
Harry groaned, but Jack refused to be daunted. "Not everyone can read music, you know."
"She ain't sung professionally, Jackie. You've set a standard with Sutton's piano, you don't want to drop that now..."
He trailed off as Gert began to sing, wobbly at first, but with more confidence as Sutton's accompaniment buoyed her along. She was no Marion Harris, but she carried the tune and lent it personality, besides. She forgot the words at one point and Sutton obligingly began again, in a more suitable key. When she made it through the song, the audience she'd attracted broke into applause. Gert beamed. "They want me to sing again!"
Harry rolled his eyes and headed into the office. "Let her. She needs the practice."
Gert sorted through the music, Sutton catching the sheets she dropped. Jack leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder. "What do you think?"
"Well, her range isn't bad and her delivery has a certain--worldly charm." Sutton lowered his voice. "Harry's right that she could use a little practice."
Jack clapped him on the back. "You work with her. I'm going out for an hour."
Harry called from the office, "Where you going?"
"Back to school," Jack said as he passed.
Harry didn't lose a beat. "'bout time. Sutton and I will close up."
- Twenty-Seven -
Sutton peered out of the office, to where twenty boys and girls of assorted ages stood at attention in two rows under the reproving eye of Miss Cranshaw. "You know, I feel a little nervous."
"Are you joking?" Jack leaned back in Harry's chair until it creaked. "They're only kids."
Harry squinted over Sutton's shoulder. "Are you sure those are children? Hell, we weren't that orderly in the army."
"We didn't have Miss Cranshaw making i
t hot for us if we got out of line," Jack said. "Come on, you two. It was a good idea yesterday and it's an even better idea today. Those kids need some cheerful music to liven 'em up. When they go home, they'll tell everyone they were here for a performance on the radio and their folks will want to listen in."
Sutton shut the door. "She wasn't your teacher, was she?"
Harry snorted. "God, no. She'd have shipped Jackie to reform school the first week."
Sutton smiled down at Jack. "Haven't changed a good deal, have you?"
"Compared to those days, I'm an angel. And you've got nothing to be nervous over. I'm not afraid of the old bat--"
There was a sharp rap at the door. "Mr. Albright?" It was not a voice one could ignore. Sutton turned to pull Jack to his feet, but Jack had already scrambled up on his own. Harry opened the door to admit Miss Cranshaw, who stalked in and thrust a thick sheaf of music at Sutton. "The music you may play for the children."
Sutton looked through the pile. "Bach, Bizet, Mendelssohn--" He caught Jack's grimace and smiled wryly. "Miss Cranshaw, I've already prepared a program the children should enjoy."
"Indeed." Her black straw hat bobbed precariously atop a bun of snow white hair. Sutton didn't dare smile. She had already complained of the lack of heat and the dubious cleanliness of the washroom. Even if Jack had overstated the nature of the venue in his haste to win the school's cooperation, Sutton supposed Miss Cranshaw would find something to dislike in the grandest concert hall.
"These children," she went on, "are under my supervision, Mr. Albright. It is my duty--my sacred duty--to protect their impressionable young minds. You do play quality music?"
"I do, of course. But there is quality in popular music, too, and for some children, it may spark an interest in music lessons that the masters may not--"
"This music," she said, patting the pile with a certain hand, "has sparked interest for far longer than the modern what-do-you-call-it that passes for music these days."
Her gaze narrowed and Sutton, concerned she would cancel the concert altogether, bit back further protest. "Yes, ma'am."
