by Tamara Allen
She swung on Jack. "We're ready to begin, Mr. Bailey."
"Yes, ma'am," Jack wheezed and she stalked back out.
Harry shook his head. "I think it was a better idea yesterday."
Even in their teacher's presence, the children fidgeted and dared the occasional whisper, but broke hardly a smile among the lot of them. Sutton knew what they were expecting. He set aside the somber pieces Miss Cranshaw had given him in favor of a Mozart sonata, hoping to, as Jack said, liven them up. They listened politely, all but two little boys at the front who surreptitiously pushed at each other.
"Boys!" Miss Cranshaw boomed, making Harry, beside her, jump. Jack, at his post beside the radio, sighed in resignation. Ordered back into place, the children took in Chopin, Tchaikovsky, and Debussy without a peep. Sensing he was making no converts, Sutton decided to end the hour with something the children had probably heard from player pianos and hurdy-gurdys on the street. He chose By the Beautiful Sea, and twenty drooping heads tilted curiously to catch the bright strains. He encouraged them closer with a smile and as they swarmed around him, Miss Cranshaw stood poised to object. She only stayed silent when Harry set his finger to his lips and motioned to the radio as if it were a sacred object due particular reverence.
But reverence was not what Sutton had in mind. "You don't know the words?" he asked. The children protested that of course they did and he feigned puzzlement. "I don't hear you singing."
They went wide-eyed at the invitation and burst out singing as if it had been waiting inside them all the endless schoolday. If they were giggling, off-key, and none too sure of the lyrics, their enthusiasm made up for it. The crowd laughed and applauded while Miss Cranshaw glowered. She shouldered forward as Sutton finished and Jack shut off the microphone.
"Mr. Albright, what do you think you're doing? I requested--I most specifically requested--" Her eyes went round. "What is that?"
A small brown-bobbed girl at Sutton's side pointed and shrieked, "Crocodile!"
Jack bounded off the workbench. "Ox!" He grabbed a broom and waltzed around Woody, keeping him at bay while adults and children scrambled to get out of the way. Sutton scooped up the little girl, then noticed Miss Cranshaw looking extraordinarily pale.
"Harry--"
He barely got out a warning before Miss Cranshaw dropped like a felled oak. Harry caught her, then staggered. Sutton set the child on the piano bench and came to his aid. As they deposited Miss Cranshaw in the armchair, he asked, "Do you have any salts?"
"I've got something better," Harry said grimly and headed for the office, grabbing up two stray tykes on the way.
Ox appeared with canvas in hand and blanketed Woody, pinning him while Jack tied his snout shut with a length of cord. Woody squirmed as they tried together to lift him. The canvas dislodged, leaving Jack and Ox struggling for a better hold. Sutton got a hand on Woody's hind leg and trapped the tail in his arms. He worked to get a firmer grip and realized how covered in mud the crocodile was.
"Ready?" Jack said. "One, two, three, up--" And they hauled Woody off the floor.
"Wrestling alligators now, are we?"
The voice, disorientingly familiar, diverted Sutton's attention to the ever handsome, smiling face. "David!"
"It's a crocodile," Jack corrected, and Sutton was none too sure he referred to Woody. David's smile deepened as if there were no one else present but he and Sutton. It was the smile that had once made Sutton feel like the most loved creature in the world.
It could still warm him. "David," he said again, dazed yet. He'd forgotten what a striking figure David cut, just shy of six feet. The strawberry blond hair was still a pale gleam under the curled brim of his homburg, the blue tie that matched his eyes a tasteful dash of color against the black worsted of his coat. Sutton made an effort to collect himself. "It's such a surprise to--I didn't think--" He laughed and shook his head. "How are you?"
"I'm well." David looked around at Harry ladling scotch into Miss Cranshaw's parted lips, the children huddled on the workbench, chairs, and clinging to aisle shelves to stay out of Woody's reach, and he raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing these days, dear boy?"
Heat stole into Sutton's face, but even so discomfited, he had to smile. "That will take some time to explain--"
"It's true you're playing again?"
His heart lurched for an entirely different reason. "You've heard the radio show?"
"I haven't, but others of our mutual acquaintance mentioned it to me and since I was in town, well, I had to find out for myself."
"Hate to break up the reunion, boys." Jack patted Woody's flank and the crocodile's tail threatened to land Sutton on the floor.
"I'll only keep you another minute," David said. "Friday evening, I'm attending a little soiree uptown and I've come by not just to marvel at your return to your raison d'etre, but to invite you along."
Sutton caught Jack's half-suppressed grimace and knowing the reason for it, had to fight down another laugh, one decidedly impolite. "Well, we generally have a performance--"
"We'd love to," Jack said. "Now can we get Woody penned up before he gets any heavier?"
"Just give me a few minutes," Sutton said, but David waved it away.
"The cab's waiting, as are some chaps who've come down with me. You will attend, then, and of course bring your new friends. The crocodile you'll have to leave at home," he said, moving back a step as Woody thrashed, flinging mud. "I'll come for you about nine, so you needn't wander the streets looking for the address. Lovely to see you again, Sutton."
"You as well," Sutton said, freeing a hand to offer it.
"Dear fellow, you're a mess," David teased, declining the handshake. "Friday night, then," he said with a genial wave as he went out.
Miss Cranshaw groaned and Harry gestured toward the back door with the scotch bottle. "Get Woody out of here, would you? Before she has us arrested."
Woody was back basking in the October sun when Miss Cranshaw roused enough to rebuke everyone with deafening outrage before gathering her charges and marching them out of the shop. They nearly collided with Gert, arriving for her practice session with two gentlemen from the staff at her hotel. They promptly set up an elegant lunch on a linen tablecloth draped over a disgruntled Harry's desk. Harry didn't complain about the meal, however--nor did Jack, though he ate surprisingly little.
Sutton suspected that had something to do with David's appearance. He had to allow he found it disconcerting, himself. The reunion had gladdened him at first, but the old hurt lingered. He wondered just what David's intentions were, in seeking him out after so long. The chance of resuming what they'd had was past, but perhaps their friendship could be salvaged. And possibly that was the only reason David had stopped by. Sutton hoped so--despite what small satisfaction turning the tables might bring.
The matter weighed on him throughout the practice session, but Gert didn't appear to notice his distraction. She worked tirelessly and by dinnertime, she could warble After You've Gone with a sultry warmth even Harry admitted wasn't too hard on the ears. At the end of the evening performance, Harry lingered in the office doorway and, when Gert had gone, waved Jack and Sutton inside. "Ox is about to leave for Cartelli's."
Jack tossed Sutton his coat. "Yeah, I know. Did you want him to take care of something before he goes?"
Harry said nothing, but Jack apparently knew just from his face. "Come on. We can't do that to him."
"We have to, you know," Harry said quietly, as they left the office to go to the yard.
Ox was sweeping the back porch while Woody napped in the fading light. Jack stopped at the door. "Damn it. Harry, I can't."
"I ain't wild about it, either. But Woody's got to go. And one of us has got to tell Ox."
- Twenty-Eight -
Jack sighed. "I think it would be easier to punch him in the nose."
Sutton eased past them and went into the porch before either Jack or Harry could object. After greeting Ox with a nod which was shyly re
turned, he eyed Woody for a wary minute. If the crocodile eyed him back, it was with reassuring disinterest. "Looks a bit lonesome, doesn't he?"
Ox's brow wrinkled. "How can you tell?"
"Just a feeling, I suppose. He's so awfully by himself."
"I visit him every day. And Jack comes out to say hello once in a while."
"I'm sure that's a comfort--even if it's not quite the same."
Ox stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom. "Same as what?"
"Well, being around other crocodiles."
Ox frowned. "We can't send him back where he came from. Jack says that's halfway around the world. It'd call for an awful lot of stamps."
"Well, suppose somewhere close by--the city zoo, perhaps--there's a crocodile he's meant to meet." Sutton warmed to his theme. "What if you're the one destined to bring them together? Woody's future happiness rests in your hands--" He broke off. "I guess that sounds rather foolishly romantic."
"Well, why couldn't he?" Ox seemed to warm to the idea. "I want him to be as happy as..." He trailed off, blushing, and hastily ducked his head.
"As you and Esther?" Sutton said gently.
Ox glanced at him sidelong, his smile shy as ever. "As me and Es." His expression shifted to curiosity. "And--you and Jack?"
The back door swung open and Jack bounced out. "Ox, you'd better go or Cartelli's going to think you've wandered off as moon-eyed as Esther."
Ox set the broom aside. "Jack, I think Woody might be happier someplace else. If we can't send him home, they'll take him at the zoo, don't you think? Would you mind?"
"Sounds like a swell idea to me. Harry?"
"Inspired." Harry, the twitch of a smile on his lips, caught Sutton's glance and nodded his thanks. "Woody'll probably appreciate the relative peace and quiet. Now can we finish up and get some supper?"
"About Friday," Ox stammered. "Es and me, we were meaning to go to supper after she closed up. And, well--"
"If you have an engagement with Esther, you must keep it," Sutton said. "I hadn't meant to go to David's party, myself, until someone accepted the invitation for me."
Jack looked abashed, but said not a word until Ox had gone and Harry was taking care of the receipts. Coming back from the porch with broom in hand, he did not commence his usual sweep, but sat beside Sutton at the piano. Sutton, in the midst of notations for Gert's next practice, made room for him without glancing up from the sheet. Suspecting an apology was forthcoming, he tried not to smile when, after a little throat-clearing and an idle tap of the keys, Jack blew out a regretful sigh. "About earlier..."
"It's all right--" Sutton hesitated. "You do mean David?"
"David." Jack made a face. "You like him?"
"Jack--"
"Because he's an ass."
"You don't even know him. And certainly Lewis is no--"
"Lewis is an ass, too," Jack said, then grinned. "So we've both got better taste now, right?"
Sutton jabbed him gently with an elbow. "You don't have to go to the party with me. I think you'll find it unbearably stuffy, certainly compared to Theo's parties."
"After Theo's parties, maybe you will, too." Jack hopped up. "Suppose I'd better finish or we'll be here all night."
Sutton watched him saunter away and felt Jack wasn't nearly as cavalier about David's party--or David--as he pretended. The thought that Jack's instant dislike of David might be jealousy stirred guilty pleasure in Sutton.
Putting fingers to the keys, he ran lightly through the Reisenweber tune. He picked up the tempo, trying his hand at embellishing the piece with a little something borrowed from the Debussy he had played earlier. Soft applause startled him. A petite figure in a plain and practical green wool coat and impractical brown velvet hat came timidly closer. Her dark hair, barely touched by gray, curled at her forehead, gave her a girlish quality. "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to take you by surprise, Mr. Albright. It is Mr. Albright?"
Sutton stood. "Yes, ma'am, it is. I think we're about to close, but if there's something I can assist you with--"
"I've only come to hear you play. And I've just looked around a bit. I hope that's all right. It's such a charming place."
"I'm sure Mr. Bailey won't mind if you care to look around a little longer."
"That is gracious--but I suppose we should ask him?" The sheet music caught her attention. "That isn't what you were just playing?"
"Oh, no, I was playing something I heard in a restaurant."
"Jazz, isn't it?"
"Yes, well, it may not be, the way I play it," he said with a laugh. "Is there something in particular you'd like to hear?"
Her face brightened. "Well, I'm rather fond of music that's old-fashioned. I don't suppose you play that on your program? One hardly hears waltzes nowadays." Though still soft-spoken, she did not seem so shy anymore. "Do call me Opal."
"If you will call me Sutton. Waltz, you said?" He began to play and Opal fairly beamed.
"I adore that one. My husband James and I, we used to dance to it."
"Used to?" He realized the indelicacy of the question too late. Before he could apologize, she shook her head.
"It's been more than a year." Though she seemed to want to reassure him, a little of the sparkle left her blue eyes. "A whole year." Her smile came back, softer. "You were all so very brave."
It was earnest and he felt unworthy of it. "Thank you. I feel as though I should thank your husband as well. His bravery is part of the reason I came home."
"Oh, my dear. Will you play some more?"
The music drew Jack out of the office. "Can't leave you at the piano five minutes--oh, damn," he said and grimaced. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize anyone else was here." He gave Sutton a narrowed look, as if he had expected a warning to mind his manners.
Sutton smiled. "Jack, this is Opal. Opal, the aforementioned Mr. Bailey, who is usually on much better behavior. We were just enjoying a waltz. You may sit and listen too, if you like."
Quite red-faced, Jack shook the hand Opal offered. "Thanks, I will," Jack said. "And I'll set up to send out if you're going to play, anyway."
"Oh really?" she whispered.
Sutton nodded and put a finger to his lips. Jack announced him and he started in with the waltz. He played it at a dreamy tempo that brought out its wistful quality. It had Opal dabbing her eyes and he might have been too, if Harry hadn't come out in the middle of it and exclaimed, "A waltz. Well, I'll be damned."
Sutton shot him a warning glance, Jack motioned at the radio, and Harry rolled his eyes. He mouthed an apology to Opal, who was trying not to laugh. She whispered to him that she had requested the waltz and he bowed in approval, clearly aligned with her taste in music. Then, to Sutton's surprise, he put his ledger on top of the piano and offered her his hand.
Sutton had noticed the somber collar of her dress under her coat collar, but there was no outward sign she was still in mourning. He wanted to alert Harry to it, but he didn't get the chance. Opal took his hand after only a moment's hesitation and let him whirl her away.
Jack crept down from the workbench and sat beside Sutton. "Harry's dancing," he whispered. "How'd you do that?"
"Blame the music," Sutton said, smiling.
- - -
At half past eight, Jack announced the schedule for the next day before switching off the radio. As Harry showed Opal to the door, Jack grabbed a tool kit and joined Sutton on the way out. Upstairs, he vanished into the spare room and Sutton came in to find him taking apart the radio receiver. "Aren't we going to dinner?" he asked, as he sat at the table where Jack perched, cross-legged.
"Soon as I'm done scavenging."
"Scavenging? Jack--"
"Just to keep some spare parts downstairs, in case we need them. I was thinking of changing out the switches." He pulled loose a black rubber knob with a thin strip of brass attached. "These work better for fine tuning. I can patch the receiving set back together later on."
Sutton gave the telegraph key a curious tap. "I suppo
se sometime you'll be able to reach anywhere in the world."
"Just short of Heaven." Jack threw him a sidelong smile. "You know code?"
"Code?"
Jack slid off the table to sit beside him. He covered Sutton's hand with his and tapped the telegraph key. "A...B...C...D--"
"That's too fast," Sutton said, laughing.
"Oh, fine. A. Then B. No b flats," Jack said with a playful nudge. "It's a shame I don't have that fifty watt sparker I lugged all over France. You could've practiced on it. It was a beautiful set, though it was plastered in mud half the time."
Sutton leaned against him. "Jack, you're all right? With--you know--the party, all that?"
"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You tend to put a cheerful face on things."
"I can put one on you, if you want." Jack wrapped an arm over his shoulders and pressed a kiss below his jaw.
"And you will change the subject," Sutton said, "when there's something you don't want to talk about." The kisses were such an engaging distraction, he wanted to let the subject stay changed. "Jack--"
"An easy one," Jack whispered against his neck and tapped out the four letters with the key.
Sutton tried to repeat them but lost track. "Shouldn't I learn the alphabet first?" he murmured. "Or at least a warning, in case I need help."
"Oh, you're long past any chance of rescue."
"I think you're right." It wasn't wise to acknowledge it, but he was still not particularly good at being wise. Certainly not where Jack was concerned. He leaned into the kisses.
"Just in case," Jack said, breath warm in Sutton's ear. "S-O--"
It was as far as he got.
- Twenty-Nine -
Jack spread the worn bills on the desk and counted them again, though Harry had already done so twice. "That's all of it."
"That's it," Harry said. "All you owe the son of a bitch."
Jack sighed. The guilt and regret hadn't gone away; just made room for a glimmer of relief. "Nothing compared to what I owe you."
