The Breaking Point (33 page)

‘It all depends,’ she said. ‘Saturdays are good. I sometimes clear twenty-five dollars on Saturdays.’

‘I wish I had twenty-five dollars,’ said Barry. ‘The boys never give me anything.’

‘Well, you’re clothed and fed, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘After all, that’s the main thing.’

He gave her the cup and saucer, and she put them back on the ledge by the kettle. Then she took up her knitting again.

‘I wish you could see my grandsons,’ she continued. ‘They’re lovely boys. I’ve got snapshots of the whole family at home. The girls all married - well, I’m glad to say - and my son David has a big gas station up in Winnipeg.’

‘They none of them went into movies, then?’ asked Barry.

‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘No, they’ve done really well.’

Back in the restaurant the boys were getting restive. The Japanese girl kept looking at the clock and yawning, and the Korean acrobats had finished all the champagne.

‘Barry’s a hell of a time making that call to May,’ said Alf. ‘Go and dig him out of it, Pat.’

Pat pushed aside the blonde, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and went through the swing-door to the call-box. In a few moments he was back again, his face serious.

‘Barry’s not there,’ he said. ‘The chap on the switchboard said he finished making the call all of fifteen minutes ago. He’s not in the men’s room either.’

‘Maybe he’s gone to the car-park,’ said Ken. ‘Bet you anything you like he’s curled up asleep in the back of the car.’

Pat went to see, and Slip went with him. It did not do for Barry to get his hair mussed up or his clothes rumpled, unless Slip was there beside him to put things straight. In less than five minutes they were back in the restaurant again, both looking haggard.

‘Barry’s not there,’ said Pat. ‘He’s not in the car, or any other car. The car-park attendant hasn’t seen him. And the chap on the door hasn’t seen him either.’

The Japanese girl looked interested at last. She accepted a cigarette from one of the Jamaican wrestlers.

‘You know what it is, Mr Burnell,’ she said to Alf. ‘Barry Jeans has given you the slip.’

‘That’s right,’ said the wrestler. ‘The telephone call was a blind. How say we all go after him and beat up the town?’

Alf rose from the table and the boys rose with him.The maître d’hôtel hurried forward, but Alf waved him away.

‘No, we don’t want any more champagne,’ he said. ‘We’re going. And Gigantic Enterprises is taking care of the cheque. Thank you, yes, Mr Jeans had a wonderful time. Come on, fellows.’

They went to the car and climbed in, leaving the girls with the wrestlers and the acrobats on the steps of the Silver Slipper. Gigantic Enterprises could take care of their evening, too, or what was left of it. The boys were going to hit the road for home, which was where Ken said they would surely find the Menace.

‘I tell you what,’ said Bob. ‘May’s ratted on us. May told him over the phone to get home to bed.’

‘How would he get home?’ asked Alf. ‘He hadn’t money for a taxi.’

‘Maybe he walked,’ said Bob. ‘That’s it, he walked.’

‘Barry’s never walked five yards in his whole life,’ said Slip. ‘If he walked five yards he’d get a stitch.’

‘What if he’s been kidnapped?’ said Ken. ‘My God, what if some bunch of chaps have kidnapped the Menace?’

‘There’s one thing,’ said Bim, ‘it would let him out of going on the floor tomorrow morning. I could take his place.’

Ken told Bim to put a sock in it. The thing was too darn serious. If Barry Jeans had been kidnapped the whole of Hollywood would go up in smoke. They’d have to call the State Department, they’d have to call Washington, the F.B.I. chaps would have to ground all aircraft taking off east or west.

‘Wait awhile, wait awhile,’ said Alf. ‘Let’s see if Barry’s tucked up safe and sound in bed.’

They roared up the driveway to the house and woke the frightened butler. They searched the rooms, but there was no sign of the Menace. Then Pat put through a call to May at the Country Club. He was careful not to alarm her. He just said they were all back home, and Barry seemed a bit quiet, and he and the rest of the boys wondered if May had said anything to upset him.

May’s voice was muffled and strange, and she sounded as if she had been crying.

‘I trusted you,’ she said. ‘I trusted you to look after him. And then you went and took him to Poncho beach.’

‘See here, May . . .’ said Pat, but May had rung off and he could not get the connexion through again.

‘Any news?’ asked the boys as he slammed down the receiver.

‘May’s sore,’ said Pat. ‘That’s all the news.’

‘What’s she got to be sore about?’ asked Ken.

‘She’s sore because we took Barry to Poncho beach.’

They all went out to the car again, each with a different suggestion. Bob thought they ought to call the F.B.I. right away, but Alf said once the dope was spilt to the F.B.I. then it would be all down the Coast about what had gone wrong, and how Barry’s rating was Force G.

‘Those fellows can’t keep a secret,’ he said. ‘We only go to the F.B.I. if we can’t produce Barry in the studio by eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’

‘Tomorrow morning?’ said Slip. ‘It’s half-past one now. There’s only seven hours to go.’

They all climbed into the car again and started driving back to town.

‘I’ve a hunch,’ said Bob. ‘I’ve a hunch he’s got a lift somehow and gone back to Poncho beach. That pose of his about not showing interest was all my eye. Bet you he’s gone to see the kids do their stuff again.’

‘Bob’s right,’ said Pat. ‘They have the beach flood-lit at two a.m. The kids do the feather dance under the arc lights. It would be dangerous to leave Barry down there without us.’

Ken turned the car down the road that led out of town to Poncho beach.

‘I don’t know,’ said Alf. ‘I can’t believe those kids meant a darn thing to Barry. But when we were watching the floor-show I had the impression he was restless. I felt him move, I was next to him in the box. If Barry’s anywhere he’s down at Poncho casino watching the floor-show.’

‘We’d better do both,’ said Ken. ‘We’d better do the beach first and then the floor-show. How long will it take?’

‘I guess they close at five,’ said Slip. ‘They couldn’t get through with all they do before five.’

Ken stepped on the accelerator, and the car sped along the road to Poncho beach.

The departure of Barry Jeans’ party from the Silver Slipper killed the evening.There was no fun in dancing or sitting around when the big names had gone. Those who still felt energetic went home to bed, and the people who were always tired decided to go on to Poncho beach. At two-thirty the band packed up, the tables were cleared, and the lights were dimmed. The chap on the switchboard had fallen asleep. No one noticed that the light was still on in the ladies’ powder room. The curtains were pulled back now that everyone had gone home, and Barry had come out of the cubby-hole. He was sitting in a chair by one of the dressing-tables, and he had put his feet up on the table itself. He was drinking hot milk. Pinkie was going round the powder room with the basin-cloth, seeing that everything was neat and clean for the following night.

‘I don’t remember that bit about the bath-buns,’ she was saying. ‘I know you always pinched the currants out of mine, but I had forgotten I made a bet you couldn’t eat ten at a sitting.’

‘I ate twelve,’ he said, ‘and then I was sick.’

‘Shame it didn’t put some weight on you,’ she said, ‘but you were always scrawny. You’re scrawny now.’

She wrung out her basin-cloth, and tidied the brushes and combs, and then went to the row of hooks by the curtain and lifted down her coat and her head-scarf.

‘What’s the time?’ asked Barry.

‘It’s nearly four,’ she said. ‘I’m going to be dead on my feet in the morning after gossiping here all this time.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Barry. ‘I’ve kept you. I’m sorry, Pinkie.’

He dragged his feet down from the dressing-table and stood up.

‘I’ll see you home,’ he said. ‘It will be like old times.’

Pinkie was adjusting the head-scarf in front of the mirror, and she tied it under her chin and put her handbag over her arm.

‘I don’t know about that,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t do for me to be seen coming out of the powder room with you. I might lose my job.’

‘You go first,’ he said. ‘You go first and I’ll wait, and then I’ll slip out after you.’

She seemed dubious, and kept muttering something about losing her reputation.

‘I don’t want to get into trouble,’ she said. ‘They think a lot of me here.’

She looked through the door into the empty passage, and at the far end of the passage she could see the chap at the switchboard fast asleep.

‘All right,’ she said, ‘I’ll risk it. I’ll go through the door on the right there, and wait on the street. Give me three minutes, and then come after me.’

Barry gave her three minutes, and then, when he judged it safe, he slipped out after her and joined her on the street as she had told him. It could have been the draught from the open door that awoke the chap on the switchboard, but he came to feeling a breeze on his face just after Pinkie had passed him, and as he sat up yawning and rubbing his eyes he caught a glimpse of a male figure creeping stealthily out of the ladies’ powder room and sneaking on tip-toe down the passage towards the door. He was too startled at first to press the alarm which would have brought the watchman from the front of the building, and it was only after the man had passed him and gone through the door that he decided after all not to give the alarm. He was a married man and had been on switchboard duty at the Silver Slipper for many years, but in all his time there, and at other restaurants and night-clubs, he had never seen a man come out of the ladies’ powder room before.The sight was shocking enough in itself, but that was not all. What made it doubly shocking was that he had recognized Barry Jeans.

Pinkie was already walking down the street, and when she reached the corner she stood and waited for her companion to join her.

‘I suppose you haven’t a car?’ he asked. ‘Mine seems to have gone. The boys must have got tired and slipped off home.’

‘I generally get a trolley,’ she said, ‘but I’ve never been so late. We might pick up a taxi if we’re lucky.’

They were lucky some five minutes later. Pinkie hailed the taxi and she and Barry both climbed in.

‘I haven’t any money,’ said Barry. ‘I’m awfully sorry.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Pinkie. ‘I always did pay.’

When they came to Pinkie’s block she got out first and paid the taxi, and then she said to Barry, ‘I’d better tell him to drive you straight home.’

Barry had been thinking during the drive that he would get hell from the boys for being out late, and Slip might call up the masseur to get to work on him as soon as he put foot inside the house. They would turn the shower on him too, the one with high pressure, and Slim would use the electric ray on his scalp to stimulate the hair, and they might even insist on that pinching and kneading of his arms and legs so as to ginger the muscle tone. The funny thing was he was not tired. He did not feel tired at all. He just did not want to go home.

‘Pinkie,’ he asked, ‘Pinkie, couldn’t I come up with you and see your place?’

Pinkie considered. ‘It’s a bit late,’ she said.

‘Not late, Pinkie,’ he urged, ‘it’s early. It’s not last night, it’s tomorrow morning. I have to be in the studio soon after seven. I’ll come to breakfast.’

‘All right,’ she said, ‘as long as no one sees you. I don’t want my neighbours to think I give fellows breakfast.’

They went inside the building and up to the fifth floor. It was a new apartment house, and Pinkie had a nice little three-roomed home. She showed Barry round, and introduced him to the canary, and then made him lie down on the settee in the living-room and take his ease. She put a piece of newspaper under his feet so that he did not spoil the new covers, and then she went into the kitchen to get him some breakfast.

‘You can’t make porridge, can you, Pinkie?’ he asked.

‘Not without Quaker Oats,’ she told him, ‘but I’ve got some rice here. I could make you a rice pudding.’

‘I’d like that,’ he said. ‘I’d like that more than anything.’

He must remember to tell May to ring the changes sometimes with his breakfast, and to serve rice pudding instead of porridge. He lay stretched out on the settee and watched the canary hop about in its cage, and he listened to Pinkie bustling in the kitchen getting the crockery and setting the milk to boil. He wondered what the boys had done when he had not returned to the table. They must have been anxious. The best thing to do would be to have Pinkie put him in a taxi just before seven, and go straight to the studio and not back home at all. Then Slim could only make him up and get him on the set in time for shooting. There would not be time to give him hell or insist on massage. He settled himself more comfortably on the cushions and glanced at his watch. He had about two and a half hours to go.

‘Pinkie?’ he called.

‘Yes?’ She came through from the kitchen. She had taken off her coat and dress and was wearing a flowered overall. It had a beige background and great big roses on it, and it buttoned all down the front.

‘There’s something I’d like to do,’ he said.

‘What is it?’

‘I’d like to look at all those snapshots you were telling me about. The ones of you and your family, the children and the grandchildren. I’d just love to lie here looking at the snapshots while you get on with making the rice pudding.’

Down at Poncho beach the line of cars was queueing up to drive back the ten miles into town. It was after five-thirty when Ken got all the boys together. Bob and Pat and Slip had held them up. They had stayed down on the beach after the feather dance while the others went to see the floor-show, and when the floor-show was over Alf had gone round the back of the stage to talk to some of the girls. He said he wanted to ask them if they had seen Barry. Then Bob, Pat and Slip came up from the beach and they said the coloured kids had not even heard of Barry. It was really astonishing. They had not heard of the Menace. It had taken them nearly an hour to convince the kids that the Menace existed, and had been down on Poncho beach that very day to watch them dance. It had been pretty exhausting work looking for Barry up and down Poncho beach, and the boys could hardly stand up. They all had to go to the bar and have stiff drinks to get them steady. Alf had to have a stiff drink too. Ken and Bim seemed to be the only ones who were in any shape at all.