Underbelly (49 page)

Aelita interrupted his trifling small talk by turning his head to a profile view before she let go and said coldly, “What does your wife see in you?”

“
She appears to be in love with me.”

“
She’d have to be.”

“
I must have done something good in a past life. Thank your lucky stars you’re not in her shoes saddled with me,” Grey said, not offended by her insulting manner. She was a strange woman though given her background allowances had to be made and as long as her critical tongue was aimed at him and not Germaine he could bear her insults. Her opinion was of no consequence.

“
I’d slit my wrists.”

Grey laughed, finding her aversion humorous. “I made one hell of a first impression with you at the show!“

“
You misled the relatives by making out their loved ones died without suffering. I know that death is very rarely as gentle as you describe.”

“
I talk to the spirits and pass on the messages they want me to. Not many soldiers want to tell their wives or mothers they had hours of unbearable agony before passing over.”

“
At least it would be true.”

“
Harmful though. Some people might find my white lies immoral and might deal with the bereaved differently if they had my gift. I know that I can look at myself in the mirror with the way I do things.”

Jemima returned downstairs with Germaine and she presented Grey with a gift. “Thank you ever so much for Wilson and Freddie and the others. I can’t express how much that meant to me. You downplay your gift and your own contribution to the war effort. It doesn’t matter that your length of service was very brief and that you saw very little action. Not all soldiers can return laden with medals. I believe you should all receive something just for going. For a medium it must have been very trying.”

Grey shrugged. “I experience everything as a medium and have done for a lonnnng time. I don’t know any different. My gift kept me alive.”

“
I have never seen war myself, James, yet through my many relatives I have many war wounds that will never heal. This small gift can’t compare to the gift you’ve given me this evening. Open it later,” Jemima said, placing the small box in his hand. She wouldn’t be argued with and she hugged them both when their cab arrived. Grey opened up his present in the back of the cab and admired the expensive looking watch. Grey tried to get Germaine talking in the cab yet she remained mindful of the driver listening to them and would not talk about their evening in detail until they entered their hotel room.

“
Add prophecy to my abilities, ‘cause I told you it would be boring and it must have been deathly dull for you. I tried to pep it up between spirits as best I could,” Grey said, his tone apologetic. He phoned down to room service for a snack for them both and joined Germaine in the bedroom where she had quickly changed into her slinky nightdress. While she did not consider Jemima or Aelita to be particularly stunning, and disliked their choice of clothes (Jemima had opted for a smart royal blue dress suit, with Aelita in a plain silver dress which made her seem too bony), she had still felt that they eclipsed her as her attempt at dressing up fell flat. She still felt like an elephant in her revealing nightdress but at least she knew that James liked her in this.

“
Sorry, I wasn’t ignoring you, I just needed to get out of that,” Germaine said.

“
I’ll do the same once the food comes up. Have you got that in an extra large?” Grey joked and succeeded in making her laugh.

“
That’s good to see,” Grey said, holding her face in his hand. “You’ve hated every minute of tonight, haven’t you?”

“
No. You were the one saving grace. I was no help to you.”

“
Hush, you always are. You’re way too hard on yourself. Do you see what I mean about Aelita?”

“
Definitely! What was that about?”

“
USA and Russia go together like oil and water yet again. When we were alone together she was real weird.”

“
What did she do?” Germaine asked, most concerned.

“
She said some odd things, said I wasn’t a very good medium – nothing worth worrying about.”

“
What an ignorant bitch,” Germaine said angrily.

“
I’ve got to get used to critics. If I get more successful I’ll get worse reviews.”

“
I didn’t like any of them if I’m honest, James. Jemima is a fake.” Inviting him out to dinner and then producing a long list of names for him to contact, a request he couldn’t really refuse because of her power, seemed classless to her. Asking in desperation was fine (she’d begged him herself on their second encounter) but there was etiquette to follow, and she expected better from a lady, and seeing her treat her good-natured husband like a servant upset her.

“
You think? At least we parted amicably so we can forget about her. I reckon it could be time for a short tour to leave the New Yorkers hungry for more then when we do come back they’ll be even keener. Can you say goodbye to all this for a little while or would you rather we waited?”

“
We could pack tonight and go tomorrow,” Germaine said, ready to go with him without hesitation.

“
Let me have some rest first!” Grey said, starting to laugh, his laugh switching to a coughing fit that lasted several minutes. Germaine immediately fetched him a glass of water and watched over him anxiously. It was a cough, pure and simple, but because of who he was and who he had just seen, other possibilities entered Germaine’s mind. Whatever her intentions were, Jemima had ruined New York for Germaine.

Chapter 8 – Bad Judgement

With Conrad’s help Grey was able to find out a little more about Kenneth Stratt, whose European tour was winding down, his movements affecting where Grey and Germaine would visit. Eventually the con man and his hired thugs would have to be brought down, but in the meantime Grey settled for staying out of his way. Grey learned through Conrad that Stratt performed regularly in America, though usually just the bigger cities like New York and Chicago, and there were large areas that he never toured, the southeast being one of them. Together with Germaine he plotted their route to take them as far as Miami, a six-week tour before they came back to New York, probably the last trip they’d take before the birth.

Grey was becoming known, at least to a select few, in New York and he was even known to a few hundred in Canada. This meant nothing on his tour as he was forced to start from scratch, playing to 5 people, 3, 12, 6, 24, half of whom thought they were coming to see a concert. More men were back from the war now, and jobs, even the low paid menial ones that he was prepared to accept, were hard to find. Without workmates to spread the word for him, and not feeling confident enough to shout about his show on street corners (which seemed ridiculous to him as he could muster the courage to go up on a stage but couldn’t bring himself to ply for trade on the street, even though he had before when up against Stratt but he had been driven by contempt then) his tour proved financially disastrous.

By the fourth week Grey, with Germaine’s help, wrote by hand over a thousand leaflets advertising his show which he posted door to door. The advertising seemed to work, as a crowd gathered around the small venue as the time of the show approached, satisfying Grey who sat in his dressing room with Germaine, savouring the sound of the bustling street outside. He would certainly have a larger audience than three people tonight (they’d sold six tickets in advance sales which were guaranteed and the commotion, which was hopefully for him, made him hopeful for a full house). Germaine sat on Grey’s lap, touching up her makeup in the mirror when an object struck the window, almost smashing it. She turned in alarm and Grey said calmly, “Impatient lot, aren’t they? I may have to start sooner than planned before they riot! I’ll go to the desk and see what’s going on.”

Grey’s cheery mood faded after he spoke to the desk girl who informed him that his show was being picketed. The doors were still locked, and looking out of a window Grey saw the large hate mob, with placards that showed what they thought of him. ‘GO TO HELL HEATHEN’, CLEAR OFF CHARLATAN’, ‘JOHN 3:16’ (he had a bible upstairs and would check that verse), ‘MEDIUM = MURDERER’ (that one made no sense to him), and there were a few more he couldn’t quite make out.

“
A hostile audience,” Grey mused. He’d faced many indifferent audiences and this posed a new challenge which excited him. “I’d best pull out all of the stops tonight.”

“
You’re still going to perform?” the desk girl said, querying the wisdom of this.

“
Preaching to the converted is easy. If I can get one of these folks to change their mind about me then that would be...what’s the word? It’s gone. You know what they say; the show must go on.”

“
They don’t seem to want to come in. And if they do I can’t stop them. I’m only paid to take payment, not to protect you,” she said coolly.

“
If you don’t feel safe you’re free to leave.”

“
I can’t, because I work for this building. I have to lock up and see that everything runs smoothly. Just cancel,” she instructed him.

“
Sorry, no can do. I’m not letting their freedom of speech negate mine,” Grey said determinedly. “If you unlock the door I’ll go and talk to them.”

“
Your funeral,” the girl said, obeying his instructions.

As soon as Grey left the building the 50 strong crowd were verbally upon him. “Are you the manager? Are you calling it off, or do you want us to come back here every time you have a show on and block your doors?” a burly man in his 30s said, inches from Grey’s face.

“
I’m the medium,” Grey said loudly. “The guy you’re slandering on your signs. I heard the commotion and I wanted to come out and resolve this.”

Grey’s last words were drowned out as the crowd heckled him loudly and shouted over each other at his barefaced cheek. Grey repeated himself, having to shout to make himself heard, and he added, “Have any of you seen me perform before?”

The crowd talked over each other and Grey struggled to establish a dialogue and shouted at them, “I’m here for one night only and after that I can guarantee I won’t be coming back. You’re not being fair, stopping people from coming in who want to make up their own minds. A democratic society allows people to make their own choices. You think this is some heathen ceremony.” Grey showed them his cross to try and disprove this and said, “Wearing this hasn’t burnt my skin. I believe in Christ, and that’s not a conflict of interests. I’m not performing the devil’s work. I think you guys have got completely the wrong idea of what I’m about. You can even come in and watch for free and decide for yourself, if you let people who have paid come inside.”

For all the good that his words did he may as well have been speaking a foreign language. Only a few heard him in any event, as he was shouted down as he spoke and jostled by rowdy elements of the crowd. His vision of enlightening them with the power of his performance faded as he realised they didn’t want to listen and he headed back inside. He eventually called the police from inside the building and was disappointed with the outcome. To keep the peace they called off his show, and informed the baying mob outside that they had won. The worst part of all was that they didn’t even offer to drive them away from the building and they had to make their own way home, past the gloating hecklers, and some of the comments aimed at Grey made Germaine cry.

“
I wonder why my good friend Kenneth doesn’t perform here,” Grey said, trying to amuse her, both of their spirits dampened.

“
I’m not sure who’s worse, him or them.”

“
Please stop,” a woman called after them, Grey turning to see a woman he recognised from the mob, one of the few black people in the crowd.