Whistling in the Dark (13 page)

"I can hear him," Sutton whispered. "From Pennsylvania--my God. How..." He stopped short with a shock of realization. "This fellow in Pennsylvania, he can hear you?"

"I sometimes get reports from stations as far as Chicago, but don't worry. No postcards from Kansas yet."

"It isn't just that. If I play on your radio--"

Jack's smile faded. "If?"

Sutton pressed on. "How many people will be listening?"

"No idea. You haven't played with an audience before?"

"Not whole entire states of them--"

Hands on his shoulders steered him to the piano bench and sat him down. "You're not so familiar with rags, right? Bet I know why." Jack shuffled through the sheet music. "Here's something Mom and Pop Albright probably approve of. You know this one?"

Sutton glanced at the cover. "
Let Me Call You Sweetheart
. Yes, I've played that before, but--"

"Play it now. Just for me. Soft, like a lullaby." Jack spread the music in front of him.

Sutton glanced over the first few measures and let the notes play in his head. Then they were under his fingertips, pianissimo, as sweet as the lullaby Jack had in mind. He played for his audience of one and it didn't occur to him until the last notes faded that he'd had more listeners than Jack led him to believe. If the glow from the larger bulbs wasn't evidence enough, Jack's impish eyes confirmed it. "You've had it transmitting the whole while."

Jack threw back his head with a laugh. "Want to play another one?"

"You might've warned me," Sutton said, smiling. "That will have to do for tonight. I'm going back to bed."

"What do you say to a game of gin?"

Sutton looked at him in amazement. "Jack, when do you sleep?"

Jack snorted. "You're no fun."

"If you're staying up, why don't you listen in on the radio upstairs. It's too cold down here."

After falling asleep to the clack of a telegraph key, Sutton woke to find Jack snoring beside him, the headset discarded on the blanket. He had a feeling Jack usually slept in the spare room rather than his own, after spending late hours tinkering with the radio. Absent the beguiling grin, he was a different Jack--if just as handsome. Sutton noticed it, then banished the thought in exasperation. He could not think of Jack that way. Jack was--well, Jack. And life had gotten complicated enough.

Still, he couldn't seem to help an imprudent curiosity where his new employer was concerned. On his way to bathe, he passed the third bedroom and stopped to give it a backward glance. He hadn't seen Jack once open that door and after Jack had dismissed the room as inadequate, Sutton had grown keen to steal a look inside. Expecting a dark, disheveled corner for storage, he eased the door ajar to find a perfectly ordinary bedroom. Sun stole in through muslin curtains, to rest gently on an old brass bed, dressing table, and a pair of armchairs huddled beside the radiator.

Though a layer of dust covered everything, the bed was neatly made, as though the occupants might return any day to settle back in. A lone remembrance card lying on the table said otherwise. It, too, was covered with dust--but Sutton could see, without picking it up, the prayer inscribed and the small photograph of a smiling, middle-aged couple who both bore a striking resemblance to Jack.

Sutton left the room as he'd found it, with the door securely shut. The terrible sympathy he felt for Jack awakened an odd pang of homesickness for the people he had parted with, himself, of his own choice. He thought he might write a letter home, just to let his family know he'd found work--and not just any work, but playing piano on the radio. Yet as pleased as his parents might be to learn of it, he expected his father would respond with a prompt telegram demanding his return home. Or worse, might come to New York himself, to insist that Sutton come back to Topeka with him.

With that possibility weighing on him, he couldn't bring himself to write. Perhaps when he had established himself so inextricably that his father could do nothing but accept it--when his family had reason to feel pride instead of disappointment--maybe then.

Bathed and dressed, he felt better than he had the day before. Leaving a sleeping Jack to rise when he was ready, Sutton went downstairs, hoping Harry had opened. He found Harry holed up in the office and, gaining his permission, Sutton returned to the piano. How strange yet normal it felt. He remembered the tension in his hands and shoulders the last time he had touched the keyboard back at home. Though that was absent now, a sense of caution pressed him to spend longer warming up.

By the time he had moved on to the sheet music, Harry had opened for the day. Jack came in, bearing donuts and coffee, and grinned sleepily at him. Sutton continued playing, meaning to ease back into a routine, but the time got away from him. After lunch, he offered to assist Jack with the customers and Jack assured him he was already providing all the assistance they needed. Encouraged, he worked his way through the sheet music, alternating with songs he knew by heart, and it wasn't until Jack came by with receipts in hand that he realized they were closing for the day.

Jack dropped onto the bench beside him and draped an arm over his shoulders. "We did more business today than we've done since summer, thanks to you. Want to come with us to Ida's? I'll keep her from jumping on you."

"I'll have to brave her sometime, I suppose."

Jack clapped his shoulder consolingly. "She won't kick you out, unless she wants to lose some of her best customers."

Touched and dismayed, Sutton shook his head. "I can't let you--"

"You bet you can. After all, you gave up a chance at a good job for me."

Ida came over to their table and after a long look at him, stomped back to the kitchen, muttering about disreputable influences. Harry poked Jack with an elbow. "You don't think she was referring to you?"

"I'm only the best kind of influence." Jack winked at Sutton. "Right?"

"Unparalleled," Sutton said and caught Harry's smile as Harry buried himself behind the newspaper.

There was reluctant good humor in the twitch of Jack's mouth. "What do you know about disreputable? You're the type who stays on the sidewalk."

Sutton put half a spoonful of sugar into his coffee. "And you prefer being run over by the bus?"

The newspaper quivered and behind it, Harry cleared his throat. "So--you think there's something to those rumors about the Sox?"

Jack scooped a spoonful of sugar and dumped it into Sutton's coffee. "War's over. Have as much as you want."

"That was as much as I wanted." Sutton eyed him with exasperation and switched their coffees before Jack could sweeten his own.

A familiar sparkle shone in Jack's eyes. "Harry, I'm going out tonight."

"What?" The paper drooped, exposing a suspicious gaze. "Where?"

"To a party." Jack hauled Sutton from his chair. "Albright's coming with me."

Harry groaned. "Jack--"

"Don't worry. It's only one of Theo's roof-toppers."

Sutton got a glimpse of Harry's alarm before Jack pushed him ahead through the doorway. "Who's Theo? And why is Harry turning red in the face?"

"He hates heights." Jack ushered him up the stairs to the apartment. "You can borrow Harry's dress suit--"

"Without asking him?"

"You'll take good care of it." They went inside and Jack produced the suit from the closet. "He keeps it here so if we decide to go someplace swanky after work, he doesn't have to run home for it."

He pushed Sutton into the bathroom and shut the door. Sutton stood in front of the mirror, trying to catch his breath. Well, he had wanted to go to a party. But he couldn't help wondering what sort of party it was that Harry so blatantly disapproved of.

Washed, combed, and dressed, he crept out to find Jack the picture of insouciant elegance as he lounged in white tie and tails, flipping through a battered copy of
Radio Amateur News
. Jack glanced at him and his smile was distinctly appreciative. "Good-bye, France. Hello, Broadway." He tossed the magazine onto the table and got up. "Okay, I promised Harry I'd warn you before getting you into trouble--"

"You're getting me into trouble?"

Jack laughed. "The kids who show up at Theo's parties are plenty chummy--sometimes a little rowdy--more than you're used to, I'm sure. Go to a lot of college parties?"

"A few."

"This'll probably be worse. Ready?"

- Fourteen -

They walked down to an apartment building on 42nd and took the stairs to the roof. The doors opened upon a garden like nothing Sutton had ever seen. Palms in brightly painted pots ranged around the edge of the roof like a privacy screen from all eyes--well, almost all, he amended, with a wry glimpse heavenward. The wall of greenery waved in the evening breeze seemingly in time with the music from a Victor at the far end of the roof. In the illumination of Japanese lanterns, under an arbor overgrown with sweet pea and creeper vines, dancers fox-trotted. Cake and champagne weighed down a table at one end of the dance floor and those who weren't dancing were eating, talking, and chasing each other through the foliage.

"Which is Theo?" Sutton whispered as three disparate men approached. The oldest of the three, smartly tailored, silver-haired--though surely not far past forty--had to be the most likely candidate. He looked at ease in the latest style of jacket, leaving Sutton feeling old-fashioned even though he wasn't the only fellow wearing a tailcoat. The two younger men walked arm in arm, chatting away even as they came within earshot, and Sutton couldn't help noticing how striking was one, how plain the other. The handsome one gave Sutton an unsmiling glance which grew only colder as it shifted to Jack. The other fellow, tall and ungainly in a poorly-fitted dress suit with, of all things, a showy white orchid for a buttonhole, appeared much friendlier. His pale hair slicked back from paler skin, he seemed all smiling green eyes above a hooked nose and toothy grin.

"Lewis, didn't I tell you our dear Mr. Bailey would come to the party?" He flung welcoming arms around Jack. "Sweet boy, you didn't have to bring a gift! And such a delicious one." Letting go of an amused Jack, he seized Sutton's hands. "And it blushes! Darling, I'm Theo, but let's begin with the endearments right off, shall we?"

Jack gave Sutton an encouraging clap on the back. "Your blushing gift is Sutton Albright. He's staying with me for a while. Sutton, this is Theo, that's Lewis," he said with a nod at the handsome one, "and Miles, who's got the patience of all the saints rolled in one to put up with us."

Lewis looked Sutton over. "Very Savile Row. Your taste continues to improve, Jack."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake, we're just pals."

Theo cleared his throat. "Champagne?" Before Sutton could answer, Theo had an arm around his shoulders, spiriting him to the arbor to pour him a generous glassful. "Do tell me. Are you just friends? I won't let on that I know, I swear it."

Sutton smiled. "I'm afraid so. Are Lewis and Jack--"

"Oh, nothing you need worry about. Dear Lewis, he thinks any fellow he's bestowed affection upon must be devoted to him henceforth. Let us set him aside, because I want to hear all about you. You're more than a visitor to our little seaside village?"

"Yes--"

"You're not a thespian, are you? You could be, you know. Such delicious eyes and, oh my, such lovely diction. How did you meet our dear Mr. Bailey?"

Sutton did his best not to laugh, unsure if Theo was flirting. "I worked in the restaurant next door to his shop."

"And what is it you do these days?"

"I play piano, at the moment--"

"You play! So do I--well, to be frank, I sing much better than I play. I entertained at the canteen for the boys--but only for a few days. The good gentlemen at the Red Cross felt I was a little too--colorful. If only they'd warned me that most of the fellows preferred bawdy numbers about the fairer sex--" His eyes sparkled. "Oh, my dear, you really have to play something for us. Won't you? We have a piano just over there, where I've set up a cozy corner under the palms. We indulge in some singing past midnight. When everyone is good and drunk," he whispered, laughing. "So drink up. Go where you like, do as you like. One word of warning--steer clear of Conrad Oldfield. The boy's a bit of a mauler. In very bad taste, I know, and I wouldn't have invited him--but some people like that sort of thing."

Theo left him nursing the champagne and wondering where Jack had gotten to. More guests were arriving and none of them Sutton knew. They were all remarkably friendly, smiling as they passed to the table for cake, but he felt out of place. He liked Theo well enough and Miles appeared a regular sort. Lewis seemed to resent him, but Sutton did not make much of that. Confirmation that Jack was intimate with men caught him a little off-guard, though not as much as the way everyone spoke of it so jokingly--and so freely. Whenever he'd talked about such things with David, it had been with a certain seriousness and a good deal of caution.

Here he found no hint of caution or restraint. On one frowsy sofa under the palms, two girls kissed, while a man and woman, squeezed into a chair nearby, engaged in the same occupation. Two young men danced, heads bent close, and Sutton's heart reacted in sympathy. As carefree as college dances had been... Had the world changed so much or was there something magical about New York?

"Sutton?" Miles wore an inquisitive smile. "I thought you might care to dance. Unless you think Jack will mind--"

"Jack and I are only friends."

"Really? It isn't easy to tell, with Jack. He's a wicked flirt, that one. Dance, then?"

"Sutton cannot dance," Theo said, coming up behind them. "Eleanor's fetching another album of records and a fresh box of needles. While she's downstairs, we need a piano player. Give us something pretty, will you, Sutton? I shall be in your debt."