Whistling in the Dark (15 page)

"You can't fox-trot worth a damn, Mabel."

"Is that what you're trying to do?"

"Smug bastard." Jack grinned and pushed him. "You don't even know how to get good and drunk. I think you met me just in time."

"I think you met me just in time," Sutton said, pulling him away as Jack leaned over the ledge. "Sit down before you wind up on the pavement."

"Think I've had enough?" Jack upended the bottle and the wind sprayed the last of the champagne to the street. "Do you think anyone will notice it's raining booze?"

"The police, perhaps." Sutton let him lean, but kept a hand wrapped around his coat-tail just in case.

Jack slumped, resting his chin on his arms. "Ever imagine what it would be like to just slip right over and fall all that way to the ground?"

Traffic still trundled along the road and people scurried along the sidewalks wrapped up in their own thoughts and worries. "It would be quick," Sutton mused. "Once you let go."

Jack's eyes were dark, unreadable. "Quick. That's what they always ask. Whether we got blown to bits or took a bullet, they want to know--was it quick?"

Sutton eased the bottle out of Jack's grip before it went down to the street, too. "Come have cake and I'll teach you to properly fox-trot."

A corner of Jack's mouth lifted. "Can you call it proper if you're only teaching me?"

"I'm not sure anything can be called proper where you're concerned. But I'll make do."

_{- - -}

They reached the arbor just as the rain began. There they huddled, eating cake and watching as a few stalwart souls continued to dance in the increasing drizzle. It was only when lightning streaked across the sky that Theo called a halt and everyone proceeded to cover the furniture, roll up the rugs, and push the piano indoors to the landing.

Sutton was given an armful of albums to transport and he proceeded down a dark stairwell with the other guests, all damp, laughing, and loud enough to wake everyone in the building. Jack, a champagne bottle in each hand, stumbled behind him. Sutton heard him trip and instinctively braced himself to keep them both from falling. Jack bumped against him and wrapped his arms over Sutton's shoulders, kissing the back of his neck. "You're slowing the line, Albright. Quick march now. Left, right, left, right."

The girls behind Jack giggled. Sutton smiled ruefully into the darkness. True enough that Jack was a terrible flirt and none of it to be taken seriously, but Sutton worried over how susceptible he felt. "My quick march may leave you flat on your face," he said, keeping up the spirit of the moment. "Hold on tight."

Jack did, with a clink of champagne bottles, as Sutton bounded down the remaining steps and through Theo's doorway. Someone had started another record and couples danced in the dim but warm front room. Theo left them to it, taking Jack and Sutton into the kitchen to ply them with tea and sandwiches. "I can't send you two home in this weather. Stay over and you can bunk with me."

The licentious grin that accompanied that suggestion made Sutton laugh. Theo looked pleased. "Jack, I think we've gotten him over his blushes. A pity. So few fellows still blush after their stint in France. Now both of you look sleepy as cats. Let me put you up for the night."

Sutton wouldn't have minded, but Jack was set against it. When the storm had eased into a steady rain, they borrowed an umbrella and traipsed the few blocks home. Except for the motorcars sloshing past, it was a quiet walk. Jack seemed tired and Sutton, as weary, stayed in his own thoughts.

They found a chilly apartment waiting for them and Sutton half-wished they had stayed at Theo's. With a muttered good night, Jack disappeared into his room. Sutton, after a futile search of the kitchen for a hot water bottle, crawled into cold sheets and tried to get to sleep. Moments at the party--in particular, that kiss--kept playing in his mind alongside worries about his radio performance, but he drifted off--only to jolt awake at the sound of a crash from somewhere beyond his door.

Remembering the hoodlums who were after Jack, he scrambled out of bed and looked around for some means of defense. A slim wooden pole wrapped with wire stood in the corner behind the radio. Taking it, Sutton crept into the front room and saw by the light coming in from the street that no one had broken in.

Concerned, he tapped at Jack's door and when there was no answer, peeked inside. The bed stood empty and he stared in bewilderment. Jack surely hadn't gone out again. The rustle of sheets from somewhere on the other side of the bed heightened his concern and he came into the room to look around. He found Jack huddled in the narrow space between the bed and the wall, head buried in his arms.

"Jack?" Sutton crept nearer. "What's wrong? Are you ill?"

Jack gave no sign of hearing him and, alarmed, Sutton touched his shoulder, to feel skin much too cool. He reached for the dressing gown lying at the foot of the mattress, then realized his would be warmer. "Jack, what are you doing out of bed?" He took off his gown and draped it over Jack's shoulders. "I can go for a doctor, if you--"

Jack lifted his head from his arms and stared past Sutton. Something in his face compelled Sutton to lower his voice to a whisper. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Jack's eyes were wide and dark. "Listen."

"Listen? To what? Jack, you've got to go back to bed or you'll be down with pneumonia--"

"Can't leave my post," Jack whispered.

Sutton felt suddenly chilled, himself. "Jack--you're home. That's all done. You're home now."

Jack's mouth twisted, his eyes an agonized gleam in the darkness. Sutton stared at him helplessly. "Jack, listen to me." He hesitated, fearful of making things worse, but he didn't know what to do. "Jack, you're relieved. I've come to tell you. You're to get some rest. All right?"

He didn't dare hope it would work, but Jack allowed himself to be maneuvered from floor to bed. Once there, he wouldn't lie still. Sutton coaxed him into a restless huddle with both arms wrapped around a pillow and his head on Sutton's knee.

After a while came a plaintive, "Sutton?"

He didn't sound very sure, but Sutton was just glad to find him lucid again. "Yes?"

"I need a drink."

He could barely stay awake and he wanted a drink. Sutton couldn't blame him for it. "Close your eyes."

He brushed a soothing hand over Jack's forehead. Jack closed his eyes, then opened them again. He twisted onto his side and lay there, his face buried in Sutton's pajamas. "You smell like Rinso."

"That's what comes of trying to clean clothes in Ida's old washtub," Sutton said and smiled at Jack's muffled laugh.

"So have you?" The query was soft, riding on a weary exhalation. Sutton shivered pleasantly at the breath warm on his skin. Maybe he was still drifting from the champagne, but it felt good. He focused on Jack's question, sensing it had nothing to do with laundry.

"Have I what?" he asked.

"Been in love," Jack said with faint impatience.

Sutton might have easily answered a few weeks ago. Now he couldn't say whether he even knew what it meant. "I thought--well, to be honest, I don't know."

"What the hell kind of answer is that?" Jack's lashes fluttered with one final effort, then exhaustion won out. His chest rose and fell with the even pattern of sleep. His fingers stayed wrapped around a handful of Sutton's shirt.

Sutton let out a not so steady breath of his own. "The truth."

- Sixteen -

Jack woke to a warm weight against his back and soft snoring in his ear. He knew he hadn't brought anyone home with him from Theo's party. Anyone besides Sutton. Easing over, he noted with relief the pajamas Sutton wore. He didn't think he and Sutton had done anything last night to warrant the removal of them--though after that kiss at the party, they could well have.

Slipping to the edge of the mattress, he rose, and then padded down the hall to the bathroom. He had no doubt Sutton felt something more toward him than simple gratitude. And maybe he felt the same attraction, but yielding to it could cause more problems than he wanted to consider. He would just have to find ways to keep from yielding. Not with Lewis, of course. That had gotten ugly fast. What he needed was a regular spree--boys, booze, and Broadway, as Theo liked to say--so he could come home too exhausted for anything but sleep.

He wanted to burn off the headache and miserable rumbling in his insides. It had been a while since he'd felt so sick after drinking. Champagne didn't sit well and he had a feeling Sutton wouldn't wake in much better shape. He couldn't be much of a drinker, poor kid, to end up in the wrong bed...

Jack held on to that thought as he looked at his tired reflection in the bathroom mirror. The dressing gown he wore was Sutton's. Putting down his razor, he forced himself to Sutton's door and peered into the room. The bed was unmade. Which meant Sutton had gone to bed, then left it to come to Jack's bed in the middle of the night. That spurred the missing memory. He vaguely recalled seeing Sutton from a familiar vantage point on the floor, the same spot where he once in a while saw Harry first thing in the morning. Sometimes from the depths of the tub, sometimes behind the sofa--and there was the time Harry had hauled him out from under blankets and sheets on the fire escape. He still remembered the grim worry in Harry's face and the fierce argument they'd had over whether it was safe for Jack to live alone.

In the end, Jack had kept his freedom, even though it meant Harry and Ox took turns checking on him night and day. As much as he appreciated their worry, he hated the constant invasion. Even worse was trying to explain it to the fellows he occasionally brought home. The handful of people who'd seen him in those moments when his nerves got the better of him usually hadn't been interested in seeing him again. What the hell, that made it easier to keep from getting too involved with some of them. But he didn't want to think he'd already scared off Sutton. Aside from the predictable attraction, he needed Sutton if the business was going to survive--and he had to admit he liked having Sutton around.

Steadier after a bath, Jack tried his hand at breakfast. Maybe Sutton had not been all that bothered by whatever he'd seen last night. He had stayed, so he must not have been afraid that Jack was insane. Not insane--just a coward. Plenty of people saw it that way. Jack personally preferred to be thought of as insane. But the crux of the matter was that whatever Sutton had thought, he'd stayed...

Perhaps just having fallen asleep debating whether to lock Jack in the bedroom and call for a wagon from Bellevue.

Jack gave up stirring the pasty oatmeal. Leaving it on the stove, he went to his room and rapped lightly on the door. "Hey, Mabel. Breakfast is up. Assuming you can keep anything down."

It took another couple of taps to get Sutton to emerge from the blankets. His eyes were screwed shut and his grimace made Jack's face hurt in sympathy.

"Oh, God." His voice was plaintive and hoarse. "Was I hit by a bus?"

Despite his lingering worry, Jack had to laugh. "You're the one who keeps to the sidewalks, remember? Go wash up. You'll feel better."

Sutton went, while Jack nibbled half-heartedly on toast and hoped Sutton had forgotten as much as he seemed to. But when he appeared--looking steadier, himself--and sat at the table across from Jack, the hesitancy in his manner was all too familiar. Jack decided to spare them both and jumped in before Sutton could tiptoe around the subject.

"About last night--" He paused at Sutton's faint smile.

"You should have warned me?"

Jack pushed his spoon into now-cold oatmeal. "I should have, yeah. Harry'll put you up and his place is a whole lot cleaner than mine--"

"Wait a minute. You're not kicking your piano player out into the street?"

His tone was teasing, but Jack couldn't meet his gaze. "Well, I just thought it'd be easier--" If Sutton would have just made it easier by agreeing to go. Jack pushed the spoon deeper into the oatmeal and left it there. He was never eating oatmeal again. "We don't have to dance around this, all right? Stay or go. Suit yourself. There'll be no hard feelings."

"It's my decision?" Sutton asked, mild as ever. He sipped the coffee, then coughed. "What in the world--"

"Oh, sorry. I put in a little gin." A smile crept up on him and he met Sutton's gaze. "I thought it would help with the headaches."

Sutton set the cup aside and studied the oatmeal with even less enthusiasm. "I will stay on one condition. You do not cook breakfast ever again."

Jack rolled his eyes. "If you hadn't been so long in the bath--"

"You can't blame me. I find it hard to believe this was ever edible." He looked pointedly at Jack's untouched bowl.

Jack felt his stomach unknot a little and figured it wasn't entirely the champagne after all. He was relieved--hell, he was glad Sutton had decided to stay. If that decision had been made partly in pity, he couldn't see it. "Let's go downstairs and beg Es to feed us."

After wheedling breakfast from Esther, they found Harry just opening for the day. Sutton went straightaway to the piano to practice and by the time both he and the radio were warmed up, he'd drawn an audience from the day's first shoppers. Jack warned them with a finger to his lips to hold their applause. At the microphone, he introduced Sutton and, stepping away, gave him an encouraging grin.

Sutton's shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and he played. The music cast the same spell as before, taking him someplace wonderful. His audience followed with wistful smiles. Jack let himself trail after, part of his attention tuned to the glow of vacuum tubes and flow of current.

At the end of their first hour, he signed off and nearly jumped out of his skin at the spontaneous burst of applause. It tickled Jack to see Sutton acknowledge it with a bashful nod before vanishing into the storeroom. Jack found him at the sink with dripping fingers pressed to his forehead. "You all right?"