Whistling in the Dark (16 page)

Sutton patted his forehead dry with his sleeve. "I didn't think I could do that again." He stopped breathlessly and his grin came out of the blue, lighting every corner of his face. "They liked it, don't you think?"

Jack hadn't really considered how much the performance might mean to Sutton. Seeing the delight in Sutton's eyes, he felt an unexpected elation, himself. "Hell, yes. They loved it. Would they stand around this joint an entire hour if they didn't?"

Harry leaned through the doorway. "Jack, get in here and take care of the telephone calls, will you? We've had six in the past ten minutes."

Jack stared at him. "About the program?"

"Well, they ain't about the price of kewpies."

Sutton returned to the piano and Jack dashed into the office, Harry following, just as the telephone rang again. When the caller asked for a list of the records Jack had played over the ether, Jack almost laughed aloud. "That was a live performance. Come and see it for yourself." He gave out the address and, hanging up, dropped into a chair. "Can you believe it?"

Harry leaned elbows on the open ledger before him, gaze going distant as a sunny melody filled the place. "Yeah, he's good."

Something in Harry's voice gave Jack pause. "How good?"

Harry shrugged. "We've only heard him play a few rags. Who knows how well he can pound out the stuff they play at Carnegie."

Jack, listening, wondered what they played at Carnegie that could possibly sound better.

Harry smiled. "I think you've got customers, Mr. Bailey."

Amazingly, he did.

_{- - -}

By eight, tired from the first full day of selling he could recall since springtime, Jack reluctantly turned the sign in the window and locked the door. He handed the receipts over to Harry, set up for the evening program, and let Sutton run with it. Presiding from his perch on the workbench, he watched with some amusement as nine o'clock came and Sutton kept playing. When the tune ended, Jack tossed a wad of paper at the blond head bent over the keyboard. Roused to the present, Sutton hastily withdrew his hands and waited while Jack bid their listeners good-night and switched off the current. "Jack, I'm sorry. I didn't realize--"

"You don't have to." Jack handed him his coat and hat. "You just play. I'll wake you when the hour's over."

"Ox and Harry? They've gone?"

"Harry plays poker Friday nights. Ox is taking his dad to a picture show." Jack waved him out and locked the door. "Oh, I forgot. Here's a key to the apartment. And one thing we need to be clear about. If I have any overnight guests, I'll leave a note to give you fair warning. It would be good if you'd do the same for me," he added, with a clarifying wink.

"Oh." Sutton ducked his head with the pretense of putting on his hat. "Yes, of course."

Jack turned his collar against the cold and to hide his amusement. "Thanks." He stepped off the curb.

"Aren't you going to dinner?"

Jack turned, still walking. "I'll get a bite later. I can't stomach Ida's Friday specials." He made a face. "Corned beef hash. As if we haven't choked down enough of that in the past couple of years."

Sutton looked as though he intended to say something more, but Jack gave him a farewell wave and turned to trot to the opposite sidewalk while the road was clear. He had introduced Sutton to a few people at Theo's party and offered him a taste of the fun to be had in New York after dark, but he wasn't about to give up his evenings to play host or tour guide. He had plans in mind that didn't involve a sedate night at the opera.

He wound his way to the club and, after the show, invited Theo to come for a steam. Agreeing that it was too chilly to parade themselves in the park, Theo joined him in the warm fog at the baths and amid the clanking of pipes, kept up a steady conversation that nearly managed to distract Jack from his own busy thoughts. He more than half-wished now that he had gathered up Sutton, Harry, Esther, and Ox to go out for a celebratory supper. They'd made a good start toward saving the emporium and he fairly percolated with ideas to push it along. The usual Friday night tramp about town didn't seem as flavorful, in contrast.

When Theo wandered away with a tall, tattooed redhead, Jack found a quiet room with a cot, where only a faint light coming through the overhead mesh disturbed the comfortable gloom. Intending to steal a nap, he spent a half hour musing over the events of the past few days, until a hand on his shoulder brought him back to earth. It was someone he'd seen around before, though no names had been exchanged. Friendly blue eyes offered a little uncomplicated fun--and Jack, never averse to fun, made room for him on the cot. Warm hands coursed the damp contours of his body, but he turned from the lips seeking his, not in the frame of mind for that sort of intimacy. The lips explored agreeably elsewhere and he returned the favor. But as a distraction, it worked only slightly better than Theo's cheerful chatter.

Afterward, he waited at the pool for Theo and they wandered back up Broadway to the automat. Chilled to the bone, Jack went for coffee first. Hot cup in hand, he patted the lion's head spigot appreciatively before turning his attention to the rows of cubbied plates. Ham and cheese enticed from behind the glass and Jack bought two sandwiches just in case one would not suffice. He ventured into the sea of crowded tables and found Theo in a corner spot with only a cup of coffee before him. "Aren't you eating?"

"Well, I suppose I can't be so ill-mannered to sit here without at least a slice of pie." Theo leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Can you loan me five cents?"

"Why didn't you say so, you idiot?" Jack gave him a dime. "Bring me a piece too, will you?"

Theo, returning with pie, dropped into his chair with an exclamation of disgust. "That evil-tempered old Peabody is throwing nickels tonight. We'll have to behave or she'll have the police after us again. Busybody, the Lord should have named her. You don't suppose if we found her a man of her own, she'd boss him to death and spare the rest of us?"

Jack, smiling, pushed one of the sandwiches toward him and received a grateful look. Cheerier, Theo poured a spoonful of sugar into his coffee. "Speaking of busybodies, Bill's getting married to one of them next week. A woman, I mean. Can you believe it? We're throwing him a wake on Sunday, if you care to come."

"Decided to suppress his vices?"

"For the time being. Oh, and bring your lovely foundling with you."

"Sutton? I'm not so sure you want me to do that."

"Why ever not? He seems to like a bit of fun."

"He's from Kansas," Jack said, yawning.

"And what's wrong with Kansas? They do turn out fellows who know how to kiss," Theo said with a sly smile. "Heavens, Jack, if you don't want him, I'll take him off your hands. What does he like? Coin-collecting? Mountain-climbing? I'm flexible."

Jack shook his head. "How the hell should I know? Opera, I guess. Piano. Watching the wheat grow."

"Sorghum, isn't it? Anyway, the opera can be jolly. All sorts of assignations and the occasional colorful demise." Theo took another spoonful of sugar. "And piano--oh yes. Sutton's quite the superb pianist."

Jack studiously stirred his own coffee. "You think so?"

"Jack." Theo's gaze narrowed shrewdly. "Jackie. Jackest of Jacks. Oh, you do like him."

Jack groaned. "For God's sake."

Theo bounced on the chair. "You like him!" He leaned in. "You really haven't gone to bed with him?"

"Do you go to bed with every--" Jack caught the green sparkle under Theo's pale lashes. "Never mind. Anyway, I learned my lesson after Lewis--"

"Oh, my dear, you take his wounded dramatics much too seriously."

Jack shrugged. "He can put on a show, but I know he doesn't really expect anything more from me. Not the way someone like Sutton would." Which would make him feel far worse when everything fell apart, as of late it seemed to do.

"But you like the boy," Theo said softly. "I know I'm a hopeless romantic, but I think there's someone for everyone. Even us."

"You're right," Jack said. "You are hopeless."

"You're impossible." Having scraped the apple out of the pie shell, Theo proceeded to eat the shell first. "By the way, I did invite Lewis to the wake. But you mustn't avoid my parties. He can be an absolute stick, I know, but he always brings a few bottles of something nice. And it's getting dearer every day. I think this is the first time I've ever dreaded New Year's."

"Better buy yourself a still while there are some left in the shops." Jack held back a yawn, making his jaw ache, but Theo saw through it.

"You need to get some sleep, love."

"Yeah. Remind me how it works again. I think I've forgotten."

"Go home and ask that handsome laddie to sing you a lullaby," Theo said. "Did I show you my new scarf? I've finally gotten the trick of those knitting needles." He peeled back his coat to show off the greens and golds nestled around his throat.

"Beautiful. You'll be thrown out of only the best places." A lullaby. Sutton had played one for him, and Jack could still hear the strains of it, soft and sweet--as sweet as Sutton was, himself.

A gentle tap on his shin woke him to Theo's knowing smile. "Let's go. I'll walk you home."

"You don't need to walk me," Jack said. "You've got far enough to go, yourself."

"No one's going to pester me unless I want them to." He gave Jack a peek at the Colt .32 automatic under his coat.

"Christ, Theo. You know how to use that thing?"

"Are you serious? My mother taught me as soon as I could lift it."

After they parted, Jack meandered through the shadows toward home. Friday nights usually saw him home well past four, and tired enough to fall on his pillow and go immediately to sleep. Now he felt a vexing combination of weariness and restlessness, neither of which would yield to the other long enough for him to know what to do with himself.

The apartment was too dark, too quiet. He figured Sutton had long since gone to bed. Then the door at the end of the hall opened. Jack didn't like anyone waiting up for him. But judging by the pajamas, tousled hair, and sleepy smile, Sutton hadn't.

"You're home." Sutton peered toward the end of the hall. "You're alone?" When Jack nodded, he frowned. "Not because I'm here? You needn't disrupt your usual--eh--habits. I'm not at all uncomfortable with--well, what I mean is--I don't mind if you--" Even out of the light, the sudden color in his cheeks was evident. He exhaled, an exasperated sound. "So you see."

Jack folded his arms and made himself comfortable against the door jamb. "You know, I'm not sure I do. Could you be a little more specific?"

A trace of humor flashed behind the vexation. "Good night, Jack," he said before vanishing back into his room.

When Jack crawled into bed, he was still laughing.

- Seventeen -

As Jack wandered half-awake from bedroom to bath, Sutton's initial effort to be polite and look elsewhere was subverted from first glimpse. Works of art were made to look upon and Jack's lithe musculature would please the most discerning sculptor. He was as lovely a creation as anything fashioned by nature and God.

The thoughts he inspired, however, fell short of such a noble aesthetic. Sutton went back to perusing the day-old newspaper and read several paragraphs without absorbing a word. He'd meant to remain immune to the charms of any and every man until he could be certain of him. That resolve faltered every time Jack smiled his way--and Jack had to know it. It would explain why Jack had gone out on his own last night, to discourage what was not welcome--his own flirtatious tendencies to the contrary.

It was just as well Jack could resist him, because he was finding it difficult to resist Jack. But he'd had a sharp lesson on the perils of behaving like a lovestruck fool. He would be smart this time, prudent, and betray no further interest.

Jack reappeared in a dressing gown and collapsed into a chair, yawning. "You didn't wake me."

Sutton folded the newspaper. "You told me not to."

"Oh. Well, if you're up first, you can wake me. Just not on Sundays." Jack leaned elbows on the table and combed his fingers through his hair, ostensibly to tame it but only shaping it into a more unruly mess. He dropped his chin on his arms and squinted at Sutton. "How do you look that good at seven in the morning?"

"It's eight. And thank you."

Jack's mouth twitched upward. He eyed the plate of toast. "You made breakfast again. Enough for two?"

Sutton pushed the plate across the table. "Only toast and oatmeal. We'll have to make a trip to the corner if you want more than that."

Jack went to the kitchen and came back with a cup of coffee. "Esther'll feed us. We'll--" He fell quiet, brow furrowed.

"We'll what?"

Jack looked at him. "You don't have any money."

"Well, no. I'm playing for room and board. Isn't that what we agreed?"

Jack set down the coffee and dropped back into the chair. "No. I mean, yes, that's the agreement. I just forgot--" He shook his head. "You had supper, didn't you?"

"I ate here, at--the apartment." Home was not the appropriate word, if Jack felt burdened by the additional cost of feeding and sheltering him. "I'll keep track of my expenses, if you like." He smiled. "If you will allow me to run a tab."

"Damn. Sutton, I'm sorry. God knows you were entitled to a decent supper. Next time just knock me on my ass, will you? Before I go running off like one," he muttered, more to himself than Sutton.

"I had a perfectly decent meal. And I want you to go about your usual business. I can look after myself. I'm grateful to you for giving me a place to stay and work to do. More grateful than I can say."

It didn't occur to him that the expression of gratitude might make Jack even more uncomfortable, but Jack was out of his chair and off to dress with startling energy. When he came back, he hauled Sutton away from the table without a word and, handing him his coat and hat, pushed him ahead down the stairs and across the road to Ida's.