Whistling in the Dark (22 page)

Jack kissed his neck, then looked down at him with an agreeable smile. "What do you want me to confess?"

Still the same joking tone, but Sutton saw the wary sparkle in his eyes. "Nothing. I just think we should be clear from the start that we don't mean to have--certain expectations."

"Certain expectations," Jack said. "Such as?"

"I just mean we can acknowledge that two sophisticated adults, as we are, free of familial ties, as we are, may enjoy an intimate relationship--"

"As we are?"

"Jack--"

"Sorry, go ahead."

Aware of the amusement that had taken the place of Jack's wariness, Sutton chose his words with care. "All I mean to say is--well, Bill and his bride-to-be might be obliged to keep promises because the world insists. But the world makes no demands of us--"

"Except to quit."

Sutton exhaled. "Yes, except to quit, so there's no reason for us to take it all as solemn and serious as others do. We can be content to live as we please and just--well, just--"

"Have fun?"

The point he'd been driving at, more or less. "Yes. We might have our fun and no harm done. So you see what I mean."

"Right." Jack brushed a kiss over his mouth. "So--want to have some fun now?"

Sutton gave in to a laugh. "You really are impossible to hold a serious conversation with."

"I'm serious."

"Here, in the open? I wasn't raised in a barn, either."

Jack shifted his weight with deliberate intent. "You're going to the opera with Miles?"

It took Sutton a moment to catch his breath. "What else will I do while you're out with that fellow from the baths?"

"Oh, that." Jack averted his gaze. "I made all that up."

Sutton struggled to the surface of the pleasurable sensations enveloping him. "You--" He sucked in a breath. "You made it up?"

"Every word."

Sutton jabbed him in the ribs and Jack yelped and twisted to one side. "Ow--hey, you're the one going about with Miles--"

"You're the one who pushed me into it," Sutton exclaimed.

"Did I?" Jack stared down at him, seeming on the verge of further argument. Then he covered Sutton's mouth with a kiss, rough and needful, not giving it up until they were both gasping. "I'm sorry," he whispered then, as rough, and Sutton believed him. "Stay here and I'll go bang on the door for a while. Someone's bound to hear."

Sutton held on to him. "Don't go." He drew Jack's head down and elaborated with a kiss. Jack's fingers threaded into his hair and the kisses caught and flared. He didn't think about where he was. It didn't matter. He wouldn't withdraw from that kiss or the arms that wanted him. The sheet flapped and billowed, giving a glimpse of sky. He followed the heat of Jack's hands on his skin, encouraged him unnecessarily as those hands went where he ached for them. He was burning up in the cold and it felt akin to Heaven, with no time passing--only the present moment, overfilled with sweetness.

He didn't hear the door nor the crunch of shoes on gravel and Theo's laughter surprised him. Glad that he was, for the most part, still dressed, he barely had time to exchange a resigned look with Jack before Theo pounced. Jack grunted at his landing and immediately tried to push him off. "Do you mind?"

Theo couldn't hide his smile from Sutton. "Host's duty, to check on all his guests and make sure they're enjoying the party. If I can lend you two a hand--"

"We've got all the hands we need, thanks," Jack said and nudged harder.

"Are you sure? Three can be so much fun." Theo hooked his chin over Jack's shoulder and winked at Sutton. Despite his embarrassment, Sutton couldn't help a laugh.

Jack smiled with faint exasperation and turning his head, growled in Theo's ear, "Go."

Theo wrapped his arms around Jack's shoulders. "He's a darling boy, isn't he?"

Sutton looked gravely at Jack. "Darling," he said, then winced as Jack jabbed him with a knee. "If one or the other of you would get up so I can breathe, I'd be most appreciative."

"Oh, all right," Theo said. "I'll give you ten minutes and then you must come back down to earth for cocoa and Christmas cookies."

"Christmas cookies in October?" Jack said.

"The Lord will forgive us," Theo assured him. "For that, anyway."

When Theo had gone, Jack dropped his head on Sutton's shoulder. "He knew what we were up to. That's why he came alone."

"He's a good fellow," Sutton murmured. "So..." He nuzzled Jack's hair. "We've ten minutes?"

Jack grinned and kissed him. "At least until we've had our cocoa and gone home."

- Twenty-Four -

Submerged to his chin, Jack watched the sliver of soap float across his line of vision. Standing to with unflinching valor was the tin soldier he had found in his coat pocket. With every ripple, the S.S. Ivory whirled and tipped, but the soldier remained steadfast, his loaded gun at the ready--a useful item when other people with loaded guns were emptying them in your direction. But gun and bayonet were an extra burden when a fellow already had a wireless kit to look after. Rough work that had been, hauling the equipment from place to place, constantly setting it up, taking it down, and keeping it in good repair under the most miserable conditions--and he wouldn't have traded the job for any other the army might've offered.

Putting soap and soldier aside, he leaned back and closed his eyes. The apartment was quiet, but it didn't feel deserted. Sutton lay still abed, probably as beat emotionally as physically. A smile crept up on Jack. Sophisticated Mabel, deciding that love affairs were meant to be just for fun, and all the while he acted as if he'd stumbled upon paradise. The worst of it was that Jack liked seeing that look in his eyes, that adoration. He liked the kisses that were too tender to be purely lust. He liked that voice, laughing and affectionate, in his ear.

He could have happily tossed Lewis into the river last night and waved from shore as he floated with the sewage out to sea. Lewis could say what he liked about Jack, and maybe some of it deserved, but he wouldn't hurt Sutton again--and Jack supposed Lewis knew as much, by the look Jack had given him when they'd come back down for cookies and cocoa.

When the party had broken up, Jack was glad to leave. It had been a pleasure to scurry through the cold, knowing he wouldn't be coming back to an empty apartment and a lonely bed. Maybe it wasn't going to last long. Sooner or later, Sutton would want something more than pounding out popular music on an old piano in the back of a novelty shop. Jack knew it, even if Sutton didn't--yet. And when his respectable world swept him back in its arms, there were things he would feel obliged to leave behind.

So it wouldn't last, but while it did, he would enjoy it. Before the shop, afloat for the moment, went under for good, before the nightmares ran him to ground and forced Harry to send him away somewhere locked and padded, he was going to have the best time he'd ever had with the sweetest guy he'd ever met.

He pulled the plug but stayed put until the water drained. He didn't recall the particular nightmare that had snapped him awake at the ungodly hour of six and he didn't want to. He was just glad he hadn't awakened Sutton. Wrapped in a towel, he left the warm bathroom for the cold bedroom, wanting to crawl back under the blankets and banish the chill. Force of habit stopped him at the window to see if Esther had opened. She was sweeping the stoop, her skirts fluttering, curls flying.

Jack braced himself for a sharp wind and opened the window to call down to her. She looked around and grinned, then pointed at something beyond his view. He leaned a little further, to see a group of people at his corner. Puzzled, he looked at Esther. She shrugged, then rubbed her shoulders in a pantomime and waved him back inside.

Shivering for real, Jack obeyed. "Sutton." He patted a blanket-covered shoulder. "Wake up." He tossed aside his towel and dragged on drawers and pants, wondering if he had a clean shirt anywhere around. When there was no sign of life from the bed, Jack pounced. "Come on, Mabel. Breakfast and customers await." He snuggled closer and buried his face in Sutton's neck.

Sutton sighed. "Dear God, don't you ever let a fellow sleep?"

Jack snickered against his skin. "What are you kicking for? You kept me awake past midnight. Come on, get up. We have customers waiting and it's cold out there."

Sutton blinked at him. "Waiting? Really?"

_{- - -}

After dressing, they ran down to find a crowd milling outside the shop. "Good morning," Jack said as he moved through to the door. "We don't normally open until eight, but--"

"That's him," someone said excitedly and Jack turned to see a thin, white-moustached man approach Sutton with a hand extended. "Mr. Albright? You're the pianist on the radio?"

"Yes--" Sutton got no further before he was surrounded and, to Jack's delight, made much of. Sutton handled the adulation with hardly a blush, shaking hands and smiling. Jack felt like blushing, himself. People were listening in to the program--his program. He wished Harry had come in early enough to see the crowd. As he turned the key in the lock, he felt a tug on his sleeve and looked around at a girl, about twelve, and the band of youngsters hovering behind her.

"Mr. Bailey?"

"Yes?"

"May we see your radio?"

How about that. "Well, of course you can. Come on in." He swung the door wide and they swept around him, the crowd of adults coming after.

"Mr. Bailey--" The moustached gentleman stopped him in the aisle. "Mr. Albright said I might inquire of you concerning your program schedule. We caught two performances but haven't had any luck since. Do you keep regular hours?"

"Yes, sir, we do intend to follow a schedule--" Jack glanced around as Sutton came in. "I think I can confidently say we'll be sending out performances every weekday at eight, noon, four, eight, and possibly--" He paused as Sutton's eyes widened. "We may add another hour if the program does well," he added hastily.

"Ah--so not until eight, then?" The man consulted his pocketwatch.

"Seven-thirty, just this morning," Jack said. "Feel free to browse while Mr. Albright warms up." He pushed Sutton ahead of him and apologized as soon as they were out of earshot. "I didn't know this would happen--"

"I realize that, but--five minutes to prepare? Besides, Ox and Harry aren't here yet. How will you handle all those customers alone?"

"I'll be fine. You just worry about the music."

As Sutton warmed up with a few popular numbers, customers wandered from the aisles and gathered to listen. Jack gave him an additional ten minutes and they began the performance at seven-forty. By seven-fifty, the crowd had doubled and Jack was relieved to see Harry and Ox come in on time. He stole Sutton away at nine for a late breakfast, then left him to practice while he helped Ox stock shelves.

A couple of hours after the noon performance Jack noticed he was hearing only the occasional plunk of a handful of keys from the back of the shop. He found Sutton bent over a sheaf of paper, scribbling as he'd done in the cab. When Sutton played a few bars, Jack recognized it as the tune from Reisenweber's.

"Ten-year-old rags not good enough for you anymore?"

Sutton smiled absently and scooted over, an invitation. "Ten-year-old rags may tire our audience after repeated performances."

Jack sat beside him and leaned against his shoulder. "So you're saying we need new music."

"I realize there is some expense involved. I could alternate the rags with older pieces. Beethoven, Mozart--"

"And put our audience to sleep?"

Sutton looked amused. "Some people do like it, you know."

Jack made a face. "Play it, if you want. I think we need something fresh, too. Let me talk to Harry."

Harry was buried in paperwork but surfaced without the usual scowl when Jack came in. As Jack started to close the door, Harry shook his head. "Leave it open, will you?"

"Well, welcome to the twentieth century," Jack said, laughing.

Harry dismissed the comment with a snort. "I could listen to that kid play anything."

"Maybe not if he's playing it over and over and over." Jack picked up the baseball on the desk and tossed it from hand to hand. "I think we need to invest in some sheet music. We're getting an audience. We don't want to lose them when other programs start offering the latest."

Harry stood and fished the keys to the safe out of his pocket. "How much do you think you'll need?"

"I won't need any--"

"Jack." Harry caught the ball in mid-throw.

Jack raised his hands in protest. "You haven't heard my plan. Now it's just an idea, but I may be able to get us plenty of music without paying a penny--"

"I repeat. Jack--"

"Trust me, will you?"

Harry grunted. "You've got a show at four."

"We'll be back in plenty of time, even if we walk."

Sutton appeared in the doorway. "Walk where?"

"Music heaven," Jack said, tossing him his coat.

_{- - -}

The tramp to 28th wasn't far, but it seemed farther in the face of a sharp wind. As he walked, Jack felt around in his pockets, wondering if he had enough for cab fare back. When Sutton stopped suddenly on the sidewalk, Jack turned with an apology on his lips. Then he heard what had captured Sutton's attention--piano, coming from somewhere behind a plate glass display of musical instruments and sheet music. It seemed as good a place as any to start--and to get out of the wind for a while.

They browsed sheets arranged in a bin, Jack passing judgment on covers, while Sutton opened them to peruse the music. A clerk, gliding over with hardly a rustle of skirts, smiled sweetly at Sutton. "May I play that for you, sir?"