Whistling in the Dark (24 page)

"We're holding him back."

Harry looked amused. "If that's what we're doing, he doesn't seem all that upset about it."

That was something Jack longed to hear. "You think so?"

"Yeah, I do. Jack, if you're going to keep tearing down those posters, just don't get arrested, all right?"

"Asking an awful lot of me, aren't you?"

"Wiseass. You're keeping our staff pianist waiting. Get back to work."

A crowd clustered around the piano as Sutton's fingers, red from the cold, bounced over the keys. By the program's end, his audience had only grown and Jack shut off the transmitter reluctantly. But when Sutton continued to play and the crowd, no longer restrained by a request for quiet, swamped him with applause, Jack's regret vanished. It was a show of appreciation Sutton didn't have with his radio audience.

Not that appreciation couldn't become a trial, Jack mused as he kept an eye on the group of schoolgirls hovering around the piano. Since the program's end, they' d besieged Sutton with requests--which looked, to Jack's mind, like a feminine attempt to win his attention. If they rattled him, it didn't show in his playing, but Jack noted the color in his face and his dogged effort to fix solely on the music. Harry unwittingly came to the rescue at five-thirty, calling them both into the office. Jack swallowed a grin at Sutton's relief and followed him in just as Harry dumped an armful of letters and cards onto the desk.

"Damn, I hope those aren't bills." Jack shuffled through the pile, some of it addressed to the emporium, some to Sutton. "This is all mail about the program?"

Sutton picked up an envelope. "It's for me." He sounded as shocked. Opening it, he read the contents. "A fellow upstate--he wants a performance schedule."

Jack heard delight in his voice and suspected the letter said a whole lot more than that. Plucking it out of Sutton's hand, he dropped onto the sofa to read. Sutton scooped up more of the letters and sat beside him. "Most of them are cards with a mention of the radio show and a return address. Are we meant to answer all of these?"

"They just want a card back, to show off they've tuned in a Manhattan station." The letter from upstate came from a professor at a music school who rambled on about his pleasure in discovering a classically trained pianist sharing his talents on the radio. It occurred to Jack that other amateur stations in town might also be tuning in--and interested in luring Sutton away if he stood out above the current radio offerings.

The rest of the letters were from radio bugs like himself who had listened in and wanted a schedule so they wouldn't miss the show in the future. Sutton and Harry were pleased as punch and Jack made an effort to let go of his worry and revel in the success of the moment. It looked like Sutton wouldn't lack applause from his radio audience after all. And God knew the business hadn't done so well in a long time. Not much point in borrowing trouble--but he didn't want anything to change, not now, while it was all so good.

Good just never lasted. "Harry, I need to get some new parts for the radio, now that we're turning a penny again."

Harry's expression might've been sympathetic if not for the narrowed gaze, creased brow, and skeptical twist of his mouth. "Let's turn a few more pennies first, all right? Then we'll talk about frivolities like heading into winter without any damned heat in this building, the bills coming up for orders we've put in, food, rent, laundry, gas--and after that maybe we can have a cozy little chat about radio parts."

Jack met glower for glower. "Working radio parts will pay for all that, may I remind you."

"Is the radio working?"

"Yes, but--"

"When it stops working, then we'll discuss it. Meanwhile, we got customers and Sutton probably wants to practice the new stuff." He went out, pointedly leaving the door wide, and Jack sighed.

"You keep the letters and give me the postcards to send back. I'm going to run next door and get a couple of sandwiches for us."

Sutton held out the cards. "I've got a little change, if we really need the parts," he said, slipping a hand into his pocket.

Jack caught his wrist. "No, don't. Harry's right. I'm getting ahead of myself. Better learn not to indulge me or you'll always be as broke as I am."

Despite all the attention, Sutton, it seemed, wasn't thinking about other jobs or bigger audiences. The worries poking at Jack turned tail and scattered and he crossed to Ida's, whistling.

The sight of Ned, Gert, and Vance at a table shot him back down to earth. Ned was reading the paper while Vance tried in vain to chat up Gert. Jack knew he was gone on her--most guys susceptible to feminine charms were--but she didn't often flirt with poor men. Jack had been one of the few. Now that she knew the futility of that, Jack figured she would leave him alone. But he had no sooner given a dreamy-eyed Esther his order than Gert deserted the gang to come sit beside him.

"Hi ya, Jack, sweetie."

Jack, amused, played along. "Hi ya, Gert."

She smiled a nervous little smile, un-Gert-like. "Think we could talk for a minute?"

"I think we're doing that right now." Jack leaned over the counter. "Hey, Es, come hear the new music we got."

Esther rolled her eyes. "After work, all right?"

"Don't forget." Jack stole a sidelong look at Gert, who'd gone from expectant to petulant. "Whatever your brother wants, the answer is no."

"He ain't got nothing to do with what I want."

"Okay, so what do you want?"

"I want to sing."

"So sing."

"On the whatsit."

He could have kicked himself for not catching on quicker. "My whatsit?"

Gert's coy smile came back. "Of course, silly. It's the only one around here. What do you say?"

An emphatic no on his lips, Jack hesitated. Adding a singer to the program wasn't such a terrible notion. Vaudeville thrived on variety. He could, too. With a pianist and singer, he could draw an even bigger audience and more customers. Besides, Gert beholden to him might be a good thing--and it was sure to make Ned mad as hell.

Jack took the bag Esther handed him and smiled at the suspicious look on her face. "See you at ten?"

"Jack--"

"Thanks for the eats." He turned back to Gert. "You can come on over and audition for us, if you want."

Her gaze went wide. "Yeah?"

He offered her an arm and together they strolled out, Jack barely keeping a grin in check. He couldn't hold it back any longer when they walked into the shop and Harry nearly dropped a stack of boxes at the sight of Gert on his arm. Jack motioned him to join them in the back, where he broke the news to Harry and Sutton at once.

Harry fixed on Gert with an ever-deepening frown. "She can sing?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. Gert, can you sing?"

"Hold on," Harry sputtered. "You told her she could sing on our radio and you don't know if she's got the pipes for it?"

"I can sing," Gert said with a saucy lift of her chin. "I'll show you." She pulled down the pile of sheet music and shuffled through it, tossing aside the songs that didn't appear to strike her fancy. "Here we go," she said cheerfully and handed a sheet to Sutton. "Play it for me, sweetie?"

Ever the gentleman, Sutton took the music. "Which key would you prefer, Miss Hennessy?"

Gert bit her lip, then spread her hands with a helpless shrug and giggled. "I don't know from keys, honey. I just sing."

"That's all right." A hint of amusement ran under Sutton's polite tone. "I'll play it as written, you just sing, and we'll see if we can't find your key."

Harry groaned, but Jack refused to be daunted. "Not everyone can read music, you know."

"She ain't sung professionally, Jackie. You've set a standard with Sutton's piano, you don't want to drop that now..."

He trailed off as Gert began to sing, wobbly at first, but with more confidence as Sutton's accompaniment buoyed her along. She was no Marion Harris, but she carried the tune and lent it personality, besides. She forgot the words at one point and Sutton obligingly began again, in a more suitable key. When she made it through the song, the audience she'd attracted broke into applause. Gert beamed. "They want me to sing again!"

Harry rolled his eyes and headed into the office. "Let her. She needs the practice."

Gert sorted through the music, Sutton catching the sheets she dropped. Jack leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder. "What do you think?"

"Well, her range isn't bad and her delivery has a certain--worldly charm." Sutton lowered his voice. "Harry's right that she could use a little practice."

Jack clapped him on the back. "You work with her. I'm going out for an hour."

Harry called from the office, "Where you going?"

"Back to school," Jack said as he passed.

Harry didn't lose a beat. "'bout time. Sutton and I will close up."

- Twenty-Seven -

Sutton peered out of the office, to where twenty boys and girls of assorted ages stood at attention in two rows under the reproving eye of Miss Cranshaw. "You know, I feel a little nervous."

"Are you joking?" Jack leaned back in Harry's chair until it creaked. "They're only kids."

Harry squinted over Sutton's shoulder. "Are you sure those are children? Hell, we weren't that orderly in the army."

"We didn't have Miss Cranshaw making it hot for us if we got out of line," Jack said. "Come on, you two. It was a good idea yesterday and it's an even better idea today. Those kids need some cheerful music to liven 'em up. When they go home, they'll tell everyone they were here for a performance on the radio and their folks will want to listen in."

Sutton shut the door. "She wasn't your teacher, was she?"

Harry snorted. "God, no. She'd have shipped Jackie to reform school the first week."

Sutton smiled down at Jack. "Haven't changed a good deal, have you?"

"Compared to those days, I'm an angel. And you've got nothing to be nervous over. I'm not afraid of the old bat--"

There was a sharp rap at the door. "Mr. Albright?" It was not a voice one could ignore. Sutton turned to pull Jack to his feet, but Jack had already scrambled up on his own. Harry opened the door to admit Miss Cranshaw, who stalked in and thrust a thick sheaf of music at Sutton. "The music you may play for the children."

Sutton looked through the pile. "Bach, Bizet, Mendelssohn--" He caught Jack's grimace and smiled wryly. "Miss Cranshaw, I've already prepared a program the children should enjoy."

"Indeed." Her black straw hat bobbed precariously atop a bun of snow white hair. Sutton didn't dare smile. She had already complained of the lack of heat and the dubious cleanliness of the washroom. Even if Jack had overstated the nature of the venue in his haste to win the school's cooperation, Sutton supposed Miss Cranshaw would find something to dislike in the grandest concert hall.

"These children," she went on, "are under my supervision, Mr. Albright. It is my duty--my sacred duty--to protect their impressionable young minds. You do play quality music?"

"I do, of course. But there is quality in popular music, too, and for some children, it may spark an interest in music lessons that the masters may not--"

"This music," she said, patting the pile with a certain hand, "has sparked interest for far longer than the modern what-do-you-call-it that passes for music these days."

Her gaze narrowed and Sutton, concerned she would cancel the concert altogether, bit back further protest. "Yes, ma'am."

She swung on Jack. "We're ready to begin, Mr. Bailey."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack wheezed and she stalked back out.

Harry shook his head. "I think it was a better idea yesterday."

Even in their teacher's presence, the children fidgeted and dared the occasional whisper, but broke hardly a smile among the lot of them. Sutton knew what they were expecting. He set aside the somber pieces Miss Cranshaw had given him in favor of a Mozart sonata, hoping to, as Jack said, liven them up. They listened politely, all but two little boys at the front who surreptitiously pushed at each other.

"Boys!" Miss Cranshaw boomed, making Harry, beside her, jump. Jack, at his post beside the radio, sighed in resignation. Ordered back into place, the children took in Chopin, Tchaikovsky, and Debussy without a peep. Sensing he was making no converts, Sutton decided to end the hour with something the children had probably heard from player pianos and hurdy-gurdys on the street. He chose
By the Beautiful Sea
, and twenty drooping heads tilted curiously to catch the bright strains. He encouraged them closer with a smile and as they swarmed around him, Miss Cranshaw stood poised to object. She only stayed silent when Harry set his finger to his lips and motioned to the radio as if it were a sacred object due particular reverence.

But reverence was not what Sutton had in mind. "You don't know the words?" he asked. The children protested that of course they did and he feigned puzzlement. "I don't hear you singing."

They went wide-eyed at the invitation and burst out singing as if it had been waiting inside them all the endless schoolday. If they were giggling, off-key, and none too sure of the lyrics, their enthusiasm made up for it. The crowd laughed and applauded while Miss Cranshaw glowered. She shouldered forward as Sutton finished and Jack shut off the microphone.

"Mr. Albright, what do you think you're doing? I requested--I most specifically requested--" Her eyes went round. "What is
that
?"

A small brown-bobbed girl at Sutton's side pointed and shrieked, "Crocodile!"

Jack bounded off the workbench. "Ox!" He grabbed a broom and waltzed around Woody, keeping him at bay while adults and children scrambled to get out of the way. Sutton scooped up the little girl, then noticed Miss Cranshaw looking extraordinarily pale.

"Harry--"

He barely got out a warning before Miss Cranshaw dropped like a felled oak. Harry caught her, then staggered. Sutton set the child on the piano bench and came to his aid. As they deposited Miss Cranshaw in the armchair, he asked, "Do you have any salts?"