Whistling in the Dark (26 page)

"Code?"

Jack slid off the table to sit beside him. He covered Sutton's hand with his and tapped the telegraph key. "A...B...C...D--"

"That's too fast," Sutton said, laughing.

"Oh, fine. A. Then B. No b flats," Jack said with a playful nudge. "It's a shame I don't have that fifty watt sparker I lugged all over France. You could've practiced on it. It was a beautiful set, though it was plastered in mud half the time."

Sutton leaned against him. "Jack, you're all right? With--you know--the party, all that?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You tend to put a cheerful face on things."

"I can put one on you, if you want." Jack wrapped an arm over his shoulders and pressed a kiss below his jaw.

"And you will change the subject," Sutton said, "when there's something you don't want to talk about." The kisses were such an engaging distraction, he wanted to let the subject stay changed. "Jack--"

"An easy one," Jack whispered against his neck and tapped out the four letters with the key.

Sutton tried to repeat them but lost track. "Shouldn't I learn the alphabet first?" he murmured. "Or at least a warning, in case I need help."

"Oh, you're long past any chance of rescue."

"I think you're right." It wasn't wise to acknowledge it, but he was still not particularly good at being wise. Certainly not where Jack was concerned. He leaned into the kisses.

"Just in case," Jack said, breath warm in Sutton's ear. "S-O--"

It was as far as he got.

- Twenty-Nine -

Jack spread the worn bills on the desk and counted them again, though Harry had already done so twice. "That's all of it."

"That's it," Harry said. "All you owe the son of a bitch."

Jack sighed. The guilt and regret hadn't gone away; just made room for a glimmer of relief. "Nothing compared to what I owe you."

Harry snorted. "Ten years being sweet-talked by Baileys and what has it got me? A depleted bank account, a lot of long nights, and the beginning of an ulcer. Not to mention a kid of my own I'll be looking after till the day I die."

A kid of his own. Maybe neither of them had put it into words, but Harry had been his shelter and support since he'd gotten back, and Jack didn't know how to begin to repay him. "The bank account's improving, anyway--right?"

A smile curled Harry's lips. "The kid may be improving, too. We'll see." He scooped up the cash and held it out. "Put it in your wallet and keep it there. That takes care of Chase's interest in breaking your bones." He went quiet for a moment as the melancholy strains of
Love's Old Sweet Song
filled the shop. "Hell of a tune," he muttered. "Swear to God, the kid can put a tear in your eye, just playing it." He cleared his throat. "Speaking of playing..."

Jack refrained from teasing him. "Gert's not here yet. Sutton's just practicing." The cash slid easily into his nearly empty wallet. "You sure you want me to hold on to it?"

"I'm sure." Harry sat and opened the ledger. "You know, I've got to hand it to you. I had my doubts playing on the radio would do us any good. But the crowd this morning--" He shook his head.

"Radio's just getting started, Harry. And the way things are going, we'll be in business together for a long time to come. You, me, Ox, Sutton, and--"

"Yoo hoo! Boys!" Gert stuck her head in the doorway. "Your customers got the crazy idea I'm some kind of shopgirl." Under her forced cheer rippled a note of anxiety. "Can you believe it? Little old me?"

"I can't," Harry said. "I was hoping I'd imagined you, myself."

Gert made a face at him and, unfurling a Chinese fan she must have taken from a bin, fanned herself with frantic energy before going back out. Harry chuckled. "You think she's going to make it through her first performance?"

"She'll make it," Jack said, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt.

Harry's confidence seemed not at all boosted. "Could you close the door on your way out?"

"You can suffer with the rest of us." Jack left the door wide and went out just as Sutton was coming in.

"We're ready--" Sutton wore a grimace of sympathy. "Speaking optimistically." He looked around at Gert, now perched on a stool by the piano. She twisted her rope of pearls with one hand and fanned herself with the other while she studied the number.

"She's nervous," Jack whispered, and Sutton nodded.

"I think she's realized just how big an audience she may have."

"Well, you did fine. I'm sure she will, too. Hi, Es," he added as Esther came in with a basket. "Lunch?"

She beamed. "We had quite a crowd this morning. The biggest ever. Ida and I haven't run about so much since the canteen. And I think most of them surely came from here."

"Yeah? So you came by to deliver Ida's thank-you-very-much?"

Esther laughed. "Roses will bloom in January first."

"That's all right. Going to stay and listen?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

After a quick announcement to the milling customers to hold their applause, Jack showed Gert where to stand and placed the microphone in front of her. Breaking her death grip on the pearls, he gave her an encouraging grin. "Ready?"

Gert gasped as if she couldn't get enough air. "I don't know. Maybe I ain't practiced enough." She retreated from the microphone, but Jack steered her back into place.

"You'll wow 'em, Gertie. Just sing like you've been doing, all right?" He greeted the radio audience and gave his usual introduction of Sutton, then announced Gert's debut. Gert stared at the microphone, pink lips parted as if she desperately wanted to sing but fear had her fast by the throat. When she missed her cue, Sutton vamped the opening bars and looked around in concern. Jack motioned for him to keep playing and waved urgently at Gert to snap her out of it.

Gert was oblivious, until Esther leaned over to pat her on the shoulder. That tore a frightened squeak from her and she looked at Jack in silent agony. Jack debated whether to let Sutton finish the number alone or shut off the microphone until Gert could pull herself together. Before he could do either, a soft, shaky voice made itself heard above the piano--Esther, come to Gert's rescue. Her voice was reedy but she carried the tune. She smiled and winked at Gert--which, to Jack's relief, lent Gert the courage to join in.

If it wasn't flawless harmony, it sounded sweet. More customers crept from the aisles to listen and no one appeared ready to walk out. When the number ended, Esther seemed relieved, Gert ecstatic. She clutched at her pearls and gasped aloud. "Holy shit, we were swell!"

Esther sucked in an alarmed breath and futilely covered the microphone with both hands. Jack clamped down on the switchhook to keep from transmitting any invective of his own. "For God's sake--would you mind not getting my license yanked?"

Gert peeked penitently from under the frilly brim of her hat. "We ain't allowed to say 'swell' on the whatsit?"

Esther gave up muffling the microphone and covered her mouth instead, struggling as mightily as Sutton, who sat hunched over the keys, shoulders shaking. Jack switched on the microphone and picked it up. "Ladies and gentlemen, our sincerest apologies for Miss Hennessy's slip of the tongue. Let me assure you it won't happen again."

Gert seized the microphone. "I'm so sorry. Honest, I am. Really, truly, swear on a stack of Bibles--"

Jack reclaimed the microphone with grim determination. "For her next number, Miss Hennessy--"

"And Miss Clark," Gert hissed. Jack shut off the microphone and she looked at him with pleading eyes. "She's got to!" Gert grabbed Esther's hand. "Oh, please, honey, I ain't ready to sing by myself. Just sing with me till I am, will you?"

Esther hesitated and Jack knew she was thinking of everything Gert had done for her. "All right. A couple more and I've got to get back to work."

_{- - -}

When the hour came to a close, Jack left Gert and Sutton to mingle with the admiring crowd and went outside to pace the sidewalk and smoke a cigarette out from under Harry's watchful eye. He hadn't smoked before France and usually only resorted to it when he was on edge, which Harry had unfortunately long since figured out. And he didn't feel like explaining to Harry just why he was on edge at the moment. Why shouldn't Sutton go around with an old boyfriend if he wanted? Acting like a jealous dope wasn't going to endear him over David, anyway.

Across the street, Esther and Ox lingered outside the restaurant, talking. She stood in the doorway, Ox a couple of steps below her, which put them nearly face to face. Hers was radiant and when he dared a quick kiss, she laughed and gave it back.

Though he had no business staring, Jack couldn't help it. Holding hands and stealing kisses out in the sunshine, that had to put a boost in a fellow's step. He could see it in Ox's, as Ox bid Esther a reluctant good-bye and returned to the shop.

"Date for the picture show?" Jack asked when he was within earshot.

Maybe Ox was radiant, too. "I'm having supper with Esther's folks on Sunday."

"Yeah? Good for you." He thought about teasing Ox to be on his best behavior; trouble was, Ox's behavior was always the best. "Going to invite me to the wedding?"

Ox ducked his head. "I ain't got the money to get married. Not yet."

"Maybe it's time to give you a raise, then."

"Really?" Ox looked elated.

"Let me talk to Harry, all right?"

"Okay. You still going to the party?"

"Still going."

"You don't like that fellow," Ox said.

Jack sighed. "Know how you felt about Frank flirting with Esther?"

"Sure." Ox was all sympathy. "Want me to beat him up?"

Remembering their conversation about Hollister, Jack laughed. "I'll let you know."

_{- - -}

The idea had gained appeal by the time David came around in a borrowed motorcar and pulled Sutton into the front seat with him, leaving Jack to climb into the back. Jack pushed down the jump seat and sat sideways, hooking an arm over the front seat. Sutton looked at him with a knowing smile, which Jack artlessly returned. David seemed as amused as he started up the car. "Jack Bailey, isn't it?"

"That's right."

"And your alma mater, Jack?"

Jack snorted. "PS 51."

"Really? Well, forgoing college doesn't appear to have done you too much harm. You seem quite the jack-of-all-trades." David chuckled. "So--the war kept you out?"

"Of college? No, rotten marks did."

"But you served?"

"I'm sure we're all tired of talking about the war," Sutton said.

Sick to death, more like. Still, he wasn't leaving it at that. "I was there," he told David. "You?"

"Lieutenant, first class. Volunteered my services as an interpreter in England for four months, then on to France for a fortnight, until the Germans gave it up. See much service, yourself?"

"Ten months, more or less." At Sutton's startled glance, Jack had to smile. "Not counting a couple of holidays in the hospital or the two months waiting for a ride home."

"Signal Corps," Sutton told David, with a pride that left Jack torn between embarrassment and pleasure.

"Ah," David said. "So you wielded wireless rather than bayonet."

Sutton looked at David in surprise, but Jack cut in before Sutton could come to his defense. "You're right. I left most of the shooting to the other fellows. They were good at keeping me alive when I had to be out in the open, setting up aerials or patching phone lines. I don't know how they did it, because God knows I was a hell of a target."

He turned in the seat to watch the road slip away and wondered why he never had the sense to keep his mouth shut. David didn't seem to know how to respond, but Sutton did, with a sympathetic squeeze of Jack's shoulder.

Jack, not in the mood for sympathy, changed the subject. "You'll want to turn at the next corner. It's faster."

"I'm quite familiar with the city," David said.

"You've lived here?"

"No, but I may yet. I'm hoping to teach among the more enlightened natives of our tribe--"

"You're moving to New York?" Sutton asked.

"Oh, I must. After what they did to you, I knew the time had come to find a worthier employer. In fact, I'll be meeting with some of the trustees tomorrow and I daresay one or two will be in attendance tonight."

Sutton seemed taken aback. "Should you have brought me along?"

"They'll know nothing about it. You needn't worry."

"Worry about what?" Jack said, though he had a clear idea already.

David glanced at Sutton. "You haven't told him?"

Sutton looked ready to slink under the seat. Jack slipped a hand on his shoulder and that brought out the confession. "I came to New York because I was expelled from school."

"So you two got caught?" Jack saw David's expression--all smiles--in the mirror. "Wait a minute. They expelled him and they didn't fire you?"

The look that passed between David and Sutton worried him until David said, "He never gave me up, though it might have saved him his last year. But it doesn't so much matter," he went on cheerfully, "now that you're playing again. I thought no one in the world could talk you into touching a piano." He studied Jack in the mirror. "How did you manage it?"

"You're asking the wrong fellow." Jack took in Sutton's somber profile and felt the hurt Sutton was trying to hide. David might brush off what Sutton had done for him, but it mattered to Sutton. And Sutton clearly wanted it to matter to David much more than it did. Jack wished he could shame David into an expression of real gratitude, but he supposed Sutton wouldn't like that. Instead, he kept quiet and listened as the two of them reminisced for the remainder of the ride--or rather, David reminisced while Sutton responded with a faded enthusiasm that David appeared not to notice.