Rags to Riches

by Nancy Carson

  ‘That’s one heck of an observation, Maxine,’ Dulcie commented, but with sympathy in her voice. ‘Do you believe it?’

  ‘I’m just saying that’s how it seems. Like this morning…He’s gone out with the other lads to buy a car…here, in Chicago. “Why not wait till we get back to New York?” I said. But no, he wants to buy one here. Some big flashy thing, I expect. He just can’t wait. If I know him, he won’t be satisfied with one – he’ll want two. He’s probably the same with women, as well…’

  Uncertainty clouded Dulcie’s expression. ‘Do you think he has other women, Maxine?’ she asked.

  ‘I think it’s logical to assume he does, Dulcie. The nights he’s out so late…The unfamiliar perfumes that waft from him…The stray hairs I find on his jackets…His history…His lack of interest in me now…’

  ‘Kenny’s out with him, too, usually…’

  Maxine sighed uncomfortably. ‘So maybe you have to make a similar judgement about Kenny, Dulcie,’ she suggested plainly. It might appear unkind at first, but she’d had it in mind to alert the girl somehow, if she was not already aware. This was an ideal opportunity. Their relationship was their own affair but, even so, why should poor Dulcie be used? She liked Dulcie. She considered her a close friend; close enough to speak to candidly.

  Dulcie sat bolt upright. ‘Heck! Tell me more, Maxine.’

  Seagulls wheeled overhead, sailing the breeze that was coming from the lake.

  ‘I can’t tell you more, Dulcie, because I don’t know for certain. But I do know what they’re like…the pair of them. I’ve watched them operate.’

  ‘Of course, you’ve known Kenny longer than I have…’

  ‘But not as intimately,’ Maxine was quick to point out.

  ‘Sure…I know…’

  They fell into a silence again when the sounds of background traffic mingled incongruously with the screeching of the seagulls above. One landed and waddled towards the wall of the fountain where it pecked at the pavement. Another followed it.

  Dulcie said: ‘It’s funny, now you mention it, Maxine. That could explain a lot…’

  Maxine shrugged. ‘You have to decide. Is he ever unkind to you?’

  ‘Not unkind…I’m sure he wouldn’t hurt me – knowingly. But already he’s less gallant…less considerate. Sure, he wants me in bed, but hell, that don’t mean all.’

  ‘Right. That don’t mean all. Has he told you anything about his past?’

  ‘Sure. I know he’s married and all, and that he left his wife…I got the impression he’s had other women besides – he seemed keen to tell me he’d had a fling with your sister…Did you know that, Maxine?’

  ‘Yes, I knew. But it amounted to nothing.’

  ‘Yeah. He said it was no big deal.’

  ‘So what are your plans for the future?’ Pansy asked. ‘Does Kenny Wheeler figure in them?’

  ‘Long term, I guess not, Pansy. I fell in love with him on the Queen Mary…but now the magic of that time has gone and something less magical exists now. More exciting for you guys, this fame and all, but less magical for Kenny and me. My feet are firmly planted on the ground now and I can see my relationship with Kenny for what it is. I guess once we’re back in New York I’ll rethink my position.’

  ‘I think that’s sensible,’ Maxine said. ‘After all, what if his wife came over on the next ship to claim him? She could. I know he idolises his son.’

  ‘His son? Hell, I didn’t know he had a son!…The son of a bitch never told me that.’

  ‘Just goes to show,’ Pansy remarked.

  ‘He never told you?’

  ‘The hell he did, Maxine! Just wait till he gets back.’

  ‘Hang on, Dulcie,’ Maxine said. ‘Don’t tell him I told you. Anyway, why let on that you know? Keep it up your sleeve. It’s information that might come in handy some day.’

  Dulcie reflected for a few seconds. ‘I guess you’re right, Maxine…The son of a bitch!…Can I let you two into a secret? Promise you won’t tell?’

  ‘’Course,’ they said in unison and leaned forward to hear better what Dulcie was about to tell them.

  ‘Just lately, I’ve been getting real warm signals off Charlie. And you know what? I think he’s kinda cute.’

  ‘At least he’s decent,’ Maxine said approvingly. ‘I think he’s cute as well. A swell guy, as you Yanks say. You could do worse, Dulcie.’

  ‘Yeah, I got the impression I’ve already done worse, Maxine,’ she said resignedly. ‘So how ’bout you? How d’you see your future, since we’re being so philosophical – and so honest with each other?’

  Maxine shrugged. ‘Maybe I just expected too much from Brent. I daresay I’ll have to adjust…’ She sighed poignantly. ‘Anyway, whoever heard of a bride being unhappy after just a month of marriage? There’s nothing I can do about it now, anyway. I’m stuck with him and he’s stuck with me, and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re no longer in love with Brent.’

  ‘I’m not in love with him, Dulcie. That’s certain.’

  ‘He seems to be drinking more,’ Pansy said tentatively.

  ‘Drinking more, smoking more and Lord knows what else. And some of those cigarettes he’s started smoking…’

  ‘Yeah, pot. Kenny, too. I guess they must go to pot parties.’

  ‘The smell makes me lightheaded. God knows how they make him feel, inhaling the stuff.’

  ‘What a pair of fools!’ Pansy proclaimed. ‘Have you tried talking to him, Maxine?’

  ‘He takes no notice. Thinks I’m getting on at him. The last thing I want him to think is that I’m a shrew. I have to pick my moments.’

  ‘Men! Who’d bother with them?’

  Maxine laughed aloud. ‘You should complain! You’re the only one who has a decent love life. Toots is a lovely chap.’

  ‘And I hope he stays that way. I hope this success thing doesn’t spoil him. I love him to bits…Come on,’ Pansy said, to avoid becoming emotional. ‘Let’s go to the nearest beach. We can buy some sandwiches and some pop and have a picnic.’

  ‘And a paddle,’ Maxine added with childlike enthusiasm as she got up from the bench with the others.

  ‘Where can we buy buckets and spades, Dulcie?’ Pansy jested, shaking the creases out of her skirt.

  Then Maxine noticed something and gave a little squeal of excitement.

  ‘Look there!’ She pointed to a building next to their hotel. ‘What does it say? The Chicago Symphony Orchestra! Hey, they hold concerts there, look – Orchestra Hall. Right next door to our hotel. Shall we go sometime, girls? I’ve really missed classical music these last months. I might even see a cello. Let’s go and see when the next one is…’

  ‘Yeah, when we’ve been to the beach,’ Dulcie decreed.

  Chapter 28

  Brent bought his car; a magnificent yellow Cord 812 with a coffin-nose body and headlamps that disappeared magically into the front wings. It was his pride and joy and he showed it off to Maxine on a demonstration run up and down Lake Shore Drive that evening. The weather remained warm and sunny and, with the hood lowered and the breeze blowing the cobwebs out of their lives, it really could not have been better for a trip out before their performance at the Congress.

  ‘So, do you like it, Maxine?’ he asked proudly as they cruised past the recently renovated Greek-like structure that now housed the Museum of Science and Industry.

  ‘Yes, I like it well enough. I just wish you’d tell me how much you paid for it.’

  She had a headscarf tied around her head and wore sunglasses. The sun that day had caught her face and arms and she looked, for all the world, like any wealthy young American woman taken out by an aspiring young American male to impress her with a sleek, expensive motor car.

  ‘What does it matter how much it cost?’ he replied and, making the big V8 roar, overtook a Chevrolet. ‘We can afford it…Look how everybody turns to admire the damn thing…See?…I tell you, I’m looking forward to driving
it back to New York. I’ll give this four-point-seven litre motor some spade.’

  ‘Well, I won’t be with you,’ she informed him coolly. ‘I shall go back to New York by train. I don’t want to end up in a heap with you after you’ve crashed into something.’

  ‘I won’t crash. I know how to handle this beautiful beast. But, hey, I’ve been thinking, Maxine…When I get back to New York I’m going to buy a house. I’ve decided we’re going to stay in America, come what may. We need to be in New York. That’s where it all happens. It would be madness to base ourselves anywhere else. I’m going to write to Eleanor as well. I want her to sell the Mercedes Benz. She can send the money for that. Then there’s the damned house in Handsworth. I want her to cancel the tenancy. We’re never going back there. Ever.’ He drew on his cigarette with an air of self-satisfaction.

  ‘I bet the thought of Stephen struggling with all your old rubbish pleases you.’

  He grinned. ‘It does.’

  Over to their left a private yacht, its white sails billowing, was skimming the smooth waters of Lake Michigan.

  ‘See that!’ he said. ‘I’ll buy a yacht as well. I’ve always fancied myself at the helm of something like that. Look good off Martha’s Vineyard, eh?’

  ‘You don’t know the first thing about sailing,’ Maxine scoffed, visualising even greater plunder of her resources. ‘There’s more to sailing than meets the eye.’

  ‘I can learn. I’m a quick learner…We have the money, Maxine. I intend to use it…And talking about money - I’m not sure how American law stands on inheritance, so I want you to make a will leaving everything to me. I’ll make one as well, leaving everything to you. We’ll see a solicitor, or an attorney, or whatever it is they call them over here, when we’re back in New York.’

  ‘Can’t I leave something to my folks back home? They’re not rich, you know.’

  ‘Maybe a thousand or two, Maxine. No more.’

  ‘That’s a bit mean, Brent.’

  ‘I don’t see why you should leave them anything, Maxine. I’ve got nobody, have I? Oh and I’ve been onto John Fielding about promoting our stuff in Britain. There’s no urgency about him, you know. He needs a rocket up his backside. After getting on to him for weeks, he’s finally assured me that ‘From Tears to a Kiss’ is due to be released there this month. I can’t see the sense in waiting months to release stuff in Britain when it’s been successful here. Can you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘They always do it, though. Maddening. Look at ‘Destiny Jests with Me’. That’s done well there. At last the papers and music magazines over there are starting to get the message.’

  ‘I know. Even my mother says she’s heard us on the wireless. And read bits in the paper, saying how well we’re doing here.’

  ‘There’s a tour on the cards as well, Maxine. In the winter. They’re talking about doing eighty or ninety cities across America. We’d net tens of thousands out of that.’

  ‘Ninety cities? But we’d be away three months, living in hotels and dance halls. Must we, Brent? Especially in winter…’

  ‘We must. We have to make money while we can. And have you noticed how the music business is not talking so much about The Owls and the Pussycats now, but more about Maxine Kite?’

  ‘But I don’t know if that’s entirely true, Brent,’ she said, typically modest. ‘Anyway, it might cause dissension in the band if you spread that about.’

  ‘Who cares? That was John Fielding’s idea in the first place. He made it clear at the time. Anyway, you don’t think James and Hank are interested in The Owls and the Pussycats, do you? No, they want you and your glamour for their gangster movie. We’ll have to push hard for the band to be included in the deal.’

  From the point of view of the performances and satisfaction of their audiences, the month at the Joseph Urban Room at the Congress Hotel in Chicago was a brilliant success. The series of NBC broadcasts live from the hotel on Friday nights succeeded in adding to the already glowing reputation of The Owls and the Pussycats. It seemed they could do no wrong. Whilst they were there Brent returned with the news one afternoon that, according to Down Beat, their latest record, ‘It’s Not Your Fault’ had sailed to number one in the national record charts and sheet music sales were also buoyant. Another celebration was called for; another celebration they had.

  But Brent’s relationship with John Fielding had begun to deteriorate. Brent had for some time been of the opinion that John was underselling them. Surely, he could negotiate better money for their appearances in view of their phenomenal success? Surely, he could negotiate even better deals with the music publishers and record companies that were clamouring to use Maxine’s material? ‘I could do better,’ Brent told the rest of the band vehemently. ‘I could get us more money.’ To Maxine privately, he said: ‘Our future lies with you, Maxine. Not Pansy, not Toots, not Kenny, nor any of us. You’re the one who’ll generate the money, my flower. With me as your manager. Not John Fielding. I can do better than him.’

  His chance to prove it occurred when they were negotiating with the two Hollywood guys, James and Hank, whom he and Kenny had first met at the Artwork Club in Chicago. James, having seen and heard the band, wanted Maxine to appear as a singer in a speakeasy in a new gangster film set during Prohibition. Production would commence in early September.

  ‘So we have a deal?’ John Fielding said, about to conclude and shake hands on it. ‘Maxine sings one number that she’s gonna write herself, backed by The Owls and the Pussycats. And ten grand is your final offer?’

  ‘Ten grand is a jumbo deal,’ James affirmed. ‘You’ll get none better.’

  ‘So how soon can you have the contracts drawn up and sent to me?’

  ‘Wait a minute, John,’ Brent intervened. ‘What’s wrong with Maxine writing and performing two songs in this movie?’

  ‘But you heard James, Brent. There’s no more money on the table.’

  ‘Who said anything about more money? We’ll do it for the same money. But if we have two songs, we’ll get twice the money from records and sheet music sales.’

  John looked at James and they nodded their agreement.

  ‘Great!’ James said. ‘We get two songs for the price of one and you get a vehicle for free to promote both. Just add a tree and a fat guy in red and it’s Christmas already!’

  Eleanor Shackleton was surprised to receive a letter from Brent towards the end of July.

  Dear Eleanor,

  Just a line to ask you a favour. The band seems to be meeting with a certain amount of success in America and I have decided to become a United States citizen. Because of this, I would be grateful if you would sell my car for me and forward the proceeds. Also, could you please advise the landlord that I wish to give up the tenancy of the house with effect as soon as possible. See if he will do a deal on the rent owing.

  The next bit is where the favour comes in:- would you and Stephen be so kind as to clear out the house and get rid of all my stuff? There’s nothing I need that I can think of, except my old trombone so keep it for me please. The furniture can be disposed of how you will. It’s yours after all. I realise this will entail some work, but who else can I turn to? Anything you want for yourself, such as the gramophone or the wireless, please take it or give it away as you see fit.

  Meanwhile you can send what’s left of the money you get from the car to me care of the Plaza Hotel, Fifth Avenue, New York. You will find the keys to it on the mantelpiece.

  Love, as always, and thanks in advance,

  Brent.

  So, when Stephen returned from his work that evening, Eleanor explained the contents of the letter and asked him to drive her to the house to get an idea of the size of the task. For goodness only knew what state the place would be in after Brent had been living alone there.

  That terraced house in Handsworth brought back memories to both, not least how they used to make love on the stairs when Brent was out playing his music. Not surprisingly, the t
emptation to repeat the exercise for old times’ sake was too great to resist. So, having made love, and scuffed the skin off Eleanor’s back and Stephen’s knees, they began assessing the task in hand. Of course, the furniture that Eleanor always laid claim to was of no value, she admitted, and so shabby that she wouldn’t dream of giving it house room anymore. An advert in the post office window might attract a buyer. She began to make a list…The piano. Pianos were ten-a-penny. Who would buy that? Again, the post office window. The scullery was full of pots and pans, cutlery, crockery. Old curtains and towels abounded, tablecloths, old clothes, old shoes. There were tools of all sorts, a mangle and a maiding tub in the brewhouse that she would never lower herself to use, cupboards full of old sheet music and scores, gramophone records, books, old magazines. On the floors, when you could see the floors, lay rugs and carpets, dingy and dust-laden. Upstairs lived a bed, wardrobes, bedclothes, drawers full of socks, belts, underwear and all manner of unspeakable things. An old sewing machine vied for space in the lumbar room with a wall of tea chests brimming with bric-a-brac and old books from the day they moved into the place. Where to begin? All the correspondence and birthday cards they’d kept over the years had to removed, along with receipts, bills, photographs…

  ‘I’ll start upstairs,’ Eleanor said to Stephen who was opening cupboard doors with a freedom he’d never been allowed before in this house.

  Stephen followed her. In the lumber room an ancient hulk of furniture that looked like an ailing Welsh dresser stood against one wall, half hidden by the tea chests. Stephen obligingly shifted a couple to one side so they could open the drawers and rummage through them.

  ‘You can go now,’ she said domineeringly. ‘Back downstairs.’

  He did not go.

  From one drawer, Eleanor pulled out a large brown envelope. She opened it and pulled out several pieces of folded paper that looked like legal documents but she quickly shoved them back and shut the drawer firmly. ‘Why don’t you go downstairs, Stephen, and make a start there? Leave me to sort this out by myself…Please?’