Jazz Baby

by Téa Cooper

  He paled and turned his face aside again. ‘It’s not pretty, is it?’

  Ted’s slumped shoulders and his downturned mouth twisted her heart. She reached for his hand and squeezed it, unable to find the words to express her grief. The pain he must have suffered, the misery and the loneliness, so far from home and from those who loved him. From her. ‘Why did you stay away? Why didn’t you come home?’

  ‘I wrote to Pa and told him. Said I would come home when the time was right. I didn’t want to frighten you.’ His being radiated an agonising intensity so far from the happy-go-lucky brother she adored, and who she thought cared about her.

  ‘You wrote to Pa? When?’ Why hadn’t she known?

  ‘About a year ago.’

  Her head spun. ‘A year ago. Pa was still alive. Why didn’t he tell me?’ A year ago she’d been working her fingers to the bone, nursing the ravaged old man, trying to keep them both alive, and all along he’d known Ted was alive. Had her father been so locked in his own world that he hadn’t been able to share it with her? He’d insisted every morning she should get him outside onto the verandah where he sat all day, every day, his tired old eyes squinting into the sun, his rifle slung across his knees. She’d believed he’d been reliving some horror from his own war, watching and waiting for the next attack, and all along he’d been waiting for Ted, waiting to see his son march back down the road. And Ted had never come home. ‘Pa died without seeing you. You didn’t even tell me. He sat waiting for you every day until he could wait no longer.’

  Ted’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled and his face twisted in a tormented grimace, almost worse than the scimitar-shaped scar carving his face. ‘Dolly, I’m a mess. I’m no good to anyone. Look at me. If it hadn’t been for Jack and Cynthia I wouldn’t be here now.’ Raw pain shone from his blue eye, so like her own. ‘I couldn’t go back to Pa like this, not half a man. He never thought I was good enough. I left to prove I was a man, and I returned less than half.’

  Dolly buried her face in her hands, her heart shredded, not knowing who to pity most. Her father and her brother both destroyed by their own pride and their own wars. If only she’d known. If her father had shared Ted’s letter she would have come to Sydney, come and found Ted just the way…Jack! Jack knew you were alive and he didn’t tell me either.’ What had Jack said when he’d been so angry with her? Ted will kill me. And she’d replied that Ted was dead. Jack had lied to her.

  ‘He didn’t know until recently,’ Ted said as if he’d read her mind.

  It didn’t matter when Jack knew. He’d kept Ted’s secret, the same way her father had. When would they all stop treating her like a child and realise she was a grown woman? She had a right to know her brother was alive. Especially now he was her only family.

  ‘We bumped into each other and I’ve been staying at his place,’ Ted said.

  Dolly’s stomach tossed and she struggled to her feet, fighting the rush of nausea sweeping through her.

  Jack had known. The realisation winded her, the force of the thudding in her chest made her ears throb. ‘You’ve been staying at his place?’ The two men she loved the most in all the world had lied to her, kept her in the dark.

  Leaping to her feet she backed away, one step after another. Away from Ted. Away from the one person she wanted alive more than anyone else in the world. ‘I can’t believe you did this to me. Did this to Pa. When were you going to tell me or were you just going to wait until I was dead like Pa and you wouldn’t have to worry?’ She swallowed the bitter taste filling her mouth.

  A hot tear flew down her cheek and she brushed it aside. ‘How many more lies have the two of you concocted?’ Ted and Jack had always been as thick as thieves, always leaving her out. Even when they had decided to go to war she’d been the last to know. And to imagine she’d told Jack she wanted to be his girl. She wanted nothing more to do with the two-timing, lying cheat.

  ‘Dolly, come over here.’ Ted gestured to the sofa. She glared down at him, all sense of remorse for his injuries gone. He didn’t care. He might have visible scars from the war, a badge of honour. What about the people left behind? They suffered loss and uncertainty not knowing if their loved ones were alive or dead. What of them? They fought their own battles, their own demons. Poor Pa.

  And Jack — Jack was even worse than Ted. What excuse did he have — a bit of shrapnel stuck in his leg? It hadn’t stopped him from coming home the hero, living life to the full.

  ‘You and Jack, you make me sick. You have no idea what you did to Pa or what you’ve done to me.’

  She glared at him one last time, shock and sorrow robbing her of further words, then flung out of the room, running down the hallway in search of solitude. She craved time to think, to ease the pain sitting so heavy in her chest she could hardly draw breath. Sobs stuck in her throat and muffled, strangled cries broke from her lips.

  ‘Dolly, what is all that racket?’ Mrs Mack called out as she flew past the office door. ‘I thought you were meant to be singing.’

  The intolerable prospect of having to face Mrs Mack, face anyone, swamped her. She staggered and collapsed against the wall, the agonising pain crippling her.

  Minutes passed and the tears stopped falling, leaving her eyes puffy and glued and her throat as rough as sandstone. Her chest ached with a strange mixture of emptiness and disappointment. She lifted her head and squinted through the open door at Mrs Mack sitting in her swivel chair.

  ‘Oh dear. What a mess you look. Come over here and sit down.’

  Resisting the impulse to flounce off down the hallway, Dolly heaved herself to her feet and crumpled into the chair Mrs Mack indicated.

  ‘Now what’s all this nonsense about?’

  Sniffing, Dolly wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘My brother. He’s not dead.’ Fresh sobs shook her body and she subsided onto the desk, her head cradled in her arms. Ted she could almost understand, but not Jack. She’d trusted Jack. She’d always trusted him and he’d lied to her. A fresh howl choked its way out of her mouth.

  ‘I would have thought you’d be pleased to know your brother’s alive.’ Mrs Mack’s calm rational tone made her temper flare again.

  ‘Jack lied to me.’

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘You knew? You knew as well?’

  ‘Jack did mention he’d found your brother.’

  Even Mrs Mack! Was there anyone who hadn’t known her only brother was alive and didn’t care enough to see her? ‘When?’ Dolly peered up knowing Mrs Mack missed nothing.

  ‘A few days ago.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me? How could he keep it a secret? Even Cynthia must have known — she brought him here. Everyone treats me like a child. I’m not. I’m a grown woman.’

  ‘I think everyone knows that.’

  ‘No, they don’t. And even if they do they don’t care. Jack doesn’t want me. He’s in love with Cynthia and I…I…’ A fresh burst of tears poured down Dolly’s cheeks. Pulling a grimace she took the handkerchief Mrs Mack offered and scrubbed at her face.

  ‘Jack doesn’t want you?’

  ‘No. He kissed me last night and then today I thought he wanted to kiss me again and he pushed me away. He’s in love with Cynthia.’

  ‘I see. Well maybe we can find an outlet for all of that passion and bring Jack to his senses.’

  ‘I don’t want to have anything to do with Jack or Ted ever again. I’m not going to go crawling on my knees to them. If they don’t think I matter enough to know my own brother is alive then — ’

  ‘Dolly! Hush! Blow your nose and calm down. I’ll get Annie to make you a nice cup of tea.’ Mrs Mack patted her hand soothingly. ‘And then you and I are going to have a chat.’

  Mrs Mack left the room and Dolly stared out of the window at the row of dilapidated dunnies in the backyard illuminated by a solitary lamp. Light drizzle misted the windows and she scrubbed at the glass to peer into the half-light. How had she got herself into this mess? All she’d wan
ted was to come to Sydney and make a life for herself.

  At the clatter of cups against the tray Dolly turned from the window and accepted the tea Mrs Mack offered. The cup rattled against the saucer as she settled it on the table in front of her. Mrs Mack poured the tea and topped up her cup with milk and added some sugar.

  ‘Now drink this and calm down. I’ve been thinking.’

  Dolly sipped the scalding over-sweet tea, then stared at Mrs Mack who had her chin resting on her hand as she absently stirred her tea.

  ‘I’ve got a proposition to put to you, Dolly-girl. Listen carefully to me.’

  ‘I’m not anyone’s Dolly-girl. You make me sound like a toy.’

  ‘No interruptions.’

  Dolly sniffed and dropped the sodden handkerchief into her lap before lifting the cup to her mouth again.

  ‘The singing is going well. Our customers like it and they like you. I think it’s time you gave away the cleaning and concentrated on the patrons. Took some of your own. Maybe a bit of dancing and a personal song or two. It’ll give you the chance to make a bit more money and a name for yourself.’

  Dolly spat the hot tea back into her cup. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re an extremely attractive girl, Dolly, and if you want to get ahead it’s the way to do it and in the relative security of a place like Number Fifty-Four. Now take yourself upstairs and sleep on it. Let me know what you think about the idea in the morning. Have a chat with Alice and see what she says. She’s not working tonight. She’s got some dreadful cold and looks worse than a Tasmanian devil.’

  Pushing back her chair, Dolly stood, her mind a total blank. Too much had happened in too short a time. She made her way down the hallway wanting only to curl up in her bed under the blankets and put the dreadful evening out of her mind until another day. More than anything else in the world she wanted to keep singing. To work as one of Mrs Mack’s girls was another matter. She wasn’t sure about that.

  ‘What are you doing here, Dolly?’ Alice’s cold-ridden, nasal voice greeted her as she stumbled into the bedroom. ‘It’s a bit early for the music to have finished.’ Alice screwed up her red eyes and peered at Dolly’s face. ‘Oh God, you’ve been crying. You look almost as awful as I do. Come and sit down and tell me all about it. It can’t be so bad.’

  At that moment it was about as bad as it could get. She hated Jack with a white-hot passion and, for that matter, her thoughtless brother as well. What was it with the men in her life? Every single one of them nursed their secrets so close to their chest; finding anything out was like trying to pry open a tin can with a blunt knife. The thought of having to explain it to Alice, or anyone, was too much to bear. Talking about Ted wouldn’t fix the pain in her heart. Or the agony of knowing she had been kept in the dark like some child locked in the cupboard under the stairs for misbehaving. Not only that, she had no intention of discussing the humiliating way Jack had rejected her with anyone.

  ‘Mrs Mack made me an offer tonight,’ she started.

  Alice’s bloodshot eyes lit up. ‘You mean she gave you a promotion?’

  ‘Well, yes. I guess you could call it that. No more cleaning. She asked me if I’d like to sing all the time and…’ Dolly cleared her throat. ‘And if I would be interested in taking patrons.’

  Alice clasped her hands together, a brilliant smile lighting her face. ‘Dolly, that’s wonderful. It’s a real compliment, you know. Most of us had to work for a lot longer than you have, and with your singing…’ — her eyes widened — ‘you could make a fortune. Imagine all those men just drooling at the thought of spending the evening with Number Fifty-Four’s resident Jazz Baby.’

  Dolly swallowed and tried to imagine what life would be like if she accepted Mrs Mack’s proposition. The thought of any of the drunken uninhibited men pawing her made her flesh crawl. She didn’t want anyone doing that, well, anyone who wasn’t Jack. And what would Ted think? ‘I don’t think I’m cut out for it, Alice.’

  ‘Why ever not? I do it. Don’t be squeamish. There are far worse ways of earning money. You just set yourself some rules and stick to them. The patrons soon get to know who does what. You’ll end up with your own customers real quick. And think of the lovely tips. A different dress for every day of the week and you’ll still be singing. Girls with nothing have to make the most of their God-given gifts if they want to get ahead.’

  The more Alice said the heavier the lump in Dolly’s stomach became. She wouldn’t be buying any frocks. Her conscience would get the better of her.

  ‘You wouldn’t have to do it for long, then you could set yourself up on your own if you wanted. Maybe with a sponsor or two. It’s perfect.’ Alice clapped her hands together. ‘We could join forces.’

  ‘Alice, I don’t think I could do it. You see there’s someone in my life already. Someone I care about and I don’t think I could give myself to anyone without love.’ The only problem was that someone didn’t want her. ‘I think I’ll just stick to the cleaning and the singing.’

  ‘That might not be an option, you know. What did Mrs Mack say? She doesn’t usually give any choices. It’s her way or none.’

  Dolly remembered Mrs Mack’s directive on the first night she sang. There hadn’t been a whole lot of choice then. ‘She told me to think about it and let her know in the morning.’

  ‘Mrs Mack doesn’t take no for an answer. What she’s telling you is play it her way or not at all.’

  ‘Not at all? You mean no singing unless I take customers?’

  ‘That’s pretty much it. Be one of the girls and sing. Or leave. You can ask her in the morning. I think you’ll find I’m right. She’ll tell you she’s not running a charity home. Work or leave.’

  Dolly let Alice’s words sink in. So Mrs Mack had given her an ultimatum. Become one of the girls or leave. She stood up and lifted Alice’s pearls over her head and handed them back, trying not to remember the way Jack had clasped them in his hand and pulled her close. ‘Thanks ever so much. I don’t think I’ll need these again. I can’t say yes to Mrs Mack.’

  ‘You can’t just quit! What are you going to do? Where are you going to live? You’ll have to find another job. You don’t want to end up in one of those dodgy joints in Surry Hills.’

  Dolly slipped the velvet shift over her head and reached for her nightgown. A small piece of white cardboard fell to the ground.

  ‘You’ve dropped something,’ Alice said, stooping to pick up the rectangular card. ‘Oh. Lawrence Bizzet, Jazz Musician. That sounds flash. Is this Lawrence downstairs, the piano man?’

  Dolly nodded, holding out her hand to Alice. ‘Yes, it is. He gave it to me last night. He said if ever I needed a job I should contact him.’

  ‘Aren’t you the lucky one? Two job offers. Take back all I said.’

  Dolly twisted the small card over and over in her fingers, staring at the black and white keyboard running along the edge. Alice was right. She had two options. Lawrence’s offer might not be as salubrious as singing at Number Fifty-Four; however, it was a job, which meant she could continue singing and make some money without having to earn her living on her back. Taking Lawrence up on his offer would be better than skulking back to Wollombi with her tail between her legs.

  Sinking to her knees she rummaged under the bed and pulled out her battered suitcase, then opened the third drawer of the wooden chest of drawers and chucked her clothes into the case.

  ‘What are you doing, Dolly?’ Alice stared aghast. ‘At least sleep on it. Mrs Mack said to tell her tomorrow morning. You can’t go rushing off now. Where would you go?’

  Alice’s words sank slowly into her consciousness as she continued to fill the suitcase with her few belongings. She smoothed out the top layer and ran her hand around the edge of the case until she found the pocket at the back. Her fingers locked onto the rough cotton of the old flag and she drew it out. She spread it on the bed and flattened the creases.

  ‘What’s that?’ Alice asked.

  ‘A relic f
rom the past.’ Just like Ted and Jack. She screwed the flag up into a small ball. ‘And too much of a reminder,’ she said as she flung it across the room, snatching back a sob. She’d cherished that flag — a symbol of all her brother, and Jack, had meant to her. Brave, upright, trustworthy heroes who’d marched off to save the world. She kicked the suitcase closed. Not anymore. A lump formed in her throat. She ought to have known better. Look what war had done to her father. War changed a person, turned them in on themselves. Jack and Ted, the pair of them, wouldn’t lie straight in their coffins and they’d let Pa die a miserable broken man, wasting away for want of the sight of his only son.

  Hot tears burnt down her cheeks. She hadn’t been able to make anything easier for Pa; nothing she could do or say could replace his disappointment and the torment of waiting for a son who didn’t care enough to come home. Pain constricted her chest. Maybe it was time to accept the inevitable. She’d done her best for her father and failed. Why think Ted and Jack would be any different?

  Chapter 18

  Jack found the stroll back to his apartment with Cynthia comforting. In a strange way Ted’s reappearance seemed to have grounded them all, making him feel more at ease than he’d been for a long time.

  ‘Do you think Ted will come back here tonight, Jack?’ Cynthia asked, tucking her feet up before she settled back into the silk sofa.

  ‘He hasn’t got anywhere else to go. So I’d say that’s a yes. And dressed the way he is he won’t be sleeping in any back alleys. He’s too smart. He knows he’d get rolled.’

  ‘Ted is smart, isn’t he? Smart and good-looking. Quite dishy in fact. The tortured hero.’

  Jack quirked a smile. ‘He’s no good to you, Cyn. He hasn’t got two brass razoos to rub together.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I wouldn’t mind combining a bit of business and pleasure.’

  ‘Nothing to stop you doing that, just don’t bank on any handouts. And Ted might not like sharing.’