Romance Classics

by Peggy Gaddis

  “For you—or for me?”

  “For either of us,” he told her flatly. “I’d like you to give me your word of honor that you will stay with the act for at least one year.”

  “Well, of course! I certainly wouldn’t work this hard and go flying off to a place like Martinique just for a year’s engagement!”

  “The engagement in Martinique, my pretty, is for exactly six weeks,” he pointed out dryly. “Of course, if we are as big a hit as I’m confident we will be, the chances are very good that we’ll be held over, maybe for the whole season. I’m hoping for that, but I’m not counting on it.”

  Suddenly, to her surprise, he chuckled.

  “I only wish Mom and Pops could have lived long enough to see the act,” he said. “They were killed in a train wreck when I was sixteen.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!”

  His nod accepted her sympathy.

  “It wasn’t so bad, since they went together,” he said quietly. “I’ve often wondered what it might have been like if only one had been killed and the other left alone. They’d been married for so many years, they were like two people who had become one. I never could imagine Pops managing without Mom—or Mom managing without Pops.”

  “That must have been a pretty fine marriage.”

  “It was,” he agreed. “Oh, they fought like the cats of Kilkenny off-stage, but they were really devoted to each other.”

  “And fighting off-stage didn’t affect their act?” Kristen probed.

  “How could it? That was the kind of act they had onstage: squabbling, arguing, bickering, trading insults. The audiences loved it.”

  He stood up suddenly, as though brushing the memories aside, and said briskly, “Well, shall we get on with it? And relax this time. You’re supposed to melt into my arms as though you didn’t have any bones at all.”

  Kristen nodded and slipped into his arms, and they went back to work. Late in the afternoon when she was beginning to feel that her weary, aching feet would not follow another beat of music, he nodded and silenced the record-player.

  “We’ll call it a day,” he decided, and there was reluctance in his voice. “You’re pretty tired, I can see. By the end of the week, I’ll expect you to work right on until eight o’clock.”

  Kristen was too weary even to manage an answer to that, and could only move slowly to the dressing room and fumble into her street clothes. When she came out, he had already gone.

  By the end of the week, she was dancing smoothly and Leon was pleased. His praise was sparse, but it gave her a little glow that she would not have known if he had been less sparing with it.

  When she came in on the eighth morning, he said briskly, “You have an appointment for fittings this morning. Nine o’clock at Nina’s.”

  “At Nina’s?” she gasped. “Oh, but she’s much too expensive for me. I couldn’t possibly afford—”

  He scowled at her in angry surprise.

  “Who said anything about you affording them? They’re part of the act, and of course I’ll pay for them,” he cut in swiftly. “It will be your job to take care of them, but I’ll pay for cleaning bills and replacements. Do you have suitable street clothes for the tropics? It’s important that you be well-dressed, both on and off-stage.”

  “If I don’t have the right clothes, don’t you suppose I can buy some in Martinique—when I go on salary?” she suggested sweetly, her green eyes sparkling.

  “Well, yes, I suppose so,” he agreed, and added as though he had just thought of it, “And as for salary—I’m sorry, I forgot to give you this.”

  He held out three twenty dollar bills and a ten, and when she made no effort to accept it, he said curtly, “Rehearsal pay. Haven’t you ever been paid for rehearsals before?”

  “Well—yes, of course—”

  “Your salary will be three hundred a week, and all expenses, but that doesn’t begin until we reach Martinique. Until then, you’ll draw seventy bucks a week. That’s the best I can do.”

  He seemed a little embarrassed at the confession, and when she reluctantly accepted the money and put it into her purse, he seemed relieved.

  “You see, I have budgeted very closely, to stretch my bank-roll as far as it would stretch. But the one thing we can’t afford to cut down on is the wardrobe. You’ve got to look like a dream walking—and I’ve given Nina a good idea of what I want. She will be waiting for you, so you’d better hustle along. Back here at one, after lunch.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kristen said meekly and, without waiting for him to answer, hurried out.

  Nina’s was an elegant old house off Madison Avenue. There was only a small card in a downstairs window; nothing so plebeian as a hat, a frock, or even a bottle of perfume to mark it as a shop. But Nina’s was a name to conjure with in show business. Only the highest-salaried stars could afford her; and Kristen was somewhat alarmed at the thought of the amount of Leon’s hard-saved bank-roll that was going to be dropped here. She was even more alarmed when the fittings began and she saw the gowns she was to wear.

  Mere froths of delicate chiffon and tulle, a billowing white taffeta sprinkled with stars, a jade-green that did very exciting things to her copper-colored hair and her white skin and that was almost the exact color of her eyes.

  When the fittings were over and she went out once more into the drab, gray day, she hurried back to the rehearsal studio, wide-eyed.

  “Look, Leon, those are absolutely fabulous gowns. I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” she told him. “But surely we don’t need anything so terribly expensive! Why, they must cost a fortune.”

  Leon grinned ruefully.

  “They did,” he agreed. “But they’re going to make our fortune, too! So don’t worry about it.”

  Because she dared not argue with him, and because she was feminine enough to like the way she looked in those exquisite gowns, she said no more. She would work so hard that The Act (she was even beginning to capitalize it mentally, she told herself wryly) would justify all his hopes and dreams. And what was more, she’d teach herself to like the guy! And that, she had to admit, was going to be harder to do than any of the complicated routines he could work out!

  It was several days later that there came a brisk rat-a-tat-tat at the door, while they were in the midst of a routine, and it swung open to admit a blond, rather cherubic-looking young man whose boyish look was heightened, rather than lessened, by a frankly receding hairline.

  “Hiya, Lee, old boy?” The newcomer was bursting with eagerness, laughing as he ordered sternly, “Now, wipe that scowl off your handsome mug, boy, just because I’m interrupting you when you are working. Have I ever got news for you!”

  He saw Kristen, his brows went up, he gave a modified wolf whistle and turned innocently to Leon.

  “You are working, I’m sure, and very nice work if you can get it.”

  “Cut the corn, Casey, and get going.”

  “Stow it, m’ boy, stow it,” ordered Casey.

  “Meanwhile, introduce me to the lady. She’s got a share in the big news, too.”

  “Kristen, this idiot heads the band that’s going to play for us in Martinique. His name is Casey Hodges,” said Leon.

  Casey eyed him with raised brows.

  “Well, listen to the big lug, with a bump of conceit that’s nearly as big as he is. Going to play for you, is it, Lee, m’ boy? For you and several hundred others, we hope, who’ll keep the joint jumpin’ when you two are resting!”

  “Casey, we’re busy.” Leon was annoyed.

  “Well, sure, sure, but I’ve been busy, too, pal. Wait until you hear what I’ve cooked up,” Casey chortled.

  “Spill it, Casey!”

  “Say ‘Please’, ” urged Casey.

  “Don’t be a fool, Casey. Cut out the horseplay. Either speak up or get out.”

  “O.K., O.K. if you want to be like that.” Casey was hurt. “How’d you like to make the trip to Martinique for free?”

  “What?”

  �
�I thought that would get you,” Casey said happily, and rushed on. “There’s a brand-new luxury liner making her ‘shake-down’ cruise, island-hopping in the Caribbean. And they’d be tickled to have a good band like mine to play for tea-dancing in the lounge, and after-dinner dancing in the grand ballroom. I said we wouldn’t take it—and the band boys were going to lynch me—unless you and your partner were included in the deal. So you’re in, boy, both of you.”

  “You play for dancing? And what do Kristen and I do?” asked Leon.

  “Cagey little cuss, aren’t you? Well, you and Kristen put on your act in the grand ballroom after dinner,” said Casey, and avoided Leon’s eyes.

  “One show a night?” Leon insisted.

  “One show a night,” Casey assured him. “But there’s a hitch.”

  Some of the eagerness went out of Leon’s face.

  “I knew it! There had to be. It’s too good to be true.”

  “The hitch is that we have to sail from Pier Fourteen at midnight tomorrow night,” said Casey, and looked anxiously at Kristen and Leon.

  Leon scowled.

  “We can’t possibly make it,” he said.

  “How come?” demanded Casey.

  “The Act isn’t ready yet—and Kristen’s costume won’t be finished for another week. Nina’s not the kind you can hurry.”

  “Nina, eh?” Casey whistled. “You’re really going all out, aren’t you, boy?”

  “I’m convinced it will be worth it.”

  “About the act not being ready,” Casey cut in swiftly, “you’ll have twelve days aboard ship.”

  “Twelve days? But that would put us in Martinique too late for the opening.”

  “No. As soon as I found there was a chance of us getting this trip, I cabled the manager at the hotel and asked if we could be a few days late; and he cabled back that would be fine. Seems the work of getting the joint ready is going slower than they figured,” Casey insisted eagerly. “And you and Kristen can rehearse in the grand ballroom from eight in the morning until time for the first floor show, every day if you want to. Now what’s holding you up?”

  “Kristen’s costumes.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” Kristen said quickly. “I’ve got several costumes I can use on the ship. And anyway, you wouldn’t want to expose those gorgeous things Nina’s whipping up to salt air—it would ruin them.”

  Leon nodded slow acquiescence. “I suppose you are right. But your own costumes—are you sure they’ll be suitable?”

  “Quite sure!” Kristen’s tone was dry. “They’ve appeared in some very nice places.”

  Leon looked at her sharply, and she met his eyes steadily.

  “My costumes won’t disgrace The Act, and neither will I,” she finished curtly.

  “Swell! Then I can count on you two?” Casey asked anxiously.

  “You can, and thanks a million,” said Leon.

  Still Casey hesitated, and there was a faint trace of a worried frown on his cherubic face.

  “There’s one more thing.”

  Leon groaned. “Of course. There would be. What is it now?”

  “It’s about the ‘canary’ who’s going to sing with the band.”

  “Janie, your wife, is going along, surely?” protested Leon.

  “Well, no,” Casey admitted reluctantly. “With the new baby due early in the spring, she thought she’d like to go and visit her parents until after it’s born. And with a guarantee of only six weeks on this engagement—well, you see how it was. I had to find somebody else.”

  Leon was eyeing him so sharply that Kristen, puzzled, looked from one to the other, waiting.

  “Who?” demanded Leon.

  Casey nodded miserably as though he had read Leon’s mind.

  “That’s right; it’s Sherry Malone,” he confessed.

  Leon swore under his breath and turned sharply away.

  “I knew you wouldn’t like it, Lee, and I was going to wait until you came aboard before I told you. And I was afraid you’d do something drastic, like maybe jumping overboard,” Casey said hurriedly. “Honest, Leon, I tried to find somebody else, but on such short notice, Sherry was the only girl available who had the voice, the looks, the personality. And she’s a blond, so she ought to go over big in the tropics.”

  Leon was scowling, driving one clenched hand into the palm of the other.

  “Who,” asked Kristen gently, “is Sherry Malone?”

  Casey turned to her, obviously grateful for the interruption.

  “Don’t ever let her know you had to ask that question, baby,” said Casey. “She’s convinced that she’s as well known as Ethel Merman!”

  “All my show business experience has been in the dancing field. Maybe I just never travelled in the same circles with her.”

  Leon gave her a bleak, cold look and walked across to the grimy window, where he stood looking out with unseeing eyes.

  “Well, Sherry’s quite a gal,” Casey answered Kristen hurriedly. “She’s lovely to look at; she knows her business; she can belt out a ballad with the best of them. When Sherry sings a song, it stays sung, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do, but I can’t understand why Leon is so upset.”

  “Because the gal has set her heart on marrying him, and when I told her that the band would be playing an engagement with you two as stars, I almost expected her to offer to take a salary cut,” Casey admitted.

  “That’ll be the day!” growled Leon.

  “Well, anyway, Lee, that’s the way it’s going to be,” Casey said, and now there was a touch of authority in his voice. “I’ll do my darnedest to keep Sherry out of your hair. I imagine when she sees Kristen that may set her back on her heels a bit. You should be quite reasonably safe from Sherry with Kristen around.”

  “Kristen is my dancing partner, not my fiancée,” Leon snapped.

  Kristen bristled and green fire gleamed in her eyes.

  “And we intend to keep it that way,” she said.

  “We do, indeed,” said Leon.

  Chapter Three

  For a long moment after the door had closed behind Casey, Kristen studied Leon curiously and could not keep back the question that rose in her mind and spilled into speech.

  “Why are you so afraid of this Sherry Malone?”

  Leon turned sharply to face her.

  “Who says I’m afraid of her?” he shot back.

  “If you’re not, you’re certainly giving a very good imitation of it.”

  “I’m not. It’s just that I’d much rather Casey’s wife, Janie, were the band canary—”

  “Are you afraid of her—or of yourself?” Kristen asked.

  The scowl faded, and he gave her a brief grin that made him look like an abashed small boy.

  “A little of both, I guess,” he admitted.

  “You mean you’re in love with her?”

  “I mean I could be. She’s a very alluring girl.”

  “Then why not marry her?” she asked reasonably.

  The scowl came back.

  “Because I can’t afford such a complication,” he said sharply. “Shall we get on with it?”

  Once more the record player went into the dance number, and Leon took Kristen into his arms …

  Shortly before eleven the following night, a taxi deposited them at Pier Fourteen. Brilliantly illuminated, the sleek white ship lay waiting for them.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” she breathed.

  “Very,” Leon agreed. “Guess we’re pretty lucky that Casey could cook up this deal for us.”

  As though the sound of his name had conjured up his presence, Casey was there, scanning the taxis that were unloading about the pier.

  “Seen anything of Sherry?” he asked.

  “Were we supposed to pick her up?”

  “Heck, no. That would have been more than I’d have dared ask you,” Casey answered. “But everybody else is aboard. You two are the last—except Sherry.”

  “Maybe she’ll miss the
boat,” suggested Leon.

  “Not Sherry! Not when she knows you’re aboard and that she’ll have a fourteen-day cruise to ply her wiles on you,” Casey answered. “Besides, the kid needs the job. She’s had pretty rough going these last few months. That trip to Hollywood cost her a whale of a lot of money, and she got a couple of weeks’ engagement out of it. Oh, praises be, here she comes.”

  Kristen turned, with the two men, to watch a slender blond girl, hatless in the brilliant lights that turned her hair to pale, spun gold. She was moving unhurriedly.

  “Hello, Lee,” she greeted him with a pleasant friendliness that held no shade of extra warmth. “Nice to be working with you again.”

  “Nice to see you, Sherry,” Leon said politely. “This is Kristen Dillard, my dancing partner.”

  Sherry’s delphinium-blue eyes swept Kristen, and though her smile was warm and friendly, there was a cool, measuring look in her eyes.

  “Hi, Kristen,” she acknowledged the introduction. “This looks like a lot of fun, doesn’t it? I can’t wait to see the weird place we’re going to—voodoo and everything.”

  “Martinique, my chum, and from all I hear voodoo is confined to Haiti,” Casey reminded her.

  He led the way up the gangplank, with the two girls directly behind him, Leon bringing up the rear. There was a crowd on the pier and, it seemed to Kristen, an even bigger crowd on board the ship. Casey managed to wangle a way through the crowd so that they could follow him to a companion way that was really a grand staircase; then along a corridor to a less impressive companionway. Casey said over his shoulder, “We’re in second class. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Just so long as it isn’t steerage,” said Sherry.

  Casey flung her a chiding glance.

  “My dear child!” he protested. “The Caribbean Queen is a luxury-liner. She doesn’t carry a steerage class! Only first and second, this run.”

  He led them along a corridor to a door that he opened, revealing a small but very charming room with twin beds and, between them, an open door revealing a small but adequate bath.