by Tamara Allen
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 sideway
s, 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.
As they joined a procession of motorcars idling in the refined glow of night-time Fifth Avenue, Jack mused that David certainly had the connections to land any job he liked. Jack wanted to disdain the fancy trappings, but he couldn't when he remembered this world was Sutton's, too. Scorn gave way to awe and he wished he could feel as comfortable as both David and Sutton seemed. But as he followed them into a chandelier-lit hall, he couldn't shake the notion that any moment someone would recognize him for the poor trespasser he was and have him tossed out.
Stepping gingerly on the marble floor, he took an offered glass of champagne, stuffed his free hand into his pocket, and stuck close to Sutton. They wound through the crowd, David making the occasional introduction and usually remembering to tack Jack's name to the end of it. One woman, to their surprise, bubbled with recognition and delight. "My dear!" She clutched Sutton's hand. "How are your lovely parents? I haven't seen them in years. Well, not since you were about so big--" She held a gloved hand waist high, "and giving us a recital. Will you play for us tonight? Do say you will."
David looked pleased at the suggestion, Sutton less so. "I'm not prepared--"
"Perhaps we can talk him into it," David said, slipping an arm around Sutton's shoulders. "He's become quite in demand."
"Is that so?" She seemed oblivious to the apprehension crossing like a shadow over his face.
"He's been playing all day," Jack said. "He could use a rest."
Sutton looked grateful, but David appeared not to have heard. "If our dear hostess will allow it, I'm sure Sutton would oblige us." He leaned in to whisper something in Sutton's ear.
Twenty minutes later, guests crowded the music room and Sutton had taken the last remaining seat, at the grand piano. Jack waved encouragingly and a fleeting smile lightened Sutton's face. As the room went quiet and the moment stretched out, Jack wondered if he would decide he wasn't ready, after all, to play for an audience with more rigid tastes, not to mention expectations.
"Just play," Jack whispered. That was all he had to do. The music would do the rest.
Sutton's shoulders rose and fell. The first notes leapt with magnificent grace. It was a fine piano, the grand. Far better than the upright back at the shop. It gave proper voice to the masters. Thundering, confident voice through the stormy passages, soft but resonant when the music slowed to catch its breath. And the man at the keyboard, he was someone Jack didn't recognize. He wouldn't wink at Jack and burst into By the Beautiful Sea or Hinky Dinky Parlez Vous, not in this gilded room among people with educated tastes. When the piece ended and applause filled the quiet, Sutton shone like a man happy to have found his way back to the music most familiar to his hands and heart. He bowed to calls for more and Jack, giving up his seat to a young woman who had just come in, slipped to the back of the room where several of the men stood with their empty glasses forgotten in their hands.
Finishing his, Jack put the glass on a table and settled himself far back in a corner where he didn't have to keep up a cheerful countenance while Sutton's old life tried to steal him back. One thing he knew, he wouldn't accept any more invitations like this one. Dorrimer offering Sutton a job was a minor bit of torture compared with this.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Jack sucked in a breath, managing to stay in his skin, and looked around in annoyance at David. "Sure. You?"
"Oh yes. Quite at home. And such a joy to hear Sutton play again. A treasure, isn't he?"
"Not too bad at it," Jack said. "The long-hair numbers, I mean."
"Not too bad, no," David said with a little laugh.
"Of course," Jack said after considering a moment, "probably good enough to help you land that job."
"Quite the cynical mind you have. I've missed him terribly since he left school."
"You let him go."
"As will you, though I'm sure you won't find it easy. I imagine Sutton's been a considerable boon to your business."
Jack fought down the desire to take a swing at him. "Guess we both owe him, don't we?"
"I've just repaid him."
"Yeah? By pushing him to play so you could impress a bunch of tone-deaf snobs?"
"Do hold your voice
down. These tone-deaf snobs as you refer to them can do things for Sutton of which you could not begin to conceive."
"He can do it all just fine, himself."
"And what of you, skulking here behind the portiere? I'd guess this isn't the first important concert you've tried to talk him out of performing. Can't afford to lose your golden goose just yet." Even David's whisper sounded smug. "I never expected or asked him to cut all ties for my sake. That's rather a lot to ask of a fellow."
Too much to ask, when a fellow had a future as promising as Sutton's. Jack could admit he had no more right than David to make such a demand--even if he sometimes wanted to believe he did, just by virtue of his feelings. But he couldn't reveal what Sutton meant to him, not when David was already taking such pleasure in sticking him with accusations sharp as bayonets--sharp because they were true.
"You look a little pale," David commented when Jack started to turn away.
Jack forced an indifferent smile into place before he threw a glance back at David. "Must be the champagne. Never agrees with me. Maybe a little fresh air," Jack said and escaped into the hall. Twilight blue beckoned through the doors and he stumbled to the porch, welcoming the rush of evening wind. He wandered further out along the hedgerows and fading flower beds until it was too dark to see and looking back at the house dazzled his vision. Couples came out, silhouettes that lingered in the cold for a minute or two before running back indoors. Jack took a roundabout route back, cutting across the dark lawn to the row of firs swaying in the wind.
He was glad he had when he saw David and Sutton hurry to the porch, laughing. Lattice partially blocked his view, but he could tell by their excited voices that they were rejoicing over the concert. Sutton would be sharing that with him if he hadn't wandered off. But then, Sutton wasn't looking for him. Jack couldn't hear their conversation, but the lattice didn't spare him the sight of David's arms around Sutton. If it was only a congratulatory hug, it went on longer than Jack liked. As they walked in his direction, he moved further into the shadows, and they went past, chattering on--about music or school or perhaps the war.