by Tamara Allen
"I'll catch him."
Sutton did, only to hear that Mr. Barchis would not share the details of Mrs. Madigan's meeting with Ned. "Barchis thinks we want to complain to her about the rent. That we're upset because we lost the sweet deal we had," Harry said. "Guess it's only natural, but I sure as hell don't like being taken for a deadbeat."
"Mr. Barchis appears a suspicious type," Sutton said. "And Jack did put the idea in his head."
Harry sighed. "We've got to calm him down before we head home. Especially if we don't get a chance to talk to Mrs. Madigan. If Ned's waiting for us, neither you nor me nor half a dozen wild horses will keep Jack from busting him right in the nose." Harry stopped walking. "Where is he?"
"He's right over--" Sutton turned, to see the sofa had been claimed by a plump woman and her restless brood. "He must've given them the seat. He can't have gone far--"
"Ah, hell. Look around, see if he's cornered any defenseless females. Words I never thought I'd utter in respect to Jackie," Harry said with a snort.
Sutton tried to pretend he hadn't heard the comment, but his face gave him away, judging by Harry's soft chuckle. "Sorry, kid. I guess I ought to be used to it. Hell, I saw it in the army plenty--" He cleared his throat. "Look, I'm just glad Jack's not so lonesome as he was when he got back from France. That he's got someone to--hell, you know what I mean."
"I do." Despite his discomfort, Sutton was heartened to know how Harry felt.
Harry nodded. "Good. Ain't never seen him so gone on anyone before," he added as he turned away. That off-hand information sank in along with a rush of gladness--which faded when Sutton saw the crowd gathering in the center of the lobby.
"Harry," he whispered as he started forward, anxiety increasing with every step. A wrought iron table bearing an urn plentiful with roses occupied the space beneath a glittering chandelier. Under the table, his arms wrapped partway around the curlicued base, huddled Jack.
"Damn." Harry started down to his knees, but Sutton stopped him.
"Let me."
Harry hesitated for a bare instant. "Yeah, go on. He trusts you."
Glad to know Jack wasn't the only one, Sutton ducked under the table and crept close enough to whisper. "Jack?"
Jack stayed quiet, gazing out across the busy lobby. Sutton laid his hand over the hand Jack still had wrapped around the wrought iron. Jack's skin was cool under his touch, but the white-knuckled grip relaxed as Sutton gave his fingers the gentlest squeeze. "I think you could use a cup of coffee. And we've got up some bacon and eggs and fresh bread. Come back and I'll let you have every crumb of it."
"Damn," Jack whispered. "I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for. Are you all right?"
Jack took in the immediate surroundings with increasing anguish. "God--I messed it up."
Sutton motioned to Harry to shoo away the onlookers. "You haven't messed up anything. It's perfectly all right." He could say it with conviction, because he didn't intend to let it be otherwise. "We'll just tell them--" He grasped a button on his coat and gave it a sharp twist and pull. "We'll tell them I lost a button and you were hunting it down for me." The thread snapped and Sutton tucked the button into Jack's hand. "I'll be right with you, every step. Ready?"
Jack stared at the button as if he hadn't quite followed the conversation. He closed his fingers over it, still dazed--or perhaps surprised--but he nodded and let Sutton take his arm. Harry had herded the crowd a respectful distance away, but was back to slip a hand under Jack's elbow as Sutton guided him from under the table. He began to button Jack's coat. "You okay?"
Jack caught his arm, still seeming anxious. "I'm sorry–"
"Nothing to be sorry about." Harry clapped his shoulder. "Save the apologies for Sutton after you've deprived him of another good night's sleep. Why don't you two get some supper? I'll wait for Mrs. Madigan to show--"
"For God's sake. I'm all right, Harry. We'll wait here together."
"Sir?" One of the gentlemen from the front desk interrupted. "If you would like some privacy and perhaps to lie down--" He cleared his throat. "It's a service we offer in certain circumstances."
"Yeah, I got you," Harry said. "Ladies fainting in the heat, that kind of thing." He grinned at Jack, who glared back.
"Thanks, I'm fine. We'll just keep waiting for Mrs. Madigan, if that's all right with you."
The man's manicured brows lifted. "Mrs. Madigan has returned, sir." He swept an arm toward the front desk, where a woman in a muted plaid traveling suit and feather-trimmed straw hat stood sorting her mail. Mr. Barchis was glued to her side, watching Jack, Harry, and Sutton with a relentless eye. Sutton didn't know how Mrs. Madigan might react if she had witnessed Jack's attack of nerves, but he was prepared to argue that she couldn't have a more conscientious tenant. Then she turned and smiled at the three of them--and his every thought fled except one. She had already seen it for herself.
"Opal," Harry said, shocked.
Jack laughed aloud. He bounded toward her and shook her hand energetically, much to Mr. Barchis' displeasure. "You're Mrs. James Madigan?"
Her smile deepened, her eyes the merry blue Sutton remembered. "My dears! I'm so glad to see you again, all of you. Mr. Barchis, we're going up now. Have them send up tea, if you please."
Mr. Barchis looked alarmed but carried out her orders so he could scramble into the lift for the ride up to a comfortable suite with a view of the park. Over tea, Harry explained the situation. Opal seemed so troubled by the time he finished, Sutton wanted to apologize, but Harry beat him to it. "We don't mean to upset you, Mrs. Madigan--"
She shook her head. "Please forgive me. I've had a good deal of difficulty sorting out my husband's business affairs. Mr. Hennessy told me he was a partner of yours. I suppose you must think me pathetically gullible."
"Don't blame yourself," Harry said. "True enough his father loaned a little money to Mr. Bailey some twenty years ago--but it wasn't an investment in the emporium, despite what Hennessy wants to think. He has no business stirring up all this trouble and, right now, I'd like to give him a good thrashing--" Catching her eye, he looked uncomfortable. "I beg your pardon."
"Not at all," she said. "I think James might have felt the same. You won't be evicted, I assure you. Mr. Barchis will see to any difficulties with Mr. Hennessy."
Sutton imagined Mr. Barchis could make short work of Ned Hennessy, if Opal permitted it. When they finished their tea, Mr. Barchis returned and a lease was drawn up and signed. When they rose to leave, she shook Harry's hand shyly, but impetuously hugged Jack.
"I had the loveliest time visiting your shop. You were all so tired, but so kind to me. Oh--Sutton--I know you're quite busy, but I must ask. There will be a concert Friday, here at the hotel. My husband and I have sponsored them in the past to collect contributions for the poor. Some gentlemen have agreed to provide radio equipment this year so we may reach a much bigger audience. We usually invite a number of singers, orators, and musicians to perform and--well, I realize this is terribly short notice--"
"I'm sure he'll do it," Harry said and looked at Sutton. "I mean, I figured--"
"If you already have other plans," Opal said, "I understand."
"No plans," Jack said. "Free as a bird. Say, who are the fellows bringing in the transmitter for you?"
Sutton rolled his eyes. "Mrs. Madigan, I'd be delighted. Honored, truly."
"Splendid. There's a grand piano in the ballroom. The concert is at seven, but you may come any time to practice, if you like. And the two young ladies who sing with you, bring them. We shall outdo ourselves this year."
As they left the hotel, Mr. Barchis cornered them to inquire if they had obtained a license for playing music in the shop. "Mr. Herbert's lawsuit necessitates the paying of a fee." It was worriesome news, but not as unsettling to Sutton as the prospect of playing a public concert at the Plaza. Before him lay the opportunity to break the long silence and mend relations with his family, but he hadn't the courage. If they came to the co
ncert--well, the expectations of his peers would be nothing, in comparison. He might crumble and make a fool of himself among more accomplished musicians--which would only convince his parents that he should return home.
He couldn't bear that. He'd come to New York to make his own way and he was succeeding--in his own eyes, if not in his father's. If the reviews were favorable, he could send them on and it might facilitate something along the lines of forgiveness, or at least acceptance that he'd chosen his own path. But his parents wouldn't approve of the music he played, the life he lived. Even a lifetime of good reviews wouldn't change that.
- Thirty-Eight -
Jack leaned out the cab window and wondered why they didn't just walk--hell, run--home. He wouldn't be evicted and he could freely tell Ned to go to hell. Not that he hadn't a million times already, but this time would have it over all the others.
As for the charity concert--he knew he should be only glad for Sutton. He just couldn't shake the feeling that Friday would also be the last day Sutton would play for him. Not that Sutton would intend to abandon him, but the world would exultantly pounce--and who could blame a fellow for not being able to resist the whole world?
But he didn't want to think about that, not after they had come so close to disaster and saved themselves with a little luck and determination. He jokingly suggested Delmonico's for supper and Harry looked aghast.
"I've been saving up for that license fee, but we ain't there yet. Easy enough for restaurants to pay it," he muttered. "Not so easy for us. Until we have it, we're eating cheap."
"The automat?" Sutton said and, when they both looked at him, smiled sheepishly. "I like the automat."
Over supper, they pondered what to do about the growing audience rapidly taking over the shop. "We'll have to limit how many folks come in. And probably lock up during each show," Harry said.
Jack balked at the idea. "We can't kick out customers."
"What if we had a fire?" Harry said. "We can't crowd them in. It won't be safe."
"Well, we can't lock them in, either."
Harry put down his fork and leaned back with his coffee cup in hand. "So what do we do?"
"Move the piano to the sidewalk?" At Harry's narrowed stare, Jack grinned. "Look, I didn't plan on this any more than you did. Yeah, I know it was all my idea to start, but honest to God, I didn't expect we'd be such a great sell. It's all his fault, really," he said with a nod at Sutton, who merely raised an eyebrow in response.
Harry chuckled. "A day ago, I thought we were sure to lose everything, so I ain't about to worry over being too successful. Between the newspaper story and the concert next Friday, there's no hope of keeping the crowds down. As I see it, we've got two choices. Lock them out, which you don't want, or move your transmitter upstairs."
"Upstairs?" Jack considered whether, once the monumental task of hauling up the piano was done, it would be any more practical to send out the show from the apartment. "I suppose that could work. We've got enough listeners now, I think the advertising will keep customers coming in. I'll have to move the carpets upstairs to keep the sound muffled or the neighbors will be running to the Plaza for a word with Opal, too," he said, wincing at the thought.
"You may have to cut the evening performance," Harry said. "We'll see how it goes. And another thing--" He cast a shrewd look at Sutton. "You're going to be a little isolated up there, what with your whole audience on the other side of the microphone. Think you'll mind that?"
"I'll be up there now and then," Jack said. "To keep him company." He winked at Sutton, who smiled.
"You needn't wait on my account, if you want to move everything upstairs."
"So we're decided?" Harry said.
Jack stirred the half-melted ice cream on his plate. "Sure, we're decided."
It didn't come out with quite the conviction he'd wanted, judging by the quiet that fell over the table. He gave up on the ice cream and finished his coffee instead, determinedly avoiding both stares.
"There is one other choice," Harry said, after a moment. "And before you cross it off the list, you ought to think about it. And I mean really think. Because you ain't hurting anybody if you get out of the business--" He raised a hand to keep Jack from interrupting. "You've got to follow your heart, Jackie. It's what your dad would've wanted. You keep up this radio program, hire talent to perform, find advertisers like you've been doing, you're going to be happy. And you're still in the same business as your dad. Entertaining folks. Giving them a little something to smile about. Makes no difference what you're selling."
On the verge of a flat refusal to even consider it, Jack hesitated. If he quit selling novelties--if he built up his own transmitting station--he might keep Sutton a while longer. And even after Sutton struck out on his own, he wouldn't have to scramble for a respectable excuse to visit. No one would think it odd if he returned to perform in a setting worthy of his talent. Jack wanted to lessen that risk for him. Anything to encourage him to come by whenever he was in town. Anything at all.
"Jack?" Sutton's curious tone woke him to the present.
"I'll think about it, all right?"
"Really?" Harry was so caught off-guard, Jack couldn't keep from smiling. Harry had asked him to think about it, but Jack knew Harry hadn't really thought about it, himself.
- - -
On the way home, Harry rambled on about every subject except the emporium, making it altogether obvious that he didn't want to give the place up. Jack felt suddenly selfish for considering it just because he feared losing Sutton--something which seemed terribly inevitable, no matter what he decided. If public concerts weren't the start of it, the article in the Times would be...
"We never got a paper today," he realized aloud.
"Too soon for our story," Harry said. "But I asked Ox to leave one in the office, just in case."
As they crossed from Ida's corner to theirs, Harry dug out his keys and started down the sidestreet to the office door. He went in, but Sutton drew Jack aside before he could follow. "Would you really shut the shop?"
Jack wished he hadn't agreed to even consider it. "I don't know. I just figured Harry wanted me to think about it, so I'm thinking about it, that's all."
"It isn't because of me, is it? Because I don't mind playing upstairs, Jack. Honestly, not at all--"
"It's not that," Jack said, wondering why it felt like such a lie when it wasn't exactly. "Harry thinks I'm hanging on for sentimental reasons."
"Are you?"
"What if I am? Nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"Nothing wrong," Sutton said with a fond smile. "As long as you aren't giving up something that's even more dear to you."
"A fellow can't have everything." Jack stuffed his hands in his pockets to ward away the chill. "Win something you want and you can be sure the next day you'll lose something you have. It's getting so I don't want to wish for anything else." He grimaced. "Scares the hell out of me how well I'm doing right now."
"Jack." It was the gentlest admonition. "Radio is your love. You can't just push it aside. What on earth do you think you're going to lose?"
The question caught him off-guard. It was all over his face for Sutton to read, and Sutton had been getting better and better at figuring him out. But then Ox appeared around the corner, brightening at the sight of them. "You're back! How did it go? Is everything okay?"
"Better than," Jack said, pulling from Sutton's searching look to greet Ox. "Did you get the newspaper?"
Ox stopped short. "Oh gosh, I forgot. I was walking Esther home and--I'm sorry, Jack. Maybe I can--" His smile burst back into being. "Ida'll have one," he said and headed for the cellar door.
"Ox, wait--don't haul her out of bed for that," Jack said, but Ox was already banging on the door. "Good God. She's going to kill us all." He pulled a laughing Sutton in front of him for protection as the door swung open and Ida, still in her Sunday best, peered out.
"What do you want?" If she sounded less cross than usual, it was o
nly because no one could be cross with Ox.
"Today's newspaper. There's a story about us," Ox said eagerly. "I'll give it right back."
Ida glanced at Jack and Sutton, sniffed with oft-tried patience, and waved at Ox. "Come on, then."
Ox followed her in and Jack snorted in disgust. "If it'd been me, she would've gone for the frying pan--"
An explosive crack startled them. Jack grabbed two handfuls of Sutton's coat and dragged him toward the safety of the office, just as another explosion followed the first. Sutton staggered and crashed into him, and Jack tumbled to the pavement, landing with Sutton in his arms.
- Thirty-Nine -
Vance came out of the shadows, the gun a black lethal shape in one hand. Jack started to get up and gun went off again, deafening him. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air and Jack jerked his head up to see Vance sprawled on the pavement. It wasn't real--until he saw Harry under the lamp outside the office door, gun in hand as he stared down at Vance's body.
"He plugged the son of a bitch." Jack could barely draw breath enough to push out the words. "Harry got him--"
"Jack." Sutton's soft gasp silenced him. With comprehension came sick dread, rising in his throat to choke him. Jack pushed Sutton's coat open and felt the warm dampness spreading under his shirt. In the shoulder--high in the shoulder, wasn't it? Just one bullet. Vance couldn't have hit him twice. He couldn't.
Thoughts gone to blind prayer, Jack tore through his pockets, then Sutton's, until he found a handkerchief. As he stuffed it under Sutton's shirt, where the skin was slick, Sutton got hold of his hand. "It's all right." He repeated it, sounding so damned certain in between each sharp breath.
Jack answered with a resolute shake of his head. "Don't." No other words would come. No other words had meaning. He said it again, willing to Sutton a stubbornness equal to his own. The handkerchief was soaked and sticky and he pressed harder. "Harry!"