Читать книгу Two-Face - Ernest Dudley - Страница 11

CHAPTER 8

“You’ve got to compose a lovely song for her,” said Julia. “She’s got to sing in a cabaret and she wants a tune like—oh, ‘Parlez moi d’amour’—you know.”

“Impossible,” retorted Cooper, his mouth full. “Can’t lower myself to such a thing! I write music—not twaddle!”

He gestured wildly with both hands. Mitsi was fearful the spaghetti would spatter them all. Miraculously it didn’t.

“Now don’t talk rubbish,” Julia said calmly. “You’ve been brought here to write her a song, and write her a song you shall!”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to, old man,” said Leo sympathetically. “You know what Julia’s like when she makes up her mind. Look at this child for instance!” He pointed dramatically at Mitsi. “When she was first brought here she was quite beautiful. Then Larry—”

“That mad journalist fellow?” queried Cooper.

Leo nodded.

“Decided to make her into a cabaret star!” He snorted. “Julia, of course, backs him up, has had the poor girl’s hair dyed, her face pushed about, and dressed her up in these ridiculous clothes!”

The man who looked like a prizefighter threw back his head and roared with laughter. It filled the room and was very infectious. Mitsi looked at him wonderingly, and without knowing why started laughing too.

“I see nothing funny in it at all,” said Julia severely, “and do mind where you are throwing that spaghetti!”

Cooper stuffed a forkful into his mouth, still laughing.

“I can see Julia has been having a marvellous time,” he choked. “Getting a vicarious pleasure, transforming a human being into some incredible doll!” He wagged the fork dangerously near Mitsi’s nose. “Now you want me to write a song for her?”

“You’ve got to,” declared Julia.

“I see. Cabaret. Iddi-um-tumty-tum-boopa-doop-hiii-de-he stuff!”

He broke into a hideous imitation of crooning. Mitsi’s expression was painful and Julia put her fingers to her ears. Leo roared at him to shut up. Cooper subsided.

“We want something pleasantly tuneful,” explained Julia, “you know perfectly well what I mean, Max. Don’t be difficult.”

“All right,” he answered resignedly. “Let me finish my supper first.” He threw himself into a chair. “And let’s hear the girl sing.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” said Leo. “Do your best Max.” And he slammed out of the studio.

Julia played again and Mitsi sang “Parlez moi d’amour.” Cooper sat back, his eyes closed, and ate greedily. When she had finished singing he said without opening his eyes:

“Not bad! Not good, of course, but not bad!”

Mitsi looked at Julia who hastened to reassure her. “Don’t take any notice, my dear!” She crossed over to Max and dragged him to the piano: “Play yourself into a more charming temper,” she said.

“Yes,” Mitsi put in, “do play some of your own music.”

Cooper gave her a sidelong glance, sniffed and sat down.

Beginning very quietly his music resolved itself into a weird but curiously attractive melody. Beautiful sound filled the studio. Mitsi sat enraptured. It reminded her of times when her mother had taken her to concerts. If Mother were here now, she thought, how she would have loved it.

The music died and Cooper’s hands came to rest once more on the keyboard. He turned round to her and Julia. Laughed sardonically.

“All the audiences I ever get are played to for nothing! Thanks for listening.”

“It was beautiful,” breathed Mitsi. “It reminds me so much of—”

Cooper leant forward to the girl. “Did you ever hear Schnabel?”

“Yes,” she said. “Once with my mother. He played Beethoven.”

She hummed the thin thread of the tune of the “Moonlight Sonata.”

Cooper swung back to the piano again and picked out the melody as she hummed it.

“You mean like this?”

“Yes, yes,” she agreed.

He went on playing. Again Mitsi and Julia were drowned in magical sound.

When it had finished he came across to her.

“Why must you be a cabaret girl?” he asked. “You are quite intelligent.”

“Now come on, Max,” Julia interrupted. “Let’s do some work.”

He went back to the piano. Mitsi leant against it watching him. Julia stood over his shoulder as if forcing him to do what was required.

“Well, what do you want to call your song?” he asked. “D’you want a French title, or an English one?”

Mitsi and Julia thought for a moment.

“I think English would be best, don’t you?” Mitsi suggested.

Julia nodded her head in agreement. “I think so too.”

“All right, then think of something,” and Cooper’s fingers rippled along the keys. “It’s got to be a love song, of course?”

“Of course!” from Julia.

“Something cheaply poetical,” sneered Max.

Mitsi bit her lips in thought, and Julia wrinkled her brow. Cooper looked up at them, an amused grin on his face. Mitsi hazarded two or three suggestions. None met with Julia’s approval.

“No, no, it must be something romantic—sentimental.”

“Well, you suggest something,” said Mitsi.

“How about ‘Moonlight in Montmartre?” offered Cooper.

Julia shook her head.

“Why not ‘Midnight in the Morgue’?” he said, heavily facetious.

Mitsi giggled, but Julia glared. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed excitedly. “‘Orchids in Paris!’ How about that?”

“Lovely!” cried Mitsi.

Cooper let out a derisive hoot.

“All right! Let’s see, it should go like this…”

For two hours the three of them—interrupted and aided by Leo with suggestions and drinks—worked on the song.

To Mitsi Max’s skill was uncanny as he traced the melody, evolving a fascinating lilt. He tinkered with it, fitting in harmonies. Making up the lyric to suit the tune, altering the tune to suit the lyric.

And so “Orchids in Paris,” Mitsi’s first song—created specially for her—was born.