Читать книгу Two-Face - Ernest Dudley - Страница 13

CHAPTER 10

Mitsi had never seen such an astonishing looking woman in her life before. She had brilliant red hair, brilliant black eyes, and a dead white skin. She was startling in every way. She wore a black dress which Mitsi thought revealed far more than was absolutely necessary.

“Let me look at you, honey!” hoarsely gasped America’s ex-Queen of Song. She put her bejewelled hands on Mitsi’s shoulders and gazed at her intently.

Her eyes, though they are too heavily made up are really very kind, thought Mitsi. I like her.

Sadie Harris turned to Julia.

“Yeah!” she laughed throatily. “I guess she’ll be a riot in London all right! Trust that son of a gun Larry to pick a peach!”

Mitsi blushed. The American woman chortled. “Look! Her face is red! Isn’t she the cutest thing?”

Julia took Mitsi’s hand.

“I’m afraid she’s very shy,” she explained.

“Sure, sure…I’m sorry!” apologized Sadie. “Now come on, have a snifter and meet the folks!” She smiled kindly. “Relax, my dear, relax!”

She led the way into a large room.

“What is a snifter?” queried Mitsi wonderingly.

“Lubrication for the old tonsils,” grinned Sadie.

“She means a cocktail,” Julia explained gently.

The room was surprisingly furnished with green hangings and light wood furniture. To Mitsi it looked like a cool, green cave. The traffic outside in the Boulevard Montparnasse sounded like gentle waves. About a dozen people were present. Most of them were clustered in a far corner of the room where was the cocktail bar.

Mitsi suddenly felt very shy. She turned to Julia who smiled back at her reassuringly. Sadie left them for a moment to get some drinks.

Julia whispered: “Hold tight, my dear! Sadie’s got the kindest heart in the world. If she likes you there’s nothing she won’t do for you.”

“She is beautiful!” breathed Mitsi. There was a wealth of meaning in her tone so that Julia gave her a quick glance. I do believe the child’s got a sense of humour! she thought.

Sadie came across to them, bearing glasses. “John’s latest cocktail mixture!” she cried.

Julia took hers and looked at it suspiciously. It was a sinister green colour containing a large, scarlet cherry.

“It’s positively poisonous,” Sadie went on. “But you don’t notice after the first six!”

She raised her glass.

“Mud in your eye!”

They drank.

Mitsi thought her throat would explode. Fortunately she saved herself from choking, swallowed, and felt better. The cocktail after the first shock had quite a pleasant taste, she decided. Some of the people came over from the corner to Sadie. She introduced them.

As a tall, loose-limbed, ugly young man shook hands with Mitsi, Sadie said: “This is John Foster. He made your cocktail, but don’t be too hard on him!”

“I mean well,” the young man grinned disarmingly.

“I am liking it,” said Mitsi.

“Good for you!”

“There you are, John,” Sadie laughed. “You’ve made a friend. Lucky you!”

The long American was very friendly. Mitsi liked his voice—slow and with a pleasant tang—unlike Julia’s crisp, concise English. He gave her another cocktail. The room began to have a queer, dream-like quality.

She heard as if in a dream the young man talking to her. Others broke into their conversation. Sadie shouted something to which she answered without knowing what she said. Julia smiled at her and to the best of her belief she smiled back. The room was filled with the buzz of chatter.

She found herself talking with unbelievable ease to this man called John. Her shyness vanished by magic and she began to enjoy herself. As she talked she looked round at the others. Her companion pointed them out. Writers, artists, musicians. There was a big, fat man talking to Julia. He was an American newspaper man.

“The same as Larry?—”

“Friend of yours?” queried Foster.

Mitsi nodded.

“Great scout!”

Mitsi felt this was something highly complimentary and she smiled with pride.

Presently Sadie walked across to a white grand piano. She opened the lid and called out to John:

“If you can tear yourself away from her,” with a mock scowl at Mitsi, “you might pound the ivories for me!”

Foster grinned an excuse to Mitsi and went over. He sat down and began to play. The music mingled with the hubbub of talk. The rhythm insinuated itself through the sound of voices. People began to hum and then quite suddenly everyone seemed to be dancing. Only Mitsi was left alone. Julia was dancing with the fat newspaper man.

Sadie was leaning over the top of the piano staring at Foster’s fingers as they moved over the keys and beat out a rhythmic melody.

Mitsi felt strangely stirred. This music—there was something about it. Sad, sentimental. Julia and her partner passed by, both dancing skilfully. Mitsi found herself sitting in a corner watching the dancers, listening to the music. In turn two men came up and asked her to dance. She shook her head, smiling:

“Please, I so much enjoy just watching and listening.”

Both men were understanding. They stood one on either side of her. One of them gave her a cigarette. She took it unconsciously and smoked. The cigarette had a pleasant, harsh tang about it which she liked. It was different from the one or two with which Julia had initiated her into the art of smoking.

Suddenly a voice, so lovely, so rich and warm broke into the music. The piano sank into a soft accompaniment. Sadie Harris was singing. Mitsi caught the words of “Body and Soul.” Sadie leant against the piano staring straight in front of her. Her body was quite still. Everybody stopped dancing, one by one, and listened. Mitsi sat hypnotized by the voice of this strange woman—a voice so much more beautiful than her own, with its deep resonant quality. And the melody seemed to her to be the saddest thing. Even she realized that Sadie gave the words a significance and a reality which was very moving.

The song came to a close but John Foster continued playing. He drifted into another tune—“Smoke gets in your Eyes.” Sadie shook her head, but he looked up at her and smiled:

“Please, Sadie.”

The others took up his pleading, so Sadie sang.

Mitsi looked up to find Julia beside her. She took her hand.

“Enjoying it?” Julia queried.

Mitsi nodded.

Julia glanced across to the piano and Sadie.

“She was the toast of Broadway three years ago.”

“She is beautiful. I wish I could sing like that.”

“Well you can try. If you are only half as good it’ll suit.”

Mitsi listened intently as though she would absorb some of the other’s magic. The song ended and in spite of repeated demands Sadie left the piano. Another man took Foster’s place and he came over to Mitsi.

Now another tune, gayer and swifter, filled the room. People were dancing again. Foster gave Mitsi a little burlesque bow—clicked his heels and twisted an imaginary military moustache.

“Dance? Yes?”

She moved into his arms.

He danced very slickly and a sudden mood of happiness lifted her up. Presently she felt a tap on her arm and turned to find Sadie beside her.

“Pardon this cut in, John, but I want to talk to her myself.”

Mitsi’s partner pulled a face at Sadie and released her. She found herself with the American woman in a clear corner.

“Julia tells me you’re going to sing in London. Larry Curtis is boosting you up over there. Lucky to have him looking after you, though you ought to do pretty well anyway by the look of you.”

She scrutinized her narrowly.

“Got what it takes all right you have,” she muttered. “With your accent and that glamour which to us most foreigners have anyway.”

“I am half English.”

“That so? You don’t look it. If I were you I’d forget it.”

“That’s what Julia says.”

“Julia’s right. She tells me you have a nice voice, too.”

“Not so—exciting—is that the word?—as yours.”

Sadie laughed harshly.

“Ha! Gone to bits. Haven’t sung properly for years.”

“Why not?”

Sadie gave her a long look.

“I hit the toboggan I guess.”

“I do not understand.”

“Slid,” the other explained succinctly.

“Lost my grip. With the racket you’re going into you’ll have to hang on hard.”

She paused to light a cigarette. Mitsi watched her curiously.

“Julia thinks I might be able to give you a bit of advice,” the other went on through a cloud of smoke. “Help you a bit. Well, I guess I can give you plenty of that! But if you listened you wouldn’t remember anyway. You have to find out for yourself, I reckon. When you are in a bit of a jam listen to your own heart. Do what that tells you.”

She gave Mitsi a smile that was full of surprising gentleness, and said:

“Tell you what I will do though—I like the look of you and I know you must have something or Larry wouldn’t be all het up about you—! Ever heard of Sam Levinsky?”

Mitsi shook her head.

“Well, he’s the greatest little song writer both sides of the Atlantic!”

She nodded towards the piano. The man was playing a slow, lazy tune with an infectious rhythm about it.

“That’s one of his numbers.”

Mitsi listened to the tune as Sadie spoke about its composer.

Sam Levinsky occupied the premier position among America’s purveyors of tuneful sentiment. Hollywood paid him colossal sums. The radio plugged his tunes to millions of listeners. Tunes which he churned out with incredible speed while maintaining an originality and charm which was unique.

“He’s only to write one song for you to set the seal on your fame,” Sadie concluded.

Sadie’s enthusiasm thrilled Mitsi.

“He’s in New York now but on his way here. I’ll tell him about you, and if he’s interested maybe he’ll knock out a song for you.”

Mitsi tried to thank her, but she silenced her.

“Sam won’t do a thing if he doesn’t like you, so don’t thank me!”

At that moment she saw Foster bearing drinks making his way across to them. He was laughing as he dodged through the dancers. Somebody threw a cushion at him which he ducked.

“The party’s livening up, I guess,” Sadie muttered to Mitsi. She screamed at him: “John! Look out! If you spill those cocktails on my floor they’ll burn a hole clean through it!”