Two-Face. Ernest Dudley
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Название: Two-Face
Автор: Ernest Dudley
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Зарубежные детективы
isbn: 9781434442659
isbn:
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!”
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