This resolve remained hot in her mouth, but back of it, like a fishbone across her throat, was her determination, that Veda, and not herself, would have to make the first move. She tried to put this aside, and drove to Veda’s one morning with every intention of stopping, ringing the bell, and going in. But as she approached the little white apartment house, she hurriedly told Tommy to drive on without stopping, and leaned far back in the car to avoid being seen, as she had done that morning at Mrs. Lenhardt’s. She felt hot-faced and silly, and the next time she decided to visit Veda she drove the car herself, and went alone. Again she went by without stopping. Then she took to driving past Veda’s at night, and peeping, hoping to see her. Once she did see her, and quickly pulled in at the curb. Taking care not to slam the car door, she slipped out of the car and crept to the window. Veda was at the piano, playing. Then suddenly the miracle voice was everywhere, going through glass and masonry as though they were air. Mildred waited, a-tremble, until the song was finished, then ran back to her car and drove off.
But the broadcasts continued, and Mildred’s feeling of being left out in the cold increased, until it became intolerable. Veda didn’t appear again on the Snack-O-Ham program. To Mildred’s astonishment, her regular spot on the air was Wednesdays, at 3:15, as part of the Treviso Hour, offered by star pupils of the same Carlo Treviso who had once closed the piano so summarily over her knuckles. And then, after listening to two of these broadcasts, and drinking in Veda’s singing and everything the announcer said about her, Mildred had an idea. By making use of Mr. Treviso, she could compel Veda to call her on the phone, to thank her for favors rendered. After that, pride would be satisfied and almost anything might happen.
So presently she was in the same old anteroom, with the same old vocalizing going on inside, and her temper growing hotter and hotter. But when Mr. Treviso finally received her, she had herself under what she thought was perfect control. As he gave no sign of recognition, she recalled herself to him, and he looked at her sharply, then bowed, but otherwise made no comment. She then made her little speech, which sounded stiff, and no doubt was supposed to sound stiff. “Mr. Treviso, I’ve come on a matter that I shall have to ask you to keep confidential, and when I tell you the reason, I’m sure you’ll be only too glad to do so. My daughter Veda, I believe, is now taking lessons from you. Now for reasons best known to herself, she prefers to have nothing to do with me at the moment, and far be it from me to intrude on her life, or press her for explanations. Just the same, I have a duty toward her, with regard to the expenses of her musical education. It was I, Mr. Treviso, who was responsible for her studying music in a serious way, and even though she elects to live apart from me, I still feel that her music is my responsibility, and in the future, without saying anything to her, without saying one word to her, Mr. Treviso, I’d like you to send your bills to me, and not to her. I hope you don’t find my request unreasonable.”
Mr. Treviso had seated himself, and listened with his death-mask smile, and for some moments he studied his fingernails attentively. Then he stood up. “Am ver’ sorry, Madame, but dees is subject w’ich I cannot discuss wit’ you.”
“Well I’m very sorry too, Mr. Treviso, but I’m afraid you’ll have to discuss it with me. Veda is my daughter, and—”
“Madame, you excuse me, ’ave engagement.”
With quick strides, he crossed to the door, and opened it as though Mildred were the queen of Naples. Nothing happened. Mildred sat there, and crossed her still shapely legs in a way that said plainly she had no intention of going until she had finished her business. He frowned, looked at his watch. “Yes, himportant engagement. You excuse me? Please.”
He went out, then, and Mildred was left alone. After a few minutes, the little fat woman came in, found a piece of music, sat down at the piano, and began to play it. She played it loud, and then played it again, and again, and each time she played it was louder and still louder. That went on perhaps a half hour, and Mildred still sat there. Then Mr. Treviso came back and motioned the little fat woman out of the room. He strode up and down for a few minutes, frowning hard, then went over and closed the door. Then he sat down near Mildred, and touched her knee with a long, bony forefinger, “Why you want dees girl back? Tell me that?”
“Mr. Treviso, you mistake my motives. I—”
“No mistake, no mistake at all. I tell Veda, well you pretty lucky, kid, somebody else pay a bill now. And she, she got no idea at all, hey? Don’t know how to call up, say thanks, sure is swell, how you like to see me again, hey?”
“Well that wasn’t my idea, Mr. Treviso, but I’m sure, if Veda did happen to guess who was paying the bill, and called up about it, I could find it in my heart to—”
“Listen, you. I tell you one t’ing. Is make no difference to me who pay. But I say to you: you want to ’ear dees girl sing, you buy a ticket. You pay a buck. You pay two bucks. If a ticket cost eight eighty, O.K. you pay eight eighty, but don’t try to ’ear dees girl free. Because maybe cost you more than a whole Metropolitan Grand Opera is wort’.”
“This is not a question of money.”
“No by God, sure is not. You go to a zoo, hey? See little snake? Is come from India, is all red, yellow, black, ver’ pretty little snake. You take ’ome, hey? Make little pet, like puppy dog? No — you got more sense. I tell you, is same wit’ dees Veda. You buy ticket, you look at a little snake, but you no take home. No.”
“Are you insinuating that my daughter is a snake?”
“No — is a coloratura soprano, is much worse. A little snake, love mamma, do what papa tells, maybe, but a coloratura soprano, love nobody but own goddam self. Is son-bitch-bast’, worse than all a snake in a world. Madame, you leave dees girl alone.”
As Mildred sat blinking, trying to get adjusted to the wholly unexpected turn the interview had taken, Mr. Treviso took another turn around the room, then apparently became more interested in his subject than he had intended. He sat down now, his eyes shining with that Latin glare that had so upset her on her first visit. Tapping her knee again, he said: “Dees girl, she is coloratura, inside, outside, all over.”
“What is a coloratura soprano?”
“Madame, is special fancy breed, like blue Persian cat. Come once in a lifetime, sing all a trill, a staccato ha-ha-ha, cadenza, a tough stuff—”
“Oh, now I understand.”
“Cost like ’ell. If is real coloratura, bring more dough to a grand opera house than big wop tenor. And dees girl, is coloratura, even a bones is coloratura. First, must know all a rich pipple. No rich, no good.”
“She always associated with nice people.”
“Nice maybe, but must be rich. All coloratura, they got, ’ow you say? — da gimmies. Always take, never give. O.K., you spend plenty money on dees girl, what she do for you?”
“She’s a mere child. She can’t be expected to—”
“So — she do nothing for you. Look.”