Mr. Treviso tapped Mildred’s knee again, grinned. “She even twiddle la valiere all a coloratura, sit back like a duchess twiddle a la valiere.” And he gave a startling imitation of Veda, sitting haughtily erect in her chair, twiddling the ornament of her neck chain.
“She’s done that since she was a little girl!”
“Yes — is a funny part.”
Warming up now, Mr. Treviso went on: “All a coloratura crazy for rich pipple, all take no give, all act like a duchess, all twiddle a la valiere, all a same, every one. All borrow ten t’ous-and bucks, go to Italy, study voice, never pay back a money, t’ink was all friendship. Sing in grand opera, marry a banker, get da money. Got da money, kick out a banker, marry a baron, get da title. ’ave a sweetie on a side, guy she like to sleep wit’. Den all travel together, all over Europe, grand opera to grand opera, ’otel — a baron, ’e travel in Compartment C, take care of dog. A banker, ’e travel in Compartment B, take care of luggage. A sweetie, ’e travel in Drawing Room A, take care of coloratura — all one big ’appy family. Den come a decoration from King of Belgium — first a command performance, Theatre de la Monnaie, den a decoration. All coloratura ’ave decoration from King of Belgium, rest of life twiddle a la valiere, talk about a decoration.”
“Well — Los Angeles is some distance from Belgium—”
“No, no distance. Dees girl, make you no mistake, is big stuff. You know what make a singer? Is first voice, second voice, t’ird voice — yes, all know dees gag. Was Rossini’s gag, but maybe even Rossini could be wrong. Must ’ave voice, yes. But is not what make a singer. Must ’ave music, music inside. Caruso, ’e could no read one note, but ’e have music in a soul is come out ever’ note ’e sing. Must have rhythm, feel a beat of a music before conductor raise a stick. And specially coloratura — wit’out rhythm, wit’out music, all dees ha-ha-ha is vocalize, not’ing more. O.K., dees Veeda. I work on dees girl one week. She sing full chest, sound very bad, sound like a man. I change to head tone, sound good, I t’ink, yes, ’ere is a voice. ’Ere is one voice in a million. Den I talk. I talk music, music, music. I tell where she go to learn a sight-read, where learn ’armonia, where learn piano. She laugh, say maybe I ’ave somet’ing she can read by sight. On piano is a Stabat Mater, is ’ard, is tricky, is Rossini, is come in on a second beat, sing against accompaniment t’row a singer all off. I say O.K., ’ere is little t’ing you can read by sight. So I begin to play Inflammatus, from a Rossini Stabat Mater. Madame, dees girl hit a G on a nose, read a whole Inflammatus by sight, step into a C like was not’ing at all — don’t miss one note. I jump up, I say Jesus Christus, where you come from? She laugh like ’ell. Ask is little ’armonia I want done maybe. Den tell about Charl’, and I remember her now. Madame, I spend two hours wit’ dees girl dees afternoon, and find out she know more music than I know. Den I really look dees girl over. I see dees deep chest, dees big bosom, dees ‘igh nose, dees big antrim sinus in front of a face. Den I know what I see. I see what come once in a lifetime only — a great coloratura. I go to work. I give one lesson a day, charge one a week. I bring dees girl along fast, fast. She learn in six mont’ what most singer learn in five year, seven year. Fast, fast, fast. I remember Malibran, was artist at fifteen. I remember Melba, was artist at sixteen. Dees girl, was born wit’ a music in a soul, can go fast as I take. O.K., you ’ear Snack-O-Ham program?”
“Yes, I did.”
“A Polonaise from Mignon, is tough. She sing like Tetrazzini. Oh, no, Madame, is not far from Los Angeles to Belgium for dees girl. Is no good singer. Is great singer. O.K., ask a pipple. Ask a pipple turned in on a Snack-O-Ham.”
Mildred, who had listened to this eulogy as one might listen to soul-nourishing organ music, came to herself with a start, and murmured: “She’s a wonderful girl.”
“No — is a wonderful singer.”
As she looked at him, hurt and puzzled, Mr. Treviso stepped nearer, to make his meaning clear. “Da girl is lousy. She is a bitch. Da singer — is not.”
This seemed to be all, and Mildred got up. “Well — we’re all entitled to our opinion, but I would like it, if you don’t mind, if you’d send your bills hereafter to me—”
“No, Madame.”
“Have you any particular objection?”
“Yes, Madame. I no enjoy a snake bite. You come in ’ere, you try to make me play little part, part in intrigue to get your daughter back—”
“Mr. Treviso, that is your surmise.”
“Is no surmise. For last two weeks, ever since Snack-O-Ham broadcast, dees little bitch ’ave told me a poor dumb mother will try to get ’er back, and a first t’ing she do is come here, offer pay for singing lesson.”
“She—!”
“Yes! Dees girl, she live for two t’ing. One is make a mother feel bad, odder is get back wit’ all a rich pipple she know one time in Pasadena. I tell you, is snake, is bitch, is coloratura. You want Veda back, you see Veda self. I ’ave not’ing to do wit’ dees intrigue. She ask me, I say you not been ’ere at all — any’ow, I no see.”
Mildred was so shaken up by Mr. Treviso’s last revelation, that she wasn’t capable of plans, schemes, or intrigues for the rest of that day. She felt as if she had been caught in some shameful act, and drove herself with work so as not to think about it. But, later that night things began to sort themselves out into little piles. She found some consolation in the certitude that at least Veda wouldn’t know what she had done. And then, presently, she sat up in bed, hot excitement pulsing all through her. At last she knew, from that disclosure of Veda’s desire to get back with the rich Pasadena people, how she would get her, how she would make even a coloratura come grovelling, on her knees.
She would get Veda through Monty.
Chapter 15
Without making any special effort to do so, Mildred had kept track of Monty these last three years, had even had a glimpse of him once or twice, on her way back and forth to Laguna. He was exactly where she had left him: in the ancestral house, trying to sell it. The place, no more saleable, even in its palmiest days, than a white elephant, had a run-down look to it by now. The grass was yellow, from lack of water; across the lawn, in a bleary row, were half a dozen agents’ signs; the iron dogs looked rusty; and one of the pillars, out front, had evidently been hit by a truck, for there was a big chip out of it, with raw brick showing through. However, though she knew where to find him, Mildred didn’t communicate with Monty at once. She went to the bank, opened her safe-deposit box, and made an accurate list of her bonds. She looked at her balances, both checking and savings. She went to Bullock’s, bought a new dress, new hat, new shoes. The dress was simple, but it was dark, and soft. She then called an agent, and without giving her name, got the latest asking price on the Beragon mansion.
All this took two or three days. Just how exact her plan was it would be hard to say. She was wholly feminine, and it seems to be part of the feminine mind that it can tack indefinitely upwind, each tack bearing off at a vague angle, and yet all bearing inexorably on the buoy. Perhaps she herself didn’t quite know how many tacks she would have to make to reach the buoy, which was Veda, not Monty. At any rate, she now sent him a telegram, saying she wanted help in picking a house in Pasadena, and would he be good enough to call her around eight that night, “at the Pie Wagon”?
She was a little nervous that evening, but was as casual when Monty called as though there were no buoys in her life whatever. She explained chattily that she simply had to move soon, to live in some place that was more centrally located; that Pasadena would be most convenient, and would he be good enough to ride around with her, and let her get her bearings before she actually got around to picking out a house? He seemed a little puzzled, but said he would do what he could, and how about calling some agents, so they could ride around too, and show what they had? Agents, she said, were exactly what she wanted to avoid. She could see them any time. What she wanted was to get the feel of a town that he knew a great deal better than she did, perhaps peep at a few places, and get some idea where she wanted to live. Monty said he had no car at the moment, and could she pick him up? She said that was exactly what she wanted to do, and how about the next afternoon at three?