“Is it hard to read music?”
“Well... gee, I don’t know. I suppose in the beginning it is.”
“I wish I were a man. I’d play trumpet if I were a man.”
“Girls play trumpet, too, you know. Woody Herman had a fine trumpet player, a girl named Billie Rogers.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “But the idea of a girl playing trumpet or saxophone or— What’s the thing you push up and down?”
“The trombone?”
“The trombone, the idea is sort of disgusting, isn’t it? I think a girl should play piano, and that’s all.”
“Do you play piano?”
“Oh, no, I was just saying.”
“Bud plays piano,” Andy said. “He’s pretty good.”
“Who’s Bud?”
“I don’t think you met him. He was talking to the dark girl over there.”
“Oh, Helen. Yes, I saw him.”
The conversation suddenly lapsed, as if it were lying down to catch its breath. They circled the floor wordlessly, and he thought, She has a very good face. High cheekbones, and a straight nose, and a full mouth. They did not speak to each other until the record ended. He thanked her for the dance, but she did not release his hand.
“Let’s see if we can find some James records,” she said.
“All right,” he answered.
They walked to the record player, and Reen looked up as they approached.
“Are you in charge of the music?” Andy asked.
“Did you have anything special in mind, sir?” Reen answered, pretending he didn’t know Andy.
“Well, I don’t know. We were hoping you had some James records.”
“James? A trumpet player? All trumpet players stink,” Reen said.
Carol looked up at him, a frown puckering her forehead.
“You don’t belong to the club,” she said pointedly.
“No, I don’t,” Reen said. “Do you?”
“Yes, I do,” she said firmly.
“Congratulations,” Reen answered. “Now then, sir, you said you—”
“Only club members are supposed to handle the records,” Carol said. “Can’t you read the sign?”
“What sign?”
Carol looked at the front of the phonograph where two slivers of transparent tape still hung. “Well, there was a sign,” she said, as if she believed Reen had taken it down.
“Are you looking for trouble?” Reen asked, a sparkle in his eyes. “Are you trying to get me into a fight with your boyfriend?”
Andy caught on instantly. He took a slight step forward, balling his fists. “Now look, fella,” he said, “let’s watch the way we’re talking.”
“Your girlfriend says I can’t handle the records,” Reen said. “Does she know I was once a disk jockey in Kansas City?”
“I don’t care if you—”
“It was me who gave Guy Lombardo his start,” Reen said.
“Watch your language,” Andy said. “There’s a lady present.”
“I’m going to get the president,” Carol said.
“Now just a minute,” Reen said, “just a minute. There’s no need to call in Roosevelt on this. After all—”
“I didn’t mean—” Carol started.
“Are you accusing me of dodging the draft?” Reen asked seriously.
“You’re probably 4-F,” Andy said.
“I am!” Reen bellowed. “And proud of it! My father was 4-F, and his father before him, and my great-great-great-grandfather was a shirker during the Revolutionary War. He later became a general, purely by accident. Perhaps you know his name? Arnold? Benedict Arnold?”
“It sounds familiar,” Andy said, “but don’t drag in your family tree. We’re talking about records here.”
“This is all part of the record,” Reen said.
Carol was beginning to catch on. She looked at Andy suspiciously, and then her eyes narrowed.
“Your family’s record doesn’t interest me,” Andy said. “If you’re trying to cloud the issue by—”
“No one can belittle my family’s issue,” Reen said. “My grandmother had twelve children, all boys, all 4-effers. It’s all on the record.”
“Who issued the record?” Andy wanted to know, seeing the smile form on Carol’s mouth.
“Bluebird,” Reen said. “And later we switched to Decca.”
“Can we switch to Columbia now and get some James stuff?” Andy asked.
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Reen answered. “Who’s your belligerent friend?”
“Carol,” Andy said, “I’d like you to meet Reen.”
“How do you do?” Carol said. “You really had me going for a while.”
“I like to bait pretty girls,” Reen said.
“Why, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Has the Little One been telling you what a great trumpet player he is?”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“Well, he should. He makes James look sick.”
“Oh, come on, Reen,” Andy said.
“He’s modest,” Reen said matter-of-factly. “Truth is he can charm the birds out of the trees with his horn.”
“Orpheus with his lute,” Carol said.
“Huh?” Reen asked. “Oh, oh, yes. ‘Making trees and mountaintops that freeze bow their heads when he did sing.’ I thought I was the only one in the world who knew that.”
Andy didn’t recognize the reference. He stood by while Carol smiled up at Reen, wondering if he were going to lose her after things had started out so well. He did not want to lose her.
“We’re still waiting for some James,” he said.
“‘You Made Me Love You,’” Carol said.
“I kind of like you, too,” Reen answered. He turned his back and began thumbing through the records. “‘Swingin’ on a Star’? How about that?”
“No, thanks,” Andy said.
“‘There Are Such Things’?”
“Nope.”
“‘Pistol-Packin’ Mama’? Ouch! Here’s a James. ‘Mister Five-by-Five.’”
“‘You Made Me Love You,’” Carol insisted.
“All right, all right, all right,” Reen said. “You sure you’ve got the damned record?”
“We’ve got it,” Carol said.
“Ah, here it is,” Reen said. “Get out there on the floor, and I’ll play it.”
“You coming, Andy?” Carol asked.
“Sure,” he said.
They walked to the center of the floor, waiting for the record to begin, Carol standing in the circle of Andy’s arms. When the record started, he dipped automatically, not even listening to the music.