Willy stood near me, frowning. He kept looking at Rima. He seemed worried about something.
Rima stood by the piano, staring expressionlessly into the smoke laden darkness. She seemed completely at ease.
I began to play.
She came in dead on pitch. She sang the first six or seven bars like a professional. The tone was there.
The sound was pure silver. The rhythm was right.
I was watching her. Then it began to go sour. I saw her face begin to sag. She lost pitch. The tone turned brassy. Then abruptly she stopped singing and she began to sneeze. She leaned forward, sneezing, her hands hiding her face, her body shaking.
There was a horrible silence except for her sneezing. Then a buzz of voices.
I stopped playing, feeling cold chills chasing up and down my spine.
I heard Willy yelling at me: ‘Get that junky out of here! What the hell do you mean bringing a hop head into my place! Get her out! You hear me? Get this damned junky out of here!’
CHAPTER THREE
I
Rima lay on her bed, her face half hidden by the pillow, her body shaking, and every now and then she sneezed.
I stood at the foot of the bed and watched her.
I should have known, I told myself. I should have recognised the symptoms. It just hadn’t occurred to me that she was a junky, although the writing was up on the wall that night when I had heard her sneezing by the hour.
Willy Floyd had been mad at me. Before he had thrown us out, he had told me if I ever showed my face inside his club again he’d get his bouncer to fix me, and he meant it.
I had had a hell of a time getting Rima back to her room. She was in such a state I hadn’t dared to take her in a street car. I had had to half carry her, half drag her through the back alleys until I had got her to her room.
She was quietening down now.
I watched and I felt pretty sick.
I had lost my job with Rusty and I had got in bad with Willy Floyd. All I had got out of the evening was a drug addict in my hair.
I should have packed my bag and walked out on her. I wished I had, but I kept hearing that silver voice of hers, knowing that it could make a fortune, that I had her under contract and some of the fortune could be mine.
Suddenly she rolled over and stared at me.
‘I warned you,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Now get out of here and leave me alone!’
‘Okay, you warned me,’ I said, resting my arms on the bedrail and staring back at her. ‘But you didn’t tell me what was wrong. How long have you been on the stuff?’
‘Three years. I’ve got the habit.’ She sat up and taking out her handkerchief, she began to mop her eyes. She looked as romantic as a dirty bath towel.
‘Three years? How old are you then?’
‘Eighteen. What’s it to you how old I am?’
‘You started on the stuff when you were fifteen?’ I said, horrified.
‘Oh, shut up!’
‘Did Wilbur feed you the stuff?’
‘What if he did?’ She blew her nose. ‘Do you want me to sing? Do you want me to be a big success?
If you do, give me some money. When I’ve had a big enough shot, I’m wonderful. You haven’t heard anything yet. Give me some money. That’s all I want.’
I sat on the edge of the bed.
‘Talk sense. I haven’t any money. If I had, I wouldn’t give it to you. Listen, with that voice of yours, you could go places. I know it. I’m sure of it. We’re going to get you a cure. Then when the habit’s broken, you’ll be okay and in the money.’
‘That’s stale news. It doesn’t work. Give me some money. Five dollars will do. I know a guy…’
‘You’re going to a hospital…’
She sneered at me.
‘Hospital? They’re full up with junkies like me, and they don’t cure you anyway. I’ve been to hospital. Give me five dollars. I’ll sing for you. I’ll be terrific. Just give me five dollars.’
I couldn’t take any more of it. The look in her eyes sickened me. I had had all I wanted for one night.
I made for the door.
‘Where are you going?’ she demanded.
‘I’m going to bed. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about it. I’ve had enough for tonight.’
I went into my room and locked the door.
I couldn’t sleep. Soon after two o’clock I heard her door open and I heard her tip-toe down the passage. Right then I didn’t care if she had jacked and gone. I had had as much of her as I could take for one night.
Around ten o’clock the next morning, I got up, dressed, and went to her room, opened the door and looked in.
She was in bed, sleeping. I had only to look at her relaxed expression to know she had got a shot from somewhere. She looked pretty, with her silver hair spread out on the pillow: pretty, without that awful, scraped bony look. Somehow, she had found a sucker to part with his money.
I closed the door and went down and out into the sunshine. I walked over to Rusty’s bar.
Rusty looked surprised when he saw me come in.
‘I want to talk to you,’ I said. ‘This is serious, Rusty.’
‘Okay: talk away. What is it?’
‘This girl can sing. She has a fortune in her voice. I have her under contract. This could be my big chance, Rusty. She really could make a fortune.’
Rusty studied me, puzzled.
‘Okay. Where’s the catch? If she could, why hasn’t she?’
‘She’s a junky.’
Rusty’s face wrinkled in disgust.
‘So?’
‘I’ve got to get her cured. Who do I go to? What do I do?’
‘You’re asking me what to do? I’ll tell you.’ He poked my chest with a finger the size of a banana.
‘You get rid of her, and you get rid of her fast. You can’t do a thing with a junky, Jeff. I know: I’m telling you. Okay, the quacks claim they can cure them, but for how long? A month, maybe two months, maybe even three months, then the peddlers smell them out and sell them the stuff and they start all over again. Listen, son, I like you and I’m interested in you. You have brains and education. Don’t mix yourself up with trash. A girl like her isn’t worth bothering about. Never mind if she can sing. Get rid of her. All she’ll ever bring you is grief.’
I wish I had listened to him. He was right, but nobody would have convinced me at that time. I was sure she had a fortune in her voice. All I had to do was to get her cured, and the money would roll in. I was sure of it.
‘Who do I take her to, Rusty? Do you know anyone who could cure her?’
Rusty ran the back of his hand under his nose: a gesture that showed his irritation.
‘Cure her? No one can cure her! What’s the matter with you? Are you crazy?’
I held onto my temper. This was important to me. If I could get her cured, she would be a gold mine. I knew it. I was absolutely sure of it.
‘You’ve been around, Rusty. You get to hear things. Who’s the guy who really fixes these junkies?
There must be someone. The movie world is crammed with junkies. They get cured. Who’s the guy who fixes them?’
Rusty rubbed the back of his neck, scowling.
‘Sure, but those folk have money. A cure costs money. There is a guy, but from what I hear he costs plenty.’
‘Well, okay, maybe I can borrow the money. I’ve got to get her cured. Who is he?’
‘Dr. Klinzi,’ Rusty said. He suddenly grinned. ‘You’re killing me. He’s way out of your class, but he’s the boy. He’s the one who cured Mona Gissing and Frankie Ledder,’ naming two of Pacific Studio’s biggest stars. ‘They were muggle smokers, but he fixed them.’
‘Where do I find him?’
‘He’s in the book,’ Rusty said. ‘Look, Jeff, you’re making a fool of yourself. This guy costs the earth.’