The Complete Crime Stories

  “As a mule.”

  “Let’s go somewhere.”

  “All right.”

  We went to a night club. It had a dance floor, and tables around that, and booths around the wall. We took a booth. We ordered a steak for two, and then she ordered some red burgundy to go with it, and sherry to start. That was unusual with her. She’s like most singers. She’ll give you a drink, but she doesn’t take much herself. She saw me look at her. “I want something. I—want to celebrate.”

  “O. K. with me. Plenty all right.”

  “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  “I enjoyed the final curtain.”

  “Didn’t you enjoy the applause after the O Mimi duet? It brought down the house.”

  “It was all right.”

  “Is that all you have to say about it?”

  “I liked it fine.”

  “You mean you really liked it?”

  “Yeah, I hate to admit it, but I really liked it. That was the prettiest music I heard all night.”

  The sherry came and we raised our glasses, clinked, and had a sip. “Leonard, I love it.”

  “You’re better at it than in concert.”

  “You’re telling me? I hate concerts. But opera—I just love it, and if you ever hear me saying again that I don’t want to be a singer, you’ll know I’m temporarily insane. I love it, I love everything about it, the smell, the fights, the high notes, the low notes, the applause, the curtain calls—everything.”

  “You must feel good tonight.”

  “I do. Do you?”

  “I feel all right.”

  “Is it—the way you thought it would be?”

  “I never thought.”

  “Not even—just a little bit?”

  “You mean, that it’s nice, and silly, and cock-eyed, that I should be here with you, and that I should be an opera singer, when all God intended me for was a dumb contractor, and that it’s a big joke that came off just the way you hoped it would, and I never believed it would, and—something like that?”

  “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

  “Then yes.”

  “Let’s dance.”

  We danced, and I held her close, and smelled her hair, and she nestled it up against my face. “It’s gay, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m almost happy, Leonard.”

  “Me too.”

  “Let’s go back to our little booth. I want to be kissed.”

  So we went back to the booth, and she got kissed, and we laughed about the way I had hid from Mario, and drank the wine, and ate steak. I had to cut the steak left-handed, so I wouldn’t joggle her head, where it seemed to be parked on my right shoulder.

  We stayed a second week in Chicago, and I did my three operas over again, and then we played a week in the Music Hall in Cleveland, and then another week in Murat’s Theatre, Indianapolis. Then Cecil’s contract was up, and it was time for her to go back and get ready for the Metropolitan.

  The Saturday matinee in Indianapolis was Faust. I met Cecil in the main dining room that morning, around ten o’clock, for breakfast, and while we were eating Rossi came over and sat down. He didn’t have much to say. He kept asking the waiter if any call had come for him, and bit his fingernails, and pretty soon it came out that the guy that was to sing Wagner that afternoon couldn’t come to the theatre, on account of unfortunately being in jail on a traffic charge, and that Rossi was waiting to find out if some singer in Chicago could come down and do it. His call came through, and when he came back he said his man was tied up. That meant somebody from the chorus would have to do it, and that wasn’t so good. And then Cecil popped out: “Well what are we talking about, with him sitting here. Here, baby. Here’s my key, there’s a score up in my room; you can just hike yourself up there and learn it.”

  “What? Learn it in one morning and then sing it?”

  “There’s only a few pages of it. Now. Go.”

  “Faust is in French, isn’t it?”

  “Oh damn. He doesn’t sing French.”

  But Rossi fixed that part up. He had a score in Italian, and I was to learn it in that and sing it in that, with the rest of them singing French. So the next thing I knew I was up there in my room with a score, and by one o’clock I had it learned, and by two o’clock Rossi had given me the business, and by three o’clock I was in a costume they dug up, out there doing it. That made more impression on them than anything I had done yet. You see, they don’t pay much attention to a guy that knows three roles, all coached up by heart. They know all about them. But a guy that can get a role up quick, and go out there and do it, even if he makes a few mistakes, that guy can really be some use around an opera company. Rossi came to my dressing room after I finished Traviata that night and offered me a contract for the rest of the season. He said Mr. Mario was very pleased with me, especially the way I had gone on in Wagner, and was willing to work with me so I could get up more leading roles and thought I would fit in all right with their plans. He offered me $150 a week, $25 more than I had been getting. I thanked him, thanked Mr. Mario for the interest he had taken in me, thanked all the others for a pleasant association with them, and said no. He came up to $175. I still said no. He came up to $200. I still said no and asked him not to bid any higher, as it wasn’t a question of money. He couldn’t figure it out, but after a while we shook hands and that was that.

  That night she and I ate in a quiet little place we had found, and at midnight we were practically the only customers. After we ordered she said: “Did Rossi speak to you?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Did he offer $150? He said he would.”

  “He came up to $200, as a matter of fact.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said no.”

  “… Why?”

  “What the hell? I’m no singer. What would I be trailing around with this outfit for after you’re gone?”

  “They play Baltimore, Philadelphia, Boston, and Pittsburgh before they swing West. I could visit you week-ends, maybe oftener than that. I—I might even make a flying trip out to the Coast.”

  “I’m not the type.”

  “Who is the type? Leonard, let me ask you something. Is it just because his $200 a week looks like chicken-feed to you? Is it because a big contractor makes a lot more than that?”

  “Sometimes he does. Right now he doesn’t make a dime.”

  “If that’s what it is, you’re making a mistake, no matter what a big contractor makes. Leonard, everything has come out the way I said it would, hasn’t it? Now listen to me. With that voice, you can make money that a big contractor never even heard of. After just one season with the American Scala Opera Company, the Metropolitan will grab you sure. It isn’t everybody that can sing with the American Scala. Their standards are terribly high, and very well the Metropolitan knows it, and they’ve raided plenty of Scala singers already. Once you’re in the Metropolitan, there’s the radio, the phonograph, concert, moving pictures. Leonard, you can be rich. You—you can’t help it.”

  “Contracting’s my trade.”

  “All this—doesn’t it mean anything to you?”

  “Yeah, for a gag. But not what you mean.”

  “And in addition to the money, there’s fame—”

  “Don’t want it.”

  She sat there, and I saw her eyes begin to look wet. “Oh, why don’t we both tell the truth? You want to get back to New York—for what’s waiting for you in New York. And I—I don’t want you ever to go there again.”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  “Yes it is. I’m doing just exactly the opposite of what I thought I was doing when we started all this. I thought I would be the good fairy, and bring you and her together again. And now, what am I doing? I’m trying to take you away from her. Something I’d hate any ot
her woman for, and now—I might as well tell the truth. I’m just a—home-wrecker.”

  She looked comic as she said it, and I laughed and she laughed. Then she started to cry. I hadn’t heard one word from Doris since I left New York. I had wired her every hotel I had stopped at, and you would think she might have sent me a postcard. There wasn’t even that. I sat there, watching Cecil, and trying to let her be a home-wrecker, as she called it. I knew she was swell, I respected everything about her, I didn’t have to be told she’d go through hell for me. I tried to feel I was in love with her, so I could say to hell with New York, let’s both stay with this outfit and let the rest go hang. I couldn’t. And then the next thing I knew I was crying too.

  7

  We hit New York Monday morning, but there was a freight wreck ahead of us, so we were late, and didn’t get into Grand Central until ten o’clock. She and I didn’t go up the ramp together. I had wired Doris, so I went on ahead, but a fat chance there would be anybody there, so when nobody showed I put Cecil in a cab. We acted like I was just putting her in a cab. I said I’d call her up, she said yes, please do, we waved goodbye, and that was all. I went back and sent the trunk down to the office, then got in a cab with my bag and went on up. On the way, I kept thinking what I was going to say. I had been away six weeks, and what had kept me that long? On the Rochester part, I had it down pat. There had been stuff in the papers about grade-crossing elimination up there, and I went up to see if we could bid on the concrete. But what was I doing in those other places? The best I could think of was that I had taken a swing around to look at “conditions,” whatever they were, and it sounded fishy, but I didn’t know anything else.

  When I got home I let myself in, carried my grip, and called to Doris. There was no answer. I went out in the kitchen, and there was nobody there. I took my grip upstairs, called to Doris again, knocked on the door of the bedroom. Still there was no answer. I went in. The bed was all made up, the room was in order, and no Doris. The room being in order, though, that didn’t prove anything, even at that time of day. Her room was always in order. I took the bag in the nursery, set it down, went out in the hall again, let out a couple more hallo’s. Still nothing happened.

  I went downstairs, began to get nervous. I wondered if she had walked out on me for good, and taken the children with her, but the house didn’t smell like it had been locked up or anything like that. About eleven o’clock Nils came home. He was the houseman. He had been out taking the children to school, he said, and buying some stuff at a market. He said he was glad to see me back, and I shook hands with him, and asked for Christine. Christine is his wife, and does the cooking, and in between acts as maid to Doris and nurse to the children. He said Christine had gone with Mrs. Borland. He acted like I must know all about it, and I hated to show I didn’t, so I said oh, of course, and he went on back to the kitchen.

  About a quarter to twelve the phone rang. It was Lorentz. “Borland, you’d better come down and get your wife.”

  “… What’s the matter?”

  “I’ll tell you.”

  “Where is she?”

  “The Cathedral Theatre. Come to the stage door. I’m at the theatre now. I’ll meet you and take you to her.”

  I had a glimmer, then, of what was going on. I went out, grabbed a cab, and hustled down there. He met me outside, took me in, and showed me a dressing room. I rapped on the door and went in. She was on a couch, and a theatre nurse was with her, and Christine. She was in an awful state. She had on some kind of theatrical looking dress with shiny things on it, and her face was all twisted, and her hands were clenching and unclenching, and I didn’t need anybody to tell me she was giving everything she had to fight back hysteria. When she saw me it broke. She cried, and stiffened on the couch, and then kept doubling up in convulsive jerks, where she was fighting for control, and turning away, so I couldn’t see her face. The nurse took me by the arm. “It’ll be better if you wait outside. Give me a few more minutes with her, and I’ll have her in shape to be moved.”

  I went out in the corridor with Lorentz. “What’s this about?”

  “She got the bird.”

  “Oh.”

  There it was again, this thing that Cecil had said if I ever heard I’d never forget. I still didn’t know what it was, but that wasn’t what I was thinking about. “She sang here, then?”

  “It didn’t get that far. She went out there to sing. Then they let her have it. It was murder.”

  “Just didn’t like her, hey?”

  “She got too much of a build-up. In the papers.”

  “I haven’t seen the papers. I’ve been away.”

  “Yeah, I know. Socialite embraces stage career, that kind of stuff. It was all wrong, and they were ready for her. Just one of those nice morning crowds in a big four-a-day picture house. They didn’t even let her open her mouth. By the time I got to the piano the stage manager had to ring down. The curtain dropped in front of her, the orchestra played, and they started the newsreel. I never saw anything like it.”

  He stood there and smoked, I stood there and smoked, and then I began to get sore. “It would seem to me you would have had more sense than to put her on here.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Oh, you did your part.”

  “I pleaded with her not to do it. Listen, Borland, I’m not kidded about Doris, and I don’t think you are either. She can’t sing for buttons. She can’t even get on the set before they’ve got her number. I tried my best to head her off. I told her she wasn’t ready for it, that she ought to wait, that it wasn’t her kind of a show. I even went to Leighton. I scared him, but not enough. You try to stop Doris when she gets set on something.”

  “Couldn’t you tell her the truth?”

  “Could you?”

  That stopped me, but I was still sore. “Maybe not. But you started this, just the same. If you knew all this, what did you egg her on for? You’re the one that’s been giving her lessons, from ’way back, and telling her how good she is, and—”

  “All right, Borland, granted. And I think you know all about that too. I’m in love with your wife. And if egging her on is what makes her like me, I’m human. Yeah, I trade on her weakness.”

  “I’ve socked guys for less than that.”

  “Go ahead, if it does you any good. I’ve about got to the point where a sock, that would be just one more thing. If you think being chief lackey to Doris is a little bit of heaven, you try it—or maybe you have tried it. This finishes me with her, if that interests you. Not because I started it. Not because I egged her on. No—but I saw it. I was there, and saw them nail her to the cross, and rip her clothes off, and throw rotten eggs at her, and ask her how the vinegar tasted, and all the rest of it. That she’ll never forgive me for. But why sock? You’re married to her, aren’t you? What more do you want?”

  He walked off and left me. I found a pay phone, put in a call for a private ambulance. When it came I went in the dressing room again. Doris was up, and Christine was helping her into her fur coat. She was over the hysteria, but she looked like something broken and shrunken. I carried her to the ambulance, put her in it, made her lie down. Christine got in. We started off.

  I carried her upstairs and undressed her, and put her to bed, and called a doctor. Undressing Doris is like pulling the petals off a flower, and a catch kept coming in my throat over how soft she was, and how beautiful she was, and how she wilted into the bed. When the doctor came he said she had to be absolutely quiet, and gave her some pills to make her sleep. He left, and I closed the door, and sat down beside the bed. She put her hand in mine. “Leonard.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m no good.”

  “How do you know? From what Lorentz said, they didn’t even give you a chance to find out.”

  “I’m no good.”

  “A morning show in a picture house—”


  “A picture house, a vaudeville house, an opera house, Carnegie Hall—it’s all the same. They’re out there, and it’s up to you. I’m just a punk that’s been a headache to everybody she knows, and that’s got wise to herself at last. I’ve got voice, figure, looks—everything but what it takes. Isn’t that funny? Everything but what it takes.”

  “For me, you’ve got everything it takes.”

  “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “How would I know?”

  “You knew. You knew all the time. I’ve been just rotten to you, Leonard. All because you opposed my so-called career.”

  “I didn’t oppose it.”

  “No, but you didn’t believe in it. That was what made me so furious. You were willing to let me do whatever I wanted to do, but you wouldn’t believe I could sing. I hated you for it.”

  “Only for that?”

  “Only for that. Oh, you mean Hugo, and Leighton, and all my other official hand-kissers? Don’t be silly. I had to tease you a little, didn’t I? But that only showed I cared whether you cared.”

  “Then you do care?”

  “What do you think?”

  She took my head in her hands, and kissed my eyes, and my brow, and my cheeks, like I was something too holy for her to be worthy to touch, and I was so happy I couldn’t even talk. I sat there a long time, my head against hers, while she held my hand against her cheek, and now and then kissed it. “… The pills are working.”

  “You want to sleep?”

  “No, I don’t want to. I could stay this way forever. But I’m going to. I can’t help it.”

  “I’ll leave you.”

  “Kiss me.”

  I kissed her, and she put her arms around me, and sighed a sleepy little sigh. Then she smiled, and I tip-toed out, and I think she was asleep before I got to the door.

  I had a bite to eat, went down to the office, checked on the trunk, had a look at what mail there was, and raised the windows to let a little air in the place. Then I sat down at the desk, hooked my heels on the top, and tried to keep my head from swimming till it would be time to go back to Doris. I was so excited I wanted to laugh all the time, but a cold feeling began to creep up my back, and pretty soon I couldn’t fight it off any more. It was about Cecil. I had to see her, I knew that. I had to put it on the line, how I felt about Doris, and how she felt about me, and there couldn’t be but one answer to that. Cecil and I, we would have to break. I tried to tell myself she wouldn’t expect to see me for a day or so, that it would be better to let her get started on her new work, that if I just let things go along, she would make the move anyway. It was no good. I had to see her, and I couldn’t stall. I walked around to her hotel. I went past it once, turned around and walked past it again. Then I came back and went in.