The King of Ragtime (19 page)

Berlin smiled. Actually smiled. Martin gawked. Stark again felt admiration, if grudging. “Yes, I believe you. I grew up on the lower east side. Worked at Nigger Mike’s place.”

Vinny nodded. “Good. Glad you know the system.” He pushed Berlin toward the bench where Hess lay, every muscle exactly where it had been ten minutes earlier. “Go on then. If your friend there ain’t arranged a heart attack for himself, get him up offa the bench and take him home.”

***

For the first time in Robert Miras’ recollection, Berlin didn’t go directly to his piano after his evening’s entertainment. The valet’s eyebrows went up when his employer told him to get a pot of coffee going, and when it was ready, to bring in cups for Mr. Hess and himself. But Miras just said, “Yes, sir,” and went off to carry out the order.

Once the valet was out of the room, Berlin and Hess dropped into facing armchairs, and for a few minutes sat and stared at each other. Finally, Hess broke the silence. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

Berlin nodded. “Sorry you got involved, Cliff. That’s more than I pay you to do.”

Hess waved off the apology. “I offered, didn’t I? Thought maybe two of us would be safer, some joke. We could have had an army there, and it wouldn’t have helped.”

Berlin pounded a fist onto the armrest. “God damn, Cliff! That crazy hayseed and my own bookkeeper, pushing me around like that. What the hell am I going to do?”

Hess thought the question might be rhetorical, but decided to take the plunge. “It sounds like they won’t be satisfied unless you draw up a contract and put on that play. Considering the alternative…”

Berlin moved up to the edge of his chair. Hess thought he could see the nerves in his boss’ face and hands quivering. “How the hell am I supposed to do that when I don’t
have
the goddamn play?”

Hess said nothing.

Berlin’s face went almost purple. Hess began to worry about apoplexy. “Christ Almighty, Cliff—you think I
do
have it, don’t you?”

It’s not beyond the realm of possibility, Hess thought, but he was not about to say that. “Mr. Berlin, if you tell me you don’t, I’ll believe you. Unfortunately, it isn’t me you’ve got to convince.”

At that point, Miras glided into the room, carrying a silver tray with a silver coffee pot and two white china cups. He set the tray down on the table next to Berlin, poured the coffee, gave each man a cup, then left the room, more quickly than usual. Berlin and Hess watched him until he vanished around the corner.

“All right,” Hess said. “Here’s an idea. Tell Stark you did have the manuscript, but you got rid of it.” He paused as Berlin choked on his coffee, then raised his eyes to glare across the top of his cup at his secretary. “No, Mr. Berlin, just listen for a minute. Nothing’s going to satisfy them short of a deal, so give them a deal. Tell them to have Joplin write up a new manuscript, and to show your good faith,
you
draw up a contract to publish and produce the work when Joplin delivers it to you.”

Berlin shook his head. “They’d never go for something like that.”

“Why not? If you’ve agreed in writing to publish and produce that play, they’ll go out of their way to make sure you live to do it.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“I didn’t really think you would, but have you got a better idea?”

“If I do what you say, then where’s it going to stop? Any time Joplin or Stark wants a piece of my hide, I’m going to be looking down the barrel of a gun and hearing about how my teeth are going to be scattered all over Riverside Park.”

“Give Joplin a contract for this play, but put in a clause that it’s a one-time agreement, no more dealings with either him or Stark.”

Berlin sank back into his chair. “I don’t know, Cliff…I just don’t know.” Teeth clenched so firmly, Hess wondered how the words managed to get through. “If I don’t get back to writing music soon, I might as well go see if Nigger Mike’ll take me back on as a singing waiter…” Berlin’s voice trailed off, as if a new idea had intruded into his thoughts. Then he jumped to his feet so suddenly that Hess, without thinking, leaped out of his chair. “Let’s go,” Berlin said. “We’ve got work to do. This is make-or-break for me, and I’m not about to flop.”

Hess was accustomed to abrupt turnarounds from his boss, but he’d never seen one like this.

“I’ll take care of Joplin and Stark tomorrow,” Berlin said. “I’ve got an idea. But I’m not going to waste any more time tonight.” He started to walk out of the room.

Hess considered asking whether Berlin had forgotten about that missing girl, but the secretary was already looking at his boss’ back. All right, Hess thought, it’s your funeral. He’d stay up all night transcribing and arranging. He’d put up with the tantrums that erupted when it became clear that a whole song, a night’s work or more, was unsalvageable. But hell would freeze before he’d ever go out again at night with Irving Berlin.

***

Berlin worked like a man possessed. Hess had never seen the little composer so focused. Every word out of his mouth had to do with the music; no small talk the whole night long. Not a mention of the incident in Riverside Park. Usually, they knocked off by six, seven at the latest, but this morning, Berlin showed no sign of even slowing down. Hess was so full of coffee, he sloshed when he shifted on the bench. Finally, a few minutes past eight, Berlin stretched, yawned, and said, “Okay, Cliff, any more and I’m going to start doing damage. Let’s call it a night.”

Amen, Hess thought, and trotted off in the direction of the bathroom. Berlin watched him all the way down the hall, and when he saw the bathroom door close, he pulled Stark’s business card from his pocket, grabbed the telephone, and asked the operator to connect him.

***

Nell and Stark sat at the breakfast table, she in an unadorned plain, off-white silk blouse and a smart, neatly-fit dark suit, black shoes with sensible heels, her long, dark hair piled up and pinned atop her head. Stark wore a blue and white striped bathrobe, ragged at the ends of the sleeves, and a well-worn pair of slippers. ‘Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without,’ Nell thought. His way. Always was, always will be.

Stark speared a chunk of biscuit, raised it, let gravy drip onto the plate, then gobbled the forkful. “Wonderful breakfast again, Nell. You really do need a meal like this to get started for the day.”

If you’re working on a farm, she thought, but instead said, “You were out late, Dad. I thought you might need a little extra fuel this morning.”

He nodded. “It won’t hurt you, either, my dear. You have a big day ahead of you.” He ran eye tape over her. “And I must say, you’ve presented yourself very well. You’ll have them eating out of your hand, I’m sure.”

No, you’re not, Nell thought, but said, “I hope so. I’ll snoop around, talk to some of the help. Maybe the receptionist and I can go out for lunch. Receptionists know everything that goes on in an office, and I just might get something out of her that the police—”

The telephone bell from the living room cut Nell off. She jumped up and ran to pick it up. “Damn nuisance,” Stark muttered. “A man can’t even eat a meal anymore without having that blasted thing interrupt him.” He jabbed his fork into the biscuit.

Nell called from inside. “Dad, for you.”

Stark swallowed, then pushed away from the table and ratcheted his body to full vertical. He shuffled into the living room, where Nell stood, holding a hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s Irving Berlin.” She held out the telephone.

At this hour? he wondered, then took the instrument. “Hello. John Stark here.”

“Mr. Stark, this is Irving Berlin.”

“I’m surprised, Mr. Berlin. I thought you spent your mornings sleeping.”

“You’re right. When we’re finished talking, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. But I can’t waste any time, can I? What I got to say to you, I want to say now.”

“Well, that’s fine, Mr. Berlin.” Stark winked at Nell. “Should I assume this has to do with our encounter last night.”

“Yeah, well, that was an easy one, wasn’t it? Listen, Mr. Stark, I want to get this thing taken care of. Let’s you and me set up a time, and get together with Scott Joplin. Could we do that?”

“I don’t know. My first question is why you want this meeting. If it’s to have Mr. Joplin there to sign a contract, I’ll certainly say yes. But for any other reason, no. I think we were direct with our requirements last night. A contract, publication, production.”

Silence. Stark waited. When Berlin spoke again, he sounded as if he might be strangling. “Look, Sta…Mr. Stark. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I don’t
have
Joplin’s play and I never did. I’m hoping if I can talk to you and him together, maybe we can figure out what’s really going on.”

“I think what’s really going on is that you’re trying to weasel out of the situation and keep that play for yourself. But it’s not going to work.”

Berlin took a moment to swallow. He didn’t dare let Izzy go off now. “Mr. Stark…all I’m asking is for you to be just a little reasonable. Joplin says he’s sure he gave me his play, and I say I’m sure he didn’t. Why can’t we all talk about it in the same room?”

“We’re not going to do that, Mr. Berlin, and there’s an end to it.”

Stark heard a gulp. “Look, Mr. Stark—”

“Mr. Berlin—”

“No, listen. Please. If you won’t let me talk to Joplin, at least ask him when it was he gave me that music, and where. Then—”

There’s no need of that. He gave you his manuscript at your office, Monday, during lunch hour.”

“Which office? I got two of them. Did he say which one? And
my
lunch hour is at three or four o’clock. Come on, Mr. Stark. Find out from Joplin which office he saw me at, what day, and what time. Then call me back. Would you at least do that?”

Stark cleared his throat. “All right, Mr. Berlin. I’ll talk to Joplin, and get back to you. But don’t forget—”

“I know, I got a deadline.”

“I was going to say that every hour that passes makes me more concerned for that girl’s safety. Whatever you do regarding Joplin’s music will come to nothing if she is not returned safely.”

He heard Berlin gulp. “Okay, I’ll remember that too. You got my number, right?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Berlin, I’ve definitely got your number. You can count on that.”

The telephone was barely back on the hook when Nell said, “What’s he trying to do?”

Stark shook his head. “Squirm out of his dilemma, what else? He wants Joplin to say exactly where and when he gave Berlin his music.”

“And then Berlin will deny he was there.”

“I’m sure. But there just might be another edge to the sword. If we do pin down the particulars, suppose a third party
can
place Berlin there?” He glanced at the clock on the wall above the stove. “I suppose you’d better be off soon. You don’t want to be late your first day. Just be careful. Please.”

Nell shot him an evil grin. “Don’t worry, Dad. Heaven will protect the working girl.”

She started toward the kitchen, but Stark stopped her. “I’ll clean up,” the old man said. “Go to work.”

***

Birdie opened her eyes to bright sunlight, surprise. She felt like she’d slept only a couple of hours, but she and the colored man had broken up the card game a little after eleven, then she’d gone straight off to bed. Not that she’d fallen directly asleep. For at least a couple of hours, every little sound had snapped her eyes open to stare through the darkness toward the door, trying to see whether it might be inching open.

She sat up, looked around. No sign of the man. Had he come in at all during the night to check up on her? She didn’t think he’d tried anything funny, because wouldn’t she have felt it and waked up? But there was that girl in school last year who got in the family way, and swore she’d never been with a man. Once, though, she’d gone walking with a boy in Central Park, and when they stopped to sit for a while under a willow tree, she fell asleep, and thought maybe he’d taken advantage of her. Birdie leaned forward, pulled up her dress, peered underneath. No blood, and her undergarments looked in place. Gingerly, she pressed two fingers against her groin, which told her only that she needed to go to the bathroom.

When she walked out of the bedroom, into the sitting room, there was the colored man, sprawled in an armchair. He grinned. “Thought you was gonna sleep all day.”

She smiled. Except for right after she came out of the chloroform, he’d been really nice. While they played cards through the evening, she’d told him about how she and Martin were going to get married as soon as they could, but she’d go on working because they’d need the money. He’d laughed. “Leastwise, till the babies come, right?” She was sure she’d never blushed so hard in her life. “That’s why I ain’t havin’ no truck with women who want to get married,” the man had said. “Musicians be a fool to go an’ get married, they be on the road so much, an’ even when they’s home, they be workin’ nights. Maybe after I makes a bundle
writin’
music, I can think about gettin’ married. An’ matter of fact, I be on my way already. Some big publisher’s gonna put out two of my tunes.”

A huge yawn vaporized Birdie’s recollection. She tried to cover her mouth, too late. “Oh, I’m sorry. I couldn’t fall asleep last night for the longest time. Getting kidnaped…well, you’ve been nice to me, but it’s still scary.”

Which seemed to upset the man. “Oh, now, I don’t want for you to get scairt. Hey, listen—my boss, he says ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to you, otherwise I wouldn’t a ever done this for him. He says soon’s a couple a bad eggs go down and turn themselves in, then I can open up the door, an’ out you goes.”

Birdie couldn’t imagine that they’d let her walk out the door when she could so easily identify her kidnaper, but decided she’d be foolish to pursue the matter.

“They killed a man, these two guys, then they went on the lam.”

Birdie’s hands started to shake. Two bad eggs who’d killed a man and gone on the lam? Martin and Mr. Joplin? But what could that have to do with her?

The colored man interrupted her thoughts. “You sick or something?”

“No. I’m all right.” Birdie thought frantically. “I guess I’m just hungry, that’s all.”