Whistling in the Dark Read online

  He wanted to burn off the headache and miserable rumbling in his insides. It had been a while since he'd felt so sick after drinking. Champagne didn't sit well and he had a feeling Sutton wouldn't wake in much better shape. He couldn't be much of a drinker, poor kid, to end up in the wrong bed...

  Jack held on to that thought as he looked at his tired reflection in the bathroom mirror. The dressing gown he wore was Sutton's. Putting down his razor, he forced himself to Sutton's door and peered into the room. The bed was unmade. Which meant Sutton had gone to bed, then left it to come to Jack's bed in the middle of the night. That spurred the missing memory. He vaguely recalled seeing Sutton from a familiar vantage point on the floor, the same spot where he once in a while saw Harry first thing in the morning. Sometimes from the depths of the tub, sometimes behind the sofa--and there was the time Harry had hauled him out from under blankets and sheets on the fire escape. He still remembered the grim worry in Harry's face and the fierce argument they'd had over whether it was safe for Jack to live alone.

  In the end, Jack had kept his freedom, even though it meant Harry and Ox took turns checking on him night and day. As much as he appreciated their worry, he hated the constant invasion. Even worse was trying to explain it to the fellows he occasionally brought home. The handful of people who'd seen him in those moments when his nerves got the better of him usually hadn't been interested in seeing him again. What the hell, that made it easier to keep from getting too involved with some of them. But he didn't want to think he'd already scared off Sutton. Aside from the predictable attraction, he needed Sutton if the business was going to survive--and he had to admit he liked having Sutton around.

  Steadier after a bath, Jack tried his hand at breakfast. Maybe Sutton had not been all that bothered by whatever he'd seen last night. He had stayed, so he must not have been afraid that Jack was insane. Not insane--just a coward. Plenty of people saw it that way. Jack personally preferred to be thought of as insane. But the crux of the matter was that whatever Sutton had thought, he'd stayed...

  Perhaps just having fallen asleep debating whether to lock Jack in the bedroom and call for a wagon from Bellevue.

  Jack gave up stirring the pasty oatmeal. Leaving it on the stove, he went to his room and rapped lightly on the door. "Hey, Mabel. Breakfast is up. Assuming you can keep anything down."

  It took another couple of taps to get Sutton to emerge from the blankets. His eyes were screwed shut and his grimace made Jack's face hurt in sympathy.

  "Oh, God." His voice was plaintive and hoarse. "Was I hit by a bus?"

  Despite his lingering worry, Jack had to laugh. "You're the one who keeps to the sidewalks, remember? Go wash up. You'll feel better."

  Sutton went, while Jack nibbled half-heartedly on toast and hoped Sutton had forgotten as much as he seemed to. But when he appeared--looking steadier, himself--and sat at the table across from Jack, the hesitancy in his manner was all too familiar. Jack decided to spare them both and jumped in before Sutton could tiptoe around the subject.

  "About last night--" He paused at Sutton's faint smile.

  "You should have warned me?"

  Jack pushed his spoon into now-cold oatmeal. "I should have, yeah. Harry'll put you up and his place is a whole lot cleaner than mine--"

  "Wait a minute. You're not kicking your piano player out into the street?"

  His tone was teasing, but Jack couldn't meet his gaze. "Well, I just thought it'd be easier--" If Sutton would have just made it easier by agreeing to go. Jack pushed the spoon deeper into the oatmeal and left it there. He was never eating oatmeal again. "We don't have to dance around this, all right? Stay or go. Suit yourself. There'll be no hard feelings."

  "It's my decision?" Sutton asked, mild as ever. He sipped the coffee, then coughed. "What in the world--"

  "Oh, sorry. I put in a little gin." A smile crept up on him and he met Sutton's gaze. "I thought it would help with the headaches."

  Sutton set the cup aside and studied the oatmeal with even less enthusiasm. "I will stay on one condition. You do not cook breakfast ever again."

  Jack rolled his eyes. "If you hadn't been so long in the bath--"

  "You can't blame me. I find it hard to believe this was ever edible." He looked pointedly at Jack's untouched bowl.

  Jack felt his stomach unknot a little and figured it wasn't entirely the champagne after all. He was relieved--hell, he was glad Sutton had decided to stay. If that decision had been made partly in pity, he couldn't see it. "Let's go downstairs and beg Es to feed us."

  After wheedling breakfast from Esther, they found Harry just opening for the day. Sutton went straightaway to the piano to practice and by the time both he and the radio were warmed up, he'd drawn an audience from the day's first shoppers. Jack warned them with a finger to his lips to hold their applause. At the microphone, he introduced Sutton and, stepping away, gave him an encouraging grin.

  Sutton's shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, and he played. The music cast the same spell as before, taking him someplace wonderful. His audience followed with wistful smiles. Jack let himself trail after, part of his attention tuned to the glow of vacuum tubes and flow of current.

  At the end of their first hour, he signed off and nearly jumped out of his skin at the spontaneous burst of applause. It tickled Jack to see Sutton acknowledge it with a bashful nod before vanishing into the storeroom. Jack found him at the sink with dripping fingers pressed to his forehead. "You all right?"

  Sutton patted his forehead dry with his sleeve. "I didn't think I could do that again." He stopped breathlessly and his grin came out of the blue, lighting every corner of his face. "They liked it, don't you think?"

  Jack hadn't really considered how much the performance might mean to Sutton. Seeing the delight in Sutton's eyes, he felt an unexpected elation, himself. "Hell, yes. They loved it. Would they stand around this joint an entire hour if they didn't?"

  Harry leaned through the doorway. "Jack, get in here and take care of the telephone calls, will you? We've had six in the past ten minutes."

  Jack stared at him. "About the program?"

  "Well, they ain't about the price of kewpies."

  Sutton returned to the piano and Jack dashed into the office, Harry following, just as the telephone rang again. When the caller asked for a list of the records Jack had played over the ether, Jack almost laughed aloud. "That was a live performance. Come and see it for yourself." He gave out the address and, hanging up, dropped into a chair. "Can you believe it?"

  Harry leaned elbows on the open ledger before him, gaze going distant as a sunny melody filled the place. "Yeah, he's good."

  Something in Harry's voice gave Jack pause. "How good?"

  Harry shrugged. "We've only heard him play a few rags. Who knows how well he can pound out the stuff they play at Carnegie."

  Jack, listening, wondered what they played at Carnegie that could possibly sound better.

  Harry smiled. "I think you've got customers, Mr. Bailey."

  Amazingly, he did.

  - - -

  By eight, tired from the first full day of selling he could recall since springtime, Jack reluctantly turned the sign in the window and locked the door. He handed the receipts over to Harry, set up for the evening program, and let Sutton run with it. Presiding from his perch on the workbench, he watched with some amusement as nine o'clock came and Sutton kept playing. When the tune ended, Jack tossed a wad of paper at the blond head bent over the keyboard. Roused to the present, Sutton hastily withdrew his hands and waited while Jack bid their listeners good-night and switched off the current. "Jack, I'm sorry. I didn't realize--"

  "You don't have to." Jack handed him his coat and hat. "You just play. I'll wake you when the hour's over."

  "Ox and Harry? They've gone?"

  "Harry plays poker Friday nights. Ox is taking his dad to a picture show." Jack waved him out and locked the door. "Oh, I forgot. Here's a key to the apartment. And one thing we need to be clear
about. If I have any overnight guests, I'll leave a note to give you fair warning. It would be good if you'd do the same for me," he added, with a clarifying wink.

  "Oh." Sutton ducked his head with the pretense of putting on his hat. "Yes, of course."

  Jack turned his collar against the cold and to hide his amusement. "Thanks." He stepped off the curb.

  "Aren't you going to dinner?"

  Jack turned, still walking. "I'll get a bite later. I can't stomach Ida's Friday specials." He made a face. "Corned beef hash. As if we haven't choked down enough of that in the past couple of years."

  Sutton looked as though he intended to say something more, but Jack gave him a farewell wave and turned to trot to the opposite sidewalk while the road was clear. He had introduced Sutton to a few people at Theo's party and offered him a taste of the fun to be had in New York after dark, but he wasn't about to give up his evenings to play host or tour guide. He had plans in mind that didn't involve a sedate night at the opera.

  He wound his way to the club and, after the show, invited Theo to come for a steam. Agreeing that it was too chilly to parade themselves in the park, Theo joined him in the warm fog at the baths and amid the clanking of pipes, kept up a steady conversation that nearly managed to distract Jack from his own busy thoughts. He more than half-wished now that he had gathered up Sutton, Harry, Esther, and Ox to go out for a celebratory supper. They'd made a good start toward saving the emporium and he fairly percolated with ideas to push it along. The usual Friday night tramp about town didn't seem as flavorful, in contrast.

  When Theo wandered away with a tall, tattooed redhead, Jack found a quiet room with a cot, where only a faint light coming through the overhead mesh disturbed the comfortable gloom. Intending to steal a nap, he spent a half hour musing over the events of the past few days, until a hand on his shoulder brought him back to earth. It was someone he'd seen around before, though no names had been exchanged. Friendly blue eyes offered a little uncomplicated fun--and Jack, never averse to fun, made room for him on the cot. Warm hands coursed the damp contours of his body, but he turned from the lips seeking his, not in the frame of mind for that sort of intimacy. The lips explored agreeably elsewhere and he returned the favor. But as a distraction, it worked only slightly better than Theo's cheerful chatter.

  Afterward, he waited at the pool for Theo and they wandered back up Broadway to the automat. Chilled to the bone, Jack went for coffee first. Hot cup in hand, he patted the lion's head spigot appreciatively before turning his attention to the rows of cubbied plates. Ham and cheese enticed from behind the glass and Jack bought two sandwiches just in case one would not suffice. He ventured into the sea of crowded tables and found Theo in a corner spot with only a cup of coffee before him. "Aren't you eating?"

  "Well, I suppose I can't be so ill-mannered to sit here without at least a slice of pie." Theo leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Can you loan me five cents?"

  "Why didn't you say so, you idiot?" Jack gave him a dime. "Bring me a piece too, will you?"

  Theo, returning with pie, dropped into his chair with an exclamation of disgust. "That evil-tempered old Peabody is throwing nickels tonight. We'll have to behave or she'll have the police after us again. Busybody, the Lord should have named her. You don't suppose if we found her a man of her own, she'd boss him to death and spare the rest of us?"

  Jack, smiling, pushed one of the sandwiches toward him and received a grateful look. Cheerier, Theo poured a spoonful of sugar into his coffee. "Speaking of busybodies, Bill's getting married to one of them next week. A woman, I mean. Can you believe it? We're throwing him a wake on Sunday, if you care to come."

  "Decided to suppress his vices?"

  "For the time being. Oh, and bring your lovely foundling with you."

  "Sutton? I'm not so sure you want me to do that."

  "Why ever not? He seems to like a bit of fun."

  "He's from Kansas," Jack said, yawning.

  "And what's wrong with Kansas? They do turn out fellows who know how to kiss," Theo said with a sly smile. "Heavens, Jack, if you don't want him, I'll take him off your hands. What does he like? Coin-collecting? Mountain-climbing? I'm flexible."

  Jack shook his head. "How the hell should I know? Opera, I guess. Piano. Watching the wheat grow."

  "Sorghum, isn't it? Anyway, the opera can be jolly. All sorts of assignations and the occasional colorful demise." Theo took another spoonful of sugar. "And piano--oh yes. Sutton's quite the superb pianist."

  Jack studiously stirred his own coffee. "You think so?"

  "Jack." Theo's gaze narrowed shrewdly. "Jackie. Jackest of Jacks. Oh, you do like him."

  Jack groaned. "For God's sake."

  Theo bounced on the chair. "You like him!" He leaned in. "You really haven't gone to bed with him?"

  "Do you go to bed with every--" Jack caught the green sparkle under Theo's pale lashes. "Never mind. Anyway, I learned my lesson after Lewis--"

  "Oh, my dear, you take his wounded dramatics much too seriously."

  Jack shrugged. "He can put on a show, but I know he doesn't really expect anything more from me. Not the way someone like Sutton would." Which would make him feel far worse when everything fell apart, as of late it seemed to do.

  "But you like the boy," Theo said softly. "I know I'm a hopeless romantic, but I think there's someone for everyone. Even us."

  "You're right," Jack said. "You are hopeless."

  "You're impossible." Having scraped the apple out of the pie shell, Theo proceeded to eat the shell first. "By the way, I did invite Lewis to the wake. But you mustn't avoid my parties. He can be an absolute stick, I know, but he always brings a few bottles of something nice. And it's getting dearer every day. I think this is the first time I've ever dreaded New Year's."

  "Better buy yourself a still while there are some left in the shops." Jack held back a yawn, making his jaw ache, but Theo saw through it.

  "You need to get some sleep, love."

  "Yeah. Remind me how it works again. I think I've forgotten."

  "Go home and ask that handsome laddie to sing you a lullaby," Theo said. "Did I show you my new scarf? I've finally gotten the trick of those knitting needles." He peeled back his coat to show off the greens and golds nestled around his throat.

  "Beautiful. You'll be thrown out of only the best places." A lullaby. Sutton had played one for him, and Jack could still hear the strains of it, soft and sweet--as sweet as Sutton was, himself.

  A gentle tap on his shin woke him to Theo's knowing smile. "Let's go. I'll walk you home."

  "You don't need to walk me," Jack said. "You've got far enough to go, yourself."

  "No one's going to pester me unless I want them to." He gave Jack a peek at the Colt .32 automatic under his coat.

  "Christ, Theo. You know how to use that thing?"

  "Are you serious? My mother taught me as soon as I could lift it."

  After they parted, Jack meandered through the shadows toward home. Friday nights usually saw him home well past four, and tired enough to fall on his pillow and go immediately to sleep. Now he felt a vexing combination of weariness and restlessness, neither of which would yield to the other long enough for him to know what to do with himself.

  The apartment was too dark, too quiet. He figured Sutton had long since gone to bed. Then the door at the end of the hall opened. Jack didn't like anyone waiting up for him. But judging by the pajamas, tousled hair, and sleepy smile, Sutton hadn't.

  "You're home." Sutton peered toward the end of the hall. "You're alone?" When Jack nodded, he frowned. "Not because I'm here? You needn't disrupt your usual--eh--habits. I'm not at all uncomfortable with--well, what I mean is--I don't mind if you--" Even out of the light, the sudden color in his cheeks was evident. He exhaled, an exasperated sound. "So you see."

  Jack folded his arms and made himself comfortable against the door jamb. "You know, I'm not sure I do. Could you be a little more specific?"

  A trace of humor flashed
behind the vexation. "Good night, Jack," he said before vanishing back into his room.

  When Jack crawled into bed, he was still laughing.

  - Seventeen -

  As Jack wandered half-awake from bedroom to bath, Sutton's initial effort to be polite and look elsewhere was subverted from first glimpse. Works of art were made to look upon and Jack's lithe musculature would please the most discerning sculptor. He was as lovely a creation as anything fashioned by nature and God.

  The thoughts he inspired, however, fell short of such a noble aesthetic. Sutton went back to perusing the day-old newspaper and read several paragraphs without absorbing a word. He'd meant to remain immune to the charms of any and every man until he could be certain of him. That resolve faltered every time Jack smiled his way--and Jack had to know it. It would explain why Jack had gone out on his own last night, to discourage what was not welcome--his own flirtatious tendencies to the contrary.

  It was just as well Jack could resist him, because he was finding it difficult to resist Jack. But he'd had a sharp lesson on the perils of behaving like a lovestruck fool. He would be smart this time, prudent, and betray no further interest.

  Jack reappeared in a dressing gown and collapsed into a chair, yawning. "You didn't wake me."

  Sutton folded the newspaper. "You told me not to."

  "Oh. Well, if you're up first, you can wake me. Just not on Sundays." Jack leaned elbows on the table and combed his fingers through his hair, ostensibly to tame it but only shaping it into a more unruly mess. He dropped his chin on his arms and squinted at Sutton. "How do you look that good at seven in the morning?"

  "It's eight. And thank you."

  Jack's mouth twitched upward. He eyed the plate of toast. "You made breakfast again. Enough for two?"

  Sutton pushed the plate across the table. "Only toast and oatmeal. We'll have to make a trip to the corner if you want more than that."