Escott would have played chauffeur right to the end by dropping Bobbi and me at the club then running off to find parking, but she persuaded him to turn his beloved Nash over to one of the valets.

"I'm not going to lose the chance to make a big entrance with two such good-looking men," she said.

I wouldn't have called Escott good-looking, but he was certainly distinctive with his height, lean face, and beaky nose, and, of course, a tuxedo always improves any man's appearance. He a.s.sented to her wish and gave up his keys.

We three walked in, with her in the middle, to be greeted in the outer lobby by those invited to the party who had been to or heard the broadcast. Once more I had to step back and give Bobbi to the crowd. Still not easy, but I knew she'd return, and that helped.

We'd arrived just in time for the review's intermission and threaded our way through the mob to get to Gordy's reserved table down front. He was there to greet us, and even his normally impa.s.sive face had a hint of a smile lurking under the surface. He shook hands with Escott, thumping him once on the arm in a friendly way. It was hard to believe that at one point they'd been on opposite sides of a gun, ready to kill.

"Good to see you. Sit. Have champagne," he ordered, so Escott sat and let a waiter pour him a gla.s.s.

"How'd the show go?" asked Bobbi.

Gordy nodded toward the darkened dance floor. The stage manager had sent someone out to sweep it clean, and he marched back and forth with a dusting mop a yard wide. "Pretty good. They liked her fine."

"Did you hear any of my stuff at all?"

"I had a radio in the lobby bar and listened there. Checked on the review during the coal ads. You were good, kid."

She heaved a big happy sigh. "Thanks for letting me do it."

"Be a crime not to." He turned to me. "That guy Waters came in. I took care of him like you asked. Red carpet all the way. People are thinking he's some kind of bigwig."

In addition to a paid-up cab I'd fixed it so Jim Waters could have whatever he wanted at the club and I'd cover it; he was my special guest. Escott warned me such an arrangement could be severely abused, but Waters struck me as being a gentleman and would behave accordingly. Besides, if I was wrong about him, then this would be a fast way to find out. "You're a brick, Gordy."

"I been called worse."

"Where is he?" "He spotted some guys in the band he knew and went back to say h.e.l.lo. He looks like he's enjoying himself."

"Been keeping him company?"

"No time for it, but the girls have been checking on him regular, sitting at the table when they can, making sure he's happy. I think two or three of them are in love already."

"Great... I think."

"Is he as good a singer as you say?"

"You'll find out when I take away all your business."

"Not unless I hire him first."

The Melodians, finished with their break, came back to warm up the new crowd. Jim Waters returned from his backstage travels and I introduced him around the table. Bobbi didn't have to turn her charm on for him, he looked bowled over just from sitting next to her. Our group emptied two bottles of champagne out fairly quickly and Gordy had more brought in, along with a tray stacked with finger sandwiches, caviar, and crackers. Escott dubiously eyed the latter, perhaps, as I was, thinking of our impatient client.

A thought suddenly started running in my head about writing a mystery story; all I had was a t.i.tle-The Case of the Impatient Heiress-but no plot. It stuck me as being a good t.i.tle; maybe I could do something with it. I borrowed a pen from someone and scribbled on a napkin so as not to forget, then tucked it away in a pocket. Maybe I'd have better luck with a regular mystery magazine than trying to write about man-eating spider G.o.ds for Spicy Terror Tales.

A waiter, noticing I was without, put a gla.s.s of champagne in front of me. I got a smirk from Bobbi and she whispered that she'd swap gla.s.ses with me when she'd finished hers off.

I'd been right about Escott and Gordy talking shop-either that, or each was trying to get information out of the other. News of anything going on in the city was like gold to them. Bobbi filled me in on backstage shenanigans at the broadcast, omitting Archy Grant's name from the stories until I asked about him.

She gave a little shrug. "He was friendly enough, but pretty involved with doing the show. When anyone mentioned the paper photos, he'd just say that we had a dance or two and that was it."

"Quite a difference from last night. I think my warning to him via Ike finally got through."

"Good, but I won't be completely comfortable about things until you've talked to him."

The orchestra changed its tune and tempo to the overture piece, and the lights went down over the dance floor.

When the couples had cleared back to their tables, drunken Bill began making his rounds, asking people if they'd seen his lost love.

"Who's the guy that punches him?" I asked Bobbi as Bill went flying.

"It's a different man every night. The bouncers take turns-at least the ones we can trust to swing and not hit.

During rehearsal one of the guys actually connected, so we had to let him go."

"Not permanently?"

"Nah, but he's never going to work in a musical in this town again."

The review proceeded without a hitch, and I had to admit that Adelle surprised me. She'd been so contained and elegant whenever I'd seen her and now capered like a veteran slapstick artist. To be fair, she had worked with Ted Healy on Broadway and some Mack Sennett comedies in Hollywood, so it'd be odd if she hadn't learned a few things about physical humor.

Lil and Bill made their triumphant exit in the rickshaw, then Adelle eventually returned for her solo, and again for the tea cup number. Bobbi watched everything intently.

I leaned close to her ear. "Don't worry, she's not going to take your place."

"It's not that. I'm studying what she does different from me and trying to figure out why. It might make me better at what I do when I go back."

"But you're already great."

"She's got a lot more experience than me. I learned a truckload just doing the rehearsals with her. You can never know too much about your craft. It's important to study how others work at it." I started to say something, then snapped shut. She was so bull's-eye right, and it wasn't just for singing and dancing. If I applied that to writing then maybe I could get off my duff and sell a piece.

"What?" she asked, looking at me.

"Nothing. I just need to read more, is all."

Adelle's last curtain call brought her a few dozen long-stemmed red roses. She spotted Gordy at the table, waved hard, and blew a kiss at him. He applauded loud and long, slapping his big hands together with bruising force.

Definitely a man in love.

Bobbi said she wanted to go backstage to congratulate Adelle. I started to rise to go with her, but she patted my shoulder and told me: "Uh-uh, girl talk."

No arguing with that. I sank into the chair and watched her walking away. The blue dress did wonderful things the way it slid around her hips.

"She's really something and no mistake."

I turned to the speaker, Jim Waters, and wholeheartedly agreed with him.

"Ever have days when you wonder what you did to deserve her?" he asked.

"Everytime I wake up," I said. "The club look after you all right? I'm sorry I couldn't have been here sooner."

"I'm having a great time. It's nice to be attending a party instead of playing at one, like I sometimes do. They carry my brand of beer, and the girls are friendly and cute. Not much else a man could ask for. That big guy who runs the place, I've seen his name in the papers connected with some shady stuff, but he's been a real gent."

"Glad to hear it. You got any problem with the shady stuff?"

"Huh. In this town you might as well have a problem with the railroads or the Stockyards. It's part and parcel of the life, so you might as well get used to it. What was that paper you were scribbling on? You had one h.e.l.l of a look on your face just then."

"Paper? Oh, I got an idea for a t.i.tle and didn't want to forget it."

"t.i.tle for what?"

"A story. I used to be a reporter, now I'm trying my hand at fiction."

"And opening a club, to boot. Lotta irons for your fire, kid. You finish anything in this writing of yours? The hardest part I used to have with my music was to sit down and finish something."

I fought against wincing. "A couple things. I've been kind of stuck for ideas lately."

Waters shook his head, laughing. "Sounds like you're in a block."

"Uh..." How the h.e.l.l did he know? "Well, I've been busy..."

"Don't worry about it. When you want to write bad enough, you will. Just don't fool yourself into thinking it's all dreamy-eyed inspiration."

"It isn't?"

He snorted. "I write music myself, and if I had to wait around for inspiration to strike I'd never get any work done."

"But isn't inspiration necessary?"

"Sometimes, but for the rest it's a nuisance. I can't sit and wait for the lightning to strike. If I get in a block, I shuck that one-percent-inspiration and start the ninety-nine-percent-perspiration part."

I was familiar with what Thomas Edison had said on the subject, and less than eager to want to believe it. "But don't you have to be in the mood to create and to be able to create anything that's good?"

"It helps, but never wait for it to come to you. Some days you just have to get the stuff out whether you feel like it or not, no excuses. Maybe what you produce stinks, but it's still good practice, and you can always make it better when you're done."

"I'd like it to be better to start with."

He chuckled, but with a serious, earnest look in his eye. "That only comes from constant practice. How good a musician do you think I'd be if I didn't play every day?"

"Not so good."

"You see my point?"

"Write every day? Sounds too much like real work." And I'd done plenty of that in the newspaper business.

"Exactly. But if you want something badly enough, what work you put in to achieve it is nothing to you. Whether you sell that work is less important than the fact that you finished it to please yourself."

"Though selling is good."

"Oh, I pretty much favor it. But never, ever wait for something as slippery as the mood to strike. That's either laziness or a lack of confidence in yourself. I had a friend who once told me with a lot of smug certainty he planned to have his first symphony finished within five years. That was fifteen years ago. He should have decided to finish his symphony the same day he thought about starting it, then he might have had something for himself. The only thing he got known for was making excuses to himself and everyone else. If Mozart had had that att.i.tude we'd have never heard of him. He died at thirty-five, you know."

I could feel my face growing longer. I'd died at thirty-six. Prior to that all I'd achieved was to snag a few bylines when the editors were feeling generous. And after that... well, here I was at a party with a guy who was essentially kicking me in the pants. I let him, because he was right about all of it. "Your beer's gone," I said. "Lemme get you another so you can tell me more."

We put our heads together at the table, and I threw more questions at him and soaked in answers. Writing with sounds and writing with words were more alike than I'd ever suspected. Neither of us came up for air until Bobbi actually tapped me on the shoulder. Waters stood, balancing easily with his cane and told her how much he enjoyed her radio work. He'd listened to the Variety Hour in the lobby bar.

"But they need to get a better horn player for their band," he added. "He kept cracking the same note over and over."

"And here I was hoping no one would notice," she said. "Would you mind if I steal Jack away for a moment?"

He was agreeable to that, so she stole me away to another table in a corner. She looked like she had things to say.

"What's up, angel?"

"I just got a little friendly advice from Adelle."

"This 'girl talk' stuff?"

"Yes, and then some. I had a feeling that after she saw the papers she'd want to speak with me. It's a good thing Gordy's making a solid case with her or she might have clawed my eyes out over Archy. She saw the papers and a.s.sumed the worst, but it's really all right."

"How's that? Because Gordy's softened the blow?"

"Exactly. She doesn't mind Archy having a new interest now that she's got one herself."

"I thought when you went shopping you told her you weren't after Archy."

"This is a case of Archy coming after me. She thinks I'm going along with it to further my career, so she gave me a little heart-to-heart."

"Kind of her."

"Practical, you mean. She's read the writing on the wall all right-and the diamonds in the bracelet. It's a nice piece, so she didn't do too badly, and she's still a regular on the Variety Hour."

"What'd she tell you?"

"Not to get between Archy and his audience, and when it's my turn to get the brush, go with a smile, but go. She said that was the lesson she learned with him. If the guy's not interested in you, you can't change his mind, though she tried. She kept hoping he'd come around back to her, but it's not going to happen."

"His loss, Gordy's gain."

"I thought hearing this would make you smile."

"Oh, yeah. I'm imagining the look on Archy's face when he realizes he doesn't have either of you." She shrugged. "The sad fact is that there'll always be another girl out there for him."

"I could fix that, too."

"But not forever. Don't tell me you want to keep seeing him and Ike all the time."

I quickly admitted that I did not.

"Huh," she said, looking past me. "Speak of the devil."