Two-Face by Ernest Dudley

Author:Ernest Dudley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: crime, mystery, suspense, cabaret, british
ISBN: 9781434442659
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2014-01-14T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 24

“Somethin’ to drink? Or some ham and eggs, lady?”

Levinsky addressed Mitsi as he would any Broadway blonde. To him all women in show business were alike. Feed ’em and make a fuss of them was his motto.

John Foster winced, but dug his foot against Mitsi’s under the table, warning her not to worry about the song-writer’s eccentricities.

Bob had joined them, sitting next to Mitsi. His mood had changed. Now he was very gracious and casually tender towards her. She knew from the little smile that played about his mouth when he spoke to her that she was making him happy.

Now he rose and left her with the two Americans, sensing Levinsky wanted to “get acquainted” with her. He flashed her his dark and secret smile.

She turned to Levinsky, smiling in her heart.

“So you’re French, huh?”

Levinsky glared at her ferociously over a precariously balanced piece of egg on a fork.

She nodded, amused by the vulgar vision opposite her.

“Nice folk—the French. Very musical. I appreciate musical people.”

“Yes,” murmured Mitsi, feeling that the conversation wasn’t going too well.

“Done any new songs lately, Sam?”

Foster threw in the question casually.

“One or two I’m quite pleased with. But I’m mostly concentrating on pictures now. Bigger dough, and you get your name in lights too. Ever made any pictures, Babe?”

He turned to Mitsi.

“No. I have only been in England a few weeks.”

“Make any in France?”

“I am a night-club singer. I cannot act.”

“You’re pretty enough to get by all right.” He said suddenly: “So you’d like to sing my numbers—huh? Think you could?”

She looked at him, not knowing whether he was serious or not.

“Sure she could!” chimed in Foster heartily.

“What do you know about it?” Levinsky glared at him.

“Oh, nothing—nothing.”

“Well anyhow, I guess it’s a sort of an idea, huh? Say, like to dance?”

“Thank you.”

She wondered how he danced. He was so little and fat.

The little composer took her in his arms and swept her into a fox-trot. He danced beautifully, and she realized that this man was, after all, a genius of rhythm and melody.

“You know, I like your voice. Reminds me of Sadie Harris.”

“She was very kind to me in Paris.”

He nodded absently.

“You know, you’ve chosen a queer profession. Guess there’s more sort of unhappiness in a showgirl’s life than any other. Why didn’t you stay at home and learn shorthand?”

“I have always wanted to do this,” she lied.

“Yeah. Glamour and all that. I like a girl who stays home and don’t go in for anything exciting. You’re a homey sort of a girl to know—guess you don’t look so homey though.”

They finished the dance. He brought her back to the table and Foster. They talked for a few minutes, then he said:

“Well. I’m going along back now. Feel kinda tired.”

Foster said he would see her back to the hotel, and drop Levinsky on the way. When they got to Levinsky’s hotel, he asked them to come in. Although Mitsi felt like refusing, Foster accepted for her. They went up to his suite.

He poured out drinks for them and then he sat down at the piano and began to play.

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