Jack of Diamonds (45 page)

If I’d expected her to be grateful and a bit humble, she wasn’t in the least. Juicy Fruit was a tough customer, willing to put in the hard yards, but she wasn’t going to be a Little Dorrit. She may not have been a professional singer but she was a professional nevertheless and didn’t do grateful. Miss Frostbite had once explained to me that to a clever woman ‘grateful’ is a weapon, not a sentiment. But Juicy Fruit didn’t even seem to need to use it in this way.

I was soon faced with another problem: she needed at least two evening gowns for the gig. ‘Jack, I can probably afford to buy one, but can you help me with the other?’ she asked, then added, ‘I know a good dressmaker who won’t charge the earth.’ She looked directly at me. ‘I’ll pay you back if I get taken on permanently. But if I don’t,’ she shrugged, ‘I can’t.’

I agreed, stressing that they should both be low cut. ‘Should be cheaper, uses less material,’ I joked, then added more seriously, ‘we’re going to need all the help we can get to persuade Cam Kerr to take you on after the trial. He’s pretty mean with a buck and won’t be easy to win over. But he’s a notorious breast man. There isn’t a single woman front of house at the Brunswick who doesn’t have good boobs.’

‘What are you saying, Jack, that I have to show my tits?’

‘Yes, I guess I am,’ I said, feeling myself blushing, but determined nevertheless to be professional. ‘I’m afraid you must make sure the dresses you choose have a plunging neckline.’

Juicy Fruit nodded. I’d taken instructions from her about sex, now she did the same with me about performing. I advised and she accepted without protest, knowing that she had to get past Cam Kerr and her voice alone might not be sufficient. She had one chance, and either she made it onto the bandstand or she didn’t.

Juicy Fruit took the stage name Miss Prairie Gold, after Golden Prairie, the town nearest to the small family farm where she’d been raised. She behaved like a professional from the moment she leaned her sexy body against my piano during the cocktail hour a week later. Somewhat to my surprise, the entire cocktail lounge fell silent the moment she started to sing, her deep voice easy and embracing with a warm personal quality that seemed to love the microphone. Afterwards Cam Kerr, who’d come in to make sure she wasn’t going to be a disaster, approached us. ‘Very good, very good!’ He couldn’t take his eyes off her décolletage, but that had also been true of most of the men. ‘What do I call you? Miss Prairie Gold?’

Juicy Fruit laughed. ‘No, Mr Kerr, sir, just Prairie will do. After all, it’s the name I was given at birth. My parents were Italian immigrants and came here directly from Naples and thought it had a nice sound and was a . . . you know, loyal thing to do in their new country.’

‘Why, that’s real nice,’ Cam said, addressing her cleavage. ‘A prairie girl through and through then, eh?’

‘That’s me, sir!’ Juicy Fruit said with her best smile, pushing her breasts forward and sketching a little salute. Her lie about her name was faultlessly delivered with a twinkle in her gold-flecked eyes as if she was poking mild fun at the innocent naivety of her newly arrived parents’ earnest endeavour to do everything they could to assimilate.

‘Well, Prairie, why don’t we go to my office for a talk while Jack has his dinner?’

Juicy Fruit glanced down at me. ‘Jack’s my partner in this, sir. I’d prefer it if he sits in.’ She turned to me. ‘Okay, Jack?’

I nodded. ‘I’ll grab a sandwich after the dinner session.’

Seated a minute or two later behind his desk, and very much in control, Cam Kerr said briskly, ‘Can you play, I mean with Jack here of course, the fine dining room tonight, then return to the cocktail lounge afterwards for the final session?’

Juicy Fruit gave me a questioning look. ‘Jack said only the cocktail hour, Mr Kerr.’

I’d previously requested she take no clients for the night, even offering to pay her if she was out of pocket. I’d reasoned it was her first professional night beside the piano and I thought she should enjoy it without having to rush back to Number 7 Riverside Lane to resume work as if nothing significant had occurred in her life. She’d declined my offer of payment for any clients she’d have to refuse and said she’d come and sit in the cocktail lounge after the dinner session and listen to me play and if I wanted her to sing again that would be okay.

‘That’s correct, Cam,’ I replied. ‘It was only for the cocktail hour. An opportunity for you to hear Prairie for yourself at no expense to the hotel.’

‘Well I liked what I heard. Tell you what, I’ll give you three dollars for the night. That’s all three sessions.’

Juicy Fruit sighed, her expression suggesting regret. ‘I’d love to if Jack’s happy, but not tonight, Mr Kerr. I have a previous engagement.’

Cam Kerr was a pro. ‘Pity, great pity.’ He looked at her steadily. ‘You couldn’t postpone your appointment?’ It was said with just a tinge of ‘you better-or-else’.

Juicy Fruit smiled charmingly, head to one side. ‘No, I’m afraid not. I don’t break appointments and I always arrive on time. But I could return for the last session in the cocktail bar tonight.’

‘Bravo, yes, let’s do that then,’ Cam said, though I could see he was still a bit annoyed. There was no doubt it was a win for bosoms or he wouldn’t have agreed so readily. He was a man accustomed to getting his own way. Juicy Fruit was not responding in the usual obsequious manner. He would have found this pretty galling. Female hotel staff, almost inevitably, were expected to have style and smile, but not under any circumstances to show any guile. ‘A dollar then for the late session.’

‘I take it that would be two dollars for tonight, Mr Kerr.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘And if I work all three sessions on future nights, that’s three dollars, right?’

‘Well, yes, and we’ll throw in your dinner. You and Jack can eat together.’

‘No. I’ll accept two tonight but then it’s five for a night’s work, three sessions,’ Juicy Fruit said firmly.

‘Five? No way, Prairie. I’d only pay that for a professional. I’m taking a chance on you.’

Juicy Fruit’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Hey! I’ve been singing in public since I was five years old. That’s fifteen years. Jack’s been playing the piano since he was eight – that’s ten years. You ain’t taking no chances, sir, I’m a professional just like him! You saw the crowd in the cocktail bar; they liked what they saw.’

‘They did, Cam. People kept coming in from the foyer,’ I said.

Cam remained silent for a good while, thinking he was adding to the pressure or something.

Juicy Fruit shrugged, then glanced at her wristwatch. ‘If I don’t cut the mustard, then you can fire me, Mr Kerr. But it’s still five and I’ve got to go or I’ll be late for my appointment.’

Cam Kerr sighed, clearly frustrated. Tits or no tits, he had to assert himself. ‘No, my dear.’ He looked at me. ‘Jack here only started at, what was it? Yes, fourteen dollars a week, and that was for five days.’

I think he was expecting me to nod or something, as though I agreed with him – two men putting a pesky woman in her right and proper place.

‘I feel sure a good singer like Miss Prairie Gold is going to greatly add to the attraction of the cocktail bar and fine dining, Cam. It’s certainly worth a try. As Prairie says, if it doesn’t work out . . .’ I spread my hands. ‘Well?’

Juicy Fruit was on her feet. She reached across the desk to shake hands. ‘I enjoyed tonight, Mr Kerr, and thank you.’ She gave him a genuinely nice smile. Miss Frostbite would have clapped. I knew how badly she wanted the job. It was a pretty cool performance.

Cam Kerr sighed. ‘Okay, but understand I’m taking a big chance on you. We’ll try it for a month.’

Juicy Fruit smiled. ‘If you don’t fire me, then what?’

‘Well, we carry on.’ Cam said, puzzled.

I held my breath.
No, don’t screw it up now, Juicy Fruit
, I prayed silently.

‘Six.’ Just the word, like a single note sounding from a gong.

Cam Kerr threw back his head and laughed. ‘Six dollars! You’re not serious?’ he exclaimed.

I flinched; that was pretty near a living wage. She’d already explained the four nights only, Friday and Saturday were her busy nights elsewhere. I was sure, in fact certain, Cam wouldn’t agree, if only as a matter of pride.

On the other hand things had changed since he and I had negotiated. Cam had gained something of a reputation by securing me to replace Reggie Blunt, an old piano hack. The Brunswick takings were up considerably in the cocktail lounge and fine dining room and we were doing more special events in the ballroom. The Sunday concert, now with Robert Yuen, was now advertised as
Jack Spayd Digs the Sunday Blues with Robert Yuen
. It attracted a sell-out crowd and people had started turning up early. The cocktail lounge, with its five-cent premium on each drink, was doing a roaring trade. Peter Cornhill would often remark that I had brought the assistant manager great credit and with the manager due to retire in a year, Cam Kerr was a sure thing for promotion. Now, if he added a singer with a body as well as a voice he would have an even greater mid-week attraction. Cam had clearly seen the advantage of a partnership, but six dollars a night? Holy smoke!

Juicy Fruit turned and made for the door of his office. ‘I don’t like being late.’ Her voice, though resolved, showed no trace of emotion. Nevertheless I was pretty sure she’d blown it. Why hadn’t she left it until she’d done a month and proved herself? It would have forced Cam’s hand.

‘Wait a minute!’ Cam Kerr said. ‘We haven’t finished, Miss Gold.’

‘Oh?’

‘Sit, please sit.’

Juicy Fruit sat down slowly, clutching her handbag. It was sitting but sitting ready to go.

‘Six after a month?’ he asked needlessly.

‘Or you fire me, Mr Kerr.’

‘I thought I’d asked you to call me Cam.’

‘Only after we have a deal,’ Juicy Fruit shot back. It was said with a brilliant smile.

To his credit, Cam Kerr laughed. ‘Righto,’ he leaned over extending his hand.

I had just received a lesson in negotiation. Juicy Fruit was no country bumpkin. Joe would have said, ‘Now don’t go use the last slice o’ bread to wipe all the gravy from the plate, Jazzboy,’ meaning that there should always be something in every negotiation for both parties. Juicy Fruit had proved him wrong; she’d make a good poker player, I thought.

‘Thank you, Cam,’ Juicy Fruit smiled prettily. Then, without a hint of triumph in her voice, said, ‘I really must hop it or I’m going to be very late. I’ll be back in time for the last session.’

I must confess, while hugely pleased for her, I was also a bit disappointed at her taking a trick when I’d already offered to pay so she could have a night off. Later that evening, after we’d done the final gig and just before I was due to join a late-night poker game, I asked, ‘How did your appointment go?’

‘What appointment?’ she replied, laughing. ‘Jack, I sat in my room on the bed hugging my knees!’

It was at that moment that I knew Juicy Fruit could make it all the way as an entertainer. Although we never discussed it, my hope was that she’d eventually decide to change careers. I had no idea how much a high-class hooker earned, and all she ever said was, ‘Jack, my singing means a lot of re-scheduling and not all of my clients are happy.’ I took this to mean she was sacrificing some of her income for her singing career, but at least it was a start – twenty-four bucks a week was just about a living wage.

It really was surprising how quickly and how well we came together. By the time Reggie Blunt’s big poker game rolled around three weeks later it was almost as if we were an established gig. Reggie, the walking punster, came into the late-night session at the cocktail lounge to escort me to the game. The last number we performed for the night was ‘Thanks for the Memory’, the song Juicy Fruit had sung in bed in the hotel in Regina. Predictably, Reggie had remarked, right eyebrow slightly raised for effect, ‘Shouldn’t that be, “Thanks for the Mammary”, old chap?’ Thankfully Juicy Fruit had already excused herself to go the powder room. But I nevertheless felt it was in poor taste.

‘A bit tired as puns go, don’t you think, Reggie? Besides, it’s not an appropriate thing to say. She sang the lyrics beautifully.’

‘Ah, dear boy, good puns never wear out. As for Juicy Fruit, she wouldn’t want me to tell certain people around here what she does as a second profession, now would she?’

‘Reggie, you don’t mean that!’

‘No, of course not. You know me.’

‘I hope so,’ I said sharply. ‘I’ll see you at the main door in a couple of minutes.’

‘We ought to be going,’ he said.

‘I won’t be long.’

‘Jack, I know you won her in a raffle, but take my advice, whores don’t change. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’

‘True. A pig is always a pig!’ I shot back, still upset.

Reggie laughed. ‘Only a warning, old chap. ‘Don’t want you to get hurt.’

I sighed. ‘Maybe I’ll give the game a miss tonight . . .’

A momentary look of shock crossed Reggie Blunt’s face but then he assumed an expression of extreme disappointment. ‘Jack, don’t be foolish. This is a big game, with good players. It’s time to test your mettle. You’ve been playing inferior opponents up until now. Even the late-night games have been easy pickings. Now’s your chance to see what you can do against some good players for real money.’ He paused. ‘It wasn’t easy to set up this game, they’re all from out of town, but I think you can win.’ He grinned his fat-nosed, piggy-eyed grin. ‘Feather in your cap if you do, Jack . . .’