Klinzi.’
‘Why is it a special case, Mr. Gordon?’
I could see I wasn’t making any impression on her. Her eyes had lost their sad smile: they now looked merely bored.
‘I’m an agent and my client who is a singer is a very valuable property. Unless I deal directly with Dr.
Klinzi, I must go elsewhere.’
That seemed to arouse her interest. She hesitated briefly, then she got to her feet.
‘If you will wait a moment, Mr. Gordon, I’l see…’
She crossed the room, opened the door and disappeared from sight. There was a longish pause, then she reappeared, holding open the door.
‘Wil you come in?’
I entered an enormous room full of modern furniture, a surgical table and desk by a window behind which sat a man in a white coat.
‘Mr. Gordon?’
Somehow he made it sound as if he were very pleased to see me.
He got to his feet. He was short, not more than thirty years of age, with a lot of blond wavy hair, slate grey eyes and a bedside manner.
‘That’s right. Dr. Klinzi?’ I said.
‘Certainly.’ He waved a hand to a chair. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Gordon?’
I sat down, waiting until the nurse had gone away.
‘I have a singer with a three year morphine habit,’ I said. ‘I want her cured. What wil it cost?’
The slate grey eyes ran over me none too hopefully.
‘Our charge for a guaranteed cure would be five thousand dol ars, Mr. Gordon. We are in the happy position here to guarantee results.’
I drew in a long, slow breath.
‘For that kind of money I would expect results.’
He smiled sadly. They seemed to specialise in sad smiles in this place.
‘It may seem expensive to you, Mr. Gordon, but we deal only with the very best people.’
‘How long would it take?’
‘That would depend largely on the patient. Five weeks perhaps, but if it is a very stubborn case, eight weeks: not longer.’
‘Guaranteed?’
‘Natural y.’
There was no one I knew who would be crazy enough to lend me five thousand dollars, and there was no way I could think of to raise such a sum.
I turned on the soft soap faucet.
‘It’s slightly more than I can afford, doctor. This girl has a great singing voice. If I can get her cured, she’s going to make a lot of money. Suppose you take a piece of her? Twenty per cent of whatever she makes until the five thousand is taken care of, then three thousand on top as interest.’
As soon as I had uttered the words I knew it was a mistake. His face suddenly went blank, and his eyes turned remote.
‘I’m afraid we don’t do that kind of business here, Mr. Gordon. We are very booked up. Our terms are, and have always been, cash. Three thousand on entry, and two thousand when the patient leaves.’
‘This is a very special case…’
His well-cared-for finger moved to a button on his desk.
‘I’m sorry. Those are our terms.’
The finger pressed the button lovingly.
‘If I can raise the money, the guarantee is real y guaranteed?’
‘You mean the cure? Of course.’
He was standing now as the door opened and the nurse drifted in. They both gave me sad smiles.
‘Should your client want to come to us, Mr. Gordon, please let us know soon. We have many commitments and it may be difficult, if not impossible, to fit her in.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’l think it over.’
He gave me his cool white hand as if he was conferring a favour on me, then I was ushered out by the nurse.
On my way back to the rooming-house, I thought about what he had said, and for the first time in my life I really felt the urge for some money. But what hope had I of laying my hands on five thousand dollars? If I could raise that sum by some miracle, if I could get Rima cured, I was absolutely certain she would go to the top and I would go with her.
As I was walking along, brooding, I passed a big store that sold gramophone and radio equipment. I paused to look at the brightly coloured sleeves of the long play discs, imagining how Rima’s photograph would look on one of those sleeves.
A notice in the window caught my attention.
That gave me an idea.
If I could get Rima’s voice recorded, I wouldn’t have the worry of wondering when I got her an audition that she would blow up as she had done at the Blue Rose. I could hawk the tape around, and maybe get someone interested enough to advance the money for her cure.
I hurried back to the rooming-house.
Rima was up and dressed when I walked into her room. She was sitting by the window, smoking. She turned and looked expectantly at me.
‘Dr. Klinzi says he can cure you,’ I said, sit ing on the bed, ‘but it costs. He wants five thousand bucks.’
She wrinkled her nose, then shrugging, she turned back to stare out of the window.
‘Nothing is impossible,’ I said. ‘I have an idea. We’re going to record your voice. There’s a chance someone in the business will put up the money if he hears what you can do. Come on, let’s go.’
‘You’re crazy. No one wil pay out that kind of money.’
‘Leave me to worry about that. Let’s go.’
On the way to the store, I said, ‘We’l do
She said she knew it.
‘As loud and as fast as you can.’
The salesman who took us into the recording room was supercilious and bored. It was pretty obvious he looked on us as a couple of bums with nothing better to do than to squander two dollars fifty and waste his time.
‘We’l have a run through first,’ I said, sit ing down at the piano. ‘Loud and fast.’
The salesman switched on the recorder.
‘We don’t reckon to have rehearsals,’ he said. ‘I’l fix it as she goes.’
‘We’l have a run through first,’ I said. ‘This may not be important to you, but it is to us.’
I began to play, keeping the tempo a shade faster than it is usually taken. Rima came in loud and fast.
I looked across at the salesman. Her clear silver notes seemed to have stunned him. He stood motionless, gaping at her.
I’ve never heard her sing bet er. It was real y something to hear.
