We did a verse and a chorus, then I stopped her.
‘Sweet grief!’ the salesman said in a hushed whisper. ‘I’ve never heard anything like it!’
Rima looked at him indifferently and said nothing.
‘Now we’l record it. Okay for sound?’ I said.
‘Go ahead,’ the salesman said, adjusting the recording knob. ‘Ready when you are,’ and he started the tape running through the recording head.
Rima, if anything, was a shade better this time. She certainly had all the professional tricks, but that didn’t mat er. What counted was her tone. The notes came out of her throat with the clearness of a silver bell.
When the recording was finished, the salesman offered to play it back over an electrostatic speaker.
We sat down and listened.
With the volume right up and the filters on to cut out the valve hiss, her voice sounded larger than life and terrific. It was the most exciting recording I have ever listened to.
‘Phew!’ the salesman said as he took off the tape, ‘how you can sing! You should let Al Shirely hear this recording. He would go crazy about it.’
‘Al Shirely? Who is he?’ I asked.
‘Shirely?’ The salesman looked amazed. ‘Why, he’s the boss of the Californian Recording Company.
He’s the guy who discovered Joy Mil er. Last year she made five discs. Know what she made from them? A half a million! And let me tell you something! She doesn’t know how to sing if you compare her with this kid, I’m tel ing you! I’ve been in the business for years. I’ve never heard anyone to touch this kid. You talk to Shirely. He’l fix her when he hears this tape.’
I thanked him. When I offered him the two dollars fifty for the recording, he waved it aside.
‘Forget it. If s been an experience and a pleasure. You talk to Shirely. It would give me a big bang if he took her up.’ He shook hands with me. ‘Good luck. You can’t fail to go places.’
I was pretty worked up as we walked back along the waterfront to the rooming-house. If Rima was a better singer than Joy Miller, and this salesman should know what he was talking about then she could earn enormous money. Suppose in her first year she did click, and made half a million! Ten per cent of half a million sounded pretty good to me.
I looked at her as we walked along, side by side. She moved listlessly, her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans.
‘This afternoon I’l talk to Shirely,’ I said. ‘Maybe he’l spring the five thousand for your cure. You heard what the guy said. You could go right to the top.’
‘I’m hungry,’ she said sul enly. ‘Can’t I have something to eat?’
‘Are you listening to what I’m saying?’ I stopped and pul ed her around so she faced me. ‘You could make a fortune with that voice of yours. All you want is a cure.’
‘You’re kidding yourself,’ she said, jerking free. ‘I’ve had a cure. It doesn’t work. How about something to eat?’
‘Dr. Klinzi could fix you. Maybe Shirely would advance the money when he hears the recording.’
‘Maybe I’l grow wings and fly away. No one is going to lend us that kind of money.’
Around three o’clock that afternoon, I borrowed Rusty’s car and drove over to Hol ywood. I had the tape in my pocket and I was really worked up.
I knew it would be fatal to tell Shirely that Rima was a junky. I felt sure, if he knew, he wouldn’t touch her.
Somehow I had to persuade him to part with a five thousand dollar advance. I had no idea how I was going to do it. Everything depended on how he reacted to the tape. If he was really enthusiastic, then I might get him to part with the money.
The Californian Recording Company was housed within a stone’s throw of the M.G.M. Studios. It was a two- storey building that covered practically an acre of ground. There was the usual reception office outside the gates with two tough-looking, uniformed guards to take care of the unwelcomed visitors.
It was when I saw the size of the place, I realised what I was up against. This was big-time, and I had an abrupt loss of confidence. I was suddenly aware of my shabby suit and my scruffy shoes.
One of the guards moved forward as I came up. He looked me over, decided I was of no importance and asked in a rough-tough voice what I wanted.
I said I wanted to talk to Mr. Shirely.
That seemed to kill him.
‘So do twenty mil ion others. You got a appointment?’
‘No.’
‘Then you don’t see him.’
This was the moment for a bluff. I was desperate enough to swear my father had been a negro.
‘Wel , okay. I’l tel him how efficient you are,’ I said. ‘He told me to look in when I was passing, but if you won’t let me in, that’s his loss, not mine.’
He did a quick double-take.
‘He said that?’
‘Why not? He and my father were at col ege together.’
He lost his aggressive look.
‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Jeff Gordon.’
‘Just hang on a moment.’
He went into the reception office and talked on the telephone. He came out after a while, unlocked the gates and waved me in.
‘Ask for Miss Weseen.’
At least that was one step forward.
Dry mouthed and with my heart thumping, I walked up the drive to the imposing entrance hall where a boy in a sky blue uniform and brass buttons that glittered like diamonds, conducted me along a corridor lined on either side by polished mahogany doors to a door marked with a brass plate:
The boy opened the door and waved me in.
I walked into a large room decorated in dove grey where about fifteen people sat around in lounging chairs looking like the legion of the lost.
I had no time to concentrate on them before I found myself staring into emerald green eyes that were as hard as glass and just as expressionless.
The owner of the eyes was a girl of about twenty four, a red-head with a Munro bust, a Bardot hip line and an expression that would have frozen an Eskimo.
‘Yes?’
‘Mr. Shirely, please.’
She patted her hair and regarded me as if I were something out of a zoo.
‘Mr. Shirely never sees anyone. Mr. Knight is engaged. Al these people are waiting for him.’ She waved a languid hand at the lost legion. ‘If you wil give me your name and tel me your business I’l try to fit you in at the end of the week.’
I could see the lie I had told the guard wouldn’t cut any ice with her. She was smart, wise and lie-proof.
If I couldn’t bluff her I was fixed.
I said carelessly, ‘A week? Too late. If Knight can’t see me right now, he’s going to lose money and Mr. Shirely will be annoyed with him.’
Feeble stuff, but it was the best I could do.
At least everyone in the room was listening, leaning forward and pointing like gundogs.
If they were impressed, Miss Weseen wasn’t. She gave me a smal , bored smile.
‘Perhaps you would write in. If Mr. Knight is interested he’l let you know.’
