‘That would depend largely on the patient. Five weeks perhaps, but if it is a very stubborn case, eight weeks: not longer.’
‘Guaranteed?’
‘Naturally.’
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.
Record Your Voice on Tape. A three minute recording for only $2.50. Take your voice home in your pocket and surprise your friends.
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’ll have a run through first,’ I said, sitting down at the piano. ‘Loud and fast.’
The salesman switched on the recorder.
‘We don’t reckon to have rehearsals,’ he said. ‘I’ll fix it as she goes.’
‘We’ll 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 better. It was real y something to hear.
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’ll 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 matter. 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 Miller. 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 telling 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’ll talk to Shirely,’ I said. ‘Maybe he’ll 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 pulled her around so she faced me. ‘You could make a
