Night and Day by Rowan Speedwell Read Free Book Online

Corinna says serenely, “is the day Zeus rises and kicks your filthy ass.”
    Dion ignores her, his attention on Rick. “Another one of your hard-luck cases? Zeus fuck, Ricky, this place is full of them. What d’ya need one more for? I’ll take him off your hands. The Vinery could use a new warbler.”
    Your blood runs cold, but Corinna says dismissively, “He’s too good a performer for a whorehouse, Dee.”
    “He’s staying here,” Rick says. His voice is quiet, uninflected, but Dion grins.
    “Is he? We’ll see.”
    The place is still after he leaves, all of you standing frozen until after you hear the sound of the door closing. Then Rick whips off his hat and hurls it to the floor. “Son of a bitch!” he swears. “That’s all we need is that bastard trying to lure Nate away. Or worse.”
    “It was bound to happen eventually,” Corinna says calmly. “He would have heard of him sooner or later, and you know he always wants what you have.”
    Rick puts his hand on your neck, threading his fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry, Nate. Dee’s a pain in the ass, but don’t let him shake you.”
    You just nod and close your eyes at the luxury of his hands on your skin. “It’s okay, Rick.”
    Corinna says, “You two have about ninety minutes until the band gets here for rehearsals. Nathan, I’d like you to do at least one set tonight, if you feel up to it, so focus on working with the band on some standards you’re comfortable with. As time goes on, you can build up your repertoire. Rick, get him relaxed; he’s stiff as a board, and I want him ready to work when the band gets here. You too.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Rick says, and takes you upstairs again, where he proves conclusively that he’s no harder on sheets than any other man.
    You open the set that night with “Embraceable You,” and you sing it to Rick.
     
     
    HARRY SHOWS up the second night and congratulates you on your performance. He tells you you’re not the first singer he’s steered Rick and Corinna’s way, and he names two people you’ve actually heard of, one a big-band singer and the other a rising Broadway star. He says when your current employers think you’re ready, he’ll take over as your manager and steer you straight up the charts. He’s easy to believe, especially because he’s clearly fond of the Bellevues. You’re becoming pretty fond of them yourself.
    So you keep singing, and keep loving Rick, and neither activity ever begins to pall. You open a bank account, but somehow it’s so much easier to keep living at the club, close to Rick. (Corinna apparently has a flat somewhere in the city; you never see her before noon.) On the nights when Rick sleeps with you, he’s gone in the early predawn dark, but you don’t follow him again. Instead you just wait for him to come back and roust you out for breakfast. After a few weeks, though, you discover in yourself a heretofore unexpected ability to cook, so the two of you dare to raid the irascible Mario’s kitchen and make your own breakfasts. That requires, however, making sure you replace the food you eat before Mario gets there at noon and comes after you with his machete, so a couple of times a week you visit the local market and do grocery shopping together. It’s positively domestic, and the kind of thing you dreamed about with Bertie.
    Rick doesn’t seem to get bored with you, either. He’ll sometimes play when you’re on stage, but doesn’t sing himself unless you’re alone with him. Then it’s odd, minor-key songs in that Greek dialect you don’t know, and they usually put you to sleep. Other than that, you go on long drives in his gold Lincoln, and work on new arrangements of songs, and sometimes read the latest novel from Fannie Hurst or Edna Ferber. He is an enormous fan of Mary Roberts Rinehart’s supercriminal The Bat , which you tease him about mercilessly. And of course you go to the movies, usually matinees. He prefers Garbo to Crawford,