What's Better Than Money by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online Page A

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 really 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’ll 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, sitting 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 will pay out that kind of money.”
    “Leave me to worry about that. Let’s go.”
    On the way to the store, I said, “We’ll do Some of these Days. Do you know it?”
    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 really 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