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

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’ll 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 sullenly. “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 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’ll 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 Hollywood. 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