Jazz Baby (8 page)

‘Your turn next,' Alice said with a grin. ‘Are you a bit nervous?'

‘Terrified.'

‘It'll be all right. Lawrence's great on the piano and he's a sweetie. Tell him the name of the song. He can play anything and besides, everyone's had so much to drink they won't be able to tell when you hit the wrong note.'

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.'

The music came to a crashing finale and Dolly flinched when Alice's hand landed in the small of her back.

‘Go on,' Alice said, pushing Dolly through the open door. ‘Break a leg.'

Clenching her back teeth together she stepped into the Blue Room. A sea of laughing faces filled her vision. Like caricatures in the newspaper their features stood out in stark relief against the deep blue walls. A smothered cough gave way to a blatant titter then silence. A single bead of sweat trickled from her forehead to the corner of her eye and she wiped it away with shaking fingers.

‘Dolly!'

Lawrence's warm hand cupped her elbow and she glanced up into his welcoming face.

‘It'll be fine. Come with me,' he said, throwing her a lifeline in the sea of predators. ‘What are you going to sing?' He guided her to the piano in the corner of the room.

The stifling stench of cigarette smoke, perfume and alcohol made her head reel and she shrugged her shoulders.

‘Alice said you sang
Jazz Baby
this afternoon. Shall we start with that?'

When Lawrence let go of her elbow and sat down on the stool Dolly's stomach cramped and her knees buckled. She reached out to the polished walnut of the piano, certain without its support her legs would crumble and she'd sink to the ground in a heap.

The conversation swelled around her as he struck the first chords of the song. She cast a quick look around the room. The carousing crowd had lost interest. Her breathing slowed and she closed her eyes, blocking everyone out as the music washed over her.

‘Are you ready Dolly?' Lawrence began the introduction for a second time.

She turned and threw him a tentative smile.

‘Don't worry about them, they're busy chatting. We're just the background noise. Forget about them. Sing for me.' He glanced up at her, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

Dolly moved closer to the piano stool, wanting to hug the man. He winked and she began to sing. The chattering rolled and swirled around her and the familiar words of the song lulled her. She leant back against the piano lost in the music.

Finishing her song with a flourish she grinned at Lawrence, a crazy rush of euphoria blossoming in her chest. ‘Thank you.'

‘I can't hear you,' Lawrence mouthed.

Only then the applause broke into her consciousness. ‘More, more,' a voice shouted.

Dolly lifted her shoulders and gazed imploringly at Lawrence, needing his help again. ‘I don't know what else to sing,' she said as another cramp hit her stomach.

‘What about this?' Lawrence played some opening chords.

She knew it. She'd heard him play the tune each night yet her mind was a blank. ‘I can't remember the words.'

Lawrence shuffled along the piano stool and patted the vacant space next to him with his left hand while he continued the melody with his right. Dolly eased down next to him and peered at the sheet music propped against the piano. With a sigh of relief she read the words above the music. Thank heavens Father George had forced her to sing from music sheets in the choir.

In a flurry of activity a group of men cleared the tables from the centre of the room and pushed the chairs back against the wall. Dolly launched into the next song and the dancing began.

Jack edged his way through the door. The centre of the room thrummed with the raucous excitement of the dancers. The loud vibrant notes of the piano music drifted up to the ceiling and swirled with the smoke and the hum of indulgence.

Dolly's voice swelled, rising above the clamour and filled him with awe. She sang as if she owned the world, her deep blue eyes sparkling and her body moving instinctively to the beat of the music. Gone was his little girl from Wollombi. The quality of her voice and her self-assurance flowed over the crowd and he stared in wonder, trying to come to terms with her transformation.

The shoulder of her dark shimmering shift had slipped and he could see the pale half-moon of her breast rise and fall as she sang. A curl of dark hair clung to her cheek while her eyes followed the words on the sheet music. Occasionally she glanced up and threw a smile at the dancers or turned to the pianist with a quirk of her eyebrows as if seeking confirmation.

‘She's good, isn't she?' Shocked, he turned from his contemplation.

Alice grinned at him. ‘You've been gawking at her with your mouth hanging open for the last ten minutes.' Her thinly plucked eyebrows lifted and her eyes widened.

Jack clamped his mouth closed and took the glass of champagne she held out to him.

‘Mrs Mack can pick them every time.'

‘Pick them? What do you mean,
pick them
?' Blood roared in his ears. A picture of Dolly upstairs in one of the bedrooms with the piano player, or worse, one of the inebriated idiots prancing on the dance floor with their red, bloated faces flashed before his eyes. He dropped his glass onto the table and pushed the chair aside.

Alice's cool hand came down on his wrist, pinning him. ‘Don't spoil it for her. She's loving every moment.'

‘I'm not. And her brother wouldn't be either if he could see her.' Christ! If Ted could see her now he'd lose it, completely.

‘Of course you are. She looks amazing. Who would have thought the little church mouse who turned up on the doorstep a few weeks ago would turn into a star attraction?' Alice released her hold on his wrist and took a sip of her champagne.

His hands gripped the velvet back of the armchair. All he wanted to do was go and pick up Dolly, throw her over his shoulder and take her away. Somewhere safe, like his apartment. Unfortunately that was out of the question because her bloody brother was there.

‘Her hair looks terrific, doesn't it?'

Jack's head shot up. She'd cut her hair. What in God's name had possessed her to do that? Why hadn't he noticed before? He ran his eyes down the line of her curves acknowledging exactly why he hadn't. He'd been too busy looking at the rest of her. Too busy taking in the swell of her body under the soft, loose material of the frock, and those long shapely legs covered in sheer silk stockings which ran down to her high-heeled shoes tapping in time to the music. ‘Hmmph!'

‘You sound like her father,' Alice said, with a giggle. ‘You weren't behaving like her father the other day out in the backyard. You fancy her.'

‘I am simply concerned for her welfare. She's an old family friend. I look upon her as my little sister.'

‘I wouldn't mind a brother like you.'

Jack flinched as Alice ran her painted nails down the sleeve of his jacket. What was it with these women? First Cynthia flouncing off because he had matters to attend to, then Millie and her knowing looks, and now Alice.

The song ended and the crowd of dancers left the floor, mopping their faces and searching for drinks and cigarettes. Dolly stretched then turned to the pianist, their heads close together — too close — as they laughed and joked flicking through the assorted sheets of music.

Jack gritted his teeth and moved the chair closer to the centre of the room. Dolly looked as though she'd settled in for the night. The pianist struck up another song and with consummate skill Dolly performed a few tantalising Tango steps. Shrieks of excitement filled the air and he screwed his eyes tightly together as the crowd returned to the dance floor.

The bass of the piano pounded in his head and when he opened his eyes Dolly was leaning over the pianist, her hands on his shoulders. His fists clenched; he wanted to floor the insipid bloody piano monkey. If her mouth had been any closer to his cheek she'd be kissing him.

By the time she'd sung her third song, Dolly started to enjoy the limelight. She had relinquished the piano stool and stood behind Lawrence, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders as she followed the words on the sheet music.

Singing filled her with joy and her foot kept the beat as Lawrence worked his magic. People swirled and spun, their jubilant voices egging each other on.

‘
Jazz Baby
again,' a voice called as the song finished and the dancers caught their breath. Lawrence hit the chords.

No longer needing the sheet music Dolly turned to watch, loving the way the brightly coloured frocks twirled and twisted. The girls glittered like a pirate's treasure set against the black evening suits the men wore. She leant closer to Lawrence as she swayed to the music, enjoying the spectacle. This was why she had come to Sydney.

‘Dolly!'

The deep voice cut through her song, through the piano music and through the excited chatter from the dance floor. She spun around and Jack's hands clasped the tops of her arms, his fingers biting into her flesh.

‘What do you think you are doing?'

‘Let me go!' She shrugged and pulled away from him.

His grip tightened. ‘This is no place for you. Come with me.'

His domineering audacity sent a wave of fury racing through her. What right had he to tell her what she could and couldn't do? The guests loved her singing. She was having fun. The night was all she imagined Sydney would be when she'd dared to leave home and reach out for something more — to make a life of her own. This was 1923 not the 1850s. She made her own decisions.

Knowing Jack's strength Dolly slammed the heel of one of her borrowed shoes down onto his shiny toecap. A look of pure rage flashed through his eyes and he tightened his grip, lifting her from the ground. ‘Put me down, Jack. Now.'

The music stopped and Lawrence's voice echoed in the sudden silence. ‘I think you heard the lady.' He pushed the piano stool back and stood.

Lawrence's head barely reached Jack's shoulder and he wouldn't be any match for the man; however, his support encouraged her to struggle against Jack's steely grasp. The tense silence in the room hung louder than the music of a moment before.

‘Jack! Please.'

He peeled his black-eyed stare from her and glanced over his shoulder. The horrified expression on the faces of the onlookers brought him to his senses and he lowered her to the ground. Dolly's knees sagged as she regained her balance, thankful for Lawrence's arm reaching across her shoulders and holding her steady.

‘Take your hands off her.' Tendons stood out like ropes on Jack's neck above his pristine white shirt collar. ‘Dolly. Out now.' He pointed to the door.

‘You don't have to go with him if you don't want to, Dolly,' Lawrence rasped. ‘It's your choice. He won't do anything in front of all these people.'

Stunned, Dolly turned from one man to another. Once again she was the centre of everyone's bemused curiosity. More than anything in the world she wanted to stay, keep singing. She'd never had such an exhilarating evening and nothing untoward had happened. Lawrence had been the perfect gentleman, a lifesaver in fact.

She glanced up at Jack. She could barely distinguish the pupil from the iris of his dark eyes and she recognised the look on his face. She'd seen the same on her Pa. Given any more provocation Jack's temper would erupt. ‘It's all right, Lawrence. I'll leave now before I cause an even bigger scene. Thank you so much for looking after me. I hope we can do it again.'

Jack's fingers snaked around the top of her arm as he propelled her to the door. ‘Get your hands off me,' she hissed in a tight voice. ‘I'm only leaving because I don't want to cause any more of a stir.'

Dropping his grip he placed a proprietary hand on the small of her back and guided her to the door. She wriggled to no avail. Large and firm his palm pressed against her spine as he propelled her out of the room, oblivious to the open-mouthed stares of the onlookers. As the door closed behind them Lawrence hit the piano again. His music filled the void of their departure. How she wished she'd had the courage to refuse to leave.

‘In here.' Jack threw open the door to the Red Room and ushered Dolly inside, closing it firmly behind him.

Tonight there was no fire in the grate and the curtains hung open to the street. The crypt-like stillness after the vivacity of the Blue Room chilled her blood and made her shiver.

‘Are you cold? Would you like my jacket?'

She shook her head. She wouldn't take his jacket if she were stark naked. She wanted to beat her fists against his chest and scream at him for spoiling her evening, her first evening in Sydney experiencing all she had come in search of. The man was impossible. She was doing what Mrs Mack had asked her to do. Anyone would think Jack ran the place. Collapsing on the sofa she frowned up at him. ‘What's the problem, Jack?'

He glared at her and the silence lengthened. ‘You've cut your hair.'

‘So? Are you telling me I can't do that either? I can't sing. I can't cut my hair. What else?'

‘That dress! It's outrageous. Where did you get it?'

‘And I can't have a new frock. I have to spend my life drudging around looking like someone's chuck-out.' Blood rushed to Dolly's face, her anger chasing away the coldness of the room, the unfairness of it strangling her. ‘I earnt the money. I worked bloody hard for it and besides, Mrs Mack asked me to sing. It wasn't my idea.' She clamped her lips, swallowing down the note of hysteria creeping into her voice, determined not to cry. ‘No one forced me to do anything I didn't want to do. And Lawrence is a perfect gentleman. Unlike you.'

‘It's not good enough, Dolly. I gave Mrs Mack the extra money in case you needed something. Not to buy a frock that makes you look like…' Jack shuddered as two spots of colour bloomed on his cheeks.