Jazz Baby (10 page)

Shuddering, she sat upright. Maybe Jack liked his women to behave that way. In the last few weeks Dolly's eyes had been opened and she now knew diaphanous purple-feathered gowns weren't the only things kept in the cupboards in the bedrooms. Could she do something like that? She stood up and peered into the cracked mirror, smoothed her hair and pulled a pout. No. Maybe with Jack, not with just anyone. The singing — now that was a different matter.

Humming a few bars she experimented with a step or two. Give it another couple of days and she'd work out a few more dance moves and incorporate them into her songs. No more sitting on the piano stool with Lawrence. Tomorrow she would give them a show and Jack — well he could just lump it.

There was no point threatening her with Ted. As much as she wished her brother had come home she was resigned to the fact that missing in action meant they hadn't ever found his body or his identity discs. She'd watched her father drink himself into oblivion as his hopes faltered and disintegrated. Ted wouldn't want her to do that. He'd want her to go on and live her life — be brave. He always wanted her to be brave. Not sit around on the sidelines waiting for life to come knocking. That's what she should have told Jack — all this rubbish about Ted not wanting her to be in Sydney. He was probably up there somewhere applauding her success tonight.

Pulling her beautiful frock up over her head she hung it with care in the small two-door wardrobe she shared with the other girls then, balanced on the rickety chair, slipped off Rosa's shoes and peeled down her silk stockings. Shunning her sensible nightgown she crawled into the bed in her underclothes and lay staring at the flyblown ceiling, humming the tune with Lawrence's music as it wafted up the stairs.

The slam of the door crashing against the wall and the flash of the bright hall light acted like a gunshot. Dolly jerked bolt upright, her heart pounding. Alice and Rosa always tiptoed in taking care not to wake her.

‘Ah. Here's the little princess.' Cynthia flopped down onto the edge of her bed uninvited. ‘We need to talk.'

Dolly squirmed upright in the bed, the sheet clutched under her chin until her shoulders rested against the metal bedhead. Cynthia's hand pressed flat against her thigh pinned her to the bed, preventing her from standing.

‘Pretty pleased with yourself, aren't you?' Cynthia's catlike eyes scanned her face.

Her mind raced as she tried to decide the best answer. ‘I enjoyed singing,' she said in a small and disappointingly weak voice.

‘I expect you're enjoying a lot of things. Everything's working out just as you intended.' Cynthia's manicured fingers drummed on her leg and Dolly wanted nothing more than to smack them away.

‘It's all been a bit of a surprise. I didn't know what to expect when I got here.'

‘Claptrap.'

‘I'm sorry?'

‘Claptrap. You knew exactly what you were doing from the moment you knocked on the door of Number Fifty-Four.' Cynthia sprang to her feet towering over her.

Despite the malicious glint in Cynthia's eyes, she snapped back, ‘Yes, I knew what I was doing. I'd written to Mrs Mack and she'd told me to come down to Sydney to see about a job.'

‘Poof!' Cynthia's red lips vibrated and Dolly dragged her eyes away from the little blob of spittle sitting like a jewel in the corner of Cynthia's mouth. ‘I'm not talking about the job, I'm talking about Jack.'

‘Jack?' Dolly pushed back the bedclothes and swung her legs to the ground no longer caring what Cynthia thought of her lack of clothes. ‘What do you mean?'

‘You'd set your sights on Jack. Right from the beginning.'

‘No, that's not true. I didn't even know Jack was in Sydney and I certainly didn't know he would be here. It was a coincidence.'

‘Some coincidence. Next you'll be telling me you didn't know Jack owns Number Fifty-Four.'

Dolly clapped her hand over her open mouth, trying to stifle her squeal.
Jack owned Number Fifty-Four
. Her shoulders slumped as the implication of Cynthia's words sank in. All her big brave ideas about striking out on her own were nothing more than a sham. Alf and Father George must have known. Why else would they have put her in touch with Mrs Mack?

‘I didn't know. I was pleased to see Jack. I hadn't seen him since he and Ted joined up. I had no — '

‘You keep your conniving little hands off Jack.' Cynthia's long fingernail jabbed into Dolly's chest, punctuating her words. ‘I'm his girlfriend and I've staked a claim. Take your little-girl-lost nonsense back where you came from or you'll be sorry.'

Cynthia's words acted like a slap and a flood of anger gushed through her. First Jack and now Cynthia. Telling her what she should do, where she should and shouldn't go, what she could and couldn't do. ‘Get out!' She pointed to the door, her arm shaking with rage. ‘You might be his girlfriend and you might have
staked a claim
but no one is going to tell me what to do. I make my own decisions.'

‘Don't make any long-term plans, sweetheart,' Cynthia said with a smile that could cut glass. ‘He's mine.'

Still trembling from her outburst, Dolly stared at Cynthia's retreating back. She intended to make as many plans as she liked; whether or not they would include Jack was another matter. She'd be lying if she pretended she hadn't liked kissing him but she wanted to sing too. And if Mrs Mack wanted it as well Jack would just have to put up with it. In fact, she might even go back downstairs and listen to the music. She wasn't going to be bundled unceremoniously to bed like a recalcitrant child just because Cynthia was worried about her
boyfriend
.

The wardrobe door protested as Dolly flung it open and pulled her new frock out again. She slipped it over her head and fastened the loose belt around her hips. Shunning her stockings, she slipped Rosa's shoes back on and after a quick glance in the mirror she made her way back to the Blue Room.

She had no idea what she would say to Jack, or Cynthia for that matter, if she saw them and she didn't care. Cynthia's outburst made her even more determined to do what she wanted. She would be a part of the music and the dancing, revel in the thrill and the excitement of singing to an audience and being in Sydney.

The sound of the piano grew louder as Dolly approached the Blue Room. The door stood ajar and high-pitched squeals and cacophonous laughter vied with the deep bass of Lawrence's voice as he made a rather strained attempt to sing
Nobody Knows When You're Down and Out
. She could do so much better.

Dolly edged her way into the smoke-filled, jam-packed room. The air of frenetic energy seeped into her blood like sugar.

‘The Jazz Baby is back.'

The words sent a thrill down her spine. This was where she belonged and what she wanted to be doing. Not only that, her audience agreed with her.

Grinning with delight she worked her way to the piano and rested a hand on Lawrence's shoulder. He flashed her a smile and changed songs. Hoots of enthusiasm greeted the first chords of
Jazz Baby
and Dolly broke into the song she'd claimed as her own.

‘Good to see you back,' Lawrence said as he rifled through his music searching for a second song. ‘What kept you?' He winked.

‘Just had to sort out a few misapprehensions. Everything's fine now. What are we going to sing next?'

The remainder of the evening passed in a blur and when the crowd began to thin and Dolly spotted the first feeble rays of morning light through the open curtains she turned to the sunburst clock on the wall. Five thirty! In an hour Annie would expect her to appear in the kitchen, pail and mop in hand, ready for the day's work.

‘Lawrence, I've got to call it quits. I need to get some sleep. Thank you so much. I had a wonderful time.'

‘Don't thank me, Dolly. It was my pleasure. Jazz Baby made a name for herself tonight. Here, take this.' He pressed a small white card into her hand. ‘That's where you can find me. I think we make a great team. If you decide you want to do something more than this…' He gestured around the room.

The blood rushed to Dolly's cheeks. ‘I don't work here — well, I do.' She stopped and took a deep breath. What did it matter what Lawrence thought about her, and anyway, she wasn't ashamed about working at Number Fifty-Four. ‘Will you be playing tomorrow night?'

‘Maybe. Depends if Mrs Mack wants me or not.'

‘If you are, I shall see you tomorrow night. I'll check with Mrs Mack and see if she's happy for me to sing. You see, this was my first time.'

‘You're a natural, Dolly. Hope I see you tomorrow evening. Hang onto my card. You never know when you might need a friendly face.'

Jack pulled back the heavy brocade curtains and peered down at The Cross from his sixth-floor vantage point. Business as usual.

Trams bustled up and down the tracks vying for space with carts and drays delivering goods to the cafés, restaurants and saloons. Crowds thronged the street. Transient visitors and locals mingled with the migrant workers. Many of the old houses had been converted into boarding houses, most of them owned and run by women, and they were the perfect place for newcomers to get a foothold in the city. Two young women cleaned the entry foyer of the theatre at the apex of Darlinghurst Street and Victoria Road, courting the attention of John and Nick as they set up their fish and oyster bar in preparation for the day's trading.

All in all, the fact he'd managed to find Ted or that he'd stumbled across him in the first place still amazed him. He rubbed his nose; it was still tender from the walloping he'd received from his best mate whom he could see sprawled across the bed in the second bedroom, snoring lightly. With the injured side of his face buried in the pillow, Ted looked no different to the way he had six years ago. It was as though he had a split personality, the two sides of his face as different as his character. Before and after — war did that to a bloke.

War or no war, he had to make a decision. Dolly needed to know her brother was alive and her brother needed to believe Dolly was safe. Quite how he was going to approach his involvement in Number Fifty-Four he wasn't sure. And then there was his blunder last night. What ever possessed him to behave like such a fool? Millie, as usual, was right. No matter how many excuses he made he had to accept the fact he no longer saw Dolly as a little sister and the feelings he had for her went way beyond brotherly love. He would have to stay well clear of her until he spoke to Ted.

‘Morning.' Ted's blue eye stared at him through the open door and something resembling a grin twisted the corner of his mouth. He sat upright and ran his hands through his coal black hair. Jack's stomach churned as Ted's hand fell and the bright sunlight illuminated his mangled face.

‘Takes some getting used to, doesn't it?'

Jack shrugged, trying for an air of nonchalance but knowing his expression had given him away.

‘Now do you understand why I don't want to see Dolly?'

‘Dolly's not a kid anymore. She's a grown woman.' Just how grown and how attractive Jack vowed to leave until later. ‘She has a right to know you're alive. Scars or no scars she'd want to see you.'

Ted let out a long, puffing sigh. ‘Subject's not something we're going to see eye-to-eye on.' His self-deprecating laugh sent the sun scuttling behind a cloud.

‘Do you want some breakfast? Tea, coffee?'

‘That would be good.' Ted swung out of bed and tugged his filthy trousers on.

‘Help yourself to anything you want in the wardrobe and we'll get your clothes cleaned. I have a woman who comes. She'll sort it out.' Expecting an avalanche of truculence Jack raised his eyebrows when Ted wandered across to the closet. Throwing open the doors he let out a low whistle.

‘You've come up in the world a bit,' he said as he rifled through the suits, shirts and jackets hanging in neat rows. ‘Out of my league.' He paused and ran his hand over the worn leather of Jack's flying jacket. ‘Souvenir?'

‘Yes and no. I've been doing a bit of flying up north.'

Ted ignored his remark. ‘Where's the gear you had on at Susie's? That's more my mark.'

Jack ambled into his bedroom and picked up the checked shirt, braces and trousers lying on the chair. ‘Here.' He chucked them onto the bed wanting some distance and a moment to collect his thoughts.

He'd been so fixated on finding Ted he hadn't thought much about what he would do next. Obviously Ted didn't have any money, a job or anywhere to live, and here he was, wallowing in the lap of luxury. How could he help Ted without him thinking it was a handout? There were plenty of flying jobs up for grabs in Queensland and Western Australia; maybe that was the go. There was talk of a regular passenger service between Charleville and Cloncurry, and surely more would follow.

Rattling around in the kitchen Jack brewed a pot of tea while he waited for Ted to appear. He'd rather go down to his usual haunt around the corner. The Paris Café provided one of the best breakfasts in Sydney. However, Ted gave the impression of being a figure of the night and somehow Jack couldn't see him taking breakfast down there in the sunshine.

‘Tea. Excellent.' Ted reached for the teapot and poured two cups. ‘Milk?'

‘Yes. I can do milk and sugar. There's probably some bread and jam or we can go down to one of the cafes for something to eat.'

‘Don't want to let the side down. I'll have this and get out of your hair.'

Jack stalled, determined to clear the air and sort out a few things before Ted left.

‘Ted, we need to talk.'

‘I've told you I don't want to see Dolly.'

‘Not just about Dolly — about a whole lot of things.' Jack scratched his head, unsure where to start. ‘You were right. Things have worked out well in the last few years. Let me give you a hand. Get you on your feet.'