Two-Face. Ernest Dudley
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would rather you played and I sat quiet and listened to you.”
Julia patted her head. “That’s a pretty little compliment, my dear!”
She sat down and ran her fingers along the keyboard with her expert touch. Mitsi watched her admiringly. To her Julia seemed the unattainable personification of sophistication. The smart cut of her dark hair, the broad, intelligent line of her brow. She loved, too, the way she manoeuvred her cigarette in its long, slender holder as she played and talked.
Julia, conscious of her gaze, turned to give her a quizzical glance.
“Anything wrong with me?”
Mitsi stammered and blushed.
“N-no…I was just wishing I were like you, Julia. You seem so clever, so assured. As if nothing that happened in the world could ever hurt you.”
Without taking her fingers off the keys Julia eyed the other with a faint smile. “I have got my troubles,” she answered lightly. “Life is not all beer and skittles even for we clever and worldly-wise people!”
Mitsi stared at her, puzzling over her words.
“What is beer and skittles—?”
“Oh, it’s just a sort of game.”
Not understanding her in the slightest Mitsi nodded. “I see,” she said slowly.
“Anyway, don’t wish too hard you were like me—or any other woman who looks as if nothing could hurt her. Many an ‘Arden’ face hides a broken heart!” She turned back to the piano. “Come on, now, sing something.”
She started playing “Parlez-moi d’amour.”
Mitsi broke in: “Oh, I know that song. I have heard it often.”
“It’s a pretty little thing,” said Julia.
Mitsi sang, her funny, low voice giving the tune a wealth of sentiment.
“You ought to have something like that to sing in London,” said Julia.
“Yes, yes…it is very attractive.”
“You’ll have to find a tune you must make quite your own. One nobody but you can sing. A song that’ll always be associated with you. That’s what the big cabaret stars have done.”
Mitsi laughed excitedly.
“That would be lovely, to have a song of my own! So that when it was played in restaurants and by dance bands everyone would say ‘that is Mitsi Linden’s song’.”
“That’s the idea!”
Julia was suddenly thoughtful.
“Yes, my goodness,” she exclaimed with emphasis, “it is the idea.” She turned to Mitsi quickly. “I think we can find somebody who can write just that sort of song for you,” she exclaimed. “Wait just a moment, I’ll talk to Leo.”
She hurried out of the studio calling for her brother.
She was back in a moment.
“Leo is trying to get him on the telephone now.”
“Who?”
“Max Cooper is his name.”
Julia laughed.
“Probably playing some world-shattering symphonic movement on his old tin piano at home!” she went on. “Leo’s going to try to get him right away. He is quite mad, but brilliant really. An Englishman who writes highbrow music and finds Paris the cosiest city in which to starve! He’ll do anything for Leo.”
At that moment Leo bawled from the other room: “He’s coming round now, Julia.”
“Where did you find him?” Julia yelled back.
“In his usual restaurant!”
“I hope you didn’t interrupt his supper?”
“Bringing it with him,” Leo roared.
Julia turned to Mitsi laughing.
“You see? That’s the sort of man he is,” she said, spreading her hands. “Strange people we know, don’t we?”
Mitsi said nothing. She wondered what this mad musician friend of Leo’s would be like.
In a few minutes Leo brought him in.
Mitsi thought he looked much more like a boxer than a musician. Short and thick set with massive shoulders. His nose, high-bridged, jutted out aggressively. He carried a large plate filled with spaghetti which he was eating as he entered. He waved his fork wildly at Julia, and his mouth full of spaghetti, muttered to Mitsi: “Hello, how are you?”
CHAPTER 8
“You’ve got to compose a lovely song for her,” said Julia. “She’s got to sing in a cabaret and she wants a tune like—oh, ‘Parlez moi d’amour’—you know.”
“Impossible,” retorted Cooper, his mouth full. “Can’t lower myself to such a thing! I write music—not twaddle!”
He gestured wildly with both hands. Mitsi was fearful the spaghetti would spatter them all. Miraculously it didn’t.
“Now don’t talk rubbish,” Julia said calmly. “You’ve been brought here to write her a song, and write her a song you shall!”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to, old man,” said Leo sympathetically. “You know what Julia’s like when she makes up her mind. Look at this child for instance!” He pointed dramatically at Mitsi. “When she was first brought here she was quite beautiful. Then Larry—”
“That mad journalist fellow?” queried Cooper.
Leo nodded.
“Decided to make her into a cabaret star!” He snorted. “Julia, of course, backs him up, has had the poor girl’s hair dyed, her face pushed about, and dressed her up in these ridiculous clothes!”
The man who looked like a prizefighter threw back his head and roared with laughter. It filled the room and was very infectious. Mitsi looked at him wonderingly, and without knowing why started laughing too.
“I see nothing funny in it at all,” said Julia severely, “and do mind where you are throwing that spaghetti!”
Cooper stuffed a forkful into his mouth, still laughing.
“I can see Julia has been having a marvellous time,” he choked. “Getting a vicarious pleasure, transforming a human being into some incredible doll!” He wagged the fork dangerously near Mitsi’s nose. “Now you want me to write a song for her?”
“You’ve got to,” declared Julia.
“I see. Cabaret. Iddi-um-tumty-tum-boopa-doop-hiii-de-he stuff!”
He broke into a hideous imitation of crooning. Mitsi’s expression was painful and Julia put her fingers to her ears. Leo roared at him to shut up. Cooper subsided.
“We want something pleasantly tuneful,” explained Julia, “you know perfectly well what I mean, Max. Don’t be difficult.”
“All right,” he answered resignedly. “Let me finish my supper first.” He threw himself into a chair. “And let’s hear the girl sing.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” said Leo. “Do your best Max.” And he slammed out of the studio.
Julia played again and Mitsi sang “Parlez moi d’amour.” Cooper sat back, his eyes closed, and ate greedily. When she had finished singing he said without opening his eyes:
“Not bad! Not good, of course, but not bad!”
Mitsi looked at Julia who hastened to reassure her. “Don’t take any notice, my dear!” She crossed over to Max and dragged him to the piano: “Play yourself