The King of Ragtime (21 page)

“Give me a break. What do you think, I’m going to have a bunch of cops waiting to nab Joplin on the spot?”

“That is a possibility.”

“Stark, listen. You think I’m gonna gamble with my own teeth, and maybe my life?”

Stark wondered whether he should put aside his dislike for the man, and set up a meeting. But time favored him, not Berlin, and besides, he thought he should talk the matter over with Nell and Joe before taking that step. “You make a good case, Mr. Berlin. I need to think it over. I’ll get back to you later.”

“That’s for real?”

“Sir, I do not deal in flummery or taradiddle. I will get back to you.”

“When? How soon?”

“Later today, perhaps tomorrow.”

***

The afternoon heat in the Waterson, Berlin, and Snyder offices was stifling. Men walked slowly, sleeves rolled up, collars open, ties loose. Even the applicants in Reception, usually eager and talky, sat quietly as they waited their turns. Nell labored over the ledger, stopping now and then just long enough to wipe perspiration off her forehead, lest it drip into her eyes or onto the ledger pages, and smear the ink.

By a quarter past four, she had the numbers up to date. Tabor looked at her, astonished, when she presented him with the ledger. He leafed through it, page by page, and when he finished, his face was all admiration. “Well, Mrs. Stanley! I’d thought it would take you at least two days to sort out this mess. You really do deliver the goods, don’t you?”

She smiled. “Yes, sir, I do. What would you like me to work on now?”

Tabor shook his head slowly. “I’m concerned about some sales numbers from one of our distributors, but I don’t have the files ready yet. I’ll get them to you tomorrow morning. Just take the rest of the day off.”

I’m not going to learn anything while I’m out, Nell thought, and said, “Is there something I might do for Mr. Waterson?”

Tabor cocked his head, looked at her out of the corners of his eyes. A wicked smile spread over his face. “This time of year, Mr. Waterson has an urgent appointment every afternoon at the race track. I’ll see you in the morning.” Tabor turned back to his work.

Clearly, the discussion was over, and so was Nell’s work day. She said a quiet, “Thank you, sir,” and left.

She stopped at her desk, picked up her purse, and walked down the hall toward the waiting room. Fannie looked her a question as she came past the reception desk. “I finished my work,” Nell said. “Mr. Tabor said he had nothing else for me to do, and I should take off the rest of the day.”

Fannie checked her watch. “It’s not even four-thirty. He gave you more than a half-hour off?”

Nell nodded.

Fannie snickered, then motioned Nell to bend down. “
I
say you better watch out,” the receptionist whispered. “Next thing you know, you’re gonna be up in that apartment of his.”

“I’ll be careful.” Nell waved, and walked out into the corridor.

She rode down to the main floor in an otherwise-empty elevator, stepped out to the sidewalk, and began to wind her way through the Broadway mob. If Tabor tried to get her up to his apartment, she’d give him a good—no, she wouldn’t. She’d play hard-to-get, that’s what she’d do. Easy enough to string along a wolf, and she was not exactly a little lassie, just out of school…wait a minute. Didn’t Fannie say Tabor had an eye for Birdie, and the girl was afraid Martin might catch the manager pinching her, and make a scene that would lose them both their jobs? Well, Martin
was
out of the office now, wasn’t he, and it was not past Nell’s imagination to see Tabor leading the girl to the apartment after work, then telling her in the morning to do whatever she’d like for the day, and when he came back after work, they’d have a swell dinner and go to the theater. And then, of course, another night in the apartment and a second day off, along with a hint that this might lead to a permanent arrangement.

Nell’s gorge rose. A man passing her gave her a queer look and a wide berth. She moved out of the foot traffic to stand against the green marble facade of an office building. What was the address Fannie had mentioned? 354 West Forty-ninth, yes. Apartment 2A. Nell sidestepped a man locked in place, head back, gawping up at the tops of the buildings. A Reuben, come to the big city for the visit of a lifetime. He’d better pay more attention to the bulge in the back pocket of his trousers.

354 West Forty-ninth was a small brownstone, five floors, probably two apartments to a floor. A nice building, clean-looking, but nothing fancy. She opened the street door, walked in, and up the flight of metal stairs to the second floor.

She stood for a moment in front of 2A. What would she say to Birdie? That the girl should be ashamed for frightening her mother while she enjoyed a little fling with the manager? For that matter, would Birdie even open the door?

One way to find out. Nell knocked, quietly at first, then louder. “Yeah, what is it?” came back at her. A man’s voice.

This was a mistake, a wild-goose chase. Fannie was such a dodo; she could have decided to have a little fun pulling Nell’s leg. She turned away, started for the stairs, but then heard the door open behind her. “Hey lady, you lookin’ for somebody?”

She turned back. The speaker was a young colored man with a nasty scar across his left cheek, wearing a shirt and trousers so bright, they hurt her eyes. Nell forced a bland smile. “I was looking for someone, but I guess I’m in the wrong place.”

“Somebody like who?”

“Mr…” She was going to say Tabor, but since the place supposedly was his, she threw out the first name that came to her mind. “Mr. Berlin.”

The man looked both suspicious and nervous. “Mr.
Irving
Berlin?”

“Why, yes. The songwriter. You’ve heard of him, then?”

Mistake. The man’s face tightened; he reached into his pocket. “I probably have the wrong address…” Nell’s voice failed as the man pulled a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at her. He motioned with the gun: come here.

She backed a step away, toward the stairs, but the man moved two steps out from the doorway. “Woman, get yourself on inside a there, and do it quick. I ain’t gonna tell you one more time.”

Was he bluffing? Nell decided not to test him. She walked past the man, and inside. He slammed the door, threw the lock.

She looked around. No one else in the room. To her right was a kitchen, to the left, a doorway that she thought probably led into a bedroom. The man still held the gun on her, standing just far enough away that he couldn’t miss hitting her if he fired, nor could she hope to grab his arm and wrestle away the gun—which was clearly a forlorn hope anyway, given the man’s size. “Okay, now, lady,” he said. “What is it you say you come here for?”

“You can put away the gun—”

“That ain’t for you to say. What is it you come here for?”

“Well, it’s a little embarrassing,” Nell said. “This
is
Apartment 2A? 354 West Forty-ninth?”

“What if it is?”

“That’s the address Mr. Berlin gave me. I was supposed to meet him here.”

“Yeah? That the truth?”

Nell nodded. “Yes.”

The man’s scowl deepened. He waggled the barrel of his gun toward an armchair. “Sit yourself down and
stay
sittin’, hear? Make one move, I gonna tie you in so tight you can’t even breathe. Move!”

Nell sat, smoothed her skirt.

The gunman walked across the room, pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket, then picked up the phone receiver and read a number to the operator, a number Nell recognized. Waterson, Berlin, and Snyder’s. As the man waited for the receptionist to pick up, he shifted from one foot to the other, all the while muttering under his breath. “Yeah, hello,” he finally growled. “I gotta talk to Mr. Berlin, it be real important…no, damn you, I ain’t tryin’ to sell him no songs. And don’t you go tellin’ me he ain’t there or like that. You don’t hook me right up with him, ain’t no way you gonna have you a job tomorrow.”

The man glanced at Nell; without saying a word, he warned her to stay put. Then he snapped to attention. “Oh yeah, hello. Mr. Berlin, sorry to be botherin’ you, but I got me a problem here. This woman, she knocked on the door and said she supposed to be meetin’ Mr. Irving Berlin…what she look like, you say?” The colored man stared at Nell. “I don’t know, nothing special. Medium-high, kind of old, she got some gray hairs…no, I didn’t get that, you want me to ask? Okay, hold a minute. The man lowered the receiver. “Woman, what you call yourself?”

“Eleanor Stanley. I work at Waterson, Berlin, and Snyder. That’s how I know Mr. Berlin, for heaven’s sake.”

“You hear that, Mr. Berlin? What? Hold on again, I’ll ask her.” He turned back to Nell. “He says what job you got at his place. He ain’t never heard of you.”

“I’m the new bookkeeper. I just started today.”

The man returned the phone to his ear. “You hear that?… Yeah, okay. I won’t let her outa the chair she be in. I got my rod on her, so she ain’t goin’ noplace. Yeah. ’Bye.”

The man hung up the telephone, settled into an armchair across from Nell, chortled. “Mr. Berlin be right on over, say he like to make your acquaintance.”

“I’ll be glad to meet him,” Nell said, then told herself she was foolish to waste irony on this man.

She was right. “I ain’t so sure about that,” he said.

“Can’t you at least put away the gun? It’s really getting me nervous.”

The colored man laughed again. “Long as you sit nice in that chair there and don’t do nothing to make
me
nervous, you ain’t got a thing to worry about. It all be up to you.”

Nell listened, then pointed toward the bedroom to her left. “Whoever you’ve got in there is crying.” She had a pretty good idea who that whoever was.

“What about it? Ain’t none a your business.” But Nell thought the man looked distressed, and the longer they sat and the longer the crying went on, the more uneasy he appeared. Finally, he got up, waved the pistol in Nell’s direction, then walked quickly to the doorway. “Something the matter?” he asked into the room. Nell couldn’t make out the reply. “Well,” the man said. “I truly be sorry, but I can’t attend to you same time I got to be watching somebody out here. Wait’ll my boss comes, then I can loosen up your ties a little.” The man stomped back to his chair, his face like a storm cloud, and pointed the gun back at Nell.

“Why can’t you make that poor girl comfortable?” Nell asked. “Why do you need to be so cruel?”

The man exploded. “Damn you, woman! Didn’t I tell you, it ain’t none a your business? Now, shut up your mouth, you’re botherin’ me.”

Nell looked from the gun to the man’s face, tried not to linger on the scar. Better just sit quietly and wait to see what would happen when Berlin arrived. If the situation looked bad, she’d tell him her father knew she was here, and that Footsie Vinny was ready to go into action at any time.

Fifteen minutes passed. Nell heard a key in the lock of the door to the hall. The colored man also heard it—he went rigid, then jumped to his feet. The door swung open and a white man burst in, a pistol in his outstretched hand. The colored man’s eyes bulged. The white man fired once, twice. A look of wonder came over the colored man’s face. The gun dropped from his hand, then he swayed as if doing a grotesque dance, and folded onto the floor.

Nell flew out of her chair. “Mrs. Stanley,” the white man called after her. “Are you all right?”

But she was already in the bedroom, taking in the scene. Birdie, tied to a bed, directly beneath an open window. The girl’s face was wild with fear. “What happened, what happened?”

“It’s all right now.” Nell bent to undo the knot in the rope around the girl’s wrists, then, as Birdie rubbed her hands together, Nell whispered, “You’ve never seen me before, understand?”

Birdie nodded.

Nell untied her feet. As the girl swung around to sit on the edge of the bed, she noticed the white man standing in the doorway. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Mr. Tabor. What are
you
doing here?” She looked back at Nell, all questions.

Nell turned to Tabor. “Do you two know each other?”

Tabor smiled. “This is Birdie Kuminsky, Mrs. Stanley. Miss Kuminsky, Mrs. Eleanor Stanley. Our new bookkeeper.”

Birdie clutched at her throat. “But Martin’s the bookkeeper…oh no. No, no!” Screaming now.

“What’s happened to Martin?” Nell took her hand, squeezed it.

“I’ve got no idea,” Tabor said. “I haven’t seen him since he and Joplin ran away from the office after the murder.”

“Martin had nothing to do with that murder!”

Tabor coughed. “I don’t know whether he did or not, Miss Kuminsky. I only said that was the last time I saw him. And since we were without a bookkeeper
or
an assistant bookkeeper, I thought I’d better hire one.” He sucked at his upper lip. “As far as I know, Mrs. Stanley, there are no company books in this apartment that needed your attention. What are you doing here?”

“I was going to stop at the drugstore on my way home,” Nell said. And I happened to look up here, and I saw…Miss Kuminsky, is it? I saw her head sticking out the window, and as well as I could tell, she was calling for help.”

“Oh, yes. Yes.” Birdie practically jumped up and down. “I managed to get myself onto the end of the bed, and I thought if I could get somebody’s attention, maybe they’d get me out of here.”

Tabor’s face beamed with approval. “Smart girl.”

Oh boy, Nell thought. Smooth as silk. Young Niederhoffer’s going to have his hands full. “So, I came up and knocked at the door, and got more of a reception than I’d figured on.”

Tabor shook his head. “Whew. Another five minutes, and both Fannie and I would’ve been gone for the day. She ran into my office and told me someone was calling for Mr. Berlin, said it was very important, and would not take no for an answer. So I told her to put it through to me. Then, before I could even say my name, he was off and running, told me he had a woman up here who’d come to see Irving Berlin. I couldn’t imagine what was going on, but when he said he had a ‘rod’ on you, I thought I’d better come prepared. Good thing I did.” Tabor patted the bulge in his jacket pocket. “That’s no little popgun he’s got out there.”