Read The King of Ragtime for Free Online Page B

give you a shave, and put a clean court plaster on your forehead, and then you’re going to wash up and change into your good suit. Won’t take but fifteen minutes, if you don’t argue. Come on.”
    ***
    Bartlett Tabor stepped lively up from the subway station, and across Seventy-second Street. Not a woman under sixty failed to give him the eye as he went past, but he was used to that. What could he say, the ladies loved him, with his wide shoulders, dark eyes, long lashes and heavy eyebrows. They couldn’t seem to keep their fingers out of the dimple in his chin—not that he ever tried to stop them. He glanced at the manila folder in his left hand, and smiled as he thought how well his plan was working out. ‘Berlin, Snyder, and Tabor’ had a nice ring. As he looked up, still smiling, he caught the eye of a delicious little thing in a pretty white summer dress, then chuckled as he watched her blush. If he weren’t otherwise engaged…but he was. The girlies would have to wait.
    He crossed West End Avenue and hurried on along Seventy-second to the end of the block. There, he turned left under the awning at the doorway to the Chatsworth Apartments. The doorman, a slightly-built Negro in a red uniform with gold trim, and a little circular hat to match, grinned, bowed, then opened the glass door. “’Afternoon, sir. Goin’ up to see Mr. Berlin?”
    Tabor nodded.
    Less than two minutes later, he was on the fifth floor, knocking at Berlin’s door. Practically before his hand was off the brass lion’s-head, the door opened and there stood Robert Miras, Berlin’s valet, looking down his long, slim nose at Tabor in that infuriating way of his. Too bad the lousy bum-sucker was Berlin’s property. Tabor would’ve loved to give him a good what-for.
    “I’m sorry,” Miras said through his nose. “Mr. Berlin is not available at the moment.”
    Tabor narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘he’s not available at the moment?’ This is the ‘moment’ he told me to come. I’ve got to talk to him, it’s important.” Tabor brandished the folder. “He’s not going to like it if he finds out you’re the reason I couldn’t show him this.”
    “I’m sure it really is very important, Mr. Tabor. But Mr. Ziegfeld needed to see Mr. Berlin urgently, about
The Century Girl
. You know, the musical he’s working—”
    “Yes, I know about
The Century Girl
. I’m his office manager.”
    Miras’ face suggested that Tabor might have just said it was a nice day. The valet extended a hand. “I’ll be glad to give it to Mr. Berlin as soon as he returns.”
    Tabor pulled the folder away, started to step inside. “I’ll wait.”
    Miras glided a step to the left, blocking Tabor’s path. “He has an interview scheduled for when he gets back, and then he and Mr. Hess are going to dinner and a show. If you wish to leave the material with me, he should be able to look it over later and get back to you in the morning. But if you’d rather make an appointment for tomorrow, I’ll be glad to consult his calendar.”
    Tabor fought an intense desire to punch the supercilious bastard square on the snoot. Miras’ faint smile said he knew exactly what Tabor would like to do, and more, knew he never would. Finally, Tabor thrust the folder at Miras, who gathered it up and slipped it under an arm. Tabor jabbed a finger. “Be careful. Make sure you don’t drop any of those papers.”
    Miras pulled himself up to his full height. “Mr. Tabor, I do not occupy my position because I’m in the habit of being careless.” Then he shut the door—not gently—in Tabor’s face.
    As he stormed out of the building, past the doorman, the office manager’s mood was 180 degrees from what it had been when he came in. All along Seventy-second Street, people moved aside to let him pass. No admiring looks from women, or anyone else. When he got to Broadway, he stopped short of the subway entrance, and shaded his eyes to look down the street.