Read What's Better Than Money for Free Online

hear what she can do.”
    We went out into the restaurant and stood around in the semi-darkness until the band stopped playing. Then Willy went up onto the dias. He told the boys to take a rest, and then he announced Rima.
    He didn’t give her much of a build up. He said here was a little girl who would like to sing a couple of songs. Then he waved his hands to us, and we were set to go.
    “As loud as you like,” I said to Rima and I sat down at the piano.
    Most of the people hadn’t even bothered to stop talking. None of them gave her a hand.
    I didn’t care. I knew the moment she opened her mouth and let out that stream of silver sound she would stun them fast enough into silence.
    Willy stood near me, frowning. He kept looking at Rima. He seemed worried about something.
    Rima stood by the piano, staring expressionlessly into the smoke laden darkness. She seemed completely at ease.
    I began to play.
    She came in dead on pitch. She sang the first six or seven bars like a professional. The tone was there. The sound was pure silver. The rhythm was right.
    I was watching her. Then it began to go sour. I saw her face begin to sag. She lost pitch. The tone turned brassy. Then abruptly she stopped singing and she began to sneeze. She leaned forward, sneezing, her hands hiding her face, her body shaking.
    There was a horrible silence except for her sneezing. Then a buzz of voices.
    I stopped playing, feeling cold chills chasing up and down my spine.
    I heard Willy yelling at me: “Get that junky out of here! What the hell do you mean bringing a hop head into my place! Get her out! You hear me? Get this damned junky out of here!”
     
     

CHAPTER THREE
    I
     
    Rima lay on her bed, her face half hidden by the pillow, her body shaking, and every now and then she sneezed.
    I stood at the foot of the bed and watched her.
    I should have known, I told myself. I should have recognised the symptoms. It just hadn’t occurred to me that she was a junky, although the writing was up on the wall that night when I had heard her sneezing by the hour.
    Willy Floyd had been mad at me. Before he had thrown us out, he had told me if I ever showed my face inside his club again he’d get his bouncer to fix me, and he meant it.
    I had had a hell of a time getting Rima back to her room. She was in such a state I hadn’t dared to take her in a street car. I had had to half carry her, half drag her through the back alleys until I had got her to her room.
    She was quietening down now.
    I watched and I felt pretty sick.
    I had lost my job with Rusty and I had got in bad with Willy Floyd. All I had got out of the evening was a drug addict in my hair.
    I should have packed my bag and walked out on her. I wished I had, but I kept hearing that silver voice of hers, knowing that it could make a fortune, that I had her under contract and some of the fortune could be mine.
    Suddenly she rolled over and stared at me.
    “I warned you,” she said breathlessly. “Now get out of here and leave me alone!”
    “Okay, you warned me,” I said, resting my arms on the bedrail and staring back at her. “But you didn’t tell me what was wrong. How long have you been on the stuff?”
    “Three years. I’ve got the habit.” She sat up and taking out her handkerchief, she began to mop her eyes. She looked as romantic as a dirty bath towel.
    “Three years? How old are you then?”
    “Eighteen. What’s it to you how old I am?”
    “You started on the stuff when you were fifteen?” I said, horrified.
    “Oh, shut up!”
    “Did Wilbur feed you the stuff?”
    “What if he did?” She blew her nose. “Do you want me to sing? Do you want me to be a big success? If you do, give me some money. When I’ve had a big enough shot, I’m wonderful. You haven’t heard anything yet. Give me some money. That’s all I want.”
    I sat on the edge of the bed.
    “Talk sense. I haven’t any money. If I had, I wouldn’t give it to you. Listen, with that voice of yours,