Two-Face. Ernest Dudley
Mitsi sat enraptured. It reminded her of times when her mother had taken her to concerts. If Mother were here now, she thought, how she would have loved it.
The music died and Cooper’s hands came to rest once more on the keyboard. He turned round to her and Julia. Laughed sardonically.
“All the audiences I ever get are played to for nothing! Thanks for listening.”
“It was beautiful,” breathed Mitsi. “It reminds me so much of—”
Cooper leant forward to the girl. “Did you ever hear Schnabel?”
“Yes,” she said. “Once with my mother. He played Beethoven.”
She hummed the thin thread of the tune of the “Moonlight Sonata.”
Cooper swung back to the piano again and picked out the melody as she hummed it.
“You mean like this?”
“Yes, yes,” she agreed.
He went on playing. Again Mitsi and Julia were drowned in magical sound.
When it had finished he came across to her.
“Why must you be a cabaret girl?” he asked. “You are quite intelligent.”
“Now come on, Max,” Julia interrupted. “Let’s do some work.”
He went back to the piano. Mitsi leant against it watching him. Julia stood over his shoulder as if forcing him to do what was required.
“Well, what do you want to call your song?” he asked. “D’you want a French title, or an English one?”
Mitsi and Julia thought for a moment.
“I think English would be best, don’t you?” Mitsi suggested.
Julia nodded her head in agreement. “I think so too.”
“All right, then think of something,” and Cooper’s fingers rippled along the keys. “It’s got to be a love song, of course?”
“Of course!” from Julia.
“Something cheaply poetical,” sneered Max.
Mitsi bit her lips in thought, and Julia wrinkled her brow. Cooper looked up at them, an amused grin on his face. Mitsi hazarded two or three suggestions. None met with Julia’s approval.
“No, no, it must be something romantic—sentimental.”
“Well, you suggest something,” said Mitsi.
“How about ‘Moonlight in Montmartre?” offered Cooper.
Julia shook her head.
“Why not ‘Midnight in the Morgue’?” he said, heavily facetious.
Mitsi giggled, but Julia glared. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed excitedly. “‘Orchids in Paris!’ How about that?”
“Lovely!” cried Mitsi.
Cooper let out a derisive hoot.
“All right! Let’s see, it should go like this…”
For two hours the three of them—interrupted and aided by Leo with suggestions and drinks—worked on the song.
To Mitsi Max’s skill was uncanny as he traced the melody, evolving a fascinating lilt. He tinkered with it, fitting in harmonies. Making up the lyric to suit the tune, altering the tune to suit the lyric.
And so “Orchids in Paris,” Mitsi’s first song—created specially for her—was born.
CHAPTER 9
“You won’t know her my pet!” Julia spoke into the telephone
“Good!” came Larry’s reply over the wire from London.
He had telephoned at midnight, just after Max Cooper had left. And the studio seemed strangely empty, bereft of the fascinating music of “Orchids in Paris.”
Mitsi had gone to bed, both excited and exhausted. Leo, too, was asleep. Julia had been lounging deep in an arm-chair, too tired to move. This glamorising business is wearing, she was thinking, when the telephone rang. But it seemed worth it to have Larry’s thanks.
“It’s grand of you Julia, my dear! Bless your heart!”
“How have you been doing your end?”
“All right… I have kidded Raymond she’s the biggest sensation Paris has ever known!” He chuckled. “He’ll be mad with me when he finds out, but it’ll be too late then!”
“You haven’t seen Mitsi yet,” retorted Julia. “Believe me, he’s going to be grateful to you—she is a sensation!”
“That’s comforting. Anyhow I’ll put her over big with the newspapers.”
“It’s amazing how the child’s blossomed out. Her personality’s changed. She really has got glamour! And the voice is most attractive too. We’ve got a new song for her—”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Max Cooper’s written it—”
“That mad composer chap?”
“He’s written a grand song for her anyhow.”
“What’s it called?” Larry did not sound very impressed.
“Orchids in Paris.”
“Hum…not bad,” he went on crisply. “I’ve been fixing things about her songs. Got Al Young working on something for her right now. He’ll be her pianist for the show, too. Maybe we can use ‘Orchids in Paris’ all right.”
“Don’t be so damned condescending,” snapped Julia. “I tell you it’s a lovely song. Just right for Mitsi…”
Larry’s laugh placated her.
“Darling,” he told her, “you’ve been perfectly marvellous about all this. I appreciate it enormously.”
“It’s a pleasure, Larry,” she mocked him.
“Please, can I speak to him—?”
Julia turned with a start to find Mitsi at her elbow. Her lovely hair was tousled, her eyes sleepy. She made an incongruous picture as she stood there in her own very unglamorous nightgown and one of Leo’s old dressing-gowns clutched round her.
“The telephone ringing wakened me up,” she explained huskily. “I guessed it might be him so I came out to see.”
“You ought to be fast asleep. You’ve got another hard day tomorrow!”
“What’s that?” It was Larry’s puzzled voice.
Julia turned back to the telephone, laughing.
“I was talking to Mitsi,” she explained. “She’s here. She’s got out of bed to come and talk to you.”
“Very nice of her,” said Larry. “Pity I can’t see her though in all her new glory!”
Julia eyed Mitsi quizzically.
“I’m afraid her night attire would not meet with your approval!” she answered. She described it to him.
Larry chuckled.
“We’ll put that right tomorrow,” Julia said. “Filmy black lace…all very transparent and fetching!”
“All right!” laughed Larry. “It won’t worry me anyhow. I’ll only see her in business hours!”
Julia did not smile.
“Here is Mitsi,” she said, and handed the telephone to her.
Mitsi took it gingerly. “Hello, Larry! How are you?” His voice, distant but warm, filled her ear.
“Fine!