Nocturnes: Five Stories of Music and Nightfall (17 page)

“Steve, I want you to come and receive this. This is going to be a presentation.”

I was puzzled, but got to my feet. As I went to her, she pulled off the handkerchief and held towards me a shiny brass ornament.

“You thoroughly deserve this. So it’s yours. Jazz Musician of the Year. Maybe of all time. Congratulations.”

She placed it in my hands and kissed me lightly on the cheek through the crêpe.

“Well, thanks. This
is
a surprise. Hey, this looks pretty. What is it? An alligator?”

“An alligator? Come on! It’s a pair of cute little cherubs kissing each other.”

“Oh yeah, I can see it now. Well, thanks, Lindy. I don’t know what to say. It’s really beautiful.”

“An alligator!”

“I’m sorry. It’s just the way this guy has his leg stretched all the way out. But I see now. It’s really beautiful.”

“Well, it’s yours. You deserve it.”

“I’m touched, Lindy. I really am. And what does this say down here? I don’t have my glasses.”

“It says ‘Jazz Musician of the Year.’ What else would it say?”

“That’s what it says?”

“Sure, that’s what it says.”

I went back to the sofa, holding the statuette, sat down and thought a little. “Say, Lindy,” I said eventually. “This item you’ve just given me. It’s not possible, is it, you came across it on one of your midnight walks?”

“Sure. Sure it’s possible.”

“I see. And it’s not possible, is it, this is the real award? I mean the actual gong they were going to hand to Jake?”

Lindy didn’t reply for a few seconds, but kept standing there very still. Then she said:

“Of course it’s the real thing. What would be the point, giving you any old junk? There was an injustice about to be committed, but now justice has prevailed. That’s all that matters. Hey, sweetie, come on. You know you’re the one who deserves this award.”

“I appreciate your viewpoint. It’s just that … well, this is kind of like stealing.”

“Stealing? Didn’t you say yourself this guy’s no good? A fake? And you’re a genius. Who’s trying to steal from who here?”

“Lindy, where exactly did you come across this thing?”

She shrugged. “Just some place. One of the places I go. An office, you’d call it maybe.”

“Tonight? You picked it up tonight?”

“Of course I picked it up tonight. I didn’t know about your award last night.”

“Sure, sure. So that was an hour ago, would you say?”

“An hour. Maybe two hours. Who knows? I was out there some time. I went to my presidential suite for a while.”

“Jesus.”

“Look, who cares? What are you so worried about? They lose this one, they can just go get another one. They’ve probably got a closet full somewhere. I presented you with something you deserve. You’re not going to turn it down, are you, Steve?”

“I’m not turning it down, Lindy. The sentiment, the honor, all of that, I accept it all, I’m really happy about it. But this, the actual trophy. We’re going to have to take it back. We’ll have to put it back exactly where you found it.”

“Screw them! Who cares?”

“Lindy, you haven’t thought this through. What will you do when this gets out? Can you imagine what the press will do with this? The gossip, the scandal? What will your public say? Now come on. We’re going out there right now before people start waking up. You’re going to show me exactly where you found this thing.”

She suddenly looked like a kid who’d been scolded. Then she sighed and said: “I guess you’re right, sweetie.”

ONCE WE’D AGREED
to take it back, Lindy became quite possessive about the award, holding it close to her bosom all the time we hurried through the passageways of the vast, sleeping hotel. She led the way down hidden stairways, along back corridors, past sauna rooms and vending machines. We didn’t see or hear a soul. Then Lindy whispered: “It was this way,” and we pushed through heavy doors into a dark space.

Once I was sure we were alone, I switched on the flashlight I’d brought from Lindy’s room and shone it around. We were in the ballroom, though if you were looking to dance just then, you’d have had trouble with all the dining tables, each one with its white linen cover and matching chairs. The ceiling had a fancy central chandelier. At the far end there was a raised stage, probably large enough to put on a fair-sized show, though right now the curtains were drawn across it. Someone had left a step-ladder in the middle of the room and an upright vacuum cleaner against the wall.

“It’s going to be some party,” she said. “Four hundred, five hundred people?”

I wandered further into the room and threw the torch beam around some more. “Maybe this is where it’s going to happen. Where they’re going to give Jake his award.”

“Of course it is. Where I found this”—she held up the statuette—“there were other ones too. Best Newcomer. R&B Album of the Year. That kind of stuff. It’s going to be a big event.”

Now my eyes had adjusted, I could see the place better, even though the flashlight wasn’t so powerful. And for a moment, as I stood there looking up at the stage, I could imagine the way the place would look later on. I imagined all the people in their fancy clothes, the record-company men, the big-time promoters, the random showbiz celebrities, laughing and praising each other; the fawningly sincere applause every time the MC mentioned the name of a sponsor; more applause, this time with whoops and cheers, when the award winners went up. I imagined Jake Marvell up on that stage, holding his trophy, the same smug smile he’d always have in San Diego when he’d finished a solo and the audience had clapped.

“Maybe we’ve got this wrong,” I said. “Maybe there’s no need to return this. Maybe we should throw it in the garbage. And all the other awards you found with it.”

“Yeah?” Lindy sounded puzzled. “Is that what you want to do, sweetie?”

I let out a sigh. “No, I guess not. But it would be … satisfying, wouldn’t it? All those awards in the garbage. I bet every one of those winners is a fake. I bet there isn’t enough talent between the lot of them to fill a hot-dog bun.”

I waited for Lindy to say something to this, but nothing came. Then when she did speak, there was some new note, something tighter, in her voice.

“How do you know some of these guys aren’t okay? How do you know some of them don’t deserve their award?”

“How do I know?” I felt a sudden tide of irritation. “How do I know? Well, think about it. A panel that considers Jake Marvell the year’s outstanding jazz musician. What other kind of people are they going to honor?”

“But what do you know about these guys? Even this Jake fella. How do you know he didn’t work really hard to get where he has?”

“What is this? You’re Jake’s greatest fan now?”

“I’m just expressing my opinion.”

“Your opinion? So this is your opinion? I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. For a moment there, I was forgetting who you were.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean? How dare you speak to me that way?!”

It occurred to me I was losing my grip. I said quickly: “Okay, I’m out of line. I’m sorry. Now let’s go find this office.”

Lindy had gone silent, and when I turned to face her, I couldn’t see well enough in the light to guess what she was thinking.

“Lindy, where’s this office? We need to find it.”

Eventually, she indicated with the statuette towards the back of the hall, then led the way past the tables, still not speaking. When we were there, I put my ear against the door for a few seconds, and hearing nothing, opened it carefully.

We were in a long narrow space that seemed to run parallel with the ballroom. A dim light had been left on somewhere, so we could just about make things out without the flashlight. It was obviously not the office we were after, but some kind of catering-cum-kitchen area. Long extended work counters ran along both walls, leaving a gangway down the middle wide enough for staff to put final touches to the food.

But Lindy seemed to recognise the place and went striding purposefully down the gangway. About halfway along, she stopped suddenly to examine one of the baking trays left on the counter.

“Hey, cookies!” She seemed completely to have regained her equanimity. “Too bad it’s all under cellophane. I’m famished. Look! Let’s see what’s under this one.”

She went on a few more steps, to a big dome-shaped lid, and raised it. “Look at this, sweetie. This looks
really
good.”

She was leaning over a plump roast turkey. Instead of replacing the lid, she laid it down carefully next to the bird.

“Do you think they’d mind if I pulled off a leg?”

“I think they’d mind a lot, Lindy. But what the hell.”

“It’s a big baby. You want to share a leg with me?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Okay. Here goes.”

She reached towards the turkey. Then suddenly she straightened and turned to face me.

“So what was that supposed to mean back there?”

“What was what supposed to mean?”

“What you were saying. When you said you weren’t surprised. About my opinion. What was that about?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be offensive. Just thinking aloud, that’s all.”

“Thinking aloud? Well, how about thinking aloud some more? So I suggest some of these guys may have deserved their awards, why is that a ridiculous statement?”

“Look, all I’m saying is that the wrong people end up with the awards. That’s all. But you seem to know better. You think that’s not what happens …”

“Some of those guys, maybe they worked damn hard to get where they have. And maybe they deserve a little recognition. The trouble with people like you, just because God’s given you this special gift, you think that entitles you to everything. That you’re better than the rest of us, that you deserve to go to the front of the line every time. You don’t see there’s a whole lot of other people weren’t as lucky as you who work really hard for their place in the world …”

“So you don’t think I work hard? You think I sit on my ass all day? I sweat and heave and break my balls to come up with something worthwhile, something beautiful, then who is it gets the recognition? Jake Marvell! People like you!”

“How fucking dare you! What do I have to do with this? Am I getting an award today? Has anyone
ever
given me a goddamn award? Have I ever had anything, even in school, one lousy certificate for singing or dancing or any damn thing else? No! Not a fucking thing! I had to watch all of you, all you creeps, going up there, getting the prizes, and all the parents clapping …”

“No prizes? No prizes? Look at you! Who gets to be famous? Who gets the fancy houses …”

At that moment someone flicked a switch and we were blinking at each other under harsh bright lights. Two men had come in the same way we had, and were now moving towards us. The gangway was just wide enough to let them walk side by side. One was a huge black guy in a hotel security guard’s uniform, and what I first thought was a gun in his hand was a two-way radio. Beside him was a small white man in a light-blue suit with slick black hair. Neither of them looked particularly deferential. They stopped a yard or two away, then the small guy took an ID out of his jacket.

“LAPD,” he said. “Name’s Morgan.”

“Good evening,” I said.

For a moment the cop and the security guard went on looking at us in silence. Then the cop asked:

“Guests of the hotel?”

“Yes, we are,” I said. “We’re guests.”

I felt the soft material of Lindy’s night-gown brush against my back. Then she’d taken my arm and we were standing side by side.

“Good evening, officer,” she said in a sleepy, honeydew voice quite unlike her usual one.

“Good evening, ma’am,” the cop said. “And are you folks up at this time for any special reason?”

We both started to answer at once, then laughed. But neither of the men laughed or smiled.

“We were having trouble sleeping,” Lindy said. “So we were just walking.”

“Just walking.” The cop looked around in the stark white light. “Maybe looking for something to eat.”

“That’s right, officer!” Lindy’s voice was still way over the top. “We got a little hungry, the way I’m sure you do too sometimes in the night.”

“I guess room service isn’t up to much,” the cop said.

“No, it’s not so good,” I said.

“Just the usual stuff,” the cop said. “Steaks, pizzas, hamburgers, triple-decker clubs. I know because I just ordered from all-night room service myself. But I guess you folks don’t like that kind of food.”

“Well, you know how it is, officer,” Lindy said. “It’s the
fun
. The fun of creeping down and taking a bite, you know, a little bit forbidden, the way you did when you were a kid?”

Neither man showed any sign of melting. But the cop said:

“Sorry to trouble you folks. But you understand this area isn’t open to guests. And one or two items have gone missing just lately.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You folks see anything odd or suspicious tonight?”

Lindy and I looked at each other, then she shook her head at me dramatically.

“No,” I said. “We haven’t seen anything odd.”

“Nothing at all?”

The security guard had been coming closer, and now he came past us, squeezing his bulk along the counter. I realised the plan was for him to check us over more closely, to see if maybe we were concealing anything on our persons, while his partner kept us talking.

“No, nothing,” I said. “What kind of thing did you have in mind?”

“Suspicious people. Unusual activity.”

“Do you mean, officer,” Lindy said with shocked horror, “that rooms have been broken into?”

“Not exactly, ma’am. But certain items of value have gone missing.”

I could sense the security guard shift behind us.

“So that’s why you’re here with us,” Lindy said. “To protect us and our belongings.”

“That’s right, ma’am.” The cop’s gaze moved fractionally, and I got the impression he’d exchanged a look with the man behind us. “So if you see anything odd, please call security right away.”

The interview seemed to be over and the cop moved aside to let us out. Relieved, I made a move to go, but Lindy said: