Rags to Riches

‘Well, you’re drinking that rather quickly,’ she commented.

‘Good God! You’re not in the Band of Hope, are you?’

‘Certainly not. More like the band of no hope, me.’ Her tone, she was aware, must have sounded melancholy.

‘How can you possibly say that?’ he asked. ‘With all the musical talent you must possess?’

‘I wasn’t thinking about musical talent particularly.’

‘Oh? What, then?’

It was her turn to shrug, unsure as to how much she should tell him. ‘Oh…Men. I find men are a pain in the neck…Oh, I don’t mean you, Howard – I don’t know you – but some at any rate. I mean it’s either all or nothing with them. At least that’s my experience – which is a bit limited, I hasten to add – just in case I’ve given you the wrong impression.’

‘Is that an engagement ring you’re wearing, Maxine? You must have captured somebody’s heart. But that’s hardly surprising.’

She brought her hand up so he could inspect the ring in the dimness. He took off his glasses to better see close to and slipped them into the top pocket of his jacket.

‘Very impressive,’ he remarked.

‘But it’s not an engagement ring, Howard.’

‘No? Well that’s a blessing.’

She explained in some detail about her relationship with Stephen. How he wanted more than she was prepared to give, how she did not enjoy his caresses, even though she liked him as a person; how he’d tried to trap her into saying she would marry him. She was surprised at the consummate ease with which she was pouring out her doubts and fears to Howard, as if they’d been bosom pals always.

‘But everyone will think it’s an engagement ring, Maxine, and your Stephen knows that,’ Howard advised her. ‘Don’t you see? I thought it was an engagement ring, actually. Why don’t you wear it on your right hand, if you’re still keen on wearing it? Then there can be no misunderstanding. It tends to put off potential suitors, you know.’

Maxine looked at him with wide-eyed admiration. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? That’s brilliant, Howard! That’s absolutely brilliant.’

‘Here. Let me do it. I’ve never removed a ring from a finger before.’

She gave him her hand, thinking it a strange thing for him to say. He put his glass down on a nearby table and touched her slender fingers. Deftly, he slid off the ring.

‘Now, give me your right hand.’ He put the ring on the third finger. ‘Does it fit?’

She nodded coyly, aware that her heart was beating fast with the unanticipated intimacy of the moment. To her surprise, being touched by someone who was not Stephen was surprisingly pleasant and, for the first time in her life, Maxine felt that maybe she was not destined to be unresponsive forever. It had to be Stephen. She felt new hope. Physical contact might be pleasurable after all, and she wondered what her reaction would be if Brent touched her.

‘There. That’s all there is to it. Problem solved.’

‘Thank you.’ She felt herself blush; though in this dim light it barely mattered.

‘Is that why you’re here tonight with Brent Shackleton?’

‘What do you mean exactly?’

‘I mean, are you trying to seek some reason to justify discarding this Stephen?’

He had a point.

‘Maybe. I don’t really know. I hadn’t analysed my motives particularly. Brent’s a fellow musician. A colleague. To tell you the truth I was ready to go home before you came talking to me.’ But suddenly she saw her chance to find out more about Brent. She must sound as casual as she could. ‘Anyway, I don’t really know Brent that well. What can you tell me about him? I’ve seen him with a girl after CBO concerts. A really beautiful girl. Is he married or anything?’

Howard looked bitterly disappointed. ‘Why don’t you ask him, Maxine?’

Outside it had started to rain. Maxine had not anticipated rain tonight. She pulled her cardigan over her shoulders and ran behind Brent as they headed for his car. He threw his trombone onto the back seat. Once inside he unlocked the passenger door for her.

‘Bloody weather,’ he murmured. ‘Which way?’

‘To the top of Broad Street, then turn right into Ladywood Road.’ She shuffled her bottom on the seat to get comfortable, Howard’s presence still with her.

He turned the car around and drove off. ‘Well? Have you enjoyed tonight?’

‘Yes, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself, thank you. The band’s good. I’m impressed. Have you got a name for yourselves?’

‘The Second City Hot Six.’

‘The Second City Hot Six?…But there are seven of you.’

‘Arthur doesn’t always play. His wife won’t let him out all the time.’

‘Lord, I can scarcely believe that!’ she scoffed. ‘He’s not that brilliant anyway, is he?’

‘Not really. But most of the time we haven’t got him. When we have, he’s a bonus.’

‘A liability, more like. He plays that clarinet as if it were a piece of lead piping. The pianist too – he’s the same – worse, possibly.’

He chuckled at her directness. ‘This stuff’s not serious, Maxine. It’s for fun. It doesn’t really matter how good or bad we are, so long as we enjoy playing together. It pays reasonably well, anyway. That’s a bonus.’

‘I suppose so. But I tend to be a perfectionist, Brent. I couldn’t stand to play jazz – or anything else for that matter – unless I was doing it as well as it was possible to do it.’

‘Does that apply to everything you do?’ he asked provocatively.

‘Of course it does.’ His innuendo was lost on her, however.

‘I see you were talking to Randolf’s chum.’

‘You mean Howard? He was nice. Easy to talk to. I liked him.’ The same glow she’d felt when he held her hand lit her up again as she recalled the moment. After a pause, she said: ‘I asked him about you.’

He snorted with laughter. ‘I bet that impressed him.’

‘I asked him if he knew whether you were married.’

‘Oh? And what did he say?’

‘He said to ask you …I think I upset him. So I’m asking. Are you married, Brent?’

He hesitated, and she knew he was debating with himself whether to tell her a lie. ‘Why? Is it important?’

‘It might be.’