Read Online Into The Night by Cornell Woolrich - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cornell Woolrich
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musical score sheets she'd bought at a music store. The notes on the score sheets were her own. Poor things but her own, she'd reflected as she set them down, and that wasn't kidding.
She knew piano, in a very circumscribed, lesson-a-week-at-theage-of-twelve sort of way. And she could hum, who can't? And she knew that in a lyric the end word on every second line has to rhyme with the end word two lines before, but the in-between lines don't have to. Which is about as far as some songs go, anyway. But she wasn't interested in salability, just plausibility. Getting to know a woman.
The door opened, and they were close to each other for the first time.
At such point-blank range, Adelaide's makeup was a caricature. But it wasn't individual personal makeup, it was performing makeup, Madeline realized, so that had to be allowed for. A pair of artificial eyelashes, superimposed on her own with no regard for nature, stuck out all around her eyes like rays in a charcoal drawing of the sun. A bouquet in which alcohol and floral essence strove for mastery was distinguishable for several yards around on all sides of her. Her hair was frizzy to the point of kinkiness, and the color of ginger. Combing it must have been like trying to comb a bramble bush. She had a pair of untrue blue eyes, which probably deepened almost to green when she hated. She probably hated a lot. She had on some sort of a hip-length quilted coat and a pair of quarter-thigh-length shorts, both white. Her feet were bare, and her toenails, Madeline noted, were painted gold.
There was something defiant about her as she stood there; not specifically toward Madeline, toward the world in general. Don't touch me or I'll claw you; an air like that.
"You the one?" she said. "I thought you were a man, the way the note read."
"I thought I stood a better chance that way," Madeline admitted.
"You did," Adelaide told her bluntly. "Come on in anyway," she added gruffly, "and let's see what your stuff is like."
She flung herself backward into a chair, but from the side, so that one leg caught over its arm and remained that way, cocked out at an angle from her body. She began to riff through the score sheets. She did remarkable things with a mouthful of smoke; protruded her underlip and sent it up in a jet so perpendicular that it actually stirred her hair a little where it overhung her forehead on that side.
"Not bad for a title," she remarked, and repeated it aloud. "Have a Heart (Take Mine)."
She got up and went over to the piano. Leaning over it standing up, she took one finger and started to tap out the notes on the keyboard. She shook her head dizzily, as if to clear it of the disharmony, and started over again. Shook her head again and stopped.
"What've you got here?" she growled. "This stuff doesn't even jell."
A sudden thought occurred to her. "Maybe I'm holding it upside down," she remarked, and reversed it on the music rack. Then she turned it back again. "No, the clef signs are all pointing this way."
She gave Madeline a long, skeptical stare. "Didja ever study composition?" she demanded.
"Not exactly," Madeline said disclaimingly. "All my friends say it comes naturally to me."
"Oh, it does?" Adelaide snapped. "Well, take my tip and send it right straight back again. I don't know what it is you're getting, but it sure isn't music. I think it's the Morse code in Slovakian."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you don't know the least thing about music," Adelaide snapped. "You think all you have to do is throw a handful of notes on the page and they come out a song. That's not the way it works, any more than you can throw paint on a canvas and get the 'Mona Lisa.'"
"I worked hard on that song," Madeline protested.
"Oh, yeah? The way it looks to me, you don't know what hard work is. I knew a man once who was a physics teacher. He said there's a formula for work. I said sure, two parts elbow grease and one part sweat. But he told me the formula and it stuck. You
She knew piano, in a very circumscribed, lesson-a-week-at-theage-of-twelve sort of way. And she could hum, who can't? And she knew that in a lyric the end word on every second line has to rhyme with the end word two lines before, but the in-between lines don't have to. Which is about as far as some songs go, anyway. But she wasn't interested in salability, just plausibility. Getting to know a woman.
The door opened, and they were close to each other for the first time.
At such point-blank range, Adelaide's makeup was a caricature. But it wasn't individual personal makeup, it was performing makeup, Madeline realized, so that had to be allowed for. A pair of artificial eyelashes, superimposed on her own with no regard for nature, stuck out all around her eyes like rays in a charcoal drawing of the sun. A bouquet in which alcohol and floral essence strove for mastery was distinguishable for several yards around on all sides of her. Her hair was frizzy to the point of kinkiness, and the color of ginger. Combing it must have been like trying to comb a bramble bush. She had a pair of untrue blue eyes, which probably deepened almost to green when she hated. She probably hated a lot. She had on some sort of a hip-length quilted coat and a pair of quarter-thigh-length shorts, both white. Her feet were bare, and her toenails, Madeline noted, were painted gold.
There was something defiant about her as she stood there; not specifically toward Madeline, toward the world in general. Don't touch me or I'll claw you; an air like that.
"You the one?" she said. "I thought you were a man, the way the note read."
"I thought I stood a better chance that way," Madeline admitted.
"You did," Adelaide told her bluntly. "Come on in anyway," she added gruffly, "and let's see what your stuff is like."
She flung herself backward into a chair, but from the side, so that one leg caught over its arm and remained that way, cocked out at an angle from her body. She began to riff through the score sheets. She did remarkable things with a mouthful of smoke; protruded her underlip and sent it up in a jet so perpendicular that it actually stirred her hair a little where it overhung her forehead on that side.
"Not bad for a title," she remarked, and repeated it aloud. "Have a Heart (Take Mine)."
She got up and went over to the piano. Leaning over it standing up, she took one finger and started to tap out the notes on the keyboard. She shook her head dizzily, as if to clear it of the disharmony, and started over again. Shook her head again and stopped.
"What've you got here?" she growled. "This stuff doesn't even jell."
A sudden thought occurred to her. "Maybe I'm holding it upside down," she remarked, and reversed it on the music rack. Then she turned it back again. "No, the clef signs are all pointing this way."
She gave Madeline a long, skeptical stare. "Didja ever study composition?" she demanded.
"Not exactly," Madeline said disclaimingly. "All my friends say it comes naturally to me."
"Oh, it does?" Adelaide snapped. "Well, take my tip and send it right straight back again. I don't know what it is you're getting, but it sure isn't music. I think it's the Morse code in Slovakian."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you don't know the least thing about music," Adelaide snapped. "You think all you have to do is throw a handful of notes on the page and they come out a song. That's not the way it works, any more than you can throw paint on a canvas and get the 'Mona Lisa.'"
"I worked hard on that song," Madeline protested.
"Oh, yeah? The way it looks to me, you don't know what hard work is. I knew a man once who was a physics teacher. He said there's a formula for work. I said sure, two parts elbow grease and one part sweat. But he told me the formula and it stuck. You
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