breath, blew it out. “Okay, Miss Vinson, drop the other shoe. What do I got to do to get that journal?”
Bess crossed one foot over the other, rocked side to side on her heels. “That’s the problem, Mr. Campbell. Blesh has got the inside track, and we’ve got to knock him out of it. Mrs. Joplin is supposed to get five hundred dollars—”
“Five hundred? For the inside story of Scott Joplin’s life? That’s highway robbery.”
“They’re also promising her royalties, telling her they’ll amount to a small fortune over the years. But that’s the catch. Mrs. Joplin is close to eighty, and has no children, no one to leave anything to. A pile of royalty income in five or ten years can’t mean a lot to her. But some money right now would buy her a bit of comfort, maybe someone to look after her and make sure she gets the things she needs. I think five thousand would turn her head.”
“Whew.” Brun took off his hat, scratched his forehead, put the hat back on. “Look around this place, Miss Vinson. And you heard what my wife told you. You think I got five thousand dollars just sittin’ around?”
“Maybe you could get it from different people. Get a group together, share the cost and share the profits.”
“Well, then, how about you? You gonna put something toward it?”
She laughed lightly. “I wish. I mean, my first thought when I heard about it was that I’d like to see whether Howard or Fisk University Press would publish it. But there’s no way I can do that. I run a little beauty shop in Santa Monica, and I’ve got a young daughter and no husband. The best I can hope to do is get somebody else interested, someone who doesn’t want to let Rudi Blesh cash in on my father’s work.”
Brun walked slowly to the window, looked out for a moment, then turned and walked back to Bess. “Not that I want to be rude,” he said. “But how is it you know about all this stuff going on in New York, being you’re in Santa Monica with a little beauty shop?”
Bess didn’t miss a beat. “My brother-in-law, my late sister’s husband. He lives in New York, and…will you promise to keep this strictly to yourself? I don’t want him to get in trouble.”
Brun nodded. “Sure.”
“All right, then. You’re on your honor. He’s a janitor at Knopf, the publisher’s, and Monday afternoon, while he was cleaning up outside an editor’s office, he heard Rudi Blesh pitching to the editor. They left the door open…you know how it is, Mr. Campbell.” Sly smile. “A colored man’s invisible. My brother-in-law heard every word. They have to wait for Mr. Knopf to come back from Europe, but the editor sounded pretty sure he’d okay the deal. My brother-in-law plays jazz cornet, so he’d read
They All Played Ragtime
when it first came out. That’s how he knew about you, and why he thought you just might be interested in the journal. So when he got off work, he went over to see Mrs. Joplin, told her he’d heard about Blesh’s offer, and said he could do a lot better for her. Then he got her to let him copy what I just gave you, and called me.” She spread her palms and smiled. “And here I am.”
“And this is all outa the goodness of his heart? Nothing’s in it for him.”
For the first time, Bess looked uncomfortable. “He says he’ll take ten percent for his trouble. Five hundred dollars, that seems fair, doesn’t it? Considering the risk he’s taking?”
“And you, Miss Vinson? How about you?”
She shook her head. “I’d just like to see my father get the recognition he deserves…well, and I’d also love to give that Rudi Blesh a good screwing-over.”
“I sure ain’t about to argue with that. But I’m sorry, Miss Vinson, one thing does bother me. How do I know you’re really who you say you are?”
“I thought you might ask.” Again, Bess opened her purse, pulled out a folded piece of paper and gave it to Brun, who unfolded it. It was a worn document, crisp and yellowed,
Bess crossed one foot over the other, rocked side to side on her heels. “That’s the problem, Mr. Campbell. Blesh has got the inside track, and we’ve got to knock him out of it. Mrs. Joplin is supposed to get five hundred dollars—”
“Five hundred? For the inside story of Scott Joplin’s life? That’s highway robbery.”
“They’re also promising her royalties, telling her they’ll amount to a small fortune over the years. But that’s the catch. Mrs. Joplin is close to eighty, and has no children, no one to leave anything to. A pile of royalty income in five or ten years can’t mean a lot to her. But some money right now would buy her a bit of comfort, maybe someone to look after her and make sure she gets the things she needs. I think five thousand would turn her head.”
“Whew.” Brun took off his hat, scratched his forehead, put the hat back on. “Look around this place, Miss Vinson. And you heard what my wife told you. You think I got five thousand dollars just sittin’ around?”
“Maybe you could get it from different people. Get a group together, share the cost and share the profits.”
“Well, then, how about you? You gonna put something toward it?”
She laughed lightly. “I wish. I mean, my first thought when I heard about it was that I’d like to see whether Howard or Fisk University Press would publish it. But there’s no way I can do that. I run a little beauty shop in Santa Monica, and I’ve got a young daughter and no husband. The best I can hope to do is get somebody else interested, someone who doesn’t want to let Rudi Blesh cash in on my father’s work.”
Brun walked slowly to the window, looked out for a moment, then turned and walked back to Bess. “Not that I want to be rude,” he said. “But how is it you know about all this stuff going on in New York, being you’re in Santa Monica with a little beauty shop?”
Bess didn’t miss a beat. “My brother-in-law, my late sister’s husband. He lives in New York, and…will you promise to keep this strictly to yourself? I don’t want him to get in trouble.”
Brun nodded. “Sure.”
“All right, then. You’re on your honor. He’s a janitor at Knopf, the publisher’s, and Monday afternoon, while he was cleaning up outside an editor’s office, he heard Rudi Blesh pitching to the editor. They left the door open…you know how it is, Mr. Campbell.” Sly smile. “A colored man’s invisible. My brother-in-law heard every word. They have to wait for Mr. Knopf to come back from Europe, but the editor sounded pretty sure he’d okay the deal. My brother-in-law plays jazz cornet, so he’d read
They All Played Ragtime
when it first came out. That’s how he knew about you, and why he thought you just might be interested in the journal. So when he got off work, he went over to see Mrs. Joplin, told her he’d heard about Blesh’s offer, and said he could do a lot better for her. Then he got her to let him copy what I just gave you, and called me.” She spread her palms and smiled. “And here I am.”
“And this is all outa the goodness of his heart? Nothing’s in it for him.”
For the first time, Bess looked uncomfortable. “He says he’ll take ten percent for his trouble. Five hundred dollars, that seems fair, doesn’t it? Considering the risk he’s taking?”
“And you, Miss Vinson? How about you?”
She shook her head. “I’d just like to see my father get the recognition he deserves…well, and I’d also love to give that Rudi Blesh a good screwing-over.”
“I sure ain’t about to argue with that. But I’m sorry, Miss Vinson, one thing does bother me. How do I know you’re really who you say you are?”
“I thought you might ask.” Again, Bess opened her purse, pulled out a folded piece of paper and gave it to Brun, who unfolded it. It was a worn document, crisp and yellowed,
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