laughed.
But Fritz let him go, and he splashed out of reach at once. ‘You be careful, brother,’ he called. ‘I like to slap you face, if I could just figure out which side of you to start climbing.’
Ernst stood abruptly at the edge of the pool, a great wave of water slapping his pale chest. His deep black hair was slicked back. ‘So let’s talk about it. Do we go or not?’
‘To Paris?’ Paul called out. ‘Of course we go. Why wouldn’t we?’
Chip and Fritz both glanced from Paul to Ernst and back to Paul.
‘Do you know what they’re talking about?’ said Fritz.
Chip shrugged.
‘We have an offer, gentlemen,’ said Ernst. ‘A lady came by today to ask if we’re interested in cutting a record with Louis Armstrong.’
Chip give a low whistle.
‘What did you tell her?’ said Fritz.
‘That we needed to discuss it. What else would I tell her?’
Chip grunted, splashed in the steam. ‘I can’t believe you even askin .’
‘Is that a no, Jones?’
‘It a yes ,’ he said. ‘And I addin a hell yes on top of it. Paris? Armstrong?’
Big Fritz frowned. He loomed up out of the steam like a dark boulder. ‘How do we know this is real? Who is she? She could be anybody.’
I chuckled. ‘What you think, brother. You think Boots goin take the trouble to trick us into goin to Paris? You thinkin that more likely ?’
Fritz ain’t said nothing, just shifted massively in the water.
‘She’s with Armstrong, Fritz,’ said Ernst. With his slicked hair lifting up, spiking in all that steam, he looked like a fiercer version of hisself. He stretched out his long blue arms along the wall, let his ghostly legs drift up, tilting his face back to stare at the ceiling. ‘I have no doubts that she is who she says she is. That’s not the question here.’
Fritz was still frowning. ‘She came down here to find us ? She came to Berlin for us ? With the Führer going on the way he is?’
‘You mean the Housepainter,’ I said.
Fritz give me a look.
‘She’s not here for us,’ said Ernst. ‘She’s down here to collect some money owing to Armstrong. We’re just the butter.’
‘I think you mean the cream,’ said Paul. He floated lazily over toward Fritz. ‘Listen, Fritz, Armstrong’s a fan. He’s got our records.’
‘Which records?’
‘Do it matter?’ I said.
‘We didn’t ask,’ said Paul. ‘She said Arthur Briggs caught some of our shows a few years ago. And Bechet told Louis how fine we sounded when we opened for him back at Vaterland.’
‘Bechet?’ Chip grimaced. ‘Hell. He still owe me fifty bucks.’
‘She sort of acts as Armstrong’s manager in Paris,’ said Ernst. ‘I don’t know. Sorts out his affairs, I guess.’
‘ Affairs ,’ whispered Chip.
Paul grinned, the tip of his tongue peeking between his teeth.
‘What are you, ten years old?’ Ernst frowned. ‘I guess Armstrong’s been following us for years. When he heard we were still here, and not playing live anymore, I guess he thought maybe there’d be some incentive for us to come on over.’
‘What Ernst ain’t tellin you,’ I said, ‘is what all she said bout the kid. Armstrong wants to play with the kid especially . Rumour is he the best damn horn blower this side the Atlantic. Some sayin he even better than Briggs. Henry Crowder said that. Crowder told Armstrong Hiero reminded him of King Oliver in his prime.’
I don’t know, I guess I reckoned we’d all start to joke about that. But ain’t nobody smile at all.
‘So do he even want us?’ said Chip. ‘Or it just the kid he want?’
‘She said he wanted to play with the Hot-Time Swingers,’ Hiero said nervously. ‘She said all of us.’
Fritz looked over at me.
I shrugged. ‘She said that, sure.’
‘She called us iconoclasts ,’ said Paul.
‘And you ain’t slapped her?’ Chip smiled. ‘Usin language like that in front of the kid?’
‘What does it pay?’ said Fritz in his blunt way.
Ernst lift up his head. ‘What
But Fritz let him go, and he splashed out of reach at once. ‘You be careful, brother,’ he called. ‘I like to slap you face, if I could just figure out which side of you to start climbing.’
Ernst stood abruptly at the edge of the pool, a great wave of water slapping his pale chest. His deep black hair was slicked back. ‘So let’s talk about it. Do we go or not?’
‘To Paris?’ Paul called out. ‘Of course we go. Why wouldn’t we?’
Chip and Fritz both glanced from Paul to Ernst and back to Paul.
‘Do you know what they’re talking about?’ said Fritz.
Chip shrugged.
‘We have an offer, gentlemen,’ said Ernst. ‘A lady came by today to ask if we’re interested in cutting a record with Louis Armstrong.’
Chip give a low whistle.
‘What did you tell her?’ said Fritz.
‘That we needed to discuss it. What else would I tell her?’
Chip grunted, splashed in the steam. ‘I can’t believe you even askin .’
‘Is that a no, Jones?’
‘It a yes ,’ he said. ‘And I addin a hell yes on top of it. Paris? Armstrong?’
Big Fritz frowned. He loomed up out of the steam like a dark boulder. ‘How do we know this is real? Who is she? She could be anybody.’
I chuckled. ‘What you think, brother. You think Boots goin take the trouble to trick us into goin to Paris? You thinkin that more likely ?’
Fritz ain’t said nothing, just shifted massively in the water.
‘She’s with Armstrong, Fritz,’ said Ernst. With his slicked hair lifting up, spiking in all that steam, he looked like a fiercer version of hisself. He stretched out his long blue arms along the wall, let his ghostly legs drift up, tilting his face back to stare at the ceiling. ‘I have no doubts that she is who she says she is. That’s not the question here.’
Fritz was still frowning. ‘She came down here to find us ? She came to Berlin for us ? With the Führer going on the way he is?’
‘You mean the Housepainter,’ I said.
Fritz give me a look.
‘She’s not here for us,’ said Ernst. ‘She’s down here to collect some money owing to Armstrong. We’re just the butter.’
‘I think you mean the cream,’ said Paul. He floated lazily over toward Fritz. ‘Listen, Fritz, Armstrong’s a fan. He’s got our records.’
‘Which records?’
‘Do it matter?’ I said.
‘We didn’t ask,’ said Paul. ‘She said Arthur Briggs caught some of our shows a few years ago. And Bechet told Louis how fine we sounded when we opened for him back at Vaterland.’
‘Bechet?’ Chip grimaced. ‘Hell. He still owe me fifty bucks.’
‘She sort of acts as Armstrong’s manager in Paris,’ said Ernst. ‘I don’t know. Sorts out his affairs, I guess.’
‘ Affairs ,’ whispered Chip.
Paul grinned, the tip of his tongue peeking between his teeth.
‘What are you, ten years old?’ Ernst frowned. ‘I guess Armstrong’s been following us for years. When he heard we were still here, and not playing live anymore, I guess he thought maybe there’d be some incentive for us to come on over.’
‘What Ernst ain’t tellin you,’ I said, ‘is what all she said bout the kid. Armstrong wants to play with the kid especially . Rumour is he the best damn horn blower this side the Atlantic. Some sayin he even better than Briggs. Henry Crowder said that. Crowder told Armstrong Hiero reminded him of King Oliver in his prime.’
I don’t know, I guess I reckoned we’d all start to joke about that. But ain’t nobody smile at all.
‘So do he even want us?’ said Chip. ‘Or it just the kid he want?’
‘She said he wanted to play with the Hot-Time Swingers,’ Hiero said nervously. ‘She said all of us.’
Fritz looked over at me.
I shrugged. ‘She said that, sure.’
‘She called us iconoclasts ,’ said Paul.
‘And you ain’t slapped her?’ Chip smiled. ‘Usin language like that in front of the kid?’
‘What does it pay?’ said Fritz in his blunt way.
Ernst lift up his head. ‘What
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