The bedroom’s occupants must have thought the radio was drowning them out, but it wasn’t. Russ and Martha were going to town on a buckboard. It sounded like Russ was enjoying himself, but Martha Prentice was either able to keep her voice down or simply along for the ride. I suddenly realized that I’d been in Russ’s position, literally, some twenty-plus years ago, and that notion made me more than a little squeamish. I looked back toward the doorway where Gail was standing and felt embarrassed, for myself and for her. We returned to her bedroom, where we were expected to conduct ourselves with decency, and studiously reviewed our work.

Chapter 33

33

The Copyist

The next morning, I found Jack Donovan sunning himself on the Claremont’s patio and asked him if he knew where one went in Oakland to get fast, reliable music copying done for a reasonable price.

“Well, this isn’t New York or Los Angeles, is it?” he replied. “There used to be a decent service in Oakland that I used when I was broadcasting from the St. Francis, before you joined us. RC Copying, I think they were called.” The name rang a bell; an old chart we had of “Shanghai Lil” bore the company’s monogram.

I’d taken a combination of the last trolley and a late local bus back to the Claremont the night before. Gail had still been proofing my arrangement when I’d left. She must have risen with the dawn, because the score was waiting for me at the front desk at eleven, along with a note saying she had rehearsals for a big student recital she’d been neglecting and would call me tomorrow or Wednesday. The thought of not seeing her for that long, when I was only going to be in town another week, was oppressive. But I had my responsibilities to the score to attend to.

RC Copying was run by a man named Gilbert Rice. I’d later learn that his company had originally been called Rice Copying and that all the music that came out of his office bore the emblem RC. People had started calling the company RC Copying, so Gilbert had eventually given up and put that on his letterhead as well.

RC’s office was located near the wharves, at Alice and Fourth, wedged in between Oakland’s working harbor and its Chinatown, in a drab building where every other door boasted the name of a shipping firm.

A bell attached to the door gave a small ring as I entered.