The Song Is You Read Online Free PDF Page A

trouble.
    At least that’s what Hop thought about himself. His soon-to-be ex-wife, Midge, however, who’d spent close to three years on the blunt end of this worldview, saw things differently.
    “All I see is a guy awfully hot to take knocks,” she’d say. “You just let the punches keep on coming. Don’t flatter yourself by mixing that up with ambition or smarts or charm.”
    His pal Jerry, with far more affection, called him “Slap Happy—or Slap Hoppy.”
    He was feeling so good he thought he might drive by Gloria’s place, say hello. She might be out on a date, but who knows? Worth a try. He owed her a visit anyway, hadn’t seen her in weeks.
    Of course she might be irritated when she saw him. Last time, he’d also come late at night, high and pushy, and even though she was glad to see him, she couldn’t believe it when he got out of bed afterward, buttoned his shirt and pants, and started for the door. Her face knitted together, puckered like a thread, had been pulled too tight. She threw her telephone at him and knocked over her own new chaise lounge from Madame La Foux.
    So maybe not Gloria.
    He could go to Villa Capri, or to Chasen’s for a hobo steak, make the rounds a little. There was a waitress at Villa Capri, Bernadette something, whom he’d taken out a few times. Gorgeous Italian chick
    with big, black-olive eyes and tits like Yvonne De Carlo.
    Yeah, that’d be okay.
    Or he could try to meet up with Jerry, coming off the evening shift at the Examiner. At least four nights a week, he knocked back a few with Jerry Schuyler, his closest friend, with whom he worked side by side through three years of churning out copy for Yank and Stars and Stripes. Over scotch, sometimes a martini, they’d swap stories from the front, just like they’d done during the war. Jerry was the only person in his new life who knew him before he came to Los Angeles. Just possibly, Jerry was the only person who even knew where he was from, or that he was from anyplace at all.
    But then Hop remembered he probably couldn’t see Jerry after all. Jerry was getting pretty hard to see these days, with the new lady in his life. It would have to be Bernadette to help celebrate. He wanted to celebrate all night.
    Sweet Iolene
    The next morning, Hop arrived at his office with fingers crossed about the Barbara Payton deal. Today he’d have to see if what he’d set in motion had any life of its own. This girl wasn’t the most reliable kid in the pen, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she had ended up eloping overnight—with the bartender, Howard Hughes, the Negro parking lot attendant. That one could get into a fresh world of trouble between midnight and seven a.m.
    The press-office secretary, Lil, handed him his morning trade clippings and a few pieces of late-and early-delivery mail. Nothing more about Barbara but a few small fires to put out. An item in Sheilah Graham’s gossip column hinting at an on-set fling between the square-jawed adventure hero and the married actress with twins at home. More “tales of woe” in Louella about poor Gail Russell— thankfully, one troubled actress who was not with his studio. Still, there were a few unnamed “friends” cited in the column that he’d have to check on.
    “Someone’s waiting for you,” Lil said, nodding over to the set of chairs facing her.
    Hop turned. “Iolene,” he said, with a start.
    There she was. Just as filled with slouching, dark-eyed glamour as the last time he saw her, nearly two years before, a different decade.
    “Remember me?” she said, standing.
    “Always,” Hop said, surprised at the itch in his voice. “Follow me.”
    Pressing her copper-colored skirt flat, she sat down in the chair across from him. He gave her a broad smile. Maybe she wanted to charm him into helping her get a job. He hoped that was it, and if it was, he was ready to be charmed. It wasn’t until she lifted her eyes to him, the crinkly veil on her hat rising over her forehead,