"Yeah, well...." Feldt carefully squared the paper with the corner of his blotter. "1941, y'know that's sort of a while ago."
"Yes, it is," Richie said evenly. "Look, Mr. Feldt, if you're trying to tell me I'll have to read for it, just say so."
"Okay, I just said so."
Richie fitted a cigarette into his holder. His lighter failed and Feldt held a match for him. "Thanks." He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Who for?"
"Oh, Abe. Me. Probably the producing team."
"It's always a team today, they just don't have a producer any more, do they?"
"Just a few of us. Six people, maybe. Seven."
"Just lines?"
"Well, mostly, yeah. We may have a piano there."
The corner of Richie's mouth turned up again. "I can carry a tune, you know."