Three Days Before the Shooting ... (194 page)

“And then Miss Duval cocks her eye on those goldbacks and says, ‘Doll, you’re wonderful! But after that, what would you do?’ And Mister Jessie says, ‘Well, by then I’d be surrounded by a pack of reporters, TV cameras, and F.B.I. agents, so I’d bow and I’d say, “Good day, Mister President, gentlemen,” and show them the grace of a man from my old hopeful days by tipping my hat as I made my way down the avenue.

“‘That’s my birthday wish, Miss Duval,’ Mister Jessie says, ‘but as big an old fool as these bugs in my coffin have proven me to be I’d never get away with it. Because as frail as I am, they’d probably blast me with bullets for telling the truth. And if not, they’d think I was simply trying to get my name in the papers, so after laughing like hell they’d throw me in jail.’

“Then Mister Jessie takes him a drink and looks at the ceiling a while and says kinda sad, ‘Back in Mister Lincoln’s time when people wrote and told him their troubles he’d answer them as fast as he could, and in handwritten letters.’

“‘Yes, Dad,’ Miss Duval says, ‘but today we have TV, so the man in the White
House not only gets to more of us, and quicker than ole Abe, but right into our own beat-up pads.’

“‘True,’ Mister Jessie says, ‘but with his voice from the platform or his word on a page Mister Lincoln could touch you and make you feel that you counted in the broad scheme of things. Today politicians stand in front of television cameras drinking water and talk more flimflam than the admen. When TV was invented I bought a set just to see what the hell everybody was so excited about, and what do I get? I get that damn Senator Sunraider coming into my living room mouthing insults to me and my people, and all in the name of good government! And him the same devil who’s always preaching about science and demanding government ownership of all the TV networks. Next thing we know the bastard will be trying to get a measure passed for the building of government-owned gas ovens!’

“And with that he pounds his coffin with his fist and sends up a big cloud of dust. So I says, ‘Mister Jessie, don’t be getting all worked up over politics like that. Remember, this is supposed to be a party.’ So he looks at me and nods before taking another deep drink of his whiskey. Then he says, ‘McMillen, you’re right. Besides, what can we do about all the new gimmicks and gadgets, high-binders and clipsters? Folks nowadays don’t remember a death in the family longer than it takes to get the body off to the graveyard. Hell, back in his time Mister Lincoln could begin a speech with Four score and seven years ago and have it mean something to everybody. But today if he began it with Four minutes and seven
seconds
ago folks wouldn’t remember who the hell or what the hell he was referring to. So let’s be like the rest and forget our condition.’

“Then he looks down at the lady and says, ‘Miss Duval, won’t you help with some dancing?’ And when I see her take a quick look at that money I could’ve kicked my own butt for switching Mister Jessie from politics to partying.

“I could see the lightbulb start blinking over that red head of hers as she gives Mister Jessie a big juicy smile and says, ‘Why, of course, Dad, I’d love to dance, but now there’s a problem.’

“‘A problem,’ Mister Jessie says, ‘what kind of problem?’ And she looks at me and says, ‘Not being told I’d be dancing, I came without a costume.’

“And with that she throws up her hands and gives him another juiced-eyed smile. Me, I want to kill her for mixing me up in her devilment, but before I can speak up Mister Jessie points to that big cedar chest sitting over there and tells her to see if there’s anything in it that suits her.

“So she wobbles over and takes her a look. Then she holds up some lace and silk cloth and tells him, ‘Dad, this would be lovely but it’s much too old-fashioned. But wait,’ she says, ‘because if there’s anything here that’s suitable I’ll find it.’

“So she starts picking up pieces of cloth and old feather fans and things and tries striking some cover-girl poses. Then she drops them and picks up an old
pair of high-heeled, high-topped shoes and starts giggling and says, ‘Dad, I’d
really
fe
el
Frenchy in these.’ Then she holds up another bundle of cloth and says, ‘Now this is lovely, but it’d be a crime to cut it.’

“And that’s when Mister Jessie clears his throat and says, ‘McMillen, get a taxi and escort Miss Duval home to get her costume, then hurry back so she can get on with her dancing.’

“‘Oh, no, doll,’ she says, ‘I have a better idea! You remember Josephine Baker?’ And Mister Jessie says, ‘So, what about her?’ And she says, ‘Why, doll, she rocketed to stardom wearing little more than a string of bananas! So why not make mine out of newspaper? All I’d need is a needle and thread.’

“So Mister Jessie tells me to get her whatever she needs. And while I know damn well she’s out to con him, I can’t figure how bananas and newspapers fit in it. So I says, ‘Yessuh, Mister Jessie, and I’ll better freshen Miss Duval’s drink while she’s stitching.’ And knowing damn well that I’m wasting good whiskey, this time I get a big water glass and fill it to the brim. What else could I do?

“So I bring her some newspaper, some scissors, a needle, and a spool of black thread. And it’s only when I see her cutting that newspaper into strips about the size of those goldbacks that I catch on to her game. So I says, ‘Mister Jessie, since there’s going to be dancing maybe I better straighten up the floor a bit.’ To which he stares at me like he’s brooding and says, ‘McMillen, leave that floor just as it is.’ So even though I’m trying to look out for his interests I have to sit there watching her get on with her scam.

“First she starts cutting that newspaper, headlines and all, into strips about the same size of those goldbacks and strings them together on a long piece of thread. And after she’s strung two dozen or so she holds them up and says with a frown, ‘Dammit, doll, it’s a good idea, but this paper keeps tearing!’ Then she slams the stuff on the floor and stomps it.

“So with that Mister Jessie says, ‘McMillen, go to the library and bring Miss Duval some of my best stationery’—and gentlemen, that’s when she leaps in and scores!

“‘Oh, don’t go to all that trouble, doll,’ she say, ‘I see just the thing I need right there on the floor.’

“So, juiced as she is I have to sit there helpless while she grabs a batch of those goldbacks and starts to work with that needle.

“First she makes a strip out of three of those goldbacks by sewing them together end to end, then she takes three more and treats them the same and keeps stitching ‘til she has what she needs—which was a heap. But she’s as fast with a needle as she is with her scamming, and when she’s done she doubles a long piece of thread and runs it through the tops of the goldbacks and stretches it the width of her arms so Mister Jessie can see it.

“‘There, doll,’ she says, ‘how do you like it?’

“And looking down at his dangling goldbacks, Mister Jessie says, ‘Miss Duval,
it’s good to see the stuff put to some use, so if it suits you I’m happy. Meanwhile I’m waiting to see you perform.’

“‘And you will, doll,’ she says, ‘and it’ll top anything Josephine Baker ever came up with. It’s truly a killer, as you’ll see as soon as I strip. It’ll be even better than my days in the Follies when I performed at a stag which was given in honor of some Wall Street aristocrats. It was at the Astor, and doll, would you believe it, I was hidden in a huge apple pie and marched into the ballroom on the shoulders of four handsome waiters who placed me in the center of a long banquet table. And doll, when the pie was opened did I began to
swing!
And did those bankers and judges sit back in their chairs! Doll, the applause was deafening, and every guest to a man declared I was lovely!

“‘And I had to believe them, because when a woman is lovely she can’t help but
know
it. And especially when she’s done up in a white ermine jacket, white satin booties, and a lovely white G-string of Oriental pearls. And with the guests all applauding I felt like a
queen!
Then with the orchestra and waiters going into action the party took off like the Fourth of July. Magnums of champagne began exploding like cannon, and with millionaires cheering I began parading the table one step at a time and saluting each of the guests with a smile and a petite bump and grind. And doll, they were so delighted that every Tom, Dick, and Harry among them demanded that I give them the pleasure of toasting my performance by drinking champagne from my darling white booties!’

“And Mister Jessie says, ‘Miss Duval, I’m sure you were wonderful, but what about McMillen and me?’ And she says, ‘Why, of course, doll,’ and heads for the bedroom.

“So while she’s gone Mister Jessie sips his whiskey and stares at the ceiling. I’m still worried by the way the lady was eyeing his money, but the first time I tried warning him the man wouldn’t listen. So I’m about to warn him again when the door comes open. And gentlemen, when I look back and see Miss Duval dressed in nothing but her high-heeled shoes and that skirt she’s rigged out of goldbacks my feet start to itch and my brain starts to stagger!

“Never in my life have I seen so
much
of her kind of woman! And it must’ve been the same for poor Mister Jessie. Because while I’m rocking and reeling he yells, ‘Miss Duval, is that
you?’
And she gives him a smile and says, ‘Yes, doll, the true one and only!’ Then with her hands on her hips she turns in a circle so he can see her and says, ‘And isn’t my costume a darling?’

“And with that Mister Jessie grabs holt to his coffin and yells, ‘Dance, Miss Duval! Get on with your dancing!’

[DANCE]

“S
O SHE STARTS HUMMING
a tune and snapping her fingers, and when she starts to dancing it’s like watching a big dish of Jell-O that’s doing the shimmy. Then
with the tips of her fingers she lifts the hem of that skirt she’s stitched out of goldbacks and starts to waltzing. But it turns out no better, because being juiced to the gills she stumbles and flubs it. But that doesn’t faze her. ‘Cause she comes to a halt and throws back her head like she’s high on a stage and has just been crowned the new Miss America. And when I look to see how Mister Jessie’s taking it he’s staring down from his coffin like a judge listening to a cat copping a plea to a crime so outrageous that he can’t believe it. And now when I look back Miss Duval has one of her legs stretched out in front and the other behind, and she’s sinking to the floor in a gut-busting split….”

“Dammit, McMillen,” the Sergeant shouted, “what the hell happened to
Rockmore?”

“That’s what I’m getting to,” McMillen said, “only I’m trying to get it together so you and these other gentlemen can
see
it.”

“Then get on with it!”

“So just as Miss Duval bumps the floor in doing her split the doorbell rings and I take off to see who it is. But just as I get there the door flies open and there’s this white man….”

“A
white
man?”

“Yes, sir, and he’s the same one I asked you about when
you
busted in.”

“Okay, but who let him in?”

“I don’t
know
, but he was
here—
I swear! And when I go to tell him Mister Jessie didn’t do business at that time of night he rushes past me. And when Miss Duval hears all the commotion she must’ve tried to rise out of her split, because when the man gets to her—and I’m right behind him—she has both legs in the air like she’s pedaling a bike lying down. And gentlemen, when this white man sees what she’s doing it’s like somebody’s reached down and cool-cracked his head with a baseball bat! He’s eyeing her so hard that he’s missed Mister Jessie, but when Mister Jessie yells, ‘You, sir! What the hell are
you
doing in my establishment!’ he turns away from Miss Duval and says, ‘I know it’s late, but there’s something important I must see you about.’

“‘Well, you picked the wrong time,’ Mister Jessie yells, ‘this is a private affair and I want none of you color-struck Negroes invading my house!’

“And with that the man turns red and yells, ‘But I’m
white
!’ and Mister Jessie yells, ‘You are, are you? Well, even though I’m no segregationist I want no
white
folks stinking up my house!’

“Then for the first time the man realizes that Mister Jessie’s sitting there yelling from a coffin and his eyes bug out of his head and he sputters something so strange that I couldn’t believe it….”

And now, looking at each of the detectives in turn, McMillen said, “Gentlemen, you have to understand that after Mister Jessie climbed in that coffin things happened pretty fast, and with me drinking pretty heavy just to keep sober my memory is probably a little bit cloudy. But I swear I heard that white man yell, ‘Rockmore, what the hell are you doing up there in my coffin?’ ”

“What!”

“I know it sounds crazy,” McMillen said, “but that’s the
truth!
And when Mister Jessie hears it he stares at the man like he’s seeing a ghost. Then he yells, ‘Now I know who you are! You’re that cutthroat son of a bitch on television,’ and yells out a name. And with that the white man spins and staggers like he’s been hit by a bullet and heads for the door. Then Mister Jessie yells, ‘Grab him, McMillen’— which I’m not even
about
to do—but as the man starts past Miss Duval she rolls over and grabs him by the ankle and yells, ‘Wait, good-looking, and have a look at my number.’ And next thing I know the man’s going hippety-hop for the door and she’s skidding on the floor like a kid on a sled. Then with Miss Duval laughing like crazy and the man struggling to get loose Mister Jessie yells, ‘Wait ‘til I’m finished, you phony highbinder!’ And when the man snatches free and heads for the door Mister Jessie tries to climb out of his coffin. And that’s when he gets hit by whatever left him looking the way he does now. It must’ve been some kind of stroke, because nobody touched him. And that goes for me, Miss Duval, and the white man. And gentlemen, believe it or not, that’s all I can tell you.”

Staring wide-mouthed at McMillen, the Sergeant shouted, “Like hell it is! What was the white man’s name?”