Jimmy and Fay (29 page)

“We've got two of 'em like that,” she said, then put her lips right next to my ear, “but I'm cuter. And I can prove it.”

She stepped back and gave me a commercial smile.

“Not tonight, sweetheart,” I said.

She smiled, shrugged, and blew me a kiss as she left.

Arch showed up. He hadn't seen Connie either. I asked him if he'd seen two short, dark-haired waitresses. He said no. I told him what the waitress said, so we worked the room again, taking the other sides. By then, it was even smokier than it was when we got there, and hotter, too. The mask was starting to chafe. Some of the men let their masks hang around their necks and some pushed them up on top of their heads. I saw more than a few faces I recognized from the papers. I also saw a second set of stairs in another corner. Like the first one, it was roped off.

As I went through the crowd, I saw one waitress who was short, dark, and cute, and not Connie, but there was a lot I was missing. I'd been around the room twice before I made my way through a crowd of men who weren't moving or talking. That's where I saw a magic lantern, or something, that was projecting a series of still photographs on a small screen. It looked like some of them were shots I'd seen in Bobby's picture books. These showed everything, including the big finishes. And, just like Bobby claimed, they looked great. The women were carefully posed and he managed to capture skin texture with angled light and shadow. I don't remember anything about the guys in the pictures, but the men who were watching them stood still and paid close attention.

By then I was getting restless and jumpy, and I knew that was no good. When I get restless and jumpy, I don't think and I do stupid things. Right or wrong, I decided to see what was on the second floor.

Nobody was paying attention as I eased around behind the crowd at the magic lantern and ducked under the rope at the foot of the stairs. I was careful and quiet and stopped at the landing to let my eyes adjust. When they did, I could make out a little light coming from a doorway above, and I heard voices arguing. I was more careful and quiet going the rest of the way up.

When I reached the second floor, I saw the giant black hand that had been in Bobby's Chinatown studio. He'd moved it to the middle of the room and surrounded it with chairs. There was a weak spotlight above. It gleamed down on Bobby's bald head.

He was saying, “We'll start with the light low, like this. Then we'll get the key light there and the kick light over there.”

He must have hit a switch. Another light came on with a snap and brightened the hand with a warm pink glow, and I could see who Bobby was talking to. It was Nola Revere and her costar. She was wearing another copy of the gauzy fairy-tale dress that Miss Wray wore in the real movie, the one that fell off her shoulders. There was a picture of her in it in Bobby's book, and I'd seen another one with a red stain in his studio. Guess he had a lot of them. Couldn't have cost too much, judging by the amount and thinness of the material. It showed her off and she had a lot to show off. Her costar was wearing a gorilla suit, but without the head. Even in that light, you could see that he was a really black colored guy. I mean so black he was almost blue, and he was tall, six and a half feet maybe, the suit made it hard to tell. He was also wearing a big codpiece, a furry black lump about the size of half a football.

Bobby gestured toward the hand, making it pretty clear that they were going to use it as a bed. He said, “It's gonna be just like before, right. You start out however you like, but you end it with her on her knees and you behind. Then you switch again and she's on top. Got that? We can't let those tits go to waste. That's what they're paying to see.”

The colored guy shook his head and said something in Spanish. Bobby answered, “No, not now. After. That's the deal, remember?”

I couldn't hear from where I was standing, so I strolled over and joined the group. When Bobby first saw me, he tried to be charming. “Excuse me, sir, it'll be just a few minutes before we're ready for this part of the performance. The film will be shown downstairs.” He wore a red ringmaster's coat, jodhpurs, and black leather boots. His face was weirdly white under makeup and his lips were as red as his coat. Even with the cat mask, I was the most normal-looking guy in the room.

I took off my mask, and said, “Hiya, Bobby.”

“Goddammit, you little shit—”

“Don't get your bowels in an uproar. I'm just here to see your movie and to meet the star.” I turned to her. “Miss Revere, right? Nola?”

She looked up at the colored guy and grabbed his hand with both of hers.

“No,” she said, standing straighter. “I'm
Mrs.
Carlos Sotolongo.”

He held onto her hand and glared at me with a challenging frown. I guess Nola didn't think that working with him was a fate worse than death like her pal Daphne.

Bobby rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Be that as it may, I want to be sure you know your marks. Carlos, you carry her in from there.” He pointed to a curtained area. “Nola, you're screaming and pounding his chest, just like when we did it for the film.”

Carlos cut him off and rattled out some machine-gun Spanish.

When he finished, his expression was still hard, and Bobby said, pleading, “But we already agreed to this. You get the money
after
the performance. Look, I told you, this can be the beginning of a groundbreaking career. For
both
of you. The money we're haggling over tonight is nothing compared to your potential. Nothing! If you work with me, let me help you . . . Did you see that crowd down there? Some of the richest and most powerful men in the city are going to be watching you tonight. They'll want to see more, you know that. What happened before, that was just a temporary problem. It's solved. Didn't you get your money? Of course you did. So you know I'm good for it. As soon as we're finished, you'll get everything I said you would.”

Carlos's expression didn't change, and he shook his head. He turned his back to Nola, and she started undoing some laces on his back until Bobby stopped her.

“No, goddammit, don't do that. It takes him a fucking hour to put that thing on. Do you have any idea how much I had to pay for it? Not to mention the alterations. All right, all right, here.” He produced a thick roll of bills from his pocket. “Here's half.”

Carlos said something more in Spanish, and she started unlacing again.

Bobby said, “Jeez, you fucking Cubans are worse than the fucking Jews,” and peeled off more bills.

Carlos watched and counted along with him. Then he said something else in Spanish and Bobby answered, “No, you don't need to worry about the cops, that's taken care of, believe me it's taken care of.”

By then, they'd forgot about me, I think. Looking back on what Daphne said about Bobby trying to hold out on her, it figured that after he was finished making the picture, Bobby had stiffed Nola and Carlos. But then he decided that he needed them for his
soirée cinémateque intime
and had to pony up. He'd stacked up an impressive number of bills when the bartender came up the stairs.

“Boss,” he said, “they're here.”

Bobby bolted past him like he'd been goosed in the ass, and the bartender was right behind him. I stayed there.

Nola and Carlos were counting the cash. They looked at me like I was going to try to take it.

“I'm Jimmy Quinn. You don't know me, but we've got a couple of mutual acquaintances: Polly Adler and Daphne.” Given the circumstances, I figured Carlos knew about Nola's work and she wouldn't mind me mentioning it.

She still looked suspicions. “What do you want?” Daphne said Nola's English wasn't that good, but Nola didn't have much of an accent that I could hear.

“Nothing. Daphne said if I saw you, you should give her a call. She's worried about you.”

She looked at Carlos and they talked in Spanish for a while, so low that I couldn't hear them even if I knew the language. Then she said, “Is Daphne all right? Does she know that I did this?” and plucked at the dress.

I was having a hell of a time not staring at her tits and crotch, and Carlos was making it clear that he wasn't happy with my giving his new bride the eye. I guess they were doing what they had to do for money, but he didn't like it a damn bit, you could tell that.

“Yeah, she knows. She's got a place down on Gay Street.”

Nola shook her head. “Daphne doesn't understand. I can't explain it, and we don't have time. Our ship leaves for Cuba tonight. Carlos has arranged everything, and we're not going to change it.”

Right then, for some reason, I thought about the beginning of
King Kong
and Carl Denham telling Miss Wray she had to come with him for this “opportunity of a lifetime” and everything that happened after that. Hell, maybe it was the dress or maybe I'm just a sap.

I gave them a little salute with my stick and said, “Good luck to you then, and let me give you a word of advice. If you hear things getting loud and crazy down there, don't hang around. Scram out of here as fast as you can.”

She looked worried. Carlos's glare didn't change.

Downstairs in the smoky room, the band stopped and the men went quiet as Bobby ushered two guys in from the back door. One of them had to be Peter Wilcox. The other was a wobbly codger with weak legs who got around on two canes. Both of them were wearing black domino masks and expensive bespoke tuxedos. Wilcox's fit him perfectly. The old man had shriveled since his was measured. The collar was two sizes too big, and the padded shoulders of the jacket made him look like a dwarf.

Arch Malloy sidled beside me and whispered, “That's them, Peter Wilcox and the old pirate Learned, his dear old pater.”

Bobby snapped his fingers, and two of the waitresses—neither Connie—scurried out to help the old guy. Each of them took an arm and got in close enough to press their breasts into his shoulders. Even with the mask, you could see his liver-lipped smile. They led him to a padded chair in the front row. He fell into it and reached a hand up under one girl's skirt as she turned around. She froze but didn't move away until he let her go. The bartender brought two tumblers of scotch.

Bobby jumped up on the dais, raised his hands, and said in a loud voice, “Gentlemen, gentlemen, your attention, please. The first part of this evening's entertainment will begin in just a few minutes. I believe we have time for everyone to refresh his drink and find a comfortable seat. Then you shall witness the Eighth Wonder of the World!”

They swarmed the bar. Arch and I found a quiet corner. He asked where I'd been.

“Upstairs. The second part of the show is a live performance by the two stars. Did you find Connie?”

He shook his head. “I haven't seen her, but I've only seen one waitress with black hair, so if there are two of them . . .”

We were still talking a few minutes later when I saw a familiar figure near the front doors, a guy in a plumed hat, white death's head mask, and a red satin cloak. He carried a tall stick with a skull on top, all of it just like Lon Chaney in
Phantom of the Opera
. I nudged Arch and said, “I think that's the guy I was telling you about, the extortionist from the joint up on Fifth.”

“Not exactly a wallflower, is he?”

Even among the togas, generals, and cop uniforms, he was hard to miss, but as guys moved into the seats, I lost sight of him. The truth is I wasn't that interested in him. I still wanted to find Connie, if she was there. I didn't see her or any of the other waitresses.

When the gaslights went down, I moved toward the other side of the room near the projection booth. A spotlight came on and there was Bobby on the dais again. I could see that he was sweating through the makeup.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “Before we begin tonight's presentation, I want to welcome some new members to our association. You've chosen a good time to join us. Those of you who have been with us for some time know that we strive to present only the very highest-quality entertainment for worldly and open-minded gentlemen. We produce the motion pictures that the Hollywood studios cannot,
dare not
present, but with all the allure, mystery, and carnality that is at the heart of every great drama from Euripides to—”

“Get on with it, you windy bastard,” somebody yelled from the crowd and everybody laughed.

Bobby laughed too and said, “All right then, you impatient sons of bitches, here it is, my masterpiece”—he grabbed his crotch—“the real
Kong
.”

The spotlight went out, and after a few nervous moments of darkness, the projector started. Then I heard the scratch and pop of a needle hitting a phonograph, and music played along with the movie. I guess Bobby couldn't afford to do talking pictures yet, but he knew he had to set a mood.

The title card read,
the oscar apollinaire production of
kong
.

The first shot was of Nola in the suit and the unbuttoned blouse up on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. It was definitely the real thing, so I guess Bobby must have paid somebody off to let him up there when it was closed on Sunday morning or sometime. At first, he kept the camera in close on her, lingering on her face and breasts, and he really did make her look good.

From that he cut to her walking down an empty Thirty-Fourth Street. The next card read,
a girl finds her way on the bleak city streets.
She looked terrific but nervous as she jiggled down the sidewalk and then tried to steal an apple from a stand. The card read,
destitute, she is reduced to stealing food.
A man's hand slapped hers. The next shot was her on the coffeehouse set I saw at the Chinatown studio. Just a section of wall, a table, and a chair, but you didn't notice that because you were looking at her.