Half-whispering, she said, 'I know.' Then, 'Well, I'd better get back to Fritz and see if he needs help.' Fritz was the head makeup person. Then she paused and seemed to gather her strength and said, 'You know what?'
'What?'
'I don't like Graham Greene any better than you like Thomas Wolfe.'
He sensed how heroic it was for a girl so shy to say something like this and he broke into an exultant grin, happy for her.
His hand started out automatically to touch her-he was that sort, a toucher, which some people liked and some definitely did not-but she was gone before he could commit another mistake.
He hoisted his fruit drink and looked around him, at the oval of audience in front, at the scurrying technicians all about.
Marty was just now getting the audience to really howl.
Jere Farris-dashing about, sweaty and hysterical-clapped his hands at everybody in his way, as if he were a farmer scattering chickens.
Plump people from Cleveland whistled as the ersatz hula girls entered stage right.
Two cameramen knocked over a light as they pulled their camera to the right. The sound was sharp as a gunshot. Some laughed, some screamed.
The show itself was nothing much at all.
Inside a semicircle of celebrities (technically, the thing should have been called 'Celebrity Semicircle') sat three contestants, each of whom was handed a card with one-half of an answer (such as 'E ='), and they then had two chances to choose the celebrity with the other half of the answer ('D Cup' would be a typical 'naughty' celebrity response, sure to drive Dubuque crazy).
The contestants, of course, had all been prescreened to prove that they were pneumatic grinners-laughers- jumpers-up-and-down, that subspecies of humanity endemic to TV shows where ordinary folks can win cold Yankee cash.
The surprise of the day-and a long, grinding day it was-was Todd Ames's smooth performance as host. With his theatrically handsome features, his sleek gray hair, his almost courtly manner and his apparently genuine intelligence, he was in fact much better than the somewhat combative Ken Norris had been. Norris, famous for his occasionally too-tart responses, had always conveyed a kind of Malibu contempt for the masses, as if he might catch something from standing next to them. But Ames showed evidence of the sort of vaguely condescending paternalism that Americans love so much in their ministers, politicians, and doctors.
Halfway through the second show, Tobin began to wonder if, in fact, Ames had been rehearsing for just this moment-he seemed so composed, so ready for the task you had the eerie feeling that…
But would one actor kill another merely to ascend to the star position of the most popular game show in TV syndication?
Are you crazy?
Halfway through the third segment a chopper appeared against the blue sky and hovered above the opposite end of the gigantic cruise ship.
A rope mechanism was lowered and a pulley system put into action. A long, lumpy black bag was borne upward into the chopper's belly as the air was torn furiously by the whirling blades and the white-uniformed stewards held their hats in place from the wind.
Do not ask for whom the pulley pulls.
The cruise ship was off-loading the body of former 'High Rise' star and TV game-show host Ken Norris.
It would taint cruise ship fun to have a rotting stiff down in the meat lockers. Your steak just wouldn't taste the same.
12
After the taping, Tobin went back to his cabin, took a shower, changed into a plain blue button-down shirt, stuck a cigarillo in his teeth, and then went in search of the captain's number-one suspect, Cindy McBain.
At this time of day, the ship was alive with a dizzying variety of activity. People jogged, participated in aerobics classes, played deck games, sat around one of the three swimming pools, sat in lounges listening to puppy-eager performers, did really dumb numbers like trying to shimmy underneath limbo poles while friends sat around and drunkenly laughed, and generally milled about on the various decks trying to have the sort of fun the brochure not only suggested but vaguely demanded you have.
He went past a barber shop, a beauty parlor, a hospital, a foursome of elevators; he went past a golf-driving range, a trapshooting area, a library, a discotheque. Finally, he tried the casino, where the noise and energy of gambling were almost vulgar on the otherwise lazy air, and there he found her.
She was at a blackjack table and she was sitting with Cassie McDowell and watching the dealer, a swarthy man in a white shirt with epaulets that would have delighted Rudyard Kipling, dispatch cards face-up, facedown with dizzying precision.
'Hi, Cindy,' he said when he reached her.
She was concentrating on her cards so that when she glanced up, her blue eyes didn't focus for a moment and she resembled an infant coming awake.
'Oh. Hello.'
'I'm trying to cheer her up,' Cassie said, pointing to the drinks in front of them. Clear, they were presumably vodka and tonics. Cassie flicked her eyes indicating she wasn't getting the job done very well. Today Cassie wore a white lacy blouse and dark blue slacks. She resembled a very lovely grade-schoolteacher from Elgin, Illinois.
Cindy, contrarily, was overdressed, in a black gownlike frock with a scoop neck that no doubt made men happy and women uneasy. Cindy said, 'I burst?'
'Bust.' The dealer sighed. 'Bust is the word. Not burst.' Obviously he'd explained this to her many times. Obviously he was tired of it. 'And,' he said, flipping over her card, 'yes, you did. You've got twenty-four.'
'Darn,' Cindy said. The way she leaned, you might have thought she'd fall off her stool.
Tobin moved closer to her, let her lean against him. It was not an unpleasant duty at all.
'I was never any good at blackjack, either,' Tobin said.
'How much have I lost?' Cindy asked the dealer gravely.
'Eighty dollars, miss,' the dealer said.
'Gosh,' Cindy said, marveling. 'Nearly a day's pay.'
The dealer made a little clucking sound.
Tobin glanced around the casino. The cruise ship folks had done their best to turn it into a mini-Las Vegas- with a wall of slot machines, a baccarat table, poker tables, squirrel cages, and enough green felt to cover the floor of the Astrodome. Even in the afternoon the place smelled of cigarette smoke and whiskey and affected the sort of artificial darkness Tobin associated with forlorn midday drinking sessions-of which he'd had more than his share lately.
'Why don't we go for a walk?'
'Where?' Cindy said.
'Around the boat. Lovely afternoon.'
Then he wondered why Cassie would look so sour about his proposal. Did she simply resent being left out?
Cindy turned to Cassie. 'Maybe that's a good idea. We can finish talking about-well, you know-later on. OK?'
Cassie flushed. Even in the shadows of the casino, Tobin could see how upset she looked, uncomfortable that Cindy had raised the subject of their conversation.
