When Danny woke late Tuesday morning there was a pot of coffee outside his door, and the Centurion.
THE CONTRARIAN FLOW
by Lucius Birdsong
What times we are living in, loyal readers, what times. Not since the days when the Powers That Clout feared the wholesale dumping of LSD into Our Fair Levee's reservoirs (for late arrivals, LSD refers to a drug of whoopee, not that road on the waterfront) has there been such a to-do over a non-alcoholic beverage.
Mere days ago one could walk into any flop, crash, or unlit basement in Our Fair Levee and crack open a bottle of the Drink that Keeps on Soaking. No grubby expeditions up to the source, no hoping the source wouldn't laugh in your slack jaws. Why, it was said that in some of the finest wicker hampers of the Gold Coast and the Way Outer I)rie. tucked in among the ehi and the CanfieldY was the odd bonded flagon of Sucker Punch.
And now? Now you not only have to know to knock two longs and a short, that Louie sent you, and that the password is swordfish, you have to have brought your own, because they ain't got any. Friends, of all the un-Levee- like phrases this correspondent has ever heard, 'ain't got any' is by far the un-Levee-est.
Now, I submit that Our Fair is founded on the principles of personal liberty, free enterprise, and entrepreneurship. If you want to refresh yourself from a noble friend, that is personal liberty. If you prefer to pay someone else to draw one, draw two, draw three-four units of red, that is free enterprise. And if somebody taps, and somebody tipples, and somebody in between collects from both ends, why then, one of you is an entrepreneur and Devil take the hindmost.
But does it seem, despite all that, that for the last few days Our Fair Levee has had just a little bit less Hell to pay?
Okay, Danny thought, maybe it makes sense, maybe we did something good. Thanks, Lucius.
He let out a breath. His chest had been drum-tight without his even noticing. Suddenly, a little relaxed, a little relieved, he had an idea.
Danny picked up the phone and asked the operator for Ginevra Benci's number. She made the connection for him.
'Hello?' She sounded sleepy. Danny started to apologize, then caught himself: if he didn't go straight into this he would never manage it at all.
'It's Doc, Ginny.'
'Hi, Doc.' A yawn. 'What's going on?'
'Are you working tonight?'
'Yeah. Tuesdays to Thursdays, usually, eight at night to two.'
'Would you like to…' Okay, what? '… see a movie this afternoon? Maybe have some dinner, before you go to work?'
'This afternoon? Oh! Sure, yeah, that'd be great. What movie?'
'I heard that there's a Buster Keaton show, all afternoon.'
'Okay. At Laughs Lost, right? Should I just meet you there?'
'No, I'll come get you.'
'Great. Give me an hour or so, okay?'
'Yeah. Yeah.' He looked around wildly for the clock. ''Two o'clock?'
'See you then.'
The phone nearly slipped out of his hands as he hung it up. He cleaned up, dressed, went downstairs. Fay and McCain were in the dining room.
Danny said, 'Does Mr. Patrise need me this afternoon?'
McCain said, 'No, I don't think so. He'll be going to the club tonight, and I think he'd like to have you there.'
'I'll meet you there at eight, if that's okay.'
'Just so. Mind telling me where you'll be till then? Just in case.'
'I'm going to the movies. Laughs Lost. We'll probably go out to dinner after-but I don't know where. We, that is-'
'You needn't say,' McCain said easily. 'Your time's yours.'
Fay said, 'Radiant speak connect? Trupsever glow, carol, abun-daniel.'
She knew, Danny thought. She had sensed something, seen something-or was it obvious? Was McCain grinning, secretlv?
He nodded to her. She nodded back. He turned to McCain, whose eyes were suddenly flat and cool and empty. 'Enjoy yourself, Doc,' he said.
W T hen Danny got to Ginny's building, she was waiting, dashing down the steps in a bright red cloth coat, a bag slung over her shoulder. 'My work stuff,' she said, tossing the bag behind the seats. 'I can change at the club. So we can have a nice, slow dinner.'
Laughs Lost had a big marquee out front, with half an acre of electric bulbs, and spell-fired neon tubing bent into smiling masks. The lobby was full of framed photos of movie stars; all the pictures seemed to be in black and white, and most had a kind of fogg) glow-that was glamour, Danny thought. The seats were worn, and a little creaky. As the lights started to dim, someone dressed as Chaplin's Tramp pushed a broom down the aisle. He tipped Ins hat and disappeared into the darkness.
First there was a cartoon, a Red Riding Hood and the Wolf story set in a world of nightclubs and big cars. When Little Red threw off her cloak, revealing a tiny white dress and a lot of herself, and went into a swing dance, the Wolf's eyes popped yards out of his head. He bashed himself with a mallet. Danny stared. When had they made this? It couldn't have been for kids.
The cartoon ended, and in the minute of silence Danny felt his heart banging. He looked straight ahead. The screen flickered again.
Danny had heard of Buster Keaton, but never seen any of his films. He was hardly ready for the little man with the sad eyes, who never seemed able to smile. Keaton walked onto the screen, in his flat hat and rumpled clothes, and Danny thought, we're supposed to laugh at him}
Whatever they were supposed to do, they laughed.
There was a short movie about a moving man with a horse-drawn wagon, slogging on against what seemed like all the powers of nature. And another where Keaton was mistaken for a criminal, ridiculous on the face of it, yet his every action only got more police chasing him. And then a long film about the Civil War, with locomotives chasing one another, burning bridges, cavalry charges- Danny kept thinking of the tight-lipped thriller he had seen the other day, with its spies and trains and war, and somehow it only made this one funnier. The last image was of Buster triumphant (though hardly seeming to notice it), finding a way to salute his fellow soldiers and still kiss his girl.
Ginny's hand, Danny realized, had slipped easily into his. He started to turn, saw her face white in the glow of the screen. Then, with really rotten timing, the lights came up.
Stagger Lee was in the lobby, popping chocolate-covered raisins from the jumbo box. 'Good afternoon, Doc, Miss Benci. Haven't seen you here before.'
'No,' she said. 'I've been to some of the late shows, but not this.'
'First time,' Stagger said. 'What an enviable position. Wish I'd known. It's an addiction, you know: you try the really hard stuff and you'll never kick it.' Danny wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. But Stagger Lee just smiled, said, 'There's a matinee every weekday. Tomorrow's Laurel and Hardy: I think they figure that's midweek, better bring out the heavy artillery. Thursday rotates: Snub Pollard, Charley Chase, Harold Lloyd, lots of other people you never heard of.' He pointed a thumb at the pictures on the lobby wall. Stagger Lee had a striking resemblance to Lloyd. 'Friday's sound shorts. Fields, the Stooges, Andy Clyde. And the Little Rascals, which is good, because those days I can get some work done. Did you like the cartoon?'
'It was great,' Ginny said, laughing. 'That crazy wolf-and the dancer! How did they do that?'
'Magic,' Stagger Lee said. 'The old kind. Weekends there are cartoon matinees. Do they still remember Superman, out in the heartland?'
Danny realized Stagger was asking him. 'Sure. 'Truth, Justice, and-' '
'The American Way, right. But come by in two weeks and you'll see him like you never have. And more too. The greatest heroes of American fiction are Huckleberry Finn and Bugs Bunny.'
The lobby lights blinked. 'You'd better get back to your seats,' Stagger said.
